by Regina Scott
“Yes, Mother,” she said, feet carrying her to the door even as her mind carried her off to a future of smiles over breakfast and kisses before bed. She was so lost in her thoughts that she found herself downstairs at the back of the house near the doors to the terrace.
Daphne shook her head. Silly. Lord Brentfield and Hannah had set up headquarters in the library, which lay in the opposite direction down the corridor behind her. Her feet had carried her toward the stables by habit.
Or wish.
But much as she would have loved a gallop across the fields, she truly should stay inside and help. Everyone else was doing so. She could hear voices overhead and down the corridor now—Priscilla and Ariadne in the Blue Salon, Sir James and Sinclair in the sculpture hall, Emily and her aunt in the dining room. Somewhere beyond her hearing, Wynn and Nathan Kent were likely playing with swords and crossbows.
Who partnered Brooks?
Her mother had dragged her off so quickly, she hadn’t had a chance to find out. Perhaps he was helping Mr. Harrop do something manly, like check the casks of wine in the cellar or the foils in the fencing salon.
As if conjured by her thoughts, the Corinthian flitted past the doors to the terrace. Where was he going? Surely there were no priceless works of art on the outside of the house. He couldn’t think to find the eggs there. Why wasn’t he helping the others?
Only one way to find out.
She left the list on a table near the door and followed him.
*
“May I say,” Nathan Kent told Wynn as they heaved a breastplate back into place on a suit of amour, “that you have my admiration for your pursuit of Miss Courdebas. Now that’s a dashing young lady.”
For once, Wynn could not muster any jealousy. It was clear the Nathan Kent, personal secretary to the Duke of Rottenford, was bellows to mend for the beautiful Priscilla.
“Yes, she is,” he said, dusting off his hands. “I am the most fortunate of men.”
And he did feel fortunate at the moment. Though there were plenty of uninteresting bedchambers and withdrawing rooms sprinkled about the manor, Lord Brentfield had set him and Kent to inventory a far-more-fascinating room. Suits of armor stood guard along either side, with battle axes crossed above them and swords shining from glass cases. A bronze vase on either end held a cluster of pikes and lances, all ready to defend king and Country. He didn’t need a golden egg to encourage him. He couldn’t wait to see what lay in the various wooden chests and cabinets.
“Did she really beat Chas Prestwick in a race down Rotten Row?” Kent asked as they moved on to a glass-front cabinet that held jeweled daggers.
“She did indeed,” Wynn told him. “By a horse length. I saw it.”
“What pluck.” Kent shook his head. “Priscilla isn’t the sporting type. Not that I mind, you understand. Still, it must be nice to have a betrothed who can join you in all your pursuits.”
“Eight daggers, all as described,” Wynn reported, and Kent checked them off before turning toward a rack of evil-looking maces. He seemed a level-headed fellow, thoughtful, with brown hair and eyes and a slender build. He was, by all accounts, the brains behind the duke’s efforts. And, against all odds, he’d won the hand of the fair Priscilla. Would he be willing to offer advice?
“Daphne is a good friend,” Wynn allowed, running a hand down the shaft of one of the maces. “But there are times I fear she sees me as nothing more.”
“Ah.” Kent checked off the maces and ventured toward another cabinet comprising doors of identical sizes. “I had a similar problem when I first realized my feelings for Priscilla. She had hopes for my cousin, the duke. Naturally, I felt reluctant to declare how I felt in such circumstances.”
“Naturally,” Wynn agreed, opening a drawer to display a pair of pistols with silver etching on the barrels. Kent checked them off the list.
“So, what did you do?” Wynn asked, closing the drawer and opening another.
“I let her think I cared nothing for her,” Kent said, checking off that set of pistols as well. “It caused us both a great deal of heartache.”
Wynn knew the feeling. “And yet here you are, betrothed.” He shut the drawer.
“Because I learned she cared for me. Knowing she returned my love, I could not be silent. We told my cousin together. And, as you said, here we are.”
Could it be so simple? If he told Daphne how he felt, would he discover she felt the same way? Wasn’t the possibility worth the risk of embarrassment should she truly see him only as a friend?
He threw open the bottom drawer, then frowned at the empty space. “Was there supposed to something in this one?”
Kent consulted the list. “A pair of pearl-handled dueling pistols along with a velvet pouch containing powder and shot.” He glanced up. “According to this, they were cleaned by the under footman a week before we arrived.”
“So who felt the need for arms?” Wynn asked. “And why?”
Chapter Fifteen
Daphne slipped out the terrace doors and peered about. In the warm sunlight of the summer’s day, the stairs down to the lawn were empty, and she sighted no tall, strapping Corinthian making his way toward the stables. Instead, she spotted Mr. Harrop prowling about at the bottom of the steps, head down. He was so intent she would not have been surprised to see his nostrils twitch like a hound’s seeking the scent. What was he doing?
“Looking for someone?” Brooks asked.
Daphne turned in time to see him melting away from the house. “Yes, you,” she told him with a smile. “How did you manage to escape inventory duty?”
His shrug rippled the fabric of his tan coat. “No one to partner me.” He took a step closer. “Would you be willing to partner me, my dear Daphne?”
Perhaps?
Oh, it wasn’t like her to be so missish. “I’m certain we could find a task to our liking,” she told him with a nod.
He moved closer yet, until she could see golden lashes brushing his cheeks as he lowered his gaze to hers. “I can think of a task very much to my liking,” he murmured. Then he bent his head and kissed her.
She closed her eyes, waited for the fireworks, the thundering heartbeat, the surge of emotion.
None came.
As he drew back, she opened her eyes and frowned at him. “Is that the best you can do?”
His brows shot up, then he gave a low chuckle. “Particular, are you? Well, let’s see if we can suit your fancy.” He wrapped his arms about her, tilted her back, and crushed his lips against hers.
It was quite like being strangled by the boa constrictor Ariadne had described from one of the scientific publications she read. A big, broad, smothering snake, only this one had wet lips.
Daphne pushed him back with a shudder and straightened. “That’s enough.”
He smiled and smoothed his cravat, which he seemed to have wrinkled in his ardor. “I trust that sufficient demonstration of my abilities.”
“Yes,” Daphne said. “Thank you.” It seemed the best she could muster when all she wanted to do was jump on horseback and ride so far and fast the rush of air would wipe her clean.
He slipped an arm about her waist. “When we are married, I promise I will kiss you like that every morning and every evening.”
That wrung a shiver from her. He must have felt her response, for he released her and stepped back.
“Daphne?” he asked, eying her. “Is something wrong? I assure you I would never have taken such liberties if you had not asked it of me.”
Daphne managed a smile. “It was very kind of you to give it a second try.”
“Kind?” His face was darkening. “You describe that kiss as kind?”
“No,” she assured him. “I’d describe it as wet and sloppy and rather unpleasant. But I appreciate the effort.”
He stared at her, then reached out his arms. “Perhaps we should try again.”
Daphne evaded him. “No need.”
He dropped his hands. “Have I so disguste
d you?”
“There, now,” Daphne said, reaching out to pat his shoulder. “Think of all the things you excel at—riding and dancing and witty conversation. Not everyone can be good at everything. I’m terrible at watercolors. Ask Emily.”
His eyes glittered. “Indeed. I find one’s ability has a great deal has to do with the company one keeps.”
Was he saying she made him a bad kisser? Wynn had never complained. And she certainly wasn’t about to try it with anyone else, not after that horrid experience.
“Then I wish you better company in future,” Daphne said, turning for the door.
He caught her shoulder and spun her around. “Oh, no you don’t. Not until you declare my kiss superior.” He lowered his mouth toward hers.
Daphne poked him in the eyes.
With a howl, he leaped back from her. “Catamount! How dare you lay hands on me!”
“You did it first,” Daphne reminded him. “I may have inspired the first kiss and invited the second, but there will be no more, sir, or you may find yourself in need of a physician’s services.” She turned once more for the door.
“Daphne, Miss Courdebas, wait.”
His tone was sufficiently humbled that she paused to look back at him, hand on the door and ready to run if he looked the least bit predatory.
“Forgive me,” he said, eyes brimming with moisture she was certain had more to do with the impression of her fingers than any show of contrition. “All my life I have been told I wasn’t good enough, not in family, not in wealth, not in scholastic abilities. Hearing it from you overset me.”
Said that way, how could she not pity him?
“All my life I was told to sit still and behave like a lady,” she told him, “a feat I find impossible. My friends showed me I could be appreciated for myself. I do not know who could help you in that way, but I suggest you start by looking in the mirror. You have much to offer the world, Mr. Sheridan. Perhaps you should focus on that rather than on what you imagine you lack.”
He inclined his head. “And is there no hope for us?”
“Beyond friendship, no,” Daphne told him. “I fear my heart may have settled on another. Only time will tell.”
“Mr. Fairfax is a fortunate fellow,” he said.
Daphne blushed. “As I said, time will tell. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I feel the need to bathe.”
*
Wynn did his duty the rest of the day, finishing in the armory and moving on to the fencing salon, where Lord Brentfield actually used jeweled rapiers, and the orangery, where even the stakes for the trees were plated with gold or silver. He caught no sign of Daphne but assumed she was still accompanying her mother. He could only hope Lady Rollings wasn’t taking inventory of his faults along with the art.
Before dinner, they all rejoined in the library to give their reports. Daphne was one of the last to come in, and he couldn’t help noticing that she now wore her green sprigged muslin. What had happened to the blue dress she’d had on earlier? She had been working with her mother in the portrait gallery, last he heard. The worst she might have encountered was dust, and, by the efficiency of the Brentfield staff, he doubted that. It wasn’t like her to change clothes on a whim like his sisters were wont to do.
Then too, she kept worrying her lower lip, as if something was concerning her. And she had avoided Sheridan’s look at all costs. Had she taken his measure at last? Wynn had no time to ask, for he and Kent had to give their report, with the others following. Of the dozen rooms checked by the guests and staff, only the armory had had anything additional missing. Some of the remaining rooms had nothing of value to take, and Lord Brentfield could vouch for the contents of most of the others. Lady Minerva had found both golden eggs and sat fondling them with a satisfied smirk.
“So everything is accounted for since our last inventory,” Lady Brentfield surmised, looking a bit disappointed.
“At least, within these walls,” Lady Emily added darkly.
Lord Brentfield started. Wynn could see his effort to brighten as he rubbed his hands together. “I must thank you all for your efforts. Now, I think we’ve been inside too long today. Who’s for an evening picnic on the grounds?”
Now his wife looked dismayed, and Wynn could only guess her menu for the evening was not conducive to a picnic. Certainly his mother fussed when anyone interrupted her plans. The young countess excused herself shortly thereafter to go confer with the staff.
Lord Brentfield, Sinclair, Sir James, and Sheridan went with Nathan to the armory to see if they would uncover any other clues as to where the missing pistols might have gone. They invited Wynn to join them, but he demurred. He was more concerned about Daphne.
Though her mother had gone upstairs to change, her sister and friends were clustered around Daphne, while Lady Minerva sat watching from the hearth, eggs clutched to her chest as if she suspected the others of coveting them.
“His lordship is determined to make this no more than a house party,” Priscilla was saying as Wynn slipped into their group. “It’s clear he doesn’t want anyone else hurt.”
Wynn glanced at Daphne, but she was focused on her friends.
“I’m certain there’s more afoot,” Ariadne insisted. “We were here this spring when the first art treasures were stolen. Hannah was certain more were taken while she was on her honeymoon. Someone is to blame.” She narrowed her eyes. “I wager it was the butler. He has that look of cunning about him.”
Lady Emily looked thoughtful. “He is new to the house, and he was here while Hannah was on her honeymoon.” She gave a sharp nod as if she’d reached a decision. “Priscilla, keep an eye on him. Ariadne, stick close to Hannah’s side at the picnic. See if you can learn what Lord Brentfield plans.”
Ariadne nodded. “I shall winkle out his secrets. Count on it.”
Wynn was more interested in Daphne’s secrets. As she and her friends started for the stairs, he stepped in beside her. “Penny for your thoughts.”
“I think Lord Brentfield is being silly,” she said. “If it were my house, I’d want to know when anything disappeared under mysterious circumstances.”
Her indignation did not explain her attitude or the change in clothes. “And you and your mother found nothing amiss in the portrait gallery?”
She hesitated. “Not in the gallery.”
Wynn cocked his head. “But somewhere else.”
She sighed. “Perhaps inside me. Oh, Wynn, sometimes I don’t know my own mind. Excuse me.” She hurried past her friends before he could call her back. Wynn paused in the doorway, watching as she dashed up the stairs as if something large and hungry was chasing her.
Lady Minerva smacked her lips as she rose from her chair. “You should have listened to me, boy. I could have discovered something you could use against Sheridan, and now it’s too late.”
Wynn stared at her as she started toward the door. “Too late? What do you mean?”
She laughed. “You’ll find out soon enough, I warrant. Just ask yourself: Where was Sheridan enjoying himself while you were counting guns in the armory?”
Wynn’s spirits sank as she sashayed out. Had Sheridan met Daphne after she’d finished with the portrait gallery? Had he declared himself formally this time?
Had Wynn lost his chance with the only woman he could imagine loving?
Chapter Sixteen
Daphne wandered back down the grand stair of Brentfield Manor, feeling foolish. Unlike the others, she hadn’t needed to change. She’d already been wearing her green sprigged muslin, which was perfect for a picnic. She’d escaped the library for an entirely different reason.
Now she scolded herself as she went to join everyone on the lawn below the house. Just because she had decided she liked Wynn far better than Brooks didn’t mean she had to feel all shy and awkward around him. He was her friend! And there was every indication he might be more. She should be rejoicing, not hiding from him and her feelings.
Hannah must have had a hurried conversat
ion with the staff, for the footmen were just putting the finishing touches on the picnic. Linen cloths had been spread across the immaculate grass, anchored at the corners by massive stone vases filled with flowers. Hampers of food and wooden tubs with cider on ice lay waiting for the guests’ repast. Beyond, the formal gardens beckoned with graveled paths and secret grottos. Already she could see Priscilla and Nathan, heads close together, moving among the shrubs and blossoms along the edge of the garden, where Priscilla could keep an eye on the butler, who was overseeing the picnic. Ariadne and Sinclair walked hand in hand, careful to stay near Lord Brentfield. Lady Minerva and Daphne’s mother reclined on one of the cloths, benignly content for once.
Brooks, standing at the side, came to meet Daphne before she could seek out Wynn.
“Miss Courdebas,” he said with a deep bow. “Might I hope you would do me the honor of a walk in the garden?”
“No,” Daphne said. “Sorry.” She raised her chin to try to see over his shoulders. Where had Wynn taken himself off to? She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or annoyed that she couldn’t find him easily.
Brooks sighed. “I know I have disgraced myself in your eyes. Won’t you please give me a chance to make it up to you?”
“No need,” Daphne said, taking a step to the side. “If you’ll excuse me—”
“Please.” He put a hand to her arm, eyes dipping down at the edges until he reminded her of a puppy who had lost his bone. “If not now, meet me at the hermit’s hut on the edge of the garden in a half hour. Bring your mother if you’d like. I merely wish to explain my actions and beg your forgiveness. Won’t you give me that chance?”
Perhaps she should humor him. She had been the one to invite him to the party, after all. She had encouraged his attentions at first. “Very well,” she said, and he let her go with a pleased smile.
Daphne turned, scanning the lawn. Her gaze brushed Mr. Harrop’s. Could Hannah’s butler never smile? He might have been wondering whether Daphne had stolen the silver the way he scowled at her and Brooks. She purposely looked away.
