Chapter Fourteen

Daphne knew something was the matter when Villiers brought her a formal request for her to seek a meeting with his grace, the Duke. She nodded her acceptance of the message and glanced around.

Darcie still had not returned to her duties, which was at once comforting and worrisome. Before, she had never taken off for such long periods of time. Daphne found herself wondering if she had found a lover. Perhaps she had fallen in love as deeply as Daphne had, only with a more acceptable man. The thought warmed her heart.

She quickly washed the specks of paint from her hands and face and dressed in a demure yellow gown. She did not bother to straighten her hair or ribbons. If James was requesting a formal audience with her, then her appearance would hardly matter all that much. If he was angry with her, he would shout whether she looked dowdy or elegant.

Sighing unhappily, she made her way down to his office and knocked quietly. His thundering enter sent her nerves to scattering. He sounded furious.

Daphne hurriedly entered, shutting the door soundly behind her and sat down on the settee, a more comfortable option to the stiff chairs that had once graced this spot.

Glancing around, she realized that James had not changed anything after their fight. She puzzled over that. He had been furious with her on that occasion.

“Are you finished gawking at your own artwork,” James snapped irritably.

Worriedly, she glanced at him, then away. His face was actually red. A very bad sign.

“I apologize.”

“Don’t, damn it, apologize, Daphne. Just give me your attention, will you?”

She nodded, folding her hands in her lap. She carefully stared at his left ear. It was too difficult to stare him directly in the eye, but she hoped he would not become too irritated over the slight.

“Daphne, I fear that something has been brought to my attention that must be addressed immediately.”

She nodded. Had he discovered the investigation? The thought chilled her.

“I received an invitation to a musicale and two balls last week that I had accepted. I just received three missives this morning concerning these outings.”

Confused, she met his steady stare. “What is it?” she whispered.

“It seems you are not welcome. It is an impossible situation. I have accepted, and if we do not show up, it will be a disaster. If I take you along…” He trailed off, leaving that conclusion to imagination.

Daphne had a very vivid imagination. “I see. Apparently, you and Annalise must attend these outings, Your Grace.”

“Daphne, I cannot simply leave you here,” James snapped. “I’m not that much a beast.”

She shrugged. “This is going to happen more and more, Your Grace. We both know it. You cannot ruin Anna’s chances simply because I have become the pariah of the Season.”

“I don’t want to leave you alone,” he growled.

She sighed unhappily. “I appreciate that. However, I cannot allow you to ruin Annalise’s chances because of my missteps.”

She was right, and they both knew it. James growled in the back of his throat. This was tearing him apart.

Daphne stood and paced to the window. It would be better if she were not here, she thought. She would not have to suffer, watching James, smelling James, longing for him. She would not have to see him take a mistress.

The pain of it was slowly ripping her apart. To see, every moment, what she loved most, forever out of her reach, was to die a little each day. Was this how Papa had felt when Mama had died? Was this why he used to be so maudlin, why he shut himself up in his study day after day, night after night, until she imagined his eyes would bleed from looking at the numbers? A swift, clean death was more compassionate. This was sheer, unrelieved hell.

This was to be her life.

“Daphne, I hate to bring this up now, of all times, but I swore an oath that I would put the question to you directly.”

She turned to him, carefully folding her hands across her belly, and waited for yet another blow.

“Brentwood wants you for a wife,” James told her heavily. “I have rejected his offer with increasing hostility over the past month, but he still persists.”

“He does not believe I could possibly deny him?” she asked, lips curving. “How trite.”

“Yes, quite,” he agreed. “What do you wish me to tell him?”

Daphne did not answer right away. She thought back over all the names and faces she had seen thus far, back to the very first ball, before life had become too complicated. James had called him a brute. An impoverished brute, at that.

Could she do no better? It was demoralizing to think that, of all the men she had spoken to, danced with and flirted with, the most loathsome of the bunch was the only one who had yet shown an interest. Still, had James not told her that marriage was the only way a woman could truly have any sense of freedom?

“What do you suggest?” she asked softly.

“Daphne, don’t,” he hissed.

She shook her head. “Please, James, answer me. I trust your judgment.”

He sighed. “I would not co-sign my worst enemy to Brentwood, Daphne. I think you should ask me to call him out for annoying you.”

“And start yet another scandal? I think not.” She turned back to the window. “If you would please convey to this most ardent suitor that I will consider his proposal with all the sincerity it was given, please.”

“Daphne, I do not think Brentwood is smart enough to see the implications.”

“Well, it might buy me more time,” was all she said.

He seemed to sense her mood. He came up behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders.

“I would not have you consider such a man, Daphne. Marriage is for life.”

“I know, James.”

“He would eat through your dowry within a year.”

“I know,” she whispered sadly.

“There is more out there for you than a man like Brentwood.”

“The proposals are not precisely forthcoming at the moment. You know you should send me away.”

His hands tightened painfully on her shoulders. “Never,” he hissed in her ear.

“If you were truly my protector and guardian, you would,” she insisted. “Any father would know it had to be done. You would have me wait out the remainder of this Season, perhaps even another, and then you would bring me back to town to try again.”

“Daphne, I cannot simply allow you to leave without…” Me, he thought. As painful as it was, watching and wanting her from a distance, he knew he would go mad if he could not even see her beautiful face.

“You considered this when I first arrived. I should have chosen that option, James. The more society sees me, the worse the rumors will become.”

“You did nothing to deserve this.”

She shrugged. “How many innocent girls have been ruined from petty jealousy alone? I am not the first, nor will I be the last.”

“We will talk about this more, Daphne. Think about all your options. I would rather not leave you unprotected in some forgotten manor.”

“I would be happier in the remote countryside,” she reminded him.

“I don’t want you in the countryside, Daphne.”

“I dare say Countess le Dubois would not be unhappy to see me gone,” she whispered.

“Did that cursed tabby say something to you?” James barked.

She sent him a disbelieving look over her shoulder. “Would it matter if she had?”

“She is the most vile of creatures, Daphne. Do not consort with her kind.”

Daphne shrugged away from him. Her throat ached from keeping all the accusations deep inside. No good could come from snarling at her guardian. He was right. She needed to think and consider every option. Daphne meant to consider them well.

“Forgive me, Your Grace. I have a painting to finish.”

Daphne could not have prepared herself for the unhappiness she felt that first night alone. She usually enjoyed the quiet, especially while she painted, but the consuming emptiness of the house soon began to eat at her. She had never felt so alone in her life.

Darcie had returned earlier, full of innocent blushes and radiant dreams. She was…different, somehow, although Daphne could not pinpoint how. She wondered if bedsport marked a woman for life. That thought led her to thinking of James.

She absolutely refused to consider him further. Dejected, tired from hours spent at her easel, she cleaned up and changed for bed. That only made things worse, of course. She tossed and turned; her traitorous mind kept imagining James in bed with her. Disgusted, she rose and eased into her dressing gown.

Padding downstairs, she found Villiers in the library, dusting long-ignored tomes.

“Miss Daphne,” he exhaled nervously.

“I did not mean to interrupt your work, Villiers. Please continue.”

She moved over to a writing desk and found parchment and ink. She should send Elliot a note and a gift, she thought. That should occupy her mind for a while.

She sat down, thinking about how best to convey her concern for his health without sounding too clingy, yet genuine at the same time. It took a good half hour, but by the time she finished and read back over the note, she judged it time well-spent.

Villiers was still there, dusting away. Daphne welcomed his presence.

“Villiers, I wonder if you might do me a favor tomorrow,” she inquired politely.

“Of course, Miss Daphne.” He finished with his dust rag.

She told him what she wanted and ran upstairs to fetch a purse. It was going to be an expensive gift, but quite original, she thought happily. If nothing else, it might help make up for all the trouble Papa had put him through.

She quickly returned, and also offered the parchment. “Please see that this letter is delivered with the package.”

“This Morton fellow is very important to you, isn’t he, Miss?”

Daphne smiled benignly and nodded. “Yes, he is, Villiers. He is all the family I have left,” she explained.

Villiers left to put away the note and the purse. Although he trusted his staff, he knew it was foolish to be blindly faithful. He soon returned with a goblet of wine.

He frowned at Daphne. “Your maid told me that you ordered wine, Miss. She told me to bring it here straight away.”

“How odd. I never asked for wine. I have no tolerance for it.”

Confused, the butler left once more. Daphne wasted time peering over titles and peeking into closed cupboards. She found an ornate chess set and had just taken it out to explore further when Villiers returned.

“Was there a particular volume you were looking for, Miss Daphne?”

She smiled. “I am just wasting time, Villiers. Tell me, do you play chess?”

His eyes lit up with ill-suppressed delight.

“But of course, Miss Daphne.”