She really shouldn’t have, but Daphne reared back in shock, not bothering to moderate her expression. “What? James Woodbridge, have you lost your senses?”
“If you’re going to be informal, call me Jamie. James means I am in trouble, remember?”
“This is definitely a James moment, Mr. Woodbridge,” she insisted, shaking her head repeatedly. She scoffed at his stupidity and took a measured step away. “Do you think I came dressed like this to dance with anyone?”
“I saw you watching the dancing. You would love to dance.”
Blast him, he was too observant for his own good, and thus was now the enemy to all her plans. She scowled at him. “Not with you, thank you very much. You don’t have the sense to flee from the terrifying prospect I present, as everyone else in this room does.”
Jamie, as he would forever be in her mind now, unfortunately, shrugged easily. “Apparently not, but I’ve never been easily terrified, and it would give me great pleasure to dance with you, as it would give you great pleasure.”
This was only getting worse. She forced a smile through gritted teeth. “As it happens, I loathe dancing and was only wondering how to properly break it up. You would make a poor partner, and I must excuse myself before your addlepated nonsense becomes contagious.”
She turned on her heel and marched defiantly away, directly into a group of people, none of whom looked pleased to see her. “Has anyone found a successful way to trap a rich man into matrimony? No less than five thousand pounds a year, mind. I have no wish to be a pauper’s wife.”
Hours later, when packed up and headed for home, after no dancing at all and at least seven ridiculous conversations on topics no woman should converse on, Daphne leaned her head back against the carriage seat, shutting her eyes and wanting nothing more than to sleep for days.
But she would be in for the scolding of a lifetime, and nothing would prevent her mother from exploding at her.
At least she had avoided Jamie for the rest of the night, except for two times when he had been near enough to make comments in the conversations she provoked. And he always seemed to look at her with a bemused smile, as if he already knew her game.
He was dangerous, and she considered writing to her friend Alice in Bath to see if she knew anything about him or his family.
She was not curious at all. She only needed to prepare herself where he was concerned.
The carriage rolled on toward home, and Daphne frowned. The scolding should have started already, and yet it was silent. She opened her eyes to look across at her parents, both of whom were watching her speculatively, their expressions eerily unreadable.
“Yes?” she prompted, feeling more uncomfortable with this than anything else that night.
Her mother sniffed softly. Her father swallowed visibly. Neither said anything.
Daphne looked between them, wondering if there was, perhaps, a heretofore unheard of torture that was about to be rained down upon her head for her betrayal of the family.
She gave a pointed look at her mother, who only exhaled slowly.
“Daphne,” her father said in a tone that dripped with disapproval. “Your behavior was appalling. You owe your mother an apology.”
That was to be expected. But it would not work.
She shook her head. “I do not. It is my Season, as you say, and I may act as I see fit.”
“You will find, my dear,” her mother replied coolly, “that your freedom to act at all is at an end.” She eyed Daphne with distaste, though her gown was hidden by her cloak. “Your dresses will now be selected by me, and I will oversee your complete dressing to ensure every piece is in place. You will dance at least three times with a variety of suitable gentlemen at every ball, or you will find your room stripped of books.”
Daphne gasped at the threat. “Mama—”
“Your mother is speaking,” her father chided with more firmness in his tone than Daphne had heard in her entire life.
She clamped down on her lip, her face burning.
“I will be arranging all of your social engagements,” her mother went on, barely blinking at her interruption. “Down to invitations to tea. Only your aunt or myself may chaperone you, and you will always be chaperoned. You will behave, Daphne, and garner a minimum of one invitation to call after every major engagement on your social agenda.”
“Or else?” she whispered, trying for defiance.
Her mother’s lips curved into a vicious smile. “Or else we will stay in London all winter, too.”
Even her father was taken aback by that, and they both stared at her in gaping shock. The horror in that statement was enough to flirt with the idea of perfect behavior in every way.
“Try me and see, Daphne,” her mother said with a firm nod. “Just try.” She settled herself back, sighing. “And despite your attempts, the evening was not a complete waste after all.”
Daphne had to swallow three times before answering, “No?”
There was an answering shake of her head. “You have secured a fine man for a courtship, Lord knows why. But your father gave his approval.”
That could not be possible. There was absolutely no way, no conceivable chance, that any man would have wanted to court her after the evening she had just passed. There had to be a misunderstanding somewhere, unless her parents had secured a slow-witted man with limited sense and intelligence, but the notion that such a man would have a fortune they were interested in was slim.
“I beg your pardon?”
Her father nodded slowly. “Pleasant chap. Spoke highly of you and requested, most properly, to court you, though it is early in the Season. I asked around about him, and received all good reports, even from your aunt, so I gave my consent. He will be by the house after luncheon to call upon you. Behave, please, as he was most kind about you, all things considered.”
That was not likely, and she felt the need to snarl as she asked, “Who?”
Her tone did not go unnoticed, and her father looked bewildered by it. “Why the noise, Daphne? You spoke with him at length yourself. It’s Mr. James Woodbridge.”
Chapter Four
If Jamie’s arm had had any feeling left in it, he would have wriggled his fingers a little, but the clenching grip on it at the moment left him rather immobile in that limb, and he desperately wanted to laugh about it.
Daphne Hutchins was furious with him and probably rightly so.
How dare he court her after the dismal spectacle at the ball last week. What cheek. What nerve. What a shocking lack of sense and taste and refinement.
That was what the gossips were saying, at any rate. And Jonathan had given him his own speech on the idiocy and folly of such a course of action, but Jamie kept coming back to only one thought: what fun.
And truly, it was only getting better.
He had called on her every other day, and she had always received him, only because she was in the company of her mother. Their conversations were stiff and painfully polite, but Jamie enjoyed them as much as anything else because he could see the torment it gave Daphne to do so. Tonight was their first chance to be alone in any fashion, but it was the theater. There were people everywhere, and her parents were not too far behind, but her hold on his arm, though polite by appearances, was going to leave bruises.
He needed her to speak without the restraint that their recent meetings had held.
That was not Daphne.
This was.
“You could smile, you know,” he murmured, leaning over a little as they walked to the box he had reserved for them.
“If I had anything to smile about, perhaps I would,” she ground out.
Jamie fought a smile at the palpable resentment. He had to prod her further, just to see what would happen. And he had an idea how. “Come, come, Daphne, what have I done to render you so irate?”
She slid her green eyes to him with the sort of look that told him he was an idiot for asking. “You know very well what.”
“Because
I asked to court you?” he asked, not keeping his voice down.
Daphne’s eyes widened, and he could see that she almost laughed, but her will was too strong for that. “That, yes,” she hissed. “And don’t call me Daphne.”
He gave her a mock frown. “You know, for a lady bent on flaunting impropriety, you have been surprisingly proper of late. Have I had that much of an influence on you?”
She gave him another potent look and replied, “No.” Then she turned to face forward again, her expression devoid of anything remotely resembling enjoyment or pleasure. He might have been walking her to the gallows rather than a theater box.
“It’s the theater, Daphne,” he reminded her, using her given name again. “Everybody loves the theater.”
“I don’t,” she replied tightly. “I have a dreadful fear of heights.”
He stumbled a step and turned to her in embarrassment. “Have you really?” he asked, panic rising. He hadn’t thought of that. He hadn’t a clue how to court anyone, and the theater seemed a logical place to go. He was going to have a time of it, as it was, courting her, what with her determination to resent everything and make scenes. But if he had been so careless as to thrust her into a truly fearful situation for her, there would be no recovering for him.
And as he realized how very important courting Daphne Hutchins was to him, he desperately needed to recover.
Daphne seemed amused by his concern and tilted her head at him, her eyes brilliantly green against the shimmering emerald silk she wore, her entire ensemble perfect and pristine and painfully breathtaking. She shrugged one slim shoulder. “Perhaps I do, perhaps I don’t.”
Jamie felt air rush back into his lungs and smiled in relief, then scowled at Daphne. “Not ladylike, Miss Hutchins.”
She smirked up at him, her nails biting into his arm despite the layers between them. “Not sporting, you mean.”
He hummed in satisfaction at hearing his words from the night of the ball. “I thought you weren’t listening to me.”
She looked away at once. “I wasn’t.”
Her reddened cheeks told him otherwise, and he allowed himself a small smile as he led her on. A group of finely dressed men and women blocked the way to the boxes, and they saw the approach of Daphne and her parents, their expressions clearly finding the approach less than pleasant.
“Well, someone has certainly learned to dress herself,” Maria Wells commented with a sneer, looking over Daphne with her small eyes.
Jamie bristled and noticed his cousin Jonathan, who had been leaning against a wall nearby, suddenly stand upright, his eyes fixed on Miss Wells with a determined glint in his eye and a tight jaw that Jamie knew all too well.
He needed no other encouragement.
Jamie considered Miss Wells with a pitying smile. “Yes, Miss Wells, and we are all quite proud of you for managing the thing on your own, but perhaps a less obvious declaration of your success? Modesty is always more appreciated. If you will excuse us.” He nodded to her, then pulled Daphne along as the crowd instantly moved for them, stunned into complete silence.
Jonathan caught Jamie’s eye, fighting a grin, but only nodded at him, bowing to Daphne.
“I don’t think your parents heard her,” Jamie muttered, glancing behind at her parents, who were still wide-eyed and gawking at the theater itself.
Daphne suddenly exploded into a fit of giggles, and he looked down at her, surprised by the warmth that hit him at the sound. “Miss Hutchins?”
“Did you see her face?” she wheezed, covering her mouth with a pristine glove, very unlike the ones she had worn the other night. “Oh, I can’t breathe . . . Oh my.”
Jamie chuckled and pulled Daphne a touch closer to him. “I shouldn’t have praised her so warmly. Someone should have told her that particular shade of yellow was popular last Season, but is not at all the fashion this time.”
Daphne squeezed her eyes shut, laughing herself into silence now, her face growing red. “Stop, oh, stop, Jamie.”
The sound of his name from her lips hit him squarely in the chest, and he was unprepared for the effort it took to breathe once more. He couldn’t say anything as they walked to the box, Daphne eventually settling herself back into composure.
“Why would you do that?” she asked him, her voice equally composed once more. “You knew to what she was referring. You made a comment about it yourself.”
“That was a joke, Daphne,” he insisted with a scolding look. “I would never have truly said anything of the kind.”
“I know that. But we both know there was truth in it, as there should have been.”
Jamie considered his answer carefully, then sighed as he held the curtain for her to enter the box. “I could joke with you about it, Daphne, because there was no malice intended and you knew that. She intended nothing but malice, and I could not have that. I would not.”
Daphne’s brow furrowed, and she glanced at her parents, still too far away to hear them. “But you didn’t have to throw it back at her, Jamie,” she hissed. “I am a spectacle; you do not have to be.”
Was she concerned about his reputation if he continued to stand by her? It was a touching thought, though he doubted she had considered anything so serious where he was concerned. She would most likely even regret saying such a thing later in the evening when she recollected it, knowing how it must have sounded.
But, perhaps, this was Daphne, stripped of the restraint and stripped of her own agenda.
What a puzzle she was.
He leaned closer, smiling warmly. “I never mind being a spectacle when the cause is just. And in case it escaped your notice, my cousin was ready to act as well.”
She reared back a little, her full lips parting. Then she frowned. “Oh, I doubt that very much. I saw him, of course, but surely it would have been in defense of you, should anything have arisen. You already told me he disapproves.”
Jamie was shaking his head before she finished. “He doesn’t disapprove. He thinks I’m mad.”
“That makes two of us.”
“There is a marked difference. He would have left me to the wolves had it been only me,” Jamie went on, ignoring her completely. “But you? He would have thrashed someone for you, purely because it is right. Maybe not Maria Wells, he draws the line at thrashing women, but someone would have bled, certainly, just for you. And because I have a vested interest in you, which Jonathan cannot resist interfering in.”
Daphne seemed stunned into silence as she stared at him, processing what he had told her. Clearly, she had not expected anything of the kind to be said, and she did not know what to do about it.
“Does that surprise you so?” he murmured, reaching out a finger to touch her gloved hand.
She nodded slowly, her eyes unfocused. “I didn’t expect . . . I don’t . . .”
Jamie smiled gently at her, taking pity on her confusion. “I’ll explain everything in a moment, once your parents are settled. Take your seat, Daphne. I’ll be there shortly.”
Again, she nodded, then turned to take her seat, sitting stiffly for a moment. Then she seemed to shake herself, looking around the crowded theater, and yawned dramatically before slouching in her seat.
The effect was instantaneous. Those nearest the box began frowning and whispering, looking at Daphne with disapproval.
Jamie shook his head, unable to keep from grinning.
Whatever Daphne was playing at, she was very good at it, and he was thrilled he had taken the chance to court her early on—far earlier than he would have otherwise. He just could not risk missing a single moment of her antics and was desperate to see what she would do next. Even Jonathan had agreed it would be entertaining, though he questioned the wisdom of such close proximity and could not discern the reason for Jamie’s interest.
He would see it shortly. They would all see it shortly.
He nodded politely to the Hutchinses as they entered the box, Mrs. Hutchins still all in raptures over the grandeur of the theater and
having a box to flutter over him at all. It was a wonder that the sedate Mr. Hutchins had a wife who was so excitable, but Jamie had never professed to understand the bonds that existed between a married couple. Not everyone married for affection, and years of marriage surely built up a tolerance for some things.
They sat in the seats Jamie indicated and began whispering to each other, while he took his seat next to Daphne, who still maintained her sluggish pose, which her parents had yet to notice.
“Nobody yawns at the theater,” Jamie scolded with a smile.
She looked at him for a moment, then gave another pointed yawn while saying, “I do.” She shook herself after the yawn and smirked at him. “And I am willing to bet several others do as well.”
She was undoubtedly right, but he couldn’t give in so easily. “Well then, none look as fetching as you while they do so.”
Daphne gave him a disbelieving look, then turned her attention to the stage, where the play was beginning. “Don’t flatter me, Mr. Woodbridge. It won’t work.”
“Don’t be proper now,” Jamie scolded, smiling. “You were doing so well.”
He saw her lips quirk, but she maintained her cool composure. “Don’t pretend you know me, Mr. Woodbridge.”
“I would never,” he assured her. “I enjoy being taken by surprise, and I know I am in for a great many surprises with you.”
Now she did smile, but it was smug. “If you manage to survive being near me long enough to witness any more.”
“I may surprise you myself, Daphne.” She glanced at him with a superior expression, doubt rife in every facet of her features. Jamie nodded once, smirking. “Vested interest, remember?”
Daphne sighed and rolled her eyes dramatically. “I refuse to be your own personal spectacle, Mr. Woodbridge. Find your entertainment elsewhere.”
“And miss the great diversion you present?” He snorted softly. “I think not. I determined from the moment I first saw you in Bond Street that this would be the most amusing Season I’ve ever spent, and I set my mind on enjoying every part of it.”
A Season in London (Timeless Regency Collection Book 6) Page 19
