The shopping trip held as little interest for her as she’d expected until her gaze fell on a book displayed in the window of a bookshop. She stepped inside and waited as an older gentleman finished his purchase, reminding herself that Grace had not planned for Daphne to spend a large sum.
“Can I help you, young lady?” the shopkeeper asked, his eyes glittering with amusement.
Daphne blushed, knowing her eagerness had been too obvious. “That book in the window. The Life of a Dancer. Can I see it?”
The man laughed. “Ladies always seem so curious about the other half. Not sure I should show it to you though. Is your mother here?”
She drew herself up to her full, if moderate, height and frowned. “I’m old enough to choose my own reading material, sir, and I thank you to show me the book I asked for or I will take my business elsewhere.”
“All right, young lady. No offense intended.”
Daphne released her breath when he turned to get the book, smothering a laugh. She’d practiced that imitation of her mother in a snit many times but never had the chance to use it until now.
“Here you go then. It’s a memoir, or so the authoress claims.”
She took the book, smoothing her fingers over the precise leather binding and admiring the gold-leaf letters. Beneath the title said only: a dancer. “How much?” she asked, not sure she wanted to hear the answer.
The price he named to borrow the tale was well beyond what her sister could have dreamed of her spending, but she had to have it. The little book called to her, as if it would reveal a secret answer to her problems. Promising herself she’d use some of her allowance to cover it, Daphne signed the bill, relieved to see the slip only said “book.”
She glanced up at the clock above his head and gasped. “I had no idea it had gotten so late. Send the bill to this address,” she said, handing the man one of her sister’s calling cards. “I have to go.”
He glanced down and froze for a moment before giving her a curious stare. “Yes, my lady. I’ll have it sent right up. Would you like the book delivered as well?”
Daphne tightened her hands around the leather binding, instinctively protecting it. “No, I’ll carry this with me.” She didn’t want to imagine the talk with her mother if they knew she had a book about a professional dancer, not after Mother had equated them with streetwalkers.
He gave her a stiff bow, and she walked quickly from the store.
Daphne scanned the street for her carriage and crossed to it, clutching her two bundles and the precious book. By the time they drew up next to the park, the sun had already started to sink, making long shadows out of the trees. Grace stepped from behind one of them, showing no sign of upset that they were so late. She turned back just before opening the carriage door and waved.
Daphne stared into the shadow, trying to see whom her sister could have met with, but she could only make out a darker spot that might have been anything. She waited until Willem pulled away, taking them back home, before turning to her sister.
“Who were you visiting?” she asked, watching her sister closely for a reaction.
Grace blushed and looked at her hand as it pulled on the carriage strap. “I can’t tell you. I can’t tell anyone.” She turned to face Daphne, her expression suddenly intense. “You won’t give me away will you? You can’t. Say you won’t, Daphne.”
Surprised at her sister’s agitation, Daphne put a hand on Grace’s shoulder. “Of course I wouldn’t. I’m curious, but I’d never give you away.”
Grace settled back into her seat, a long sigh of relief coming from her. “It feels so much better now that you know. I’ve been bottling this inside for so long.”
Daphne shrugged. “I don’t really know anything,” she said.
“You know enough to be my help. I need you to keep me company often enough so Mother doesn’t suspect a thing.”
Wondering just what Mother shouldn’t suspect, Daphne eyed her sister. What double life could Grace be living? Had she made friends with a young lady of disrepute? Was she helping the alley children? Whatever it might be, her sister was staying tight lipped about it.
“So show me what you got,” Grace said, reaching for the packages.
Daphne snatched the book out of the way and pushed the hair ribbons toward her sister.
“I’m more interested in what you’re hiding,” Grace said, laughing. She lunged across the carriage, rocking it back and forth but returning victorious.
“Give it back.” Daphne didn’t care that her voice was low and intense. “I kept your secret. Give me back mine.”
“Now Daphne. I wouldn’t tell on you,” Grace murmured, shaking her head. “But if it’s so important to you, here it is.”
Chastened, Daphne took the book, smoothing her fingers over its cover. “It’s a book about dancing,” she said. “The life of a dancer.” She tensed, waiting for her sister’s reaction.
Grace just shook her head. “Our parents will not be pleased. They want you to give up on this dream of dancing. It’s not seemly.”
Daphne frowned, staring at the book in her hands. “You’ve always known what you’re supposed to do, to be. That’s dancing for me. I’ve never had anything before. Just taking away my teacher doesn’t make it go away. Dance is in my heart and soul.”
Her sister looked a little taken aback by the declaration but then her face softened. “I won’t tell them about the book. Just be careful. Sometimes following your heart can hurt the ones you love, and sometimes it can tear you apart.”
Grace looked so wounded that Daphne wanted to give her a hug, but her sister turned away, staring out the carriage window, her back rigid and uninviting.
Daphne gathered up the packages, tucking the spilled ribbons back inside, trying to ignore the hurt she felt at being shut out.
They didn’t speak until the carriage rolled to a halt before the house and then only a hurried, “Give me one of the packages and put that book down your bodice,” from Grace.
Once they entered the house, they were called to the parlor where Grace endured a light scold from Lady Scarborough for the long shopping trip, kept short only because their mother seemed to expect Daphne to faint away from the strain. As it was, Daphne had to be told several times to sit up straight because she hunched her shoulders in an attempt to mask the book tucked into her dress.
Grace drew out the ribbons as if she’d been the one to choose the colors, displaying each one for their mother’s approval. Again, Mother looked to Daphne to see if she showed the least bit of interest, and Daphne tried her best, but really couldn’t wait until she had a private moment to delve between the covers of her book.
Finally, she smothered a yawn, using her mother’s concern as an excuse when the discussion of dresses seemed to take forever.
“Oh my dear, you must be quite tired, and here we are keeping you up and about. Why don’t you run along to the nursery? I’ll have cook send up something to tease your appetite in a bit.” Her mother brushed aside the ribbons and helped Daphne to her feet as if she’d become a frail invalid.
Trying to appear docile, Daphne allowed the assistance, unaware of the risk until her mother’s arm brushed against the hidden book.
Her mother stopped ushering Daphne toward the door and held her daughter at arm’s length, staring down at her bosom. Daphne’s breath caught in her throat as she waited for her mother to demand to see the book.
“You are growing up, aren’t you?” her mother said instead. “That gown is a might bit tight on you. Only hussies wear their clothing that way. You have much more to offer than a nightwalker.” She tsked while she turned Daphne one direction and then the other. “We’ll have to arrange a fitting. You’ll be making your coming out soon enough and you’ll be present at several balls before then as we handle your sister’s wedding, out or not. It just won’t do having you bursting from your clothing.”
She pinched Daphne’s cheek gently. “You are becoming a young lady right in front of our eyes. You’ve been so busy with…” She waved a vague hand, unwilling even to say the word. “Well, you’ve been so busy that we’ve neglected you. That’s all going to change from this moment on.”
Daphne stifled a moan, staring down at her hands as if she expected them to burst into flame.
Her mother laughed. “Don’t you worry about that right now. Go rest. Such a long trip must have been exhausting. Grace should have been more careful on your first outing.”
Daphne shrugged, knowing she was as much to blame, but unwilling to reveal the cause.
“I hope she stopped at least to take you to afternoon tea? You must have been famished.”
Nodding, Daphne mumbled something that could have sounded like agreement as she slipped out from under her mother’s arm, heading for the stairs.
“Rest up, dear. We have so much to do for you,” her mother called, the dreaded words following to the second floor.
Daphne fled along the hallway until she reached the nursery, burst through the door, and collapsed onto her bed, knees against her chest and arms wrapped about them.
“But I don’t want more dresses. I don’t want to come out,” she cried here where no one could hear her and chastise. Daphne saw her future stretched out before her, the lovely Grace’s bland sister who everyone invited out of pity. After a season or two, her mother would find some appropriate gentleman and tie her to him, never to know the freedom her heart craved.
SHE WOKE SOME TIME LATER, a tray with congealed soup and cold bread next to her bed. A blanket lay over her, and when she wiggled her toes, she found her shoes had been pulled off, just as if she were still only a child.
Memory returned in a flash and Daphne’s hands pressed against her front, the panic only draining when she felt an edge. She pulled the book out, caressing its warm cover. Somehow, she already felt a strong bond with the woman in this book, truth or not.
Climbing out of bed, Daphne absentmindedly grabbed the bread and chewed on it while she lit a candle, unable to read in the evening light. She took the candle to her desk then brought the book over as well, wrapping her blanket around her to keep warm.
The room grew dark, the cold seeped in around her windows and the candle flickered in an errant breeze, but nothing could distract Daphne from the words on the page. The rough hand and raw language further supported this as a biographical effort, but the story pulled Daphne in as she followed the heroine through a troubled childhood in the home of a wealthy merchant.
When Daphne read the scene where the heroine ran away from her home, chancing starvation and other disasters to achieve her dream, she paused and stared at the wax dripping from her candle, barely aware it had almost burnt down to the brass candlestick supporting it.
She felt an overwhelming uselessness. Did she have it in her to follow her dream that far? Could she abandon her sister, her parents? Could she give up the only life she’d known?
Pulling another candle from the desk drawer, she lit it on the stub of the first. Her empty stomach rumbled, but she ignored it in favor of finding out what happened next in this dancer’s life and soon enough felt the minor discomfort of her hunger nothing in comparison to what this woman suffered.
Enthralled, Daphne went through two more candles before exhaustion drew her back to her bed. She tucked the book beneath her pillow and curled under the covers, still wearing her walking dress.
Even as she slept, her dreams stayed trapped in the story, only she stood on the stage in a silence so complete she could hear the tinder strike as the stage lights were lit. Her lips curled into a gentle smile as she moved to the silent song in her heart.