“I’ve sailed on clippers that did not have your speed.” Linus reached her side, though he seemed to have left his breath a few paces behind.
Daphne offered not the smallest bit of sympathy. “You were the one who suggested I needed a bit of exercise.”
“The idea was Adam’s. He should be the one sprinting after you.”
“Would you like to tell him so?” She raised a questioning eyebrow in what she knew was a perfect mimic of Adam’s well-known expression.
“Not on your life,” Linus answered. “And not because I’m afraid of him, but because he is right. You spend too much time alone, and when you do join the rest of us, you are too quiet and withdrawn. I do not like seeing you this way.”
“I have attempted to spend time with our formidable brother-in-law, but he is too busy. Persephone is quite distracted of late. Artemis never holds still long enough to serve as company to anyone of a more subdued disposition. And you, dearest brother, have been quite preoccupied as well, attempting to sort out your own decisions.” She would rather not hear another recounting of how very unhappy she must be and a moment-by-moment retelling of her “dashed hopes.” Making a show of being in better spirits seemed a wise strategy. “I will admit, however, that I have been a bit dreary of late. If I can find a means of blaming Artemis for my gloominess, I have every intention of doing so. I simply haven’t formulated a believable explanation yet.”
Her show of humor did not appear to impress him. He watched her as though he expected her to dissolve into a puddle of tears at any moment.
“If it will put your mind at ease, I will tell you this much, though if you breathe a word of it to Adam, I’ll skin you alive with a soup spoon.”
Linus laughed out loud. “You have lived under the Dangerous Duke’s roof far too long.”
Daphne found she could smile at that. “He has had an influence on me, I will confess.” They walked a moment in contented silence. “I am enjoying my rare moment outside, as Adam predicted I would.”
“He is almost as intelligent as he is fearsome,” Linus said.
“And he is coming this way.” Daphne motioned toward the figure of their frightening brother-in-law walking in their direction with his usual air of barely concealed bloodthirstiness. “If you have other things needing attending, I am certain he will see to it I complete my day’s exercise.”
A look of relief slid over his features. “Excellent. I will leave you to it, then.” He disappeared down the path before Daphne had a chance to say so much as one more word.
“Why is it that gentlemen can’t seem to abandon me fast enough?” she asked no one in particular.
She had been doing better. Resignation had very nearly given way to something resembling contentment. But then James had made his sudden appearance—a few words, a kindly glance—and she once again found herself in a battle against her own heart. She would wonder for just a moment if perhaps James’s most recent actions were indicative of some tender regard only to swiftly remind herself that she had misinterpreted his attentions in precisely that way before with disastrous results.
Self-pity had become a dangerous tendency of hers lately, one she would do well not to indulge. She rubbed a hand over the very spot on her arm where James had touched her two evenings before. That tiny contact had nearly brought her to tears.
She missed James. She missed the connection she’d thought they’d had, the tenderness she’d imagined in his eyes, the attentions she’d believed were sincere.
Adam arrived at her side in the next instant. “For all his show of being a rough-around-the-edges naval man, when it comes to dealing with the women of his family, Linus Lancaster is a blasted coward.” Adam motioned her ahead. “Now. Two more circuits, if you don’t mind.”
“Are you walking with me?” It was not the same as being granted an afternoon in his book room, but it was better than being left out entirely.
“No one else in this family can win a battle of the minds with you, so I suppose your well-being falls to me.” He motioned her ahead of him, back on the path that wove through the garden.
“Not even Persephone?”
“She could,” Adam answered. “But being the ideal husband I am, I mean to spare her that task.”
“How is she feeling?”
Adam shook his head. “None of your diversionary tactics. Persephone is not the topic at hand.”
They passed a rosebush, its fragrance strong, almost being overpowering.
“I am growing exceptionally weary of discussing my dashed hopes, Adam.”
He was unsympathetic. “I am growing weary of suffering through a daily tragedy of Shakespearean proportions.”
She eyed him sidelong. “You are expecting me to stab myself in the family crypt?”
“I will stab myself in the family crypt if I have to endure your infuriatingly calm resignation one day more.”
For all Daphne loved him, Adam was not always a comfort in one’s time of need. “Resignation? You would rather I weep inconsolably?”
“Yes.”
She smiled at the ridiculousness of that. “You wish me to turn into Artemis?”
Adam kept walking, his gaze decidedly not wandering in her direction. Daphne knew what came next. He always grew uncomfortable with personal conversations.
“You have retreated, Daphne. I find myself confronted once more with the little girl who came to live with me six years ago, who seldom spoke and rarely looked at anyone. I cannot like seeing this change in you.”
The comparison pricked at her. She felt like that little girl again in many ways. The confidence she’d gained in the past half-dozen years had crumbled more than a bit, as had the assurance that her timidity and comparative plainness weren’t the hindrance to happiness she’d once believed them to be. She was working very hard to keep the pain at bay.
A sudden commotion cut off whatever he meant to say next. People were rushing in and out of Westminster, voices raised in obvious panic.
“What the blazes is going on?” Adam muttered. He cupped her elbow with his hand and led her in that direction, eyeing the comings and goings. “Hartley.” He called out to his fellow duke. “What is all this commotion?”
His Grace turned toward them, and Daphne knew on the instant that something truly terrible had happened. “Perceval’s been shot in Commons.”
Merciful heavens.
“Is the Prime Minister dead?” Adam asked.
“No one seems to know for sure.” They were all moving very nearly at a run. “It is chaos. Utter chaos. Who knows how many others might be lying in wait with pistols at the ready.”
Assassins in the halls of Parliament? Daphne forced herself to breathe normally and keep calm.
“We must not allow this government to come to a standstill at the hands of murderers.” Adam twisted the handle of his walking stick a half turn in one direction followed by a full turn in the other and pulled an épée from within its wooden sheath. “Let’s go clear the corridors.”
“There might be any number of assassins inside, Adam.” Daphne’s stomach tied in knots.
“And I mean to see to it that number becomes zero.” He turned to the Duke of Hartley. “Where’s your man Tilburn?”
“Seeking information.” They’d nearly reached the crowd pressing in and out of the entrance to Westminster. “Tilburn!” the duke shouted, waving.
The sudden return of James Tilburn amidst the turmoil of an assassination at Westminster surprisingly didn’t fluster Daphne in the least. She felt more numb than anything else.
“I can’t seem to get a consistent answer to anything, Your Grace.” James addressed his employer. “All anyone can agree on is that Perceval was shot at close range.”
“Tilburn, take Daphne home.” Adam’s words emerged clipped and quick. “Directly to Falstone House. No stops along the w
ay.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
“And remain there until I arrive,” Adam added. “No matter the protests that house full of stubborn women will no doubt make, you stay there. Abandon them and I will scoop your brains from your skull with a ladle.”
“I’ll chain myself to the bannister if need be.” That earned James a brief smile from the Duke of Hartley but no notable reaction from Adam.
“Daphne, show Tilburn where the carriage is and return home posthaste.”
She nodded her agreement.
“And, James,” the Duke of Hartley jumped in quickly, “have one of the Falstone House footmen send word to my wife that I am well but will not be home until the mess here is sorted.”
“I will, Your Grace.”
“Be safe, Adam,” Daphne said.
“I always am.”
The two dukes strode into the crowd. Daphne summoned the cool head Adam had long ago taught her to maintain and led the way toward the Kielder carriage. “To Falstone House,” she instructed the coachman as James handed her inside.
Adam never employed anyone who wasn’t the absolute best at what he or she did. His coachman was no exception. The crush of traffic on the London streets and the added chaos associated with the news spreading out of Westminster proved not the slightest hindrance. The coach wound at a quick pace down road after road on its way home.
“Your sister does not seem the type to give in to hysterics,” James said, “but do you feel we ought to send for a physician?”
She shook her head. “Persephone is made of stronger stuff than that. We all are.”
Another moment passed in silence. “I truly had not intended to force my company upon you again, Miss Lancaster. If you would prefer, I will keep to the corridor or entryway at Falstone House.”
“As I said, Lord Tilburn, we are made of stronger stuff than that.” Her calm came easily now, as if the well of her emotions had finally run dry. “I won’t be bothered one way or the other.”
Chapter Thirty
As Daphne had predicted, the duchess remained remarkably calm, though concern did touch her features as the evening wore on. Miss Artemis paced about, waving her hands dramatically and, no doubt, making silent predictions of doom. Daphne showed no emotions whatsoever. James didn’t like it. The neutrality of her expression didn’t fit her in the least.
She sat near the front windows, though she kept her gaze on her sewing. James leaned against the window frame. Daphne did not outwardly acknowledge his presence, though she must have noticed him there.
He had no idea where to begin, how to break through the barrier between them. Something had to be said, however mundane and idiotic it might sound. “The tonic you had made for Mother worked wonders,” he said. “She was a vast deal more comfortable when she left for Lancashire.”
“I am pleased to hear it.” Still she kept her gaze elsewhere.
He inched closer. “Ben traveled to Northumberland. He is spending some time with your brother-in-law.”
“Harry told us about your brother’s visit in his last letter. He was quite looking forward to sharing all he has learned.” She spoke with very little animation, her voice quiet, her tone politely conversational and nothing more.
James had no intention of giving up. He pressed on with the topic, all the while searching his mind for subject matter that might draw her from her seclusion. “Mr. Windover will have an eager student in Ben.”
“I hope his time there will prove beneficial.” She actually looked at him. James worked to keep his expression neutral. Instinct told him Daphne was far more jumpy than she let on. He feared any overt show of enthusiasm would only push her further away.
“I know your brother has been very concerned about his estate,” she said.
“That concern has transformed into excitement since Mr. Windover’s invitation arrived. I have been acutely relieved to see it.”
She nodded slowly and without enthusiasm. The lady with whom he had shared his thoughts and worries had disappeared behind a stoic and impenetrable mask. He made no further attempts at conversation as the evening wore on. She clearly would not allow it.
Sounds of voices floated up from the entryway below not long after the ormolu clock on the mantel struck seven. The duchess was on her feet on the instant, her eyes glued to the door. Miss Artemis pressed her hand to her heart, watching the door as well. Daphne was clearly aware of the inevitability of someone’s entrance but didn’t seem anxious one way or the other. He was certain she was, but she didn’t permit it to show.
The door flew open, and the Duke of Kielder swept inside, his formidable gaze ranging the expanse of the room. “Is everyone here in one piece?” He eyed them all and, apparently satisfied with what he saw, gave a firm nod. “Good. I’ll be in my book room until dinner is ready.”
“Adam,” Her Grace said, stopping her husband in the instant before he turned back toward the still-open door.
He watched her in somewhat impatient anticipation. “I have to—”
“Adam Richard Boyce. You come over here this instant and assure me you are well and whole.”
Something of her concern must have penetrated his obviously distracted mind. He crossed to her. “You aren’t going to faint, are you?”
She took an audible breath and leaned in to him, wrapping her arms around him. He followed suit, holding his wife in a gentle embrace. James had never in all his life seen such a thing. His parents did their utmost to avoid each other’s company.
“Do you know, Persephone,” the duke said, “even after seven years of marriage, I am still shocked to realize you worry about me. No one else has ever bothered.”
“I wasn’t worried,” she whispered, though the quiver in her voice belied her words. “You have set our dinner back, and I am hungry, that’s all.”
The duke did something James could never have imagined. He smiled. Not a broad, eye-twinkling smile, not even enough of a smile to turn up both sides of his mouth, but the tiniest twitch of his lips.
“Never let it be said that the Dangerous Duke allowed his duchess to go hungry.” He pulled a little free of his wife’s embrace and slid his hands to her face. “Have dinner set out. I’ll join you and the girls just as soon as I’ve spoken with Tilburn.” He pressed a kiss to his wife’s forehead. “Will that wriggle me out of your black books?”
“For now,” she answered, lightness returning to her voice.
The duke nodded his approval, then turned toward James. “You. My book room. Now.”
James followed His Grace out of the sitting room and back to the very book room in which a selection of the Kielder armory had been laid out the last time he’d entered. The desktop on which it had lain was blessedly empty.
“Sit.”
James sat in the seat facing him only to immediately discover how very uncomfortable and low to the ground the seat he had been offered truly was. His head only barely sat higher than the desktop.
The duke’s expression remained stern. “Let me begin by saying that pressing you into service this evening is not to be taken as an indication of any level of approval on my part. Daphne needed to return home, and you were the most convenient means of accomplishing that.”
What could he do but nod? He was absolutely certain a vocal response would be dangerously unwelcome. The duke didn’t speak, neither did he look away. He simply watched James, eyes narrowed, mouth turned down.
The silence dragged on. Perhaps this was what was meant by the calm before the storm.
“Ah, Linus,” the duke said without looking away from him. “Come in.”
James watched the lieutenant’s ominous approach.
“You were warned not to return.” Lieutenant Lancaster spoke from a menacingly close distance, his eyes snapping with anger. “Onboard ship, we keelhaul men for ignoring orders.”
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br /> “Stand down, Linus,” the duke said, his voice as even as though he were attending to the well-being of a not particularly valuable horse. “You cannot keelhaul a man on dry land, and I will not tolerate idle threats.”
The lieutenant did not back away in the slightest. Though the duke had the more apocalyptic reputation, the navy man’s glare proved every bit as disconcerting. “It was not idle. I know a jaunty who’d be more than happy to oblige me.”
“Save that favor for another time,” the duke said. “I have asked Tilburn to be here. It is time, Linus, we did something about Daphne.”
James looked from one of them to the other and back. He was worried about how withdrawn she’d become. Was there more the matter with Daphne than that?
“Are you certain about this, Adam?” Lieutenant Lancaster asked.
The duke nodded. “You can keelhaul him later if this proves a poor strategy.”
“Do you promise?”
A ducal nod seemed to secure the lieutenant’s faith in the plan. “How familiar are you, Lord Tilburn, with the story of Daphne from Greek mythology?” A decidedly odd question for the lieutenant to pose without preamble.
“Not very,” James admitted. “Daphne was a nymph, and I believe someone turned her into a tree.”
The lieutenant nodded. He lowered himself into a chair near the duke. “That is generally all anyone remembers. My father was a scholar of all things Greek. He once said Daphne’s tale was the most tragic in all of mythology.”
“Even more tragic than Perseph—?” A quick glance at the duke silenced James’s question. His Grace would take any negative view of Persephone of old as a slight on his wife and likely himself. James reminded himself to keep his mouth shut.
Lieutenant Lancaster wove his fingers together, resting them in his lap. “My father believed Daphne’s suffering was entirely self-imposed. Knowing cupid’s arrow instigated Apollo’s pursuit of her and not the natural dictates of his heart, Daphne did not trust Apollo’s feelings for her.”
Snippets of his education came back. “But I seem to remember that cupid’s arrows created a permanent change,” James said. “Though the beginning may have been forced, the outcome was not temporary.” James could honestly say he’d never before discussed Greek philosophy outside of university.
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