“Hush, Artemis.” Persephone’s gaze never wavered from Daphne. “What is it you’re wanting to do?”
Daphne didn’t like how doubtful her sister sounded. Still, she needed to do something. “Not anything drastic,” she said. “I only want a little change, something simple I could try.”
“Oh, but there is nothing simple about it.” Artemis took hold of her arms just above the elbow, her gaze boring into Daphne’s. “A complete and utter change is absolutely necessary. A new wardrobe, a new coiffure, perhaps a touch of rouge.”
“Artemis Psyche Lancaster!” Persephone actually sounded shocked. Artemis’s antics seldom surprised any of them. “If you are so much as considering using face paints, I promise you that Adam and I will never let you out of this house—”
“Not for me, Persephone. For Daphne. She is the one with the complexion of snow.”
Daphne slumped in her chair. This was exactly the reason she’d come to Persephone for assistance and not Artemis.
Persephone chose to ignore their youngest sister. “What if we tried a new hairstyle? Perhaps even a different cut. It need not be drastically different. Merely a touch more—”
“Flattering,” Artemis said. “And fashionable.”
Meaning Daphne’s current style was unflattering and unfashionable. She preferred to think of it as practical. But practicality did not appear to be what a certain gentleman noticed in a young lady.
She generally wore her hair up in a simple knot at her neck. What precisely did Artemis have in mind? Certainly not the very short curls worn by some of the faster ladies of the ton. For one thing, Daphne’s hair did not curl. For another, she had no desire to connect herself in any way to the more scandalous in Society.
“Artemis, would you go look forlornly out the window again, please, and leave us to talk in peace?”
Artemis obliged but only after a look of utmost annoyance.
“Daphne.” Persephone possessed a knack for saying her name in such a way as to convey warning, firmness, and kind concern all in the space of two short syllables. “Why do you wish to undertake this change?”
“I have noticed other ladies wear different—”
“Daphne.” It was a gentle scold. “I didn’t ask about other ladies. I asked about you.”
Persephone always had been persistent.
“I am trying to be brave,” Daphne admitted. “The way I look now makes me blend in. I think I am ready to be noticed, at least a little.”
Persephone took her hands and squeezed them eagerly. “I am so pleased to hear this. You are so worthy of being noticed. I have waited so long for you to realize that about yourself.”
It wasn’t quite the realization she’d had.
Within an hour, Daphne was seated in a straight-backed chair, bidding farewell to the coiffure she had worn for four years. Persephone had not eaten lunch. She nibbled at nothing more substantial than a piece of toast while watching her maid very carefully snip and pull at Daphne’s hair.
“Taking off a little length will make a world of difference.” Artemis had been giddy to the point of giggles throughout the process, insisting she not be left out of the fun.
Daphne cringed as the sound of snipping shears echoed loudly behind her. She hoped “a little length” did not translate into something drastic.
In the corner, her maid and Artemis’s were busy altering two gowns of Artemis’s she had somehow been convinced to accept as her own, both a touch more fashionable than anything she’d worn before. A paisley shawl of Persephone’s lay waiting and ready on the dressing table.
“I cannot seem to convince her of the perfection of my yellow dress,” Artemis bemoaned.
“The one with the square neckline? It is a little brighter than Daphne is accustomed to.”
Daphne silently offered thanks for Persephone’s logic and rational influence. She wanted to garner some notice from James, not make a fool of herself.
“How does that look, Your Grace?” the abigail asked, stepping back from Daphne, allowing her mistress to inspect the results of her handiwork.
Persephone studied Daphne without rising from her seat or moving closer. She had seemed far more inclined to remain stationary of late. The energetic, ever-busy Persephone had given way to a seemingly worn and tired lady.
Daphne worried about the change. How she hoped it was a temporary and inconsequential one.
“I like it very much,” Persephone said. “It seems with some of the weight gone, her hair has a hint of a wave to it.”
Truly? Daphne reached up, running her fingers along her hair. The abigail held up a hand mirror, allowing Daphne to see the results of their efforts. Her hair did have the slightest bit of a wave—not truly curly but not so painfully straight either.
“More important than my opinion, what do you think?” Persephone asked.
Daphne wasn’t entirely certain. She’d never worn it any shorter than several inches down her back. The new length only came halfway between her chin and shoulders. “Are you certain it isn’t too short?”
“Not at all.” Persephone addressed her lady’s maid. “If you will pile it higher on her head, as opposed to low where she has been wearing it, and with a few wisps left free to frame her face, I believe she will look vastly pretty.”
Daphne wanted to believe her, but “vastly pretty” was not a phrase that had ever been used to describe her.
“Do not look so worried,” Persephone said. “Not only will the coiffure be flattering, but I also firmly believe Adam would vehemently object to it. And that is a very good sign. You may recall that he was quite upset when you first eschewed your braids and began wearing your hair up.”
Adam had stormed from the room in a rare taking the day she had debuted her new, more mature look. Persephone had explained his reaction as the result of his being unprepared for Daphne to grow up. So long as she still looked like a little girl, he could continue telling himself she was one.
Perhaps that was the true culprit behind Adam’s disapproval of James—he saw a serious suitor as inarguable evidence of her inevitable maturation. In time, Adam would learn to accept the change and would see how perfectly everything had worked out. Of course, first she had to discover why James had stopped coming to visit her.
Daphne watched in the mirror as her new coiffure took shape. It was more bold than she was accustomed to, yet she could not deny it was more flattering.
“Do you think . . . do you think a gentleman would find my hair pretty worn this way?”
Persephone took her hand and squeezed it gently. “I do think so. But remember, dearest, if that particular gentleman notices you only for your coiffure, he is hardly worth your notice.”
Daphne nodded. She understood Persephone’s warning but recognized her sister didn’t see the full extent of the difficulty. There is a reason gentlemen do not fall in love with the furniture. Though spoken with all the tact of a dreamy-eyed fifteen-year-old, the words had rung true in Daphne’s mind ever since they were uttered.
A wish to recapture James’s notice had first propelled her forward with this plan, but she found herself hoping even more that her new appearance would give her the measure of courage she’d been lacking of late.
* * *
“What the deuce is she wearing?” It was a forceful greeting even for Adam.
Persephone had only just led Daphne into Adam’s book room to bid him farewell. Somehow Daphne had been convinced to go shopping for a new wardrobe.
“Take a deep breath, dearest,” Persephone said. “Daphne looks lovely.”
“She looks . . . grown up,” he growled.
“She is grown up, you dolt.” Persephone pulled her gloves on. “We are off on a shopping expedition. I thought I had better warn you before the bills begin arriving.”
“What care I for bills? If you take her
out looking like that, every unattached male in London will be following her about like imbeciles. You can’t—” His fearsome brow furrowed further. “What have you done to her hair?”
“We cut it.”
“I don’t like it.”
Persephone shot Daphne a grin. “What did I tell you? A triumph!”
For the first time since asking for Persephone’s help to improve her appearance, Daphne began to feel more confident in the results.
“Have a good afternoon, my love.” Persephone stretched up to kiss Adam’s cheek. “We will be back with loads of boxes and a great many imbeciles in tow.”
Adam stomped toward the door. “I am coming with you.”
“Shopping?” Persephone sputtered.
“I will not have a repeat of Finley’s behavior. No one will dare speak an ill word to either of you if I am there.”
“An ill word?” Persephone moved to join him at the book room door. “No one will dare even breathe.”
“All the better.”
“No.” Persephone spoke firmly. “London is already quaking in its collective boots having seen the black looks you’ve tossed about lately, not to mention the very detailed threats you’ve issued. I will not have you sending all of Society fleeing to the countryside.”
“I care not where they flee to so long as they flee somewhere.”
Artemis popped into the doorway. “If Adam is going shopping, I should get to go as well. You know I adore spending hours and hours at shops.”
“Hours and hours, Adam,” Persephone said. “Hours. Of clothing and bonnets. Do I really need to force you to turn that down?”
Adam’s confused gaze moved to Daphne. “You agreed to this? You have never been interested in such frivolous things.”
Embarrassment heated her cheeks. Though she loved Adam dearly, she was not about to admit the real reason for her sudden interest in being fashionable. She wanted to be something other than a silent wallflower. She wanted to be noticed, a wish Adam would likely condemn.
“A necessary evil,” she told him. “Besides, you once told me that appearing confident is often all one needs to be taken seriously. I believe it is time I looked like I belong in Society rather than giving the impression of desperately wanting their approval.”
“Do not go begging for the approval of idiots, Daphne. They do not deserve to have that power over you.” He crossed back to her and set his hands on her upper arms. “Promise me you are not doing this out of any misplaced desire to fit Society’s definition of worth.”
“I simply wish for my appearance to reflect the person I am: mature, capable, and worthy of notice.”
He eyed her new hairstyle, his mouth turning down in disapproval. “What happened to that little girl who used to come sit with me in the afternoons?”
“I still sit with you,” she reminded him. “I did just yesterday, in fact. And Persephone has agreed not to make morning calls tomorrow so I can sit with you then as well.”
“Look at you. You grew up.” He shook his head and sighed. “I don’t like it.”
Dear, sweet Adam. Daphne wrapped her arms around him, hugging him fiercely.
As expected, he objected immediately. “Do not grow maudlin.” He disengaged himself from her embrace. “If you mean to empty my coffers at the shops, you had best get to it.” He shooed her away but called out to her as she reached the door. “If you should see Mr. Finley while you are out, have the coachman shoot him, compliments of the Duke of Kielder.”
“What if we should see Lord Techney?” Persephone asked.
“Same instructions.” Adam dropped into his armchair. “I am in the mood to vicariously shoot people today.”
Persephone laughed. “There’s the Adam we know and love.”
Chapter Fifteen
James walked arm in arm with his mother out to a chair set in the shade of an elm in the back gardens of the family’s London home. Her health had grown evermore uncertain since her arrival in Town. She was noticeably paler and hardly ventured from her private sitting room. James worried a great deal about her.
“This will be just the thing, Mother, you’ll see.” He saw her comfortably seated, then tucked a light blanket around her legs and lap.
“Lawn bowls?” Mother asked weakly, the smallest glimmer of curiosity in her eyes.
“Ben and I found the old set in the attics and thought we’d enjoy playing a game or two.”
“I am too ill to play,” Mother insisted.
James patted her hand. “I know. But we might prove entertaining, at least. You’re near enough to watch.”
Mother smiled at him with such gratitude. “I knew you would think of the perfect diversion.” She allowed the tiniest of heart-wrenching sighs. “I confess I have not at all enjoyed this trip to London. But I am trying to be optimistic, hoping you’ll think of a way to fix all this.”
“It is not so terrible as all that,” he insisted. “Miss Lancaster is a lovely person.”
“I can’t say I know enough of her to decide one way or the other.” Her earnest expression tugged at him. “I did not wish this for you, James. I know what it is to have that decision made by another. And I further know the unhappiness that comes of a marriage forced on two people who are not well suited. The late Lord Techney would hear no one’s objections. Not mine. Not your father’s. I had a dowry, and that was all that mattered at the time.”
James was well aware that his parents’ marriage had been arranged. He hadn’t realized, however, that they had both objected to it. Father had been forced by his father in order to secure money for the estate. James was being pushed into a courtship for the sake of social standing.
Billingsley stepped into the garden. He addressed Mother, as was proper, but spoke loudly enough for James to overhear, which was their established pattern. Visitors and crises and any questions of household management were always seen to by him.
“The Duchess of Kielder, Miss Lancaster, and Miss Artemis Lancaster to see you, my lady,” Billingsley announced.
James’s mind jumped into frantic action at that announcement. Mother, by some miracle, hadn’t lost her composure at the sudden arrival of the lady she believed had cost her son his happiness. James gave Ben a look meant to warn him to behave before nodding for the butler to show their guests in. He braced himself for the task ahead: keeping his family from making an already difficult situation even more so.
To his surprise, the ladies did not approach him. It seemed they had indeed come to see Mother. No one had called on her in the two weeks she’d been in Town. A visit from the Duchess of Kielder and her sisters would be a boon to anyone’s social standing but particularly so for someone with no cachet to begin with.
“I hope you will not find our unexpected visit an impertinence,” Miss Lancaster said to Mother. “Your health has been in my thoughts these past days. It is not unusual for a complaint of the throat to spread to the lungs as well, especially in the stale London air. Our apothecary here in Town swears by this particular species of mint for treating congestion of the lungs.” She held a small fabric pouch in one hand, a slip of paper in the other. “And I wrote out instructions for preparing a very effective tea.”
James stood closer to the duchess, near enough to send her a questioning look.
She answered quietly. “We called yesterday but were told Lady Techney was indisposed with a touch of congestion in her lungs. Daphne knows a great deal about medicinal herbs and brought a treatment she hopes will help.”
The gesture surprised him, though it should not have. It was hardly the first time Miss Lancaster had offered her help and kindness upon hearing of the troubled state of Mother’s health.
“Thank you, Miss Lancaster,” he said. “That is very thoughtful of you.”
“You are quite welcome.” As if uncomfortable focusing on any one person, him
self included, Miss Lancaster’s eyes drifted about, not seeming to look at anything in particular.
What must that be like? James had never been timid. That Miss Lancaster continually participated in Society and managed conversations further elevated James’s opinion of her.
He wished he knew how to set her more at ease. “That is a lovely shawl.” Ladies usually appreciated when a gentleman admired their attire.
A tiny smile appeared. “It is my sister’s.” She made the admission almost as if expecting him to withdraw the compliment.
“Nonetheless, it looks very fine on you.”
Her trademark blush made a reappearance but was accompanied by an actual smile. “Thank you.”
Miss Lancaster seemed remarkably easy to please—a kind word, a simple compliment. He liked that about her.
She glanced just behind him. “We hadn’t intended to interrupt your entire afternoon.”
The irony of her concern struck him in the next moment. She worried she was interrupting his day. If a gentleman truly was courting a lady, her presence wouldn’t be an interruption in the least. He was making a muddle of everything.
“Do you need to be on your way, or would you like to join us?” he asked.
She looked to her older sister and received a nod of encouragement. But even as he and Miss Lancaster walked toward the lawn game, she seemed unsure of her decision to stay. Was this more of her timidity, or had her hand been forced?
“If you do need to go, Miss Lancaster—”
But she shook her head. Her bonnet shifted about with the movement, and she straightened it with a quick nudge of her hand. “I am afraid I am often nervous with people I don’t know well.”
He had long since discovered that about her. “If it will put your mind at ease, my brother is about as threatening as a kitten. You’ve nothing to fear from him.”
“I have found him to be pleasant company during our brief conversations. I do realize I needn’t be nervous, but timidity is not always logical.” She seemed to rally her courage. “I am happily surprised the weather is pleasant enough to proceed. Such a thing is hardly guaranteed this time of year.”
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