“Here is our proposition for you, Lord Tilburn. Your father’s efforts have made it imperative that you not, in fact, earn your living lest Society see this as confirmation of his lies.”
“I have nothing to live on if I do not—”
The lieutenant cut him off with a look. “In the eyes of the ton, you must not be seen to be working for your keep. The actual truth of the matter could, in fact, be quite the opposite. In deference to my sister’s declaration of trust, I am offering you the position of estate manager on my family estate in Shropshire.”
James could only stare. Without references, without an interview, he had been given a position? An income?
“It would not be presented as such, however,” the lieutenant said. “We would put it about that the estate needed greater supervision, and the Duke of Kielder, knowing you to be competent, has asked that you oversee it. He has much greater cachet in Society than I do. Were he seen to be showing trust in you, that would go a long way toward establishing your honorable nature. You would have use of the manor house, its upkeep being provided through the estate. In lieu of a specific income, you would receive a percentage of the estate’s profits. Such is an acceptable arrangement for a gentleman in the eyes of Society.”
“I do not know how to even begin thanking you.” Overwhelming gratitude rendered his words nearly unintelligible.
“You can thank me by not running the estate into the ground.” The smallest hint of humor entered the lieutenant’s tone. James had a feeling the naval man was not usually as stern as he had known him to be. Obviously he loved his sister a great deal and understandably struggled to forgive the man who had hurt her.
“I will run it with as much care as I would my own lands,” James said.
The lieutenant nodded, apparently satisfied.
His Grace once more took control of the discussion. “That should address the issue of your pennilessness and should do much to quiet the speculation about your gambling debts and general lack of responsibility. We still, however, must address your father’s comments about your treatment of innocent ladies.”
“You’ve done so much already, I could not possibly—”
“This family does nothing halfway,” His Grace insisted. “If Daphne has not tossed you out on your head yet, we are willing to stand by you.”
His shock only continued to grow. He had never in all his life experienced such a show of support, especially from a family to which he had no claim and whom he had wronged so entirely. “Again, I thank you.”
The duke leaned back in his chair, a contemplative expression on his face. “If your father were to receive an invitation to join us here at Falstone House, do you think he would be of a mind to accept?”
Father, turn down an invitation from Society’s elite? No chance of that. “He would accept without hesitation.”
“Perfect.” The duke smiled in unholy triumph, and James felt the slightest twinge of apprehension on Father’s behalf.
“What are you two planning?” Daphne sounded more intrigued than concerned.
“Let us just say,” the duke replied, “that this is one performance Harry will never forgive himself for missing.”
“Oh dear.” Daphne’s laugh brought a smile to James’s face.
“Now, out, both of you,” the duke ordered. “Linus and I have a few details to work out.”
In the face of such a pointed dismissal, there was nothing to do but leave. James stepped into the corridor behind Daphne and walked beside her as she moved away from the book room. He owed her such an enormous debt of gratitude that he felt entirely unable to express himself.
She spoke first. “I know the look I just saw on my brother-in-law’s face. It is precisely the expression he wears when his least favorite cousin comes to stay. Your father is to be woefully mistreated, it seems.”
“Would you think me a black-hearted villain if I said I hope that proves true?”
“Adam will not disappoint you on that score.” Lud, he loved her smile.
“I know full well that he would not be supporting me without your vote of confidence—a gesture on your part that I neither expected nor deserve. I cannot begin to tell you how humbled and indebted I am.”
She did not look at him, though he could see a bit of color touch her cheeks. “I certainly hope I am not so shortsighted as to refuse to acknowledge your virtues simply because you did not conveniently fall top-over-tail in love with me.”
Her attempt at an unaffected expression fell noticeably short of the mark. He could see the lingering pain in her eyes that his one-time disregard had caused.
“Daphne, I—”
“My family and I put every ounce of strength we had into our home during our years of poverty,” she rushed on, cutting across his words. “The land and tenants deserve to be cared for and cared about.”
“I promise to do my very best for them, but—”
“I am certain you will be given a great many tasks to prepare for your father’s arrival. I won’t keep you from it.” Daphne quickened her pace, throwing a glance back over her shoulder as she reached the stairs leading up to the family’s quarters. “Good day.”
He watched her disappear up the steps. “Good day,” he quietly replied.
Despite his awkward leave-taking and her conviction that he did not care for her, some progress had been made. She trusted him, at least a little. And somehow, he’d begrudgingly won the support of her brother and brother-in-law.
Beyond that, she had let him hold her, even kiss her. It had been brief, almost to the point of nonexistence, but it was, without question, reason enough to hope.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The next evening, Fanny motioned James aside in the corridor. She was the chambermaid who had accompanied James and Daphne on their memorable ride through Hyde Park. She held an impressive handful of deepest-red roses.
“Miss Daphne prefers the red roses,” Fanny whispered, her eyes darting about the corridor as if she were sharing a great national secret and feared being found out. “These’re the reddest we have, I’d wager.”
Fanny had taken a great interest in his rather pathetic romantic endeavors, asking after his success whenever they crossed paths. She had a crookedly endearing smile and an infectious enthusiasm James had grown quickly fond of.
Though the flowers were beautiful, their fragrance filling the air, James couldn’t like the idea of Fanny’s getting in trouble for taking them. “Will you be scolded for this?” he asked.
She shook her head confidently. “M’ uncle is the groundskeeper here at the London house. He knows all about you courting our Miss Daphne. We’re all cheering for you, in fact. Such a quiet, sweet thing, Miss Daphne. She deserves a good man who loves her.”
James took the bouquet with a smile of gratitude. “Perhaps if the rest of the staff would rally behind me and drop a few kind words in Miss Lancaster’s ear about how worthy and good I am.”
Fanny laughed, her smile turning evermore lopsided. “We’ll do that, Lord Tilburn.”
He smiled, touched by her support. “Wish me luck.”
“I’ll do even better,” she said. “I’ll pray.”
As he reached the corridor that led to the drawing room, James decided Fanny must have been praying for all she was worth. The lady who had occupied his every waking thought stood at the head of the enormous grand staircase. She smiled when she saw him.
“You look exceptionally happy this evening,” he said.
“This promises to be an enjoyable evening.” Her eyes strayed repeatedly during the brief reply to the small bouquet in his hand. James recognized a hopeful expression when he saw one.
He offered her the flowers with as much gallantry as he could without being ridiculous.
“I know these roses. You’ve been pilfering the grounds?”
Ah, that lovely dimple
of hers! “It seems the groundskeeper likes me. He allowed me to bring these to you.”
They walked beside one another, neither speaking, though the silence was not awkward. A natural, easy smile touched Daphne’s lips as she breathed deep the roses’ fragrance. James simply watched her, pleased that she appeared less somber than she so often did. If mere flowers could have such a happy effect, he told himself he’d find a way to bring her an offering regularly.
James slipped his hand around hers and lifted her hand to his lips. “I have missed you,” he whispered.
She looked quite convinced he was teasing her. “Since breakfast this morning?”
“Is it so strange to miss someone after such a short separation?” he asked.
“If that someone is me, yes.”
James held up his index finger in warning. “Daphne. Do I need to pull you in front of a mirror again?”
“I have thought back on that conversation.”
He could not tell by her expression whether those recollections had been pleasant ones.
“Did you mean what you said about continuing your courtship because you wished to and not merely because you were forced?”
His Daphne was standing on the proverbial riverbank, debating whether to accept the river god’s escape or turn and attempt to trust her Apollo. Theirs was a tenuous connection, the thinnest, most fragile of threads.
“I meant it with utmost sincerity,” he told her. “I liked you from the first, and that liking grew to affection. Soon that affection deepened to a tenderness I have never felt for another person in all my life. In time, my dearest Daphne, I hope you can come to trust the truth of that.”
They reached the doors to the drawing room, and James released her hand and motioned for her to precede him.
Daphne looked at him with uncertainty as she passed. Beneath that bewilderment, however, was a reassuring hint of hope.
Miss Artemis’s voice rang through the drawing room. “Are you absolutely certain I cannot pretend to die?” she asked with something akin to desperation. “Or at least swoon? I am particularly adept at feigning a swoon.”
“No such display will be required this evening,” the duchess said.
James happened to meet the duke’s eyes in that moment and caught in them a look of amusement that would not have seemed so foreign on any other gentleman. He had always suspected the duke cared a great deal for Daphne but, until that moment, hadn’t realized he had a fondness for his youngest sister-in-law as well.
“Your father accepted our invitation almost before we issued it,” His Grace said with a twist of his mouth.
“I do not find that particularly surprising.” Father had likely nearly swooned himself at the prospect of being a guest at Falstone House.
“It is absolutely essential that you do not appear particularly surprised by anything that might be said or done this night.” The duke gave him a penetrating look, emphasizing the importance of his words.
“I will do my best, Your Grace, though I cannot guarantee my acting abilities.”
“Your best is all we ask.”
“Is there anything I might do to aid your effort, Your Grace?”
“You can begin by not ‘Your Grace’-ing me all the time. Your father must be made to see that you are an accepted part of this family.”
But was he? James fervently wished it were true, though he could not quite convince himself. “What do you want me to call you?” He was not about to hazard a guess.
The duke did not pause to ponder or debate with himself. Apparently he had thought out this part of the plan ahead of time. “Kielder will do. Though my family members call me Adam, I think it wise not to give your Father any reason to find you impertinent.”
“And the duchess? How am I to address her?” He seemed to have hit upon an unexpected question.
The lieutenant, standing in the drawing room doorway, gave the decisive opinion. “The privilege of Christian names is rarely given between any gentleman and lady unless they are inarguably related. I believe Persephone must be ‘Your Grace’-ed and ‘ma’am’-ed throughout the evening. And Artemis had best remain Miss Artemis”—he threw his youngest sister an impish smile—“though it lends her an air of maturity that could never ring entirely true.”
Miss Artemis clasped her palm to her heart. “Your cruelty has slain me!” she declared in tones that rang with drama as she sank to the ground in an excessively graceful manner.
Not a single member of her family rushed to her inert form, nor looked the least bit concerned. Their countenances registered a mixture of amusement and exasperation. James found himself smiling, something that seemed to occur far more often than not of late.
A moment after melting into a heap on the floor, Miss Artemis regained her feet. “Was that not quite convincing?” she asked, obviously certain her swoon had struck fear into their hearts for her well-being. “I am certain Lord Techney could not help but be moved by such a sight.”
Their Graces merely shook their heads, turning to each other for a private conversation.
Lieutenant Lancaster came to Miss Artemis’s side. “Should a swoon prove necessary, we will be certain to inform you.”
“Excellent.” Miss Artemis could scarcely have looked more satisfied. “We must concoct a secret sign of some kind, a word or a gesture by which I will know I need to have a convenient fit of the vapors.”
James leaned a touch closer to Daphne. “Miss Artemis must keep everyone’s days lively.”
Her eyes smiled up into his. “If there is one thing I can say for my family, it is that life amongst us is never dull.”
He laughed at that. “Life with my family is hardly dull, but it is an entirely different kind of interesting.”
Her expression clouded with concern. “How is your mother?”
“She is well,” James said. “And tells anyone who will listen that your teas are nothing short of miraculous.”
“I am so pleased she is feeling better.” To his utter astonishment, Daphne slipped her hand into his. “I have always admired how deeply you care about her. You are a good son, though I have my suspicions no one ever tells you as much.”
He lightly touched her face with his free hand, a shiver of awareness passing down his arm and through his body. She affected him more every time he was in her company.
He knew her blush was one of pleasure. He brushed his thumb along her cheek. Given time and a little encouragement, she might come to trust him with more than just a hypothetical estate. One day she might allow him to care for her.
Something hit James squarely on the temple—too small and soft to cause injury but solid enough to get his attention. At his feet, a wrapped candy rolled to a slow stop. That, no doubt, was what he’d felt hit his face. But who had lobbed it at him?
Lieutenant Lancaster, standing beside Miss Artemis, who appeared to be fighting a veritable fit of laughter, tossed an identical candy repeatedly in the air, catching it without taking his gaze off James. He mouthed the words “hands off” with a look of warning.
James complied but reluctantly. He had no desire to antagonize Daphne’s brother, though the prospect of continuing to keep her close to him was remarkably tempting.
An upstairs maid poked her head into the room. “Lord Techney’s carriage has just pulled up, Your Grace.”
“I ought to have him placed in the holding cupboard,” the duke said. “Alas, the evening calls for a bit more subtlety, more’s the pity.”
“The holding cupboard?” James asked Daphne. “I am dying of curiosity.”
“It is a very large closet,” she explained, “one large enough to seem like a small, windowless room. Adam considers it a somewhat acceptable stand-in for his beloved gibbet and stocks while he is in London. He only recently resigned himself to the fact that Persephone will not be persuaded to permit the insta
llation of a rack.”
“Father is to be tortured, then?” He likely should have felt more sorry for his sire than he did.
“Subtly tortured,” Daphne said.
The lieutenant, who had been watching at the door, leaned back inside the room. “He has just been let inside by the butler.”
The duke turned to his family. “You all know your parts.”
James’s was, apparently, to follow the lead of everyone else. He wondered just how difficult that might prove to be.
Miss Artemis crossed the room and stood with James and Daphne. She quite deliberately arranged herself in a pose of utter innocence, turning her face up toward him with a look of sweet adoration—not unlike a very young girl might give an idolized older brother.
“That is doing it a bit brown, Artemis,” Daphne said, something of a laugh underlying her words. “You are only supposed to make it clear that you like Lord Tilburn. Looking at him as though you were his ever-loyal puppy pushes the display nearly past believing.”
Artemis sighed, a sound filled with martyrdom and suffering. “You know nothing of theatricality. If one is to play a role, one must do so entirely.” Her posturing never slipped for a moment.
She rather did remind James of the looks he often received from Scamp. He was hard-pressed to keep from laughing. Maintaining his countenance with the whole family undertaking such overblown performances might very well prove impossible.
“Lord Techney,” the butler announced.
James stepped toward the door, intending to greet his father and make any introductions. A swift look from Lieutenant Lancaster, however, kept him in his place. For some unspoken reason, James was meant to keep back.
For a moment, Father hovered in the doorway, obviously thrown off by the lack of notice his entrance had created. Even the butler had already disappeared.
Almost as if it were an afterthought, the duke turned toward the new arrival. “Ah, Lord Techney.”
That was the extent of Father’s welcome. Not a single “Pleased to see you” or “Good of you to join us” seemed forthcoming. James held back the confusion he felt, knowing his one assignment was to appear entirely composed during the evening’s performance. Father looked confused enough for the both of them.
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