She nodded. His words sobered her significantly. If he too had noted James’s inattentiveness, she had not imagined it. If only she knew the reason.
“There is something else I need you to do for me while I am gone.”
“Of course,” she said, grateful for the turn in topic.
“Take care of Persephone. I would never countenance the idea of leaving her behind if you were not with her. I know I can trust your judgment explicitly, especially as concerns her health.”
Daphne leaned her head against him. They’d sat in just that way many times over the last half dozen years, both in this book room and in his library at Falstone Castle. He was not quite the affectionate brother Evander had been, but he was far more the attentive father her own had failed to be. “I will see to it that she takes care of herself.”
“And take care of yourself as well.”
She promised she would.
“And”—an almost humorous degree of reluctant resignation entered his face and voice—“spend some time with that lordling you’re so fond of. Part of me hopes my concerns are entirely unfounded.”
Daphne smiled. “I hope they are as well. It would be nice to know you aren’t the only gentleman of my acquaintance worth knowing.”
“I will tell your brother your low opinion of him,” Adam said, standing once more.
“Linus will simply laugh.” She knew it to be true. “In fairness to him and to Harry, they both fit that mold as well.”
“I imagine your father did also before his mind slipped away.” Adam hadn’t known Father during his more lucid years. Daphne herself had only a small number of memories from the time before he began shutting them all out.
She remembered little but snatches, moments frozen in time. One common thread ran through them all. She clearly recalled her father smiling—not smiling in general, smiling at her. He would sit at his desk, studying one Greek philosopher or another, and she would sit on his lap, pretending to read as well. He would often stop his studies to tell her about the gods and goddesses who had so wholly fascinated him all of his life.
She’d been too young to still remember the details of the stories he’d told her, but she recalled with perfect clarity the feeling of being held by him and the safety she’d found there. Her father had once been a source of love and reassurance in her life. But that had been long ago, before he had grown unreachably distant. Before Daphne’s siblings had been consumed by the necessities of survival. Their departures, whether intentional or not, whether of a physical nature or an emotional one, had splintered her heart one crack at a time. Even now, despite years spent within the stable sphere of Adam’s life and home, she never entirely escaped the anxious anticipation of yet another person she loved turning her away.
Chapter Seventeen
James entered Lord and Lady Percival Farr’s ballroom with a vast deal more confidence than he had felt since being made to undertake his courtship of Miss Lancaster. For one thing, all of London was abuzz with the news that the Duke of Kielder had left town for the wilds of Shropshire, lending an air of relief and relative safety to the various gatherings of the ton. Secondly, he had enjoyed Miss Lancaster’s company enough during their previous encounters to find himself looking quite forward to her company once again.
“Tilburn.”
James turned at the sound of Father’s voice. He stood in a small group to one side of the ballroom, Miss Lancaster and the duchess included. Father beckoned him over.
“We have been discussing the issues of the day.” Father held his head at that smug angle he always employed when finding himself the center of attention. Growing up seeing that stance, James had ever been careful not to mimic it.
“Politics, Father? At a ball?”
An iciness entered Father’s expression, though probably apparent only to James. Father did not countenance being corrected, especially in the presence of others.
“I do not believe the topic offended anyone.” Father glanced around the group.
Mr. and Mrs. Fillmore, who lived very near Techney Manor in Lancashire, recognized the cue, no doubt from their extensive familiarity with it. The Fillmores were more devoted to Father than the rambunctious mutt of Mother’s was to James. Their place in Society did not equal that of an earl, even one of relatively minor importance, and thus they did not receive invitations to all the events Father did during the Season, but when they did find themselves in his company, they fawned on him. “Of course we weren’t offended,” Mrs. Fillmore offered quickly.
“’Twas fascinating.” Mr. Fillmore nodded, apparently for emphasis, then added like a good hanger-on ought, “As always, my lord.”
Father looked quite satisfied. “It seems the topic has not proven distasteful after all.”
James held back the observation that both the duchess and Miss Lancaster had not offered their opinions.
“It seems to me a great many changes are needed in our nation just now,” Father said.
As Father pontificated, James stepped closer to Miss Lancaster. “How long has he been holding court?” he whispered.
“Long enough for the majority of his audience to make covert exits.”
“And you have remained because . . . ?”
“Because we were unwise enough to place ourselves too close for our departure to go unnoticed.”
For some reason, James felt like smiling every time he caught the slightest glimpse of Miss Lancaster’s dimple. It was not the only thing about her that captured his attention in that moment. Her hair was different, softer. It did not pull backward with the same tension as it once had. A few tendrils had even been left loose. That was likely an odd thing for a gentleman to notice, and he could not say with any certainty why he had.
“You’ve changed your hair,” he said.
Her nod was small, uncertain, and an easily distinguishable question hung in her eyes.
“I like it very much,” he said.
Her thank-you was quiet but sincere. She looked as though she was about to say something more, but Father interrupted. “And you, Miss Lancaster? Do you agree?”
“Agree with what, precisely, Lord Techney?” Her color heightened.
James lightly rested his hand on the back of her arm, hoping she recognized the gesture as the offer of support he intended it to be. Something about the contact proved comforting to him as well.
“We were discussing the need during these tumultuous times in our nation for greater responsibility amongst the citizenry,” Father said.
“And amongst the government,” Miss Lancaster added.
“How do you mean?” Father clearly hadn’t been expecting anything beyond a blanket acceptance of his position.
Miss Lancaster only shook her head. She seemed to inch closer to James.
“Father—”
“I would like to hear what she means,” Father cut across him. “Do you feel the government is being irresponsible, Miss Lancaster? Perhaps you are unaware of the many issues Parliament is even now addressing, the crucial votes which are being cast.”
James inwardly winced at his father’s condescending tone. The family was often the recipient of such treatment from Father, leaving Mother in tears, Ben in hurt silence, and James increasingly frustrated at his inability to shield those he cared for from Father’s coldness.
Miss Lancaster spoke again, her voice no louder than before. “My ignorance, Lord Techney, is not so great that I do not realize those crucial decisions to which you refer are made only by those members of Parliament who bother to be present when the votes are being cast. Many are here in Town but feel their time is better spent on pleasure jaunts and social matters.”
A palpable hit, to be sure. Father hadn’t attended Lords in some weeks and not consistently before then. Many votes of importance were cast without him.
For once, Father seemed at a loss.
The duchess, however, appeared quite pleased. “Lord Tilburn,” Her Grace said, “would you be so good as to escort my sister and I to those chairs on the other side of the drawing room? I feel the need to sit . . . over there.”
“I would be honored to escort you both.”
Her Grace allowed not the slightest hint of a smile. “How very responsible of you.”
James was old enough to vaguely remember the gossip surrounding the Duke and Duchess of Kielder’s marriage. Most of Society could not comprehend what had brought the two together. James could understand something of what His Grace saw in his wife—an intelligent, capable woman with an admirable degree of backbone.
“Will this do?” James asked when they reached a small cluster of chairs at the opposite end of the drawing room.
“Perfectly,” the duchess replied. She sat, her posture ever so slightly slumped, as though she was particularly tired.
Miss Lancaster hesitated. “I hope I did not offend your father.” She looked concerned. “I am accustomed to debating with Adam, who prefers directness to diplomacy.”
“Allow me to worry about my father. I believe your sister would appreciate your attention.”
The distress did not leave Miss Lancaster’s expression. She turned enough to speak privately with him. “Persephone has seemed a touch unwell for a few days now. Without Adam here to look after her, I worry she will overtax herself.”
“You need only tell me if she requires anything.”
She smiled up at him. “Thank you.”
He indicated she should take the seat beside her sister. “Has your prodigal brother made an appearance yet?” he asked.
“Sadly, no. Adam paid a call on the admiralty before leaving for Shropshire. We could hear the weeping all the way at Grosvenor Square.”
“Weeping?” James took the empty seat beside Miss Lancaster. “I would never have guessed His Grace was the weeping type.”
Both Miss Lancaster and her sister grinned at that.
James spoke to the duchess next. “I have heard a great deal about your absent lieutenant.”
“If you happen to see a great deal of our lieutenant, or even a mere glimpse, do let me know,” Her Grace answered. “He has me tied in absolute knots.”
“I will keep a weather eye out, Your Grace. It sounds to me as though the duke has enlisted the highest of help.”
The duchess smiled fondly. “Adam does know how to get things done.”
They all looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps. James rose to his feet. “Good evening, Mrs. Bower, Miss Bower.”
They offered curtsies and he the expected small bow. “Your Grace, are you acquainted with the Bowers?”
“I am,” she replied. “A pleasure to see you both again.”
James had first made the Bowers’s acquaintance two Seasons earlier when the oldest Bower daughter had made her debut. Fortunately for him, she had set her sights on the younger son of a marquess and he’d not needed to maneuver his way out of the reach of her mother’s ambitions. He didn’t yet know the intentions of the younger Miss Bower.
“Our most sincere apologies, Your Grace,” Mrs. Bower said, “but we have come in an attempt to deprive you of your company.” She turned a bright smile on James. “Many of the other ladies have realized that you, Lord Tilburn, have not yet danced this evening.”
She subtly inched her daughter farther forward. If Miss Bower shared at all her older sister’s selfish nature or her mother’s lack of social discernment, James meant to do all he could to make certain she did not rest her matrimonial hopes on him. “I have spent the last few sets speaking with my family and with the duchess and her sister,” James said. “I believe that is time well spent.”
“Well, yes. Yes, of course.” Mrs. Bower gave her daughter another nudge, this one better understood.
Miss Bower smiled at him coyly. “You do mean to dance, though, do you not? This is a ball, after all.”
“I do not wish to be rude.” Good heavens, how do I get out of this?
“Then you will dance?” No one would ever accuse Mrs. Bower of being demure.
“I—There isn’t—I—”
“Lord Tilburn is engaged for this next set,” Miss Lancaster said quite without warning. “His good nature prevents him from refusing your invitation outright, but his integrity prevents him from not keeping his commitment. Can you not see what an impossible situation he finds himself in?”
The Bowers stared at her in surprise. For his part, James could have hugged her. She’d offered him the escape he’d not thought of on his own. A brilliant bit of counterstrategy.
“With whom are you dancing?” Miss Bower found her voice again quickly enough.
“I am promised to Miss Lancaster.” He did not wish to force her into dancing with him if she chose not to. He had imposed upon her enough. “Whether we will join in the dancing or simply continue our very diverting conversation, I leave for her to decide. In either case, I am unavailable for the next set.”
He held his arm out to Miss Lancaster, and she, sharp as always, slipped her arm through his as if about to take a turn about the room in anticipation of the beginning of a set.
“I do apologize,” James added, not wishing to be rude despite the growing giddiness of having escaped the woman’s very obvious machinations.
“Promise Cynthia the set after next, and all will be forgiven.” Mrs. Bower’s grin turned triumphant.
“Actually,” the duchess spoke across whatever Mrs. Bower meant to add, “before your arrival, I had been on the verge of asking Lord Tilburn if he would be so good as to see that our carriage was called up. I am not feeling particularly well.”
Miss Lancaster’s attention turned immediately to her sister. She slipped her arm free of his to give the duchess a closer examination. Her Grace’s coloring had dropped off noticeably.
“I will have your carriage brought around with all haste.”
“It seems, Mrs. Bower,” the duchess continued, “we are to deprive you of your company rather than the other way around. I hope you will forgive us.”
“You will return and dance after calling the carriage, I hope.” Mrs. Bower was not one to give up her cause easily. If she and Father ever joined forces, they could wreak havoc across continents. “Any number of young ladies are quite counting on you.”
She motioned to a group gathered not many paces removed. Young ladies and their mothers, every last one of them. James had never wanted for willing dance partners at any ball, though he had never been particularly in the market for any.
Mrs. Bower smiled. Miss Bower smiled. The crowd nearby smiled. James, however, held his hand out to the Duchess of Kielder, helping her rise to her feet. He wove her arm through his. Miss Lancaster set her hand beneath her sister’s other elbow.
“I am not an invalid,” Her Grace objected.
Miss Lancaster dropped her hands away, leaving only James to assist the duchess. Their eyes met. He offered a smile, hoping her sister’s rebuke, however quietly made, hadn’t wounded her. She did look a bit disappointed but not truly hurt.
“I believe we should be on our way,” Miss Lancaster said.
“Let it never be said I failed to recognize a damsel in distress,” James said.
No sooner had they reached the anteroom than Her Grace spoke up. “While I will admit I am not feigning my current less-than-desirable state of health, I will say that I think it a bit much to deem me a damsel in distress, or Daphne, for that matter.”
“You misunderstand, Your Grace. I was referring to myself.”
She swatted at him playfully, if weakly.
He led her to a chair in the entryway, leaving Miss Lancaster at her side as he instructed Lord Percival’s servants to call up the Kielder carriage.
“I am well aware that you hardly need me to do so
,” he said to the ladies, “but I would appreciate if you allowed me to accompany you home. It will set my mind at ease, especially knowing His Grace is not in residence.”
“And also allow you to avoid doing the pretty at this ball,” Miss Lancaster added with a laugh in her voice.
“Two birds, one stone.”
“I will accept your offer most gratefully, Lord Tilburn,” the duchess said. “And I thank you for it.”
“You are most welcome, Your Grace.” He was very seldom thanked for his efforts. He found the experience a wonderfully novel one.
Chapter Eighteen
By the time they reached home, Persephone appeared very nearly done in. Her complaints were of a vague nature: malaise, fatigue, a gnawing but not urgent hint of nausea. Not knowing the source of her sister’s illness, Daphne struggled to recommend a tisane or tonic to ease her suffering. In the end, she instructed Cook to prepare a ginger tea to settle Persephone’s stomach and charged Persephone’s abigail with laying a rag ever so slightly damp with warm lavender water across Persephone’s shoulders to help her relax and, Daphne hoped, sleep.
The next morning, by virtue of Artemis being in Shropshire, likely locked up in whatever makeshift version of a dungeon Adam had managed to scrounge up, and Persephone being yet asleep, thank the heavens, Daphne found herself walking about a small fenced square several blocks from their London residence, with only Fanny, the maid Adam always assigned to accompany his wife and his sisters-in-law on any and every excursion, along for company.
“You’ll forgive me if I’m speaking out of turn, Miss,” Fanny said but a few minutes into their sojourn at the park, “but that appears to be young Lord Tilburn up the path a bit.”
It was indeed James. Techney House did not sit in this square, but young gentlemen often had rooms of their own away from the family home. Did he live near here, then?
I should go bid him good morning. Surely he would welcome my company.
Or was she simply being inexcusably presumptuous? Some of her most difficult memories were of dismissals like the one she feared awaited her up ahead.
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