Chapter Twenty-Five

Daphne awakened alone during her first morning as Duchess of Cheney. Janice had returned, with a tray laden with delicate dishes that had whetted her appetite. It would be painfully easy to gorge herself on delicious food, she realized. She carefully forced herself only to have dry toast and her customary glass of milk, although it was a difficult challenge.

When Janice opened her armoire, Daphne came to a shocking revelation. Not a single of her own gowns were arranged so carefully in the glossy wood. Oh, no, she did not own any of the bright, jewel-toned gowns displayed. Not a one. She had presumed James would have most of her clothes sent on, considering he had only sent what she would need for the fortnight she had stayed with Chrysanthe’s mother.

As she dressed, she realized that even her unmentionables belonged to someone else. Oddly enough, the fit her well, perfectly in fact, she mused, utterly flummoxed, as she dressed in an emerald-green day gown. Struggling over that peculiarity, she strode downstairs, only for Mrs. Tibbs to meet her with instructions from her husband that she was to have a tour of the place.

Such a place it was. There were enormous portraits, old and expensive, hanging everywhere. Walls decadently covered in bright colors, rooms meticulously decorated. Expensive rarities that would have several acquaintances she had met during her short Season weeping with longing.

At the end of two hours, Daphne had not seen even half of the place. At that point, she had claimed exhaustion, asking where she might find her husband. He was, of course, in his study. Mrs. Tibbs kindly gave her directions.

Of course, Daphne got lost. Who wouldn’t, she thought miserably, in such a mammoth place? It was humiliating, however, when she had to ask a harried footman to point her in the right direction. By the time she knocked on the ornate oak door, she was doubly annoyed.

James opened the door himself, a distracted expression on his face. When he saw that it was his wife interrupting his work, he forced his mind away from his work and struggled to focus on her, a challenge for him as he was not accustomed to such lovely distractions.

“Dearest wife,” he greeted her, drawing her to a comfortable chair. “How are you feeling?”

Daphne blew a stubborn curl out of her eyes and gave him a steely glare. “You know exactly what I’ve been doing, since you commanded it, Your Grace.”

He frowned. “You have leave to call me James, Daphne. Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

She was ravenous, and now greatly regretted the fact that she had not eaten a single palatable thing. She thought of her belly, however. Always given to excess fat, she had to be very careful. She knew James would take off with all haste if she began to gain weight again. She had worked hard to become an acceptable weight and she absolutely refused to become the brunt of cruel jests ever again.

“I am not hungry or thirsty, James.”

He lifted a brow at her petulant tone. “Do you like your new home, Daphne?”

“I do not like it at all,” she told him honestly.

His eyes went wide. In his youth, he had been chased by an endless array of debutantes who would have given their eyeteeth to become mistress of the vast estate. His was one of the most handsome, and most productive, estates in all of Britain. It was a point of pride with him. He could not believe that his Daphne could not enjoy it.

“Would you like something larger?” he worried. He would build her something twice as big if she was displeased.

“Bigger?” she snapped, blanching. “Pray, do not jest, James! This is a horrendous monstrosity. Why in heavens did you ever think you needed so much room?” she wanted to know. “I dare say the whole of Lilac Manor would fit in your library alone.”

He ogled her, unable to believe what he was hearing. “You think it is too immense?”

“Yes, James,” Daphne hummed.

To her irritation, he threw back his head and roared with laughter. Daphne crossed her arms across her chest, wrinkling her nose impatiently. Sensing her discord, he wiped the tears from his eyes and met her steely glare.

“Sweetheart, this is the Cheney country seat,” he tried to explain.

“It is ridiculous.”

“I grew up here,” he told her.

She tilted her head, considering. She tried to imagine a chubby little boy toddling around the rooms. It was impossible.

“You did?”

“Yes, of course.” He ran his fingers through his hair. He should not have told her that.

“Did you break anything?”

James laughed, despite the difficult memories. “There is little to be broken in the playroom.”

“Playroom. I presume there is a nursery, as well. Isn’t there?” she accused.

His brows lifted at her offensive tone. She seemed livid. He could not understand why.

“Of course there is,” he affirmed. “Is there something wrong with a nursery?”

“Yes, there is,” Daphne snapped. “I suppose you had a legion of nannies to see to your every whim, too.”

His face blanked. He refused, absolutely refused, to go back to those memories. “There is a nursery, and a playroom, Daphne, and if you desire to make changes, you are certainly within your right. I was considering it myself.”

Her heart lightened. She could make changes?

“What kind of changes were you thinking to make?” she wanted to know. She was curious. James had never indicated what appealed to him.

“I thought one of the parlors would make a good studio for your painting,” James said softly.

She frowned. The only change he wanted was for…her? It was baffling.

Unwilling to test the waters in that territory, she folded her hands in her lap and found another upsetting topic. “James, why didn’t you send my clothing here?”

He sent her a confused look. “I did, sweet.”

“You did not,” Daphne insisted fervently. “While this is pretty,” she said, stroking a finger along the silk, “it is not mine, and that bothers me.”

What bothers me most, she added silently, is that you have had other women here. Enough to keep a closet full in preparation for them.

“Daphne, that is your gown,” James laughed.

“It isn’t. I have never seen it before,” she objected.

“It is part of your trousseau,” he explained patiently.

“My…”

“Trousseau,” he repeated. “What did you think, Daphne, that you were wearing…” He trailed off at the miserable look in her eyes. “You did think it,” he marveled.

She shook her head, refusing to discuss those feelings with him. She was embarrassed to be caught so easily. “When did anyone have time to prepare my trousseau?”

“I sent in the order while you were preparing our wedding. They already had your measurements.”

He must have put it on a rush, she marveled. Staggered, she stared up at him.

James sighed inwardly. He glanced down at the paperwork scattered across his desk, then to the beautiful woman he had married. He wanted to do nothing more than forget the work and introduce her to his home. Indeed, he had risen three hours early so he could spend his afternoon doing just that. A sudden idea hit him.

“Would you care to take lunch with me this afternoon, Daphne?”

She blinked at him. “Luncheon?”

“Yes, in…two hours,” he decided. The rest, he could finish later. Tonight. Tomorrow. A year from now.

Daphne lowered her eyes, effectively veiling the hurt from him. James saw entirely too much for her peace of mind. He wanted to get rid of her. She had seen the pile of paperwork on his desk. So…little had changed since they wed. He had his quiet time in his study, and Daphne had…

Paint. Well, this is what she’d asked for, wasn’t it? She had wanted to have the freedom to do whatever she wanted and be left alone. He was giving her exactly what she wanted, wasn’t he? She had never thought that it would be James who gave her that freedom, though. Indeed, where this man was concerned, she would only be too happy to bound by his side.

“That would be lovely, Your Grace,” she managed over the lump in her throat.

“Wonderful,” he beamed, and meant it. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on her. Any part of her. “Why don’t we plan it on the east terrace? It is a lovely day.”

“Of course.” She doubted he would show up at all. “It will be a pleasure. I am sure you are very busy,” she added as she rose.

James watched her go with a painful stitch in his chest. Yes, he was very busy. Hundreds depended upon him for their very survival. Still, he felt like the lowest sort of cad for sending her off.

He wondered why.

Shaking his head over inconsequential matters of heart, he picked up his quill and went back to work.

* * * *

He actually showed up. Daphne could not veil her shock when they sat down on an elegantly appointed table overlooking the grounds.

James tucked his napkin into his lap. “You did not believe I would meet you?”

He sounded furious. Daphne slowly unfolded her own napkin with a great deal more attention than was necessary. “You are a busy man, Your Grace.”

“I gave you leave to call me by my given name,” he snapped.

“I am sorry.”

James closed his eyes and forced himself to count to ten. In Greek. This was not how he wanted to spend their afternoon. Him snapping, and her addressing him in a fearful little quiver of a voice. He intended to charm her and bed her—as many times as possible.

“Everything looks delicious, Daphne. Did you order the menu yourself?”

Silently, she shook her head. “Am I supposed to?”

He nodded wordlessly. “You will learn. I would have thought the boarding school would have taught you such things.”

She shifted. “I suppose they did…in their way.”

He chewed thoughtfully on chilled lobster. “What do you mean?” he asked slowly.

“They never went into detail on actual duties we would have as wives,” Daphne explained. “They must have expected our mothers would teach us. Mostly they focused on the importance of lineage and fashion. We also learned other things,” she added hastily when he frowned.

“What other things?”

“Oh, we learned French and our numbers, we did a brief study of some of the classics. I refined my painting techniques. Chrysanthe was always the best at music, of course.”

“Of course. It is difficult to comprehend the scope of her talent.”

Daphne shrugged. “Each of us had our own…specialty, I suppose.”

“As in your art?”

She nodded. “They were difficult years. The instructors were stern. Misbehavior was dealt with efficiency and severely. We needed an escape. I had my art.”

“Annalise her books?”

“Hmm. Perhaps her mind more than mere books,” Daphne smiled fondly. “She was always up to something. Of everything Chrys got into, it was Annalise that got us into the most trouble, testing her hypotheses.”

James smiled. “I did not hear about that.”

“She does not like to talk about it,” Daphne explained. “I used to wonder that her intelligence did not embarrass her.”

“I suppose you missed your father while you were at school.”

Daphne nodded sadly. “I did, yes, but he feared he could not teach me all I needed to learn.”

“It is customary for parents to hire tutors for the education of their daughters.”

Daphne nodded. “But there are some things that a mother must teach her child, such as planning meals,” she said with a smile. “I did not have a mother.”

“I doubt you felt the loss.”

Daphne’s eyes clouded. “Of course I did,” she murmured. “Papa told me she was looking after me from Heaven, so in a way I thought she was there, but it wasn’t the same.”

He took a deep gulp of champagne. The conversation was making him nervous. “I am sure your expectation of her was slightly skewered.”

“Papa told me all about her.” Daphne sighed and forced the maudlin recollections aside. “What about your childhood, James? I know you, too, lost your mother.”

“I was old enough to remember her,” he told her stiffly.

“Was she pretty?”

“Exceptionally.”

“Was she kind?”

James smiled bitterly. “Not at all.”

“You do not want to talk about this,” Daphne realized.

“I do not,” he agreed.

They ate in tense silence for several long minutes. James realized he was making a muck of things. So much for charming, he thought ruefully. He would be lucky if she didn’t bar him from her chambers after an entire afternoon spent together.

Determined, he tried again. “You seem to have a great fondness for Lilac Manor. Tell me about your favorite spots.”

Daphne warmed at once. Her face softened, losing the tension and strain. “My absolutely favorite spot was the lake. I would sit there for hours, thinking or painting. I actually painted the lake itself.”

“There is a lake here.”

She nodded, she wasn’t thinking about Cheney Fold. “I also enjoyed spending time with Papa in his study. He would let me stay there with him while I played or painted, or just looked out the window. Those are my warmest memories.”

James finished his champagne thoughtfully. “Why is it called Lilac Manor.”

Daphne laughed. “Some ancestor named it for his wife. Apparently, she enjoyed the blooms. Even today, there is an abundance of lilacs growing in the gardens.”

“Perhaps you would like to tour our gardens?” James suggested.

“Oh?” Daphne wasn’t in the mood for gardens.

“We have wonderful gardens here, Daphne. I believe you will take particular interest in the pleasure gardens.”

“P-pleasure gardens?”

“Then there is the maze…”

Her eyes widened fractionally. “A maze?”

“Would you care to take a stroll? After you finish eating, of course.”

Daphne glanced down at her nearly full plate. She had suddenly lost her appetite. “I am finished,” she said weakly.

James rose, smiling. Daphne took his arm as he led her down the steps. His arm was steady and warm beneath her fingers. She squeezed slightly, testing his muscle. He was so strong, she thought to herself. It never ceased to amaze her how different their bodies were.

“Perhaps the maze first?” James suggested. “Let us see if we can puzzle our way out.”

“James, may I ask you a question?”

“Of course, Daphne.”

She cleared her throat nervously. “Ah, do you entertain all that much?”

He glanced down at her. “I have been known to on occasion. Why?”

“Oh, n-no reason.”

“Is anything wrong, wife?”

Wrong? She almost snorted. Why would he think anything could possibly be wrong? He only lived in the biggest mansion in all of England, possibly the whole of Europe, he had pleasure gardens and mazes and who knew what else hiding in his arsenal of opulence. And he was known to throw parties and balls, probably some musicales, too.

Oh, no, there was nothing wrong at all, not unless one considered the fact that Daphne was an absolute failure at all things social. That wasn’t even to mention that she had no idea as to how about organizing a small, intimate luncheon, not to mention a ball. Perhaps the fact that the one time she had actually tried to hostess a meal she had failed dismally should have given him a clue.

Whatever would give him the idea that something was the matter?

She suddenly stopped, frowning.

“James, we come from very different worlds, don’t we?”

“Does it matter, sweet?”

Daphne looked up at him. He suddenly turned her, wrapping his arms around her waist. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to slide her hands up to his shoulders.

When he kissed her, it was tender. Tenderly, he pressed his mouth to her, cherishing her with breath and tongue. She could only kiss him back, comforting herself with the press of bodies and mouths.

When he released her, when she stared into the warmth of his vibrant leopard’s eyes, it didn’t seem to matter at all.