“I will think of you even when I am not wearing it. And I will miss you.” Even if he resigned his commission and went to live in Shropshire, he would still be away, and she would be left behind. Loneliness had ever been her greatest struggle. She began to suspect it always would be.
She had pleaded with her father once, promising to be good and not disturb him if only he would allow her to sit with him in her office as he had once done. She had explained that she wished only to spend the day with him because she loved him. The sadness that had clouded his eyes hadn’t lifted as he’d told her to go make herself useful to her sister. She had been only nine years old that last time she’d asked to be granted his company. Years of being told to go had finally convinced her she wasn’t wanted. It was a feeling she continued to battle even now.
Persephone came in the room in the next moment. She’d been out making morning calls. Though she generally returned from her visits serene and rejuvenated, she looked just a touch harried. Her sweeping gaze took in the room and its occupants quickly and assessingly, a skill she’d perfected in her years as sole caregiver for her siblings. “That is a very fetching bonnet, Artemis,” she said.
Artemis dropped into a chair, a look of utter despondency cast at them.
Linus grinned. To Persephone, he explained. “She had hoped the bonnet would be ‘devastating.’”
Persephone looked her sister over once more before returning her attention to their brother. “She looks devastated, so I suppose that is a success.”
“Not exactly how I’d envisioned my gift being received, but I’ll take what I can.”
“Have any of you seen Adam?”
Persephone’s urgent tone fully captured Daphne’s attention. “Last I saw him he was in his book room,” she answered. “He was awaiting an important meeting with a tradesman.”
Persephone crossed directly to the bell pull and tugged. Locating her husband seemed no unimportant thing.
“Is something the matter?” Daphne asked.
“Quite possibly.”
Daphne felt the blood drain from her face. Had something happened? Had a complication arisen with Persephone’s condition? Linus’s thoughts must have traveled along the same path. He crossed directly to their oldest sister and took her arm in his, leading her to a nearby chair.
Persephone actually rolled her eyes. “There is nothing the matter with me.”
But the entire family had known her too long and too well to feel at all confident in that declaration. She had always put herself and her own needs last.
A footman stepped inside.
“Will you please take a message to His Grace in the book room and ask him to step in here a moment?” Persephone asked.
She received a deep bow of agreement.
An awkward and heavy silence descended on the room. Persephone was clearly lost in her own thoughts. Daphne kept a close eye on her, evaluating everything she saw. Her color seemed fine, if a touch high. The warmth of the day could account for that. Persephone had thinned some in the last few weeks, owing, no doubt, to her lost appetite. That, Daphne’s readings had assured her, would resolve itself in the weeks and months to come.
She exchanged looks with Linus. He appeared as confused and unsure of what to do as she was.
Several long minutes passed before Adam stepped into the room. His eyes fell on his wife, and the unmistakable look of love he always wore when first they found each other in a room slid across his face once more. But with it was a great deal of concern.
“What has happened?” he asked, sitting on the sofa beside her. “Are you unwell?”
Persephone shook her head. “Is everyone going to assume that for the next months?”
“Absolutely.” How very unrepentant Adam sounded.
“Lovely,” Persephone answered, her tone as dry as Adam’s often was. “This has nothing to do with me.”
“Then what is it?” Hopefully Adam would succeed in getting that question answered when no one else in the room had managed.
Persephone turned her head toward the windows. “Artemis, go put your bonnet away.”
Artemis’s mouth dropped open, her eyes wide with shocked horror. “Go put my bonnet away? Why can I not stay for your monumental confession? I want to know what the crisis is.”
“There is no crisis,” Persephone said. Then, cutting off the objections so clear on Artemis’s face, Persephone added, “And neither is there anything to discuss that has the slightest bit to do with you. So, please, go put your bonnet away.”
Artemis stood, jutting her chin out ominously, and pouted her way out of the room.
“Best of luck with that one, Adam,” Linus muttered.
“I plan to auction her off at Tattersall’s.” His eyes hadn’t left Persephone. “You, on the other hand, have me worried.”
She brushed her fingertips along the deep scars on his face. “I am perfectly well. My health is fine.” She lowered her a voice a bit. “This child seems perfectly fine as well.”
Adam kissed her fingers. “Then tell me what has upset you.”
“I had a very interesting visit with the Duchess of Hartley.”
“She upset you?”
Daphne didn’t believe that for a moment. The two duchesses got along famously.
“No,” Persephone said. “And, before you ask, the duke is also not the reason I am upset. At least not directly.” She took a breath, then squared a look at Adam. “His Grace has acquired a new secretary.”
That earned her confused looks all around. Why did the duke’s employee warrant such obvious displeasure on Persephone’s part?
“I will move forward on the assumption there is more,” Adam said.
“This new secretary just so happens to be a member of the aristocracy, one who by lucky chance met up with His Grace at their club yesterday afternoon.” Persephone gave Adam a very pointed look. That look was exchanged by Adam and Linus next. It seemed everyone knew precisely who this mysterious gentleman was but Daphne. “He struck up a conversation with the young lordling, and upon hearing he is in need of an income, His Grace hired him on. Their Graces even went so far as to invite him to stay with them, owing to his current state of pennilessness. It seems he is quite the hardest working, least complaining, most grateful person Their Graces have ever encountered.”
“Sounds . . . ideal,” Adam muttered.
Persephone hmphed. “It was all I could do not to demand to know his reason for coming within fifty yards of this family. Milworth House is but two doors down from here, you know. And he is now living there.”
Suddenly it all grew clear. James Tilburn was at the Duke of Hartley’s London home. They might easily run into one another without even meaning to. Daphne slowly, mindlessly lowered herself into a nearby chair. Confusion jumbled her every thought.
“I fully intend to storm Milworth House,” Persephone said in tones of utmost sincerity. “Broadswords, battle axes, crossbows, whichever weapon is nearest at hand. There will be bloodshed, Adam, and I will enjoy it.”
“I have never been more attracted to you than I am in this moment.” Adam’s eyes fairly danced with excitement. “Nevertheless, I will not have you going on a holy crusade in your condition.” Adam turned his attention to Linus. “Seems we underestimated the little termite.”
Despite all James had done to her, hearing him belittled and mocked that way upset her. Daphne hated that he yet had such a hold on her sensibilities.
Linus’s shoulders set in the determined and capable posture of a career navy man. “I will stand as your second, Adam, if that is what you mean to do.”
Daphne found her voice on the instant. “You promised me, Adam. You promised no challenges would be issued.” She’d pulled that promise from him within hours of her disappointment.
Adam assumed his ducal air. “I promised not to seek hi
m out and demand satisfaction. He has come here, within sight of my home and my family. I made no promises on that score.”
She ought to have encouraged the idea. Having James suffer even a fraction of what she had should have been cathartic. Yet the thought of anyone hurting James brought her no satisfaction. “I only wish the entire ordeal forgotten. The two of you breaking down the doors of the Duke of Hartley’s home will be whispered all about Town. It would only further fuel the gossip and whispers.”
“Really?” Linus sounded disappointed. “I’ve seen enough floggings during my career to know how to administer one.”
Daphne had heard of the severity of floggings, of the horrific pain inflicted that way. She shook her head. “No floggings, no challenges. Both of you, please, just let it be.”
She rose, making certain they saw in her determined expression that the subject was closed for discussion. No one objected until she’d reached the doorway.
“Can’t we at least have a few of the Falstone wolves brought here to nibble on him a little?” Linus asked.
For that she could give him a small smile. “I will take it into consideration.”
Once in the corridor, she stopped and leaned a moment against the wall, trying to regain her equilibrium. James was only two doors away. But why? Why would he abandon his own lodgings? His family home? And what was this about his needing employment, about his being penniless? Perhaps he had been in need of her dowry after all.
The others’ voices continued in the sitting room, loud enough for Daphne to hear their words.
“She is too blasted calm about all this,” Adam grumbled.
“A battle tactic you taught her, dear. And though I have not always agreed with you on that, the ability has served her well before. She has not crumbled when faced with Society, nor whispering gossips, and neither will she crumble now.”
I will not crumble now. She was becoming quite adept at pushing away the sting of rejection and disappointment. She simply refused to allow thoughts to creep in, dismissed every surge of painful emotions, suppressed every feeling, and was learning to fiercely guard every vulnerability. In time, nothing would hurt her again.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
James could not imagine anything more ludicrous. He was hiding in the shadows of a terrace, peering in windows. Further, he was trespassing on land that belonged to the one man in England guaranteed to shoot an interloper on sight. Once the Dangerous Duke realized the identity of his uninvited guest, he would likely shoot him again just for good measure.
Had James not grown somewhat desperate the last two days, the idea of pretending to be a sneak-thief would never have occurred to him. But how was a gentleman supposed to check on the well-being of the lady he cared for if she never left her highly fortified London home?
The duke’s family had finished their meal and retired to the sitting room. It was from that terrace that he watched them, watched her. She seemed well but not happy. The dimple he’d missed since they’d last met made not a single appearance. She seemed to listen politely to the conversations around her but never joined in. She didn’t pout or sulk, but neither did she smile or laugh.
James couldn’t determine simply by watching what might be the matter. The duke and the lieutenant had made quite clear something was wrong.
“What a pathetic lump you are,” he quietly castigated himself. “Reduced to spying on a lady you no longer have the right to speak to.”
Daphne rose from her seat and moved directly to the french doors. Had she seen him? Surely not. She would have told her brother-in-law or brother, and both men would have forcibly ejected him.
James kept to the dim corner of the terrace as Daphne stepped out. Perhaps she meant only to retreat for a bit of fresh air and would return none the wiser. But her steps rang of purpose. Her eyes searched the darkened terrace. He knew the moment she saw him there. Her posture grew stiff, her expression determined.
“Lord Tilburn,” she said. The lack of feeling in her words spoke volumes of her contempt for him. “I only stepped out to tell you that you would be well-advised to leave.” She turned swiftly toward the door.
In a panic, he grabbed her arm. An uncomfortable feeling flooded over him at that simple touch, not necessarily unpleasant but not soothing either. He had never reacted that way to her before—it was not the awkwardness of their earliest encounters nor the easy friendship of their last few days together but was a deep awareness of her presence there.
For the briefest moment, she seemed almost to relax. But then he felt her stiffen. He released her arm. He had no right to keep her there; he knew that. But he also knew he had only this one chance to say and see what he needed.
“May I have just a moment?” His words proved remarkably insufficient and sounded more than a little presumptuous.
Daphne stepped away from him.
“Please,” he tried again. What would he do if she refused to stay? Infiltrate the kitchen staff? Take up residence beneath her bedchamber window? “Please.”
Daphne paused just shy of the doorway. She did not turn around. He could see little beyond her outline contrasted against the light spilling out of the sitting room windows. She didn’t speak a word but simply stood very still. Was she waiting for him to say his piece? Would she offer him no indication of how or what she was feeling?
He hadn’t expected a warm welcome, by any means, but the chasm that separated them felt so foreign. She had always been easy to talk with and be near. Her presence had always been soothing.
“I—” What could he possibly say? I heard you were ill? I’m sorry? I am an imbecile? “How are you?” James winced, knowing instinctively the moment the words were said that he ought to have chosen something else.
Daphne didn’t move in the slightest. “You have no right to ask me that,” she whispered, more pain than anger in her voice.
He had not imagined he could feel more ashamed of himself than he had the last week. That simple sentence, said as it was in such a heartbreaking tone, proved him wrong. Would he ever manage to truly atone for his inexcusable behavior? She might never forgive him, but he needed to be certain she was well.
Daphne still had not walked away.
“I had heard you were ill,” he said.
“I am fine.” It was not at all convincing, coming in so small a voice.
“You do not sound fine.” He stepped closer, telling himself that he wished only to make certain she was well. If he was being honest, though, he wanted to prolong the moment, to see if she would stay a little longer, perhaps talk with him the way she once had.
“You need not be concerned with my well-being.” Daphne stepped closer to the wall, a little farther into the shadow.
“Not concerned?” He matched her movement, closing a little of the distance between them. “How could I not be? If you are truly—” For the first time since Daphne had stepped onto the terrace, James was able to truly see her. “You’re pale.” It seemed she really was ill.
A ghost of a smile hovered on her lips. “You say that as though being pale isn’t one of my defining characteristics.” Before she even finished speaking, the tiny hint of amusement in her countenance disappeared.
He stood close enough to reach out and touch her, something he found himself overwhelmingly compelled to do. “Daphne.” He brushed his fingers along the top of her arm.
She closed her eyes. No smile touched her lips. The lines of strain on her face did not lessen. If anything, his touch seemed to upset her more. The look of misery on her face hurt more than a full-voiced diatribe would have. James let his hand drop back to his side.
“It was not my intention to impose on you further,” he said. “I was concerned about you and wanted to be certain you were well.”
She looked up at him then. “Adam will kill you if he sees you here, and Linus will happily assist him.” He t
hought he detected the smallest bit of concern in her otherwise unreadable tone.
“I know.”
She slipped through a separate door at the far end of the terrace.
Several long moments passed. He couldn’t seem to pull himself away. He silently willed her to return, to speak to him again.
He hadn’t truly apologized for what he’d done, hadn’t made any semblance of peace with her. Though Daphne had insisted otherwise, James wasn’t convinced she was truly well.
Far from finding closure, he only missed her more. Regaining her friendship seemed all but impossible. She didn’t want him there—that much was clear. Likely, she wanted absolutely nothing to do with him.
Standing there in the shadows, James felt excruciatingly alone.
* * *
If Daphne knew one thing about gentlemen, it was that they were fundamentally confusing. She had pondered her brief and unusual conversation with James many times over the day and a half since their encounter on the terrace and still could not make heads nor tails of it.
He had been forced to court her, to feign interest in her. Why, then, would he knowingly place his life in peril simply to ascertain the state of her health? Such behavior served as rather convincing proof that women were not, in fact, the less logical of the sexes.
Realizing her thoughts had once again wandered to a subject upon which she had firmly told herself she would not waste further time, Daphne set herself to the task of making another turn about the small green in the shadow of Westminster. In an act of unforeseen underhandedness, Linus had enlisted Adam’s support in all but forcing her to spend the evening out of doors by insisting she and her brother come to Parliament to fetch him at the end of his day there. Daphne would rather have remained at Falstone House with her herbs and books.
She glanced over at Linus hurrying to catch up with her. “You insisted on this turn about the grounds; the least you could do is keep up,” she said.
The severe expression she kept up nearly slipped at his look of exasperation. The infuriating man deserved every ounce of trouble she was giving him.
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