Romancing Daphne

by Sarah M. Eden

  “As much as I would like to give the lady a flower,” James said, “I do not dare allow my horses the opportunity to run off with us by giving them less than all my attention.”

  The girl nodded in approval. Daphne very nearly rolled her eyes. No sooner had the flower seller slid back from the carriage than James turned questioning eyes to Daphne.

  She sighed. “She is a chambermaid at Falstone House.”

  “If my calculations are correct, we have identified all but two of your brother-in-law’s henchmen.” His teasing tone fell just the slightest bit flat, as though he were earnestly attempting to find the situation humorous. “Perhaps one of them was hiding beneath Mrs. Bower’s bonnet.”

  If she hadn’t been absolutely mortified, she likely would have laughed at the very amusing observation.

  The remainder of the ride passed in relative silence. They stopped a small number of times, James making introductions and striking up quick, innocuous conversations with the people he knew. But between visits, he kept quiet. Daphne’s face never fully cooled.

  They returned to Falstone House, an entire entourage of mounted groomsmen arriving at the same time they did. James assisted her from the carriage and walked with her to the door. His stiff posture and stoic silence starkly contrasted his earlier easy demeanor.

  Adam and Persephone were both sitting in the drawing room when James escorted her there. “I have returned Miss Lancaster unharmed, as requested,” he said.

  Adam’s gaze turned to Fanny standing just behind them. His look of inquiry received an “I’ve nothin’ to report, Your Grace” from the maid.

  “You’re free to go,” Adam said, looking entirely unrepentant about receiving a report on James’s actions with him still in the room.

  James bowed civilly. “Miss Lancaster, it has been a pleasure.”

  She stood still, not moving from the spot. He no longer smiled at her. His manner had become distant, formal.

  “Thank you.” Her words hardly broke a whisper.

  James left with little beyond the barest words of farewell.

  “Did you have a nice ride?” Persephone asked after he was gone.

  The last thing she wanted was to rehash the disaster that had been her one and only drive with a gentleman at the fashionable hour. “It began well.” To offer anything more positive than that would not have been entirely honest—quite dishonest, in fact.

  “What did Tilburn do?” Adam’s lips pursed in the way they did whenever his cousin George came up in conversation. He thoroughly disliked his cousin. Apparently he felt similarly about Lord Tilburn.

  “He was a perfect gentleman, and very tolerant, as I am certain your army of spies will assure you once they make their various reports.” Daphne sat in a nearby chair, striking a very unladylike, slumped posture. She’d imagined so many times driving out with James Tilburn, but never in all her imaginings had the outing ended so disappointingly.

  “Spies?” Adam managed to sound almost as if he didn’t know what she was talking about.

  “Over the course of the ride, we crossed paths with a veritable horde of staff from this house, all under instructions to follow Lord Tilburn’s carriage.”

  Persephone turned to her husband. “You had them followed?”

  “Merely precautionary.” Adam’s unshakable confidence seldom grated on Daphne the way it did in that moment.

  “You do not trust Lord Tilburn?” Persephone asked.

  “I did not say that.”

  “Then you do not trust me,” Daphne surmised.

  “I most certainly did not say that.”

  Persephone seemed genuinely confused. “Then why the armed guard?”

  “Only two of them were actually armed.”

  Daphne dropped her head into her open palm. An armed guard. Was it not clear to him how slim her chances were of enjoying any degree of social success? A strikingly beautiful young lady or one who conversed easily or possessed obvious accomplishments might be worth enduring such treatment. The gentlemen of Society would never make such an effort for a plain, quiet girl who could claim little talent beyond a knowledge of home remedies and the ability to go unnoticed for hours on end.

  “Oh, my dear Adam.” A laugh touched Persephone’s words. How could she, Daphne’s own sister, find this amusing? “Were you attempting to test his mettle?”

  “Only offering a friendly warning.”

  “Friendly?” That brought Persephone’s laugh entirely to the surface.

  Daphne didn’t find the conversation funny in the least, though it did explain something she’d wondered about. “You meant for Lord Tilburn to realize the extent of your ability to keep an eye on him?”

  “Believe me, Daphne, if I had wanted my efforts to go unnoticed, they would have.”

  She shook her head and could not for a moment formulate a response. He’d embarrassed her on purpose. He’d likely driven James away and still remained entirely unrepentant about it. “You realize, don’t you, he’ll probably never come back.”

  Adam crossed his arms in front of him, his stance of choice when feeling particularly impatient. “If he is such a lily-livered, kitten-hearted coward, he is hardly worth your time.”

  Daphne returned Adam’s look of annoyance with a dry look of her own. “So I should turn my attention to the dozens of eager gentlemen waiting to take his place?”

  “You have admitted defeat before the Season has even begun. There will be dozens of gentlemen, though you obviously believe otherwise,” Persephone insisted.

  Adam’s expression only grew more cloudy.

  “How many gentlemen do you know, Persephone, who would endure this kind of treatment?”

  “I can think of one—he married our sister.” Persephone gave her a pointed look.

  “Harry is the universal exception to every rule,” Daphne said. “And he wasn’t Athena’s only option.”

  Persephone was undeterred. “Then let me suggest you wait and see if Lord Tilburn is every bit as exceptional as our dear Harry. If he comes back despite your well-meaning guardian’s tactics, that would be a very good sign. And I would, once again, insist you not decide before your Season even begins that you are going to be an abysmal failure.”

  Daphne nodded, recognizing her sister’s wisdom. They’d taken that approach often during the years they’d gone without the luxury of funds to cover even some of their most basic needs. “No use borrowing trouble” had been Daphne’s favorite version of their oft-repeated family motto. If a childhood spent in poverty had taught her anything, it was the sustaining power of seemingly naive optimism.

  So long as there remained a chance that James would come back, Daphne would allow herself to hope that tiny bit.

  And tiny it was, indeed. For James had shown no inclination to return.

  Chapter Six

  “The duke had me followed. And I am convinced his minions were armed.” The drive he’d taken with Miss Lancaster the day before remained uncomfortably fresh in his mind. “Those are not the actions of a gentleman who invited another to call on his sister-in-law, let alone court her.”

  Father sipped at his favorite sherry, not appearing terribly concerned. “One must bear in mind His Grace’s reputation.”

  “He threatened to eat my liver.”

  “No one would actually eat another person’s organs,” Father said.

  James couldn’t be so certain. He sank back in his chair. He hadn’t been enamored of this plan when Father had first presented it, and his discomfort had only grown. “You are certain His Grace wished for me to befriend Miss Lancaster?”

  Father nodded, setting aside his half-emptied glass. “He was quite specific.”

  That pulled the foundation out from under one of James’s theories regarding the duke’s behavior. Why, then, had he been made to feel so unwelcome? He was not
so foolish as to need further proof he ought not return.

  “I’ve called on Miss Lancaster and taken her for a ride in the park. I made introductions to every person we passed of whom I thought the duchess wouldn’t disapprove. Miss Lancaster will know a great many people when she next ventures out in Society. Surely that satisfies my obligation.” Simply saying as much out loud proved calming, reassuring.

  “I trust you are not so thickheaded as that,” Father said. Their previous conversation had been blessedly thinner on insults than usual. Today’s interaction seemed likely to run closer to normal. “A gentleman would do what you have even for a lady he had little interest in,” Father said. “You are supposed to be giving the impression she is an enjoyable companion, someone of whom Society ought to take notice.” He shook his head, brow creased in thought. “Deserting the field now would only add weight to the arguments against her social desirability.”

  James rubbed at the ache pounding in his temples. “I didn’t realize I was volunteering to single-handedly make her debut a success.”

  “Single-handedly?” Father raised his glass to his lips once more, shooting James a quizzical look.

  “Both times I called at Falstone House, no one else was there. Not a single soul beyond the family and staff.” James hadn’t yet made sense of that. “Honestly, I had expected a crowd of people all enlisted in the cause.”

  “His Grace was quite specific regarding when you were to call that first time,” Father said after a long moment’s silence. “I am certain he did the same with the other young people so as to keep a constant flow of visitors coming into the house.”

  “But if the point is to show the ton that Miss Lancaster is enjoying immediate success, what would be the point of visitors no one else sees? I doubt anyone beyond the staff knew of my arrival there on either occasion.”

  Father huffed. “Sometimes I despair of you ever becoming a gentleman of sense.”

  Yes. Here was the Father to whom James was accustomed. The coconspirator role had been rather ill-fitting from the beginning.

  “How do you think word of anything gets around Town, Tilburn? Servants spread news more reliably than the Times.”

  James didn’t know if it was his father’s criticism pricking at his pride or his own unease over their current endeavor that propelled him to argue with Father’s logic. “I can’t picture the Falstone staff gossiping. The duke would likely cut their tongues out if he caught them at it.”

  “It is not the servants you should be concerned with,” Father said. “The duke will not take kindly to you breaking your agreement with him.”

  “Your agreement.” James was not the one who had started this ordeal.

  “To which you are now party.”

  I am, indeed. His participation in the charade was as good as agreement to Father and His Grace’s scheme. He had rather committed himself to continue.

  Father tipped back the last drop of sherry in his glass. “What do you plan to do next?”

  James wasn’t at all sure. “Calling on her again in her home might be easily misinterpreted as a sign of serious intentions.”

  Father didn’t look overly worried, nor did he seem eager to offer advice.

  James searched his mind for some idea of his next step. “I have heard that the family is planning to attend the theater tomorrow evening. I thought I would look in at their box during the first intermission.”

  Father nodded his approval. “Public enough to help the girl out but commonplace enough to not commit yourself.”

  And early enough I can do my duty and be off before it grows too late. He meant to spend the evening with a few political chums and a handful of gentlemen he’d known at school. A night spent at his club with friends certainly sounded more pleasant than an evening watching the duke formulate new and creative ways to kill him.

  * * *

  James approached the Kielder theater box the next night to find something of a crowd.

  At last. The handful of the others His Grace had cajoled into acting as a friend to Miss Lancaster were finally making an appearance. They had not, however, actually entered the box. Odd, that.

  Mr. Hartford, a gentleman near James’s age, with whom he had a passing acquaintance, both having been at Oxford at the same time, stood at the back of the pack.

  “Is there a reason we are all gathered out here?” James asked.

  Mr. Hartford fussed with his gloves. “Because going in the box no longer seems like a wise thing to do.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Mr. Bartram went in first, and His Grace instructed the usher to throw him out.”

  James didn’t envy Mr. Bartram that experience. “That was likely a bit embarrassing.”

  “You misunderstand. Mr. Bartram was not to be asked to leave; he was to be thrown out. Literally thrown. Off the balcony.”

  Miss Artemis Lancaster’s earlier warning rang in his ears. The duke is not being dramatic when he makes these threats. And yet James doubted even the Duke of Kielder would throw a man to his death.

  “I will assume Mr. Bartram left on his own.”

  Hartford nodded, even as he tugged at his cravat. “Now nobody knows quite what to do. If anyone dares step inside, we might find ourselves in broken heaps on the floor below.”

  “Then why not leave?”

  “Mrs. Bower pointed out that coming this far and not making an appearance might be seen by His Grace as a slight to Miss Lancaster, and that could be disastrous as well.”

  Perhaps the necessity of enlisting James’s aid in Miss Lancaster’s Season had, in reality, been less about the young lady’s social struggles as it was about His Grace’s tendency to send any potential friends or suitors fleeing in fear for their lives.

  James was not, however, in a position to make a very welcome run for the hills. He’d committed himself, and His Grace knew it.

  He wove his way through the gathering of quaking individuals all the way to the door of the box and, to the obvious astonishment of those onlookers, stepped inside.

  “Good evening, Your Grace, Your Grace.” He made the appropriate bows and received the expected responses. “I saw your family was in attendance tonight and thought I would drop in.”

  “We are so pleased you did, Lord Tilburn,” the duchess said with her usual grace.

  “No, we’re not,” the duke said with his usual testiness.

  James allowed his gaze to drift to Miss Lancaster. He knew the moment she realized he was watching her. Color stole over her cheeks—not the practiced blushing so many young ladies in Society had perfected but the fiery, spotty color of one truly embarrassed by something. Despite his continued discomfort at being cajoled into pretending a friendship with her, James couldn’t help feeling bad for putting her to the blush.

  He offered a smile and an inclination of his head. She only blushed more deeply. To her credit, she didn’t turn and hide nor melt into a heap of embarrassment. She kept her place and offered a “Good evening.”

  “And a good evening to you.”

  The duke shot them all a look of unfettered annoyance. “I believe we have thoroughly established that the evening is a good one. Let us move past the polite posturing and on to the meaningless conversation.”

  Miss Lancaster’s color heightened significantly. It seemed the poor young lady needed rescuing from her brother-in-law as well as Society. James could certainly do that much. Father regularly intimidated Mother into fitful fretting. And Bennett was forever being tormented by their father as well. James had often been thrown into the role of rescuing knight. He was convinced he spent more time fixing his family’s various problems than he spent eating or sleeping. He stepped past the duke and duchess and made his way to Miss Lancaster’s side.

  “How have you enjoyed the opera?” She spoke quietly without looking up at him.

 
James opted to act as though she were entirely at ease with him, the ideal person with whom to have an unexceptional chat. That was his part, after all. “I confess the performers themselves seem a bit bored with the show, which makes it that much harder for the audience to not be, especially those of us who have no idea what any of them are saying.”

  “Do you mean to tell me you aren’t proficient in Italian?” Her tone was light, with no hint of criticism.

  “I don’t even know enough to be considered dismal at the language,” James said.

  The tiniest hint of a smile touched her face. James didn’t think he’d ever seen her truly smile. The realization made him worry. Was she mistreated, punished for her social disappointments? He hoped not. He sat in the vacant chair next to hers.

  “I am afraid, Lord Tilburn, I cannot say much more for my own abilities with Italian.” Her words carried that ever-present nervous quiver at the back of her voice. In a flash of clarity, James understood something about her. Miss Lancaster was shy, painfully so, if he didn’t miss his mark. Little wonder, then, they’d felt the need to coerce someone into calling on her. Still, she pressed on. “My lack of proficiency has led me to spend my evenings at the opera imagining my own translation of what is said between the performers.”

  “Invent it as the evening plods along?” It was a very entertaining solution to the situation. “And what has this evening’s selection been about, according to your translation?”

  “Well.” Her brow furrowed as she recounted in mock-serious tones. “The larger man with the dark hair, he is on a quest to ascertain the whereabouts of a misplaced Cornish pasty.”

  So unexpected was the remark that James laughed right out loud with enough volume to draw the attention of the nearby boxes as well as that of the duke and duchess. He bit his lips closed and held back the remainder of his laugh. “A Cornish pasty?” he repeated once his voice was under control again.

  “Not just any Cornish pasty. The most delicious Cornish pasty ever created, hence all of the weeping at the end of act 1.”