“You lied to her.” The duke’s words were tight, angry.
“I did.” He swallowed against the lump of regret and apprehension in his throat. “When your sister-in-law learned of my behavior, she put an end to our association, and rightly so. I am concerned that she will be blamed.”
“She is a young lady who was actively and publicly courted,” the duke said. “Every expectation was raised of a connection, and that courtship has ended. All of Society will blame her, and your perfidy will follow her, perhaps for years. My standing and influence will significantly lessen what she will endure, but even I cannot eliminate it entirely. She will suffer, and for that, Tilburn, I should run you through right here and now.”
“But you do not blame her? You won’t hold this debacle against her?” He cared too much for Daphne to allow her to be further injured if he could at all prevent it.
The duke pointed his dagger directly at James. “You risked your very life by confronting me in order to save her from mistreatment when you yourself are guilty of doing her an egregious injustice, of taking advantage of her good and kind heart, of subjecting her to the ridicule of an unforgiving Society?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Far from improving the duke’s opinion of him, James’s declaration seemed to annoy his interrogator further. “And what do you hope to gain by this? Do you think I will plead your case to Daphne?”
“No, sir. Not at all.”
The tension in His Grace’s countenance emphasized the massive scarring that marred his face. The web of badly healed skin pulled James’s attention despite himself.
Lieutenant Lancaster stepped around the desk, his gaze uncomfortably scrutinizing.
“I understand, Tilburn,” His Grace said, “that you have arranged for your mother to have a companion. Your brother’s financial position is relatively sound. Further, your father is withholding your income for the remainder of his pathetic life. Does that accurately sum up your situation?”
Surprised, James nodded once more. How had the duke come by such detailed information so quickly? He didn’t think all of those things were common knowledge.
“Might I suggest”—more than a hint of condescension colored the duke’s words—“when you are lord of your father’s estate, you consider the possibility of hiring a new steward? The man I sent had only to buy the gum-flapper two pints at the local ale house before he knew everything there was to know about you and your family.”
James sat in stunned silence. The duke’s servant had plied the Techney man of business with ale in order to ask prying questions? What else was the duke willing to do to accomplish his ends?
His Grace showed no outward signs of a guilty conscience over something that most would consider more than a touch underhanded. “If any member of my staff so much as discussed my morning meal preferences, I would dismiss him forthwith.” James would feel more at ease if he knew just what the duke’s intentions were toward him.
“What do you intend to do about your current financial state?”
Likely the duke knew precisely James’s plans, thanks to that drunkard of a servant. Honesty was decidedly the best approach. “I am looking to secure employment, perhaps as a gentleman’s secretary. I do have some experience in the political arena and could likely make myself useful. I mean to give it my very best effort, at least.” Lud, his voice hadn’t cracked so much since his Harrow days.
The duke folded his arms across his chest and leveled James with a look that made his heart thud to a stop. He knew instinctively they’d reached the point in the interview where his answers would directly impact the duke’s feelings about putting a painful period to James’s existence. “Why not marry a girl with a large dowry like every other pinch-fisted, worthless worm of the ton would do?” The duke’s scars grew more pronounced as his eyes narrowed and his mouth tightened. That did not bode well.
“Or better yet,” the lieutenant jumped in again, “simply fall in line once more with your father’s demands and hope he restores your income?”
The idea required no thought, no consideration. “I would rather be a pauper than puppet to a tyrant.”
“How does your father feel about your decision?” The duke’s tone had grown less mocking.
“My father’s opinions no longer matter to me.”
“Your father’s opinions have never mattered to anyone of sense,” the duke said. “You’re not likely to secure many comforts on a secretary’s salary.” The duke’s warning sounded decidedly halfhearted, as though he felt obligated to say something but would rather have seen James suffer unsuspectingly.
“If poverty is the price of integrity,” James said, “I am willing to pay it.”
“A very pretty speech.” The lieutenant could hardly have looked less sincere. “What are your current intentions in regard to Daphne?”
Did his intentions really matter? It wasn’t as though he had any options. “I do not mean to impose upon her. I only wished to make certain she was not blamed for this.”
The lieutenant’s eyes narrowed. “Then you had nothing to gain personally by coming here?”
They both studied him. The duke had not set down his dagger, and the lieutenant’s hand continued to rest on his scabbard.
The duke broke the heavy silence. “None of us blames Daphne for your stupidity.”
“Then she is well?” he asked, feeling his tension lessen.
The reassurance he expected did not come.
“She is well, isn’t she?”
They offered no confirmation. Every ounce of anxiety returned. Something was wrong with Daphne.
“Is she ill? Has something happened?”
“We will look after Daphne,” the duke said. He gestured with his dagger to the door. “Off with you.”
Lieutenant Lancaster moved to James’s side, obviously intent on seeing that he complied with the duke’s dismissal.
James sidestepped him. “What is wrong with Daphne?” Panic surged through him. What had happened to her? Was she injured?
“You do not have the right to use her Christian name, Lord Tilburn,” the lieutenant said, taking him firmly by the arm.
“What’s happened? Please—”
A hard shove forced him to stumble to the doorway.
“Consider yourself fortunate that neither the duke nor I acted upon our first impulse to simply shoot you on sight.” The lieutenant handed him over to a waiting footman. “Scurry off, Lord Tilburn. And forget you ever heard of Daphne Lancaster.”
The book room doors snapped shut as the footman, joined by the starchy butler, escorted him down the corridor and out of the house.
“Please,” he pled with the servants. “I only need to know that Miss Lancaster is well. Please.”
The front door closed firmly. He stood there facing it, worry filling every part of him.
“Please,” he continued pleading, though he stood there alone. “I need to know she is well. I need to.”
No one answered because no one was listening.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Daphne was doing her best to live her life as though nothing devastating had happened. She did not insist upon taking her meals on a tray in her room, neither did she seclude herself and refuse the company of her family. If she could pretend a degree of normalcy, eventually she might feel it.
She stepped into Adam’s book room at the usual hour for their afternoon appointment a mere four days after the disastrous picnic. He had been occupied at Lords the previous two days, but he was home today.
Over the past six years, these near-daily meetings had served as a healing balm. Adam had shown her personal, tender regard at times when she’d desperately needed it. Now, with her heart fractured and her soul heavy, she needed his loving kindness more than ever.
“Good afternoon,” she said from the doorway.
He glanced up from his desk. “Daphne.”
She stepped inside. Some of the tension she’d carried these last four days dissipated. Here she would find comfort, if only she could keep him to safe topics. “What shall we discuss today?” she asked as she crossed to the sofa. “Parliament? Society? The weather?”
Adam’s head turned toward the clock. “Is it that time again?” His was not the tone of enthusiasm she would have preferred.
“Yes. And you were not needed in Lords today.”
He had not risen from his desk, nor set aside his paperwork. Still, he sometimes spent their afternoon together working on business matters while she read. She would not object to that today.
“I can select a book,” she offered.
His next breath was loud and a touch impatient. “I don’t truly have time for this today, Daphne. I am meant to meet with a man about refurbishing the nursery here after we’ve left for Northumberland. I wish it to be finished and ready by the time we return.”
“You told me yesterday that you would set aside this time specifically for our afternoon together because it was the one day you didn’t have to be at Lords.”
He wrote something on the topmost paper on the stack before speaking again. “I cannot delay the start of this. The nursery is not at all ready for an infant. I will not risk having it unfinished when it is needed.”
She searched about for a means of reconciling the conflicting needs. “Do you have to meet with him just now? Cannot you delay even an hour?”
“He will be here any moment,” Adam said. “I thought, in fact, that he had arrived when you stepped in.”
He had, it seemed, forgotten about her. She pushed that aside, telling herself there was a different, less discouraging explanation. “I can sit in the corner with my book while you have your interview. I won’t disturb you.”
He set his forearms on the desk, interweaving his fingers. “We’ll have our afternoon discussion another day, Daphne. I need to see to the nursery. I have a responsibility to my child.” He spoke the final word with the same tone and expression of anxious awe he’d had anytime Persephone’s condition had been discussed the past few days.
“Of course. I would never ask you to neglect your obligations.” She moved in the direction of the door once more. “Tomorrow, perhaps?”
“Persephone and I intend to begin interviewing nursemaids.”
She pushed back her disappointment. “The day after?”
“I don’t know.” He offered a brief, apologetic smile.
“Another time, then.”
He nodded, even as his attention returned to his pile of papers.
Daphne stepped out into the corridor, telling herself not to be selfish or maudlin. This was hardly the first time Adam had needed to cancel an afternoon with her, but it stung more acutely than it had in the past. He had sent her away when she needed him so much.
Though she felt sorely tempted to tuck herself away in her bedchamber, she knew if she gave in to the impulse, she might never convince herself to come back out. She made her way instead to the family sitting room and stepped inside with head held high.
Linus stood beside Artemis at the mirror. The two looked shockingly alike, even to Daphne, who had long-since grown used to the green eyes and golden curls of three of her siblings.
Artemis adjusted the bow on the bonnet she wore.
“The milliner told me it was a fashionable bonnet.” Linus obviously wasn’t entirely certain he’d been told correctly.
“Fashionable, yes.” Artemis gave him a look of exasperation. “But is it devastating?”
“Devastating to whom?” The look of utter confusion on Linus’s face brought a smile to Daphne’s lips.
“To simply everyone.” Artemis tipped her head slightly in one direction, then the other. “A bonnet is supposed to turn heads.”
“It seems to be turning yours quite effortlessly,” he observed.
She spun toward him, fists propped on her hips. “Would you stop being a brother, please?”
“But if I am not your brother, I cannot in all propriety purchase you a bonnet.” He tsked and shook a finger at Artemis, his voice pitched precisely at the level a scolding dowager would use with a recalcitrant young lady. “A proper young lady would never allow a gentleman to purchase something so very personal for her unless he is a relative. Shameful, I say. Absolutely shameful! I shall simply have to toss it to the wolves.”
“You are impossible.” Artemis turned back to the mirror, obviously still deciding just how much she liked her brother’s offering.
“I daresay you don’t know a thing about bonnets.” Artemis clearly intended the observation to be a sore slight on her brother’s intelligence.
Linus chuckled lightly, earning a momentary glare from Artemis. “I am afraid I missed most of the bonnet classes onboard ship these past few years. I chose embroidery instead. Marvelous pastime.”
“What do you think, Daphne?” Artemis turned to face her.
“I am not particularly fond of embroidery, myself.” Daphne sat in a nearby chair. “Though Linus may very well be enamored of it.”
“I meant the bonnet.” Artemis shook her head. “This is far more enjoyable when Athena is here. She has absolutely impeccable taste.”
Linus gave her a stern look, something he didn’t often do. “Athena’s taste in headgear may be second to none, but my manners are generally considered beyond reproach, and I will tell you that debating the merits of a bonnet your brother has given you out of the goodness of his heart while that brother is standing next to you, no less, is horribly rude.”
Daphne could have predicted with remarkable accuracy what happened next. Artemis’s lip began to quiver. Tears formed immediately. Her feelings had ever been easily wounded.
“Time to begin a very careful dance, brother,” Daphne warned. “Artemis will be inconsolable otherwise.”
Linus patted Artemis’s hand. “I know you take bonnets very seriously, so I will take no offense at your very thorough evaluation of my offering.”
Artemis sniffled but nodded what was likely meant to be an indication of forgiveness. Still, she glided toward the windows and settled herself in a posture of suffering and sorrow.
“Inconsolable over a scolding?” Linus shook his head. “Artemis weeps for being gently corrected, and you have not shed a single tear even though—”
“Did you not bring me a frilly present?” Daphne would not listen to yet another retelling of her dashed hopes and blighted future. Her spirits were low enough already. “I should have my opportunity to primp and preen in front of a looking glass as well.”
Linus was undeterred. “Persephone said—”
“Only Artemis receives gifts now?” Daphne managed a sigh her sister would have been proud of. “You are a cruel brother indeed.”
Linus studied her a moment, wearing the same expression she’d seen on all her family’s faces again and again since she had fully retreated from the social whirl. Worry mingled with a sad kind of pity. Oh, how she wanted things back the way they had been. No one had expected her to be a raging success, but no one had seen her as an utter failure either.
“Your present is not frilly.” Linus, it seemed, meant to not press the issue. He pulled a small box from the pocket of his coat and gave it to her. “I think you will like it just the same.”
She couldn’t begin to guess what it might be. The box was too small to hold a book. The only other thing she might have hoped for was herbs. But no one ever thought to give her that.
Daphne opened the package, curiosity displacing her momentary resurgence of heartache. In time, she hoped she would not need such constant distraction.
“Oh, Linus. It is lovely.” She pulled a dainty hair comb from the box. The thin tines and body of the comb were made of a dark, lacquered wood. Or
namental leaves carved of a deep-green stone adorned the comb. She knew the leaves on sight. “Laurel.”
“I know you have not always been fond of laurels, yet I can’t help but think of you anytime I see them.” He looked almost apologetic. “Father’s love of mythology rubbed off on me, I daresay.”
Daphne ran her thumb over the smooth stone leaves. Her namesake’s myth had ever seemed a tragic one to her: an innocent girl pursued by one whose affections were not entirely honest transformed into a laurel tree to save her from her insincere suitor. What had once struck her as merely sad now seemed painfully fitting. Heavens, she was living her own myth.
“You don’t like it.” Linus’s disappointment pricked her heart.
“I love it,” she insisted. “It is so beautiful and unlike anything I’ve seen. Where did you find it? I’ve not come across anything like it in London.”
Relief touched his features. “I saw it in a market in Africa.”
“Africa?” That brought her gaze back to the comb.
“Yes, but the stone is jade, which comes from the Orient. The laurel motif, however, suggests it was carved in the Mediterranean.”
She looked up at him once more. “Quite the world traveler, isn’t it?”
He nodded and smiled at her. “The leaves made me think of you, but more than that even, I thought the bold colors would look very fine in your dark hair. Neither Artemis nor Athena could do justice to it.”
The praise touched her, likely more than he realized. “It is not often I compare favorably to those two.”
He put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “I think you’d be surprised.”
She leaned her head against his shoulder. The ever-teasing, often-neglectful Linus seemed to disappear a little more every time she saw him. He was growing into a fine man, one she often felt she did not know at all. “I will cherish this,” she said, meaning more than just the comb. “Thank you.”
“You can thank me by wearing it and thinking of me when you do.”
Romancing Daphne Page 22
