Chatting and laughing, an array of dazzling ladies suddenly grew hushed, and Daphne found herself the center of attention.
“Here she is, Dalton’s prospective bride.” A heavily pregnant and boisterous woman, with raven locks, blue eyes, and a huge grin, grabbed Daphne’s wrists. “I am Sabrina, Countess of Woverton, but you must call me Brie, like the cheese. And loafing on the chaise, because she has yet to learn how to manage her swollen belly, is my elder sibling Cara, Marchioness of Raynesford.”
“Welcome to my home.” Cara waved a greeting. “May I address you as Daphne? And you must ignore my little sister’s forthright demeanor, as that is her way, and she has yet to outgrow it.”
“Of course.” Daphne nodded, as she knew not what to make of the contrasting relations. “You may call me whatever you wish.”
“Now what did I say that she does not already know, as we all understand why she is here?” Sabrina clucked her tongue. “And why temper the truth and lead her to believe we are something we are not?”
“Some things never change.” Cara rolled her eyes. “I hope you do not mind the casual atmosphere, but I had thought we could take our lunch in here, as my joyous bundle impedes my approach to the dining room table.”
“Hello, my dear. I am Lady Alexandra Collingwood, but it is Alex to family, and we never stand on formality, in private.” The charming, polished noble drew Daphne to an overstuffed chair. “On the sofa is Caroline, Countess of Lockwood, beside her is Lady Elaine Prescott, and at the other end is Lady Celia Devane, a friend of Sabrina’s.”
“I am honored to make your acquaintance.” That was putting it mildly, as Daphne shuffled her feet. “And I gather Sir Dalton would claim otherwise, despite your assertion.”
“That is because he is a man.” Caroline smirked. “And they are always the last to know what is good for them. But I suspect he is not what he would have us believe, given the time I spent with him, aboard the Siren, and he is ripe for courtship. But the road to happiness can be paved with heartache, so you should gird yourself for the fight.”
One by one, the wives, characters all, shared their tales of marital bliss hard won, with the single ladies. Some had endured incredible misery and humiliation, in the quest to win their mates. Caroline had been mistaken for a courtesan and kidnapped by her future husband, Rebecca had thrown herself in the path of a murderous traitor to save Dirk, Sabrina had enacted a painful personal renovation, of sorts, to claim Everett, Cara had seduced Lance, and Alex had thrown caution and societal precepts to the wind and chased her captain to Plymouth.
“I am humbled by your confidence and your courage.” Wringing her fingers, and plagued by doubt, Daphne sighed, as the polished female collective served to emphasized her shortcomings. “Yet you must know I have no fortune or connections.”
“But you are Dalton’s choice, so it matters not,” Caroline asserted. “Do you not want him?”
“Given your candor, I must confess I am enamored of him.” Yet Daphne was a realist. Whereas in Portsea, she was the matriarch of the county, in London she was nothing. “But he wishes me to marry another and has stated as much, in no uncertain terms.”
“Oh, I do not know about that.” Rebecca poured a cup of tea from the trolley. “My brother-in-law recovered the pilfered brooch, refused to call the authorities after you twice raided his ship, purchased food for Courtenay Hall’s stores, and gave Daphne carte blanche to acquire a new wardrobe.”
“He didn’t.” Cara shoved a pillow behind her and grimaced. “Excuse me, but my babe grows restless. Now then, under normal circumstances, I would be inclined to covet misgivings in regard to the constancy of Dalton’s admiration, as he has labored to construct a dubious reputation, but nothing parts a man from his money faster than engaged affections.”
“Excepting Dirk.” Rebecca giggled. “But his mother warned me, from the outset, so I knew what I was getting in the bargain.”
“Is he no longer gifting paperweights?” Sabrina snickered. “My Everett still brings me daisies, by the armful, on a weekly basis.”
“Oh, I receive them, with regularity, along with roses,” the viscountess replied with a ghost of a smile. “But I would argue Dirk relishes grousing about the purchases as much as he delights in my thanks.”
“As does Trevor.” Caroline swiped a sugary scone from a plate of sweets. “He procures knickknacks faster than I can place them.”
“And Lance has resumed his childhood habit of obtaining wooden figurines to add to my collection.” Cara averted her misty gaze. “How I love him.”
“Men are such funny creatures.” Alex glanced at Daphne. “By his own admission, Jason neglected me during our courtship, but he never forgets me, now. In fact, every time he docks in Deptford, he brings a surprise, of some sort, and poetry, written in his own hand.”
“That reminds me. Why have you never read us one of his original offerings, as we are the souls of discretion?” Elaine inquired. “No offense, but I struggle to imagine Jason composing prose of adoration and romance.”
“Well therein lies the quandary, as the captain of my heart does not employ the usual refined language you might expect.” Then Alex vented a half-smothered snort. “Suffice it to say his ribald work is not for mixed company, but the sole focus of his bawdy efforts entails various descriptions of my body, his unorthodox utilization of his tongue, and his effuse appreciation of our…connubial activities. However, I am continually impressed with his resourcefulness, as I never knew so many words rhyme with breasts.”
In concert, the ladies collapsed in a fit of hilarity.
“Poetry, paperweights, knickknacks, figurines, and daisies? Oh, what a sweet treasure.” Celia rested elbows to knees and cupped her chin. “That sounds nothing like my father. Then again, my parents have an arranged marriage, and I narrowly escaped the same fate.”
“Lance threatened to contract my nuptials.” A delicate Elaine peered at Daphne and frowned. “But I told him I would run away, as did Caroline, if that happened.”
“Worry not, dear friend.” Cara balanced a plate, piled with small sandwiches, atop her prominent protuberance. “Because I declared my abandonment of his bed, should that occur.”
“So there will be no more talk of arranged marriages in this household.” A veritable mountain of a man, with hair as black as a crow’s feather, chiseled features, and emerald eyes strolled into the room, and Daphne would have wagered all the women of Portsea would have swooned at his toes, at first glance, as he was gorgeous. “Good afternoon, ladies. And how does my glowing mother-to-be fare?”
“Give me a kiss, and I shall answer your question.” Cara bit her lip. “And welcome Miss Daphne to our coterie.”
“Now that is a command I dare not refuse.” Without hesitation, Cara’s husband bent and set his mouth to hers.
To her dismay, Daphne grew warm, as she could not stop herself from gawking at the charming pair. As was the case with Rebecca and Dirk, Cara and Lance expressed mutual admiration with unimpaired aplomb, as though they knew no other way, yet Daphne found such unrestrained passion a foreign concept. When Sabrina whistled in monotone, the tension broke, and the twosome came up for air.
“How do you feel?” Lance rubbed his nose to Cara’s. “Are you all right?”
“I am perfect.” Cara patted his cheek. “So you may stop fussing over me.”
“Not a chance, love. Ah, yes.” He pulled a silver bell from his coat pocket. “You forgot this at your vanity. How can you signal me, if you do not keep it with you?”
“Lance, you are being silly.” Cara huffed. “Dr. Handley assured us there will be plenty of time to summon him, so you must relax.”
“Darling, I will not risk your life or that of my heir, so you will indulge me.” With that, he kissed her hard and fast. “Now I shall adjourn to my study, and you will ring for me, if you need me. And welcome, Miss Daphne.”
“Yes, sir.” Cara sketched a mock salute. Just as Lance neared the threshold, the ma
rchioness jiggled the bell, and he whipped about, in a flash. “My lord, I need you, without fail.”
With a wide grin, the marquess lifted his chin and winked, and then he exited the chamber.
“Are they always like that?” Daphne asked Rebecca, as the fervent exchanges would befuddle any well-bred backwater girl.
“Has no one told you?” Sabrina shoved almost half a sandwich in her mouth. “Brethren marry for love.”
“And who, precisely, are the Brethren?” Daphne had heard Dalton and Dirk make the same reference, when they thought her unaware, and the curious moniker intrigued her. “Or is it some great secret?”
Alex glanced at Rebecca, who gazed at Cara, who peered at Caroline, who, in turn, stared at Sabrina.
“It is what we call our somewhat odd extended family.” Elaine chuckled, as she leaned back on the sofa. “As children, we fancied ourselves great warriors for the Crown, and the fantasy lives in each of us, even today.”
“Sabrina told me you played pirate games, when you were young.” Celia daubed the corners of her lips with a napkin. “Do you imagine the next generation will follow suit?”
“Oh, I hope so.” Caroline splayed her fingers over her belly. “As I would have them know the same fellowship with which we have been blessed.”
“Are you increasing, as well?” Daphne asked.
“Although I am just beginning to show, Trevor and I eagerly anticipate our third babe, as my husband desires a large family,” Caroline explained. “His upbringing was not so whimsical.”
“And this is my second, and Everett is thrilled, as he shared Trevor’s difficulties, and they are lifelong chums.” Sabrina scooted to the edge of her seat. “And we want the same happy matches for you, Elaine, and Celia.”
“Indeed.” Alex inched forward and clasped Sabrina’s hand. “And I vow on my third offspring to see you merrily wed.”
Soon, the ladies mirrored the simple gesture, forming a circle of sisterhood that brought Daphne to the brink of tears. “But how should we proceed, as Dalton does not cooperate?”
“With the exception of my remarkable spouse, most men never do.” Rebecca furrowed her brow. “But if Dalton wishes you to consider other candidates, you may have to do just that, for appearances. And I know the perfect foil for the younger Randolph.”
“Sisters, it sounds as if we intend to embark upon another matchmaking campaign.” Alex fidgeted. “And I gave Jason my word I would never enact such contentious business again, after Lance and Cara’s affair. If we do this, I must tell him, else he warned I would not sit comfortably for a sennight if I ever broke my promise.”
“But I do not want to cause trouble.” Daphne reflected on the possibility of success, which seemed fleeting, given Alex’s declaration. “If I cannot win Dalton on merit, I will not take him by trickery.”
“How do you define trickery?” Sabrina stretched her slippered feet. “When Dalton may need nothing more than a bit of enticement, as did my Everett.”
“Yet I would rather not involve Trevor.” Caroline studied the floor. “As I am not sure he would approve.”
“That is all the more reason to enlist their aid.” Rebecca nodded once. “In fact, Alex is a genius, as we would do well to make use of our happily wedded husbands, which would enable us to engage in a two-pronged assault, such as no bachelor has ever confronted.”
“And that is a good thing?” Daphne shuddered, as she pondered the prospects.
“Of course.” Cara’s eyes grew wide. “And what male, sane or otherwise, could resist such temptation?”
“Then it is settled.” Rebecca squeezed Daphne’s fingers. “Tonight, you shall meet the whole of our family, and you will wear the green gown as an opening salvo. And tomorrow, we recruit our men to bring Dalton to his knees—I mean, to the altar.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Not bad, for a provincial.” Dirk elbowed Dalton in the ribs. “Instead of staring at her, from across the drawing room, why not talk to her?”
Dalton had been asking himself the same question since his arrival at Randolph House for the family dinner, and he had yet to form a sensible response. While Blake and Damian buzzed about the backwater girl turned sultry seraph, outfitted in emerald silk, which highlighted her creamy complexion and transformed her already piercing blue eyes into something altogether ethereal, Dalton had remained rooted to the floor. But he worried not, as the dynamic ducal duo were confirmed bachelors.
“When I asked your wife to prepare Daphne for the ton’s ballrooms, I never said anything about remaking her into an enchanting seductress.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Look at her. She is Venus, Aphrodite, and a virginal handmaiden, all rolled into one. What was Rebecca thinking?”
“You catch more flies with honey, dear brother.” Rebecca tittered, as she twirled and then leaned into Dirk. “Do you like my new dress, as it is your favorite color?”
“You know, very well, I do.” Dirk kissed her forehead. “And I shall enjoy it, even more, tonight, when I take it off you.”
Confused, because the singular shade was their sire’s preference, Dalton scratched his temple. “But burgundy was—”
“—My choice, from birth.” Dirk shot Dalton a warning glance. “And is that Lucien, in the hall?”
“Oh, he is here.” Becca inclined her head and gazed a Dalton, and for some odd reason he could not decipher, he shuddered. “Do you believe Miss Daphne would prefer a titled groom, as Lucien must marry, and I think her an ideal candidate?”
“No, I do not agree.” The mere image of Daphne wedded to the randy Wentworth was enough to give Dalton collywobbles. “They do not suit.”
“And what, pray tell, is your objection to my sibling?” Becca thrust her chin, and Dalton knew he was in trouble. “He just made post.”
“Daphne would have to move to the Peak District,” he replied, with conviction.
“And what is wrong with Derbyshire?” Rebecca rested hands on hips. “As it is the place of my birth.”
“Miss Harcourt prefers Portsea Island.” Tugging on his cravat, Dalton shifted his weight. “And I meant no offense.”
“Darling, go welcome your brother.” Dirk trailed a finger along her jawline and then pressed his lips to hers. “And I shall endeavor to express my appreciation of your stunning attire, in our private apartment, after our guests depart.”
“Oh, I do so look forward to it, my lusty lord.” With one last scowl at Dalton, Rebecca turned and waved at Lucien.
“Why have you not told her the truth, that burgundy was father’s signature hue?” he inquired, after Becca had moved beyond earshot. “And you have never developed such partiality.”
“Dalton, you know that, and I know that, but my bride remains blissfully ignorant, even after almost three years of marriage, and I would not disabuse her of the notion for anything in the world.” Dirk arched a brow and snickered. “You see she came home from her shopping trip, with a sheer confection that left nothing to the imagination, which she bought because it was done in what she believes is my preferred shade, and proceeded to enact an erotic dance, among other things, wearing naught but said garment, for my benefit. And, oh, did I benefit. Now, do you honestly think I give a damn about the color?”
“I see your point.” In an instant, Dalton conjured visions of Daphne, in similar circumstances. “But you cannot allow Becca to betroth poor Daphne to Lord Calvert, as he is a notorious rake.”
“Then you should offer for her,” Dirk stated, as if imparting news of the weather.
“What?” Dalton snapped to attention. “Why would I do that?”
“Because you care for her.” Dirk folded his arms, in the annoying manner Dalton knew too well. “Don’t even attempt to deny it.”
“I admit I hold her in high esteem.” In truth, she was glorious, and he was an unworthy reprobate of the worst sort. “Plus her carriage is first rate.”
“And I said the same thing about my Becca.” Dirk chuckled. “Yet it is
no secret she claimed my heart the second she set foot aboard the Gawain. So I would give you a bit of unsolicited advice intended to spare you the extended suffering I inflicted upon myself.”
“Let me guess, you wish me to kneel before her and propose, this instant.” Not a bad idea, given Rebecca had just introduced Daphne to Lucien, and Dalton seethed in silence. “Let us say, for the sake of curiosity, I am amenable to your sage counsel—and do not dare ask why. But what if I imparted certain disreputable information, which revealed aspects of my character, or lack thereof, and rendered me unsuitable? And regardless how hard I labored for the remains of my days, I could never deserve Daphne.”
“In light of our connections and fortune, you deem yourself beneath the governor’s daughter?” With a countenance of astonishment, Dirk narrowed his stare. “What have you done?”
The world shifted in a blur, and Dalton transported to the past, to a different time and place. Bodies bumped and grinded, mingling perspiration to a cacophony of grunts and groans, as a trio of lust-driven beings conceded to base instincts. Fueled by heady intoxicants and a desire to partake of unknown debauchery, the likes of which could have rivaled the licentious acts of the Marquis de Sade, Dalton had surrendered to a heretofore-foreign animalistic urge.
Disgust wrenched him to the present, and he studied the angelic ingénue. “If I relayed that information, you would never speak to me again.”
“Wait a minute, brother.” Glancing left and then right, Dirk checked his tone and stiffened his spine. “Are we talking about an adulterous tryst or something far more profligate?”
“The worst libertine conceivable.” How could he have surrendered control, to that extent? “And there is more than one witness.”
“What—who?” Dirk came alert, just as the butler announced dinner. “Belay my queries, as we will discuss the situation tomorrow evening, at White’s. Until then, say nothing.”
“Aye.” It had to be done. He had to confess his nefarious deeds and face the consequences, because his actions could embroil the family in scandal, and no one would escape the repercussions.
The Lucky One (Brethren Of The Coast #6) Page 11
