Chapter Three

“Why does your brother hate me so?”

Annalise peered up at Daphne, who had been disrobed down to her unmentionables and was currently standing on a stool in the center of a small room crowded with discarded bolts of fabric. Her arms were stretched out to either side of her, as though she were about to be nailed to a cross. She had a long-suffering grimace on her expressive face.

“James does not hate you, Daphne,” Annalise giggled.

Daphne raised an arm, scowling at the seamstress. “Of course he hates me. The man can barely stand to be in a room with me. He runs away whenever he sees me coming. And—” Daphne broke off as the seamstress tugged hard on the material that was draped around her.

Apparently the seamstress did not care for her client’s attitude regarding fashion. She shoved a pin through the pale material she was stretching around Daphne with a trifle too much force and it bit into the tender flesh of her hip.

“Ouch!”

“Well, if you would hold still, mistress, you wouldn’t get stuck,” the woman snapped irritably.

“I am freezing,” Daphne complained. “Why do I need two hundred gowns? I will never wear two hundred gowns!”

“You are exaggerating,” Annalise chided her.

“Not by much,” Daphne sneered.

Finally, the torturer, erm, seamstress was finished making measurements. Daphne jumped down and wrapped a wrapper around her shoulders. They had several more fittings scheduled before they could leave the shop.

Annalise was ignoring her, as she tended to do whenever Daphne started her endless litany of complaints about the Season and what would be expected of them. She was admiring a bolt of topaz colored silk, slowly running her fingers down the sleek material.

Daphne sighed inwardly. She resigned herself to pretending that she actually cared about fashion for at least another hour.

“That would look good on you,” she said lightly.

Annalise sent her an unfathomable look. “I could never wear such a daring color,” she murmured, ashamed for being caught in the act of longing for something inappropriate.

“Ridiculous. It would suit your coloring quite well, Annalise,” Daphne remarked simply. “Why don’t you tell the pin-sticker—”

“Daphne—” Annalise warned laughingly.

“Oh, I mean Madam Meads—”

“Stop it,” Annalise laughed.

“To make you a ball gown with that material. I have my mother’s jewels, and she has a lovely topaz necklace and combs you could wear with it.”

Annalise shook her head and paced away. “Such daring colors are completely inappropriate for a debutante in her first Season. Only the palest creams and pastels are acceptable. I would create quite the scandal—”

Daphne shrugged. “I thought it was the scandalmongers who got the most attention.”

Annalise sent her an exasperated look. “Only if they desire to live a life in seclusion!”

“Oh, so that is how I can achieve my heartfelt desires,” Daphne joked.

It worked. Anna’s pinched features lightened into a small smile. “If James heard you say such a thing—”

“He would have me publicly flogged.”

Annalise frowned. “He isn’t that bad, Daphne.”

Daphne shrugged, keeping her own counsel, as usual, on the topic of His Grace, the Duke of Cheney. Annalise’s brother was intimidating and nosy. He was also very handsome, with his glittering gold-green eyes and fall of mahogany hair. She felt odd around him, always nervous for some reason. She attributed it to the unspoken power that his title held, not to mention the strength that was barely restrained in his muscular body.

“Have you considered what I suggested?” Annalise whispered, bringing Daphne out of uncomfortable thoughts.

“Hmm. Yes, I have, Annalise, and I am still considering it. A Runner is an idea to consider. When we meet up with Chrys tomorrow, we can all discuss it together.”

Annalise grimaced. “Are you going to run by my every suggestion with Chrysanthe?”

Daphne shook her head, smiling patiently. Annalise and Chrysanthe had always been at odds, which made it only that much more remarkable that they had managed to sustain a moderately close friendship all these years. Still, at times like this, Anna’s jealousy sometimes drove her batty.

“We said we would do this together,” Daphne reminded her gently. “Every idea she gives me, I shall also share with you.”

This seemed to mollify her for the moment. A few minutes later, when the irritable and flustered Madam Mead returned, Daphne was actually grateful. She was also feeling a trifle reckless.

“Madam Mead, Lady Annalise desires a ball gown in this material,” she told the woman commandingly, pointing out the bolt of topaz silk. “And also a day gown in this material, and…”

“Daphne, are you mad?” Annalise cried.

“Utterly,” Daphne retorted cheerfully.

The seamstress, however, was taking her suggestions to heart. The colors and materials Daphne pointed out were, indeed, wholly inappropriate, but unbelievably flattering to Lady Annalise.

Encouraged, Daphne also pointed out several inappropriate colors for herself. This cheered the woman immensely and she made certain not to jab either girl again.

Over an hour later, when they finally left, Annalise was still flustered and upset. “I cannot believe your audacity, Daphne! I shall never be able to wear a single one of those gowns, and you know it. What could you possibly be thinking?”

Daphne shook her head sadly. “That you will buck against all these blasted rules,” she sighed. “Oh, Anna, doesn’t it annoy you how they decide everything for us, right down to how we sit, and what we are supposed to talk about?”

“Well, yes, but Daphne we must have rules or—”

“Or what?” Daphne demanded starkly. “We might actually become individual people with our own ideas? Women might actually become more than a trophy prize for a husband?”

These thoughts depressed them both. Daphne walked inside a shop with a depressed Annalise trailing behind her.

“What are we doing here?” she asked dejectedly.

“I need to pick up more watercolors. I am running low on green.”

“You are still painting?” Annalise inquired lightly. This, after all, was a safe topic.

Daphne perused the available selection in the shop. “I thought I would never be able to pick up my paint brush again,” she admitted unhappily. “I was wrong. I thought I would cry every time I tried to paint, but it has actually helped me deal with the grief.”

Annalise lost her disgruntled expression. “Oh, Daph, I am so sorry.”

Daphne lingered over the paintbrushes, idly considering purchasing new ones. “I had just given him a new picture I painted of his prize chestnut by the lake,” she mused distantly. “He hung it up in his study. Do you think I could have it back?”

“Tell James,” Annalise urged her.

Daphne shook her head, shoving the maudlin thoughts away. When she dwelled on the memories, still so fresh, she lost track of what she needed to do. She hurriedly purchased more green watercolor and several interesting oils.

Afterwards, Annalise dragged Daphne to a sweet shop, hoping to entice her into giving into to her cravings for sweets. After Daphne spent twenty minutes snarling at Annalise, because she was indeed attracted to the scent of a newly imported flavor of chocolate, Annalise purchased a box of saltwater taffy and they were once more walking down the streets.

“I love shopping,” Annalise told her warmly.

“I hate it,” Daphne whispered absently.

Annalise said something else, but Daphne was not paying her the least bit of attention. She had noticed a shadow following them. She intentionally dropped her purchases and bent to pick them up, subtly looking over her shoulder as she did so. There was a man slowly following them.

Daphne knew better than to mention this fact to Annalise. She led them down one street, and then another and, just as she had expected, the man followed them. He had not yet approached them, however. Daphne realized she had seen him several times in the past few days.

“Annalise, where is your brother’s carriage?” Daphne asked lightly.

“Why, it should be near the modiste. Why, what is wrong? I thought we might—”

“I think we need to get home, Anna,” Daphne told her meaningfully. “Now.”

Daphne glanced over her shoulder and realized the man was nearing them now, walking towards them swiftly. Daphne grasped Annalise’s wrist and began to run. Anna let out a small shriek and tried to make her long legs move.

They heard the telling sound of boots pounding against the concrete behind them. He was coming after them. Annalise, terrified, stumbled.

“Run, Daphne; I’ll be okay!”

Snarling, Daphne jerked Annalise roughly to her feet and forced her forward. The man was nearly upon them now. Daphne swerved dangerously close to the crowded street. Only three more blocks, she thought, recognizing the emblem on the side of a waiting carriage. Two more, now…one more…

Annalise was limping now. Daphne was afraid she had been injured in her fall. Heart pounding, she shouted at the driver that they would be returning home. He was jarred out of a sleepy reverie and took up the reigns. Daphne yanked the door open and violently shoved Annalise inside.

It was too late. A hard, vice-like grip closed around her wrist. With one, last shove forward, she managed to wrench the wrapped box of taffy out of Anna’s trembling hands. She saw the look of total bewilderment on the man’s pockmarked face an instant before she began slamming it against the side of his head again and again.

“Let…me…go!”

There were shouts. Several people had stopped to gape at this unbelievable scene. Two well-dressed gentlemen were coming towards them. Daphne hoped they meant to intervene on her behalf, but she no longer held any faith that anyone would try to help. Hadn’t anyone seen them running from this villain?

Daphne dug her nails into the man’s hand deeply enough to draw blood. He let out a shout of anger.

“Go!” Daphne roared as she hurled herself into the carriage.

The driver, who had been immobilized with shock and fear, did not have to be told twice. Daphne was on the floor of the carriage, her legs still sticking out the door, as the carriage jerked into motion. She struggled to a sitting position and slammed the door shut.

“Ohmigod!” Annalise gasped.

Daphne managed to take the opposite seat. “Are you okay?” she asked worriedly.

“I…my ankle…it isn’t too bad.”

Daphne instructed her to prop it up on the seat. She was still shaking in reaction to the chase. What if the driver had not been waiting for them? What if he had caught them before they reached the carriage?

“Daph…you have to tell James about this,” Annalise told her weakly.

“I know.” Absently, she handed back the box of taffy.

Annalise managed a grin. “I never knew you had it in you, Daphne. I thought you would kill him with my taffy.”

Although her pulse was still racing, and although she was still shaking, Daphne managed a small smile. “Death by taffy. Can you imagine the headlines in the dailies?”

Anna sniggered. Daphne blanched. The whole chase was only beginning to sink in. She trembled slightly…

* * * *

“Let me get this straight, for I want to be certain I understand. You were accosted in the street?”

Daphne and Annalise shared a wary look. The Duke had joined them in the library and waited for the physician to arrive. The man had just left, leaving instructions for Annalise to elevate her ankle and keep off it for several days. Anna’s brother did not look happy.

“We were,” Annalise responded immediately. “It was a pity, really, there was a new book I was wanting—”

“What, precisely, happened?” James interrupted impatiently.

Daphne was staring intently at her hands, which were clenched tightly in her lap. “I, we left the modiste—”—-”

“Daphne wanted to get more paints, so we went there first,” Annalise took up. She kept sending Daphne furtive, worried looks. “And I—”

“Wanted taffy,” Daphne added fearfully.

“We were arguing, weren’t we?” Annalise asked.

Daphne shook her head. “I stopped paying attention to what you were saying because I noticed this man following us.”

“How did you know he was following you?” James asked shrewdly.

Daphne flushed. Did he know what she was up to?

“Well, it was obvious, brother!” Annalise snorted. “Haven’t you ever been chased by a woman? You simply know.”

He ignored the comment completely, focusing on Miss Davernay. She had been acting queerly ever since their arrival. She had been flushing, and then blanching, every few minutes, and he was certain he had seen tears in her eyes several times, too.

“When he started to near us, we ran,” Daphne whispered guiltily.

“What did he do?”

“He ran, too,” Annalise told him. “So you see, he was following us, James, and it is most churlish of you to suggest that he was not. I stumbled, too, that is when I hurt my foot.”

“Ankle,” Daphne corrected her.

“So, Miss Davernay, you noticed a man following you, but you did not attempt to attract attention or seek help?”

Daphne met his shrewd, mocking stare. She began to shake. “I…I—”

“James, do not blame, Daphne. My God, when we got to the carriage, he grabbed her.”

James sent his sister a withering look. Yes, he knew someone grabbed Daphne. He could see the purpling bruises on her wrist, couldn’t he? He could see how her delicate skin was marred.

“So, you reached the carriage,” he said, pretending he had not heard anything Annalise had just said. “What happened then?”

Again, Annalise took over. Daphne was shaking too violently to finish the story in any case.

“Well, Daphne shoved me in, and told the driver we would be going home. When the man snatched her, she took my taffy and started to hit him.”

Villiers, who was guarding the door to the room, managed to disguise a laugh with a telling cough. He sent their little ward an appraising look. James ignored the interruption.

“That is when people noticed us,” Daphne whispered.

“Yes, well she surprised him, then she raked her nails over his hand and he let go and we left,” Annalise ended simply.

James paced to the window and stared out into the bright afternoon. He frowned. This story seemed to have several gaping holes, just as every single explanation of Miss Davernay seemed to lack sustenance. Enough truth to be believable, but too much left out to truly explain.

“Very well, Annalise. Villiers, you will please assist my sister to her room where she will...” he sent her a meaningful stare, “...rest. I will have a tray brought to your room in a bit.”

Annalise sighed. “May I at least have a book, James?”

He managed a slight smile. “As many as you like, sister dear.”

James helped her up and supported her to the doorway, where two footmen were waiting to carry her upstairs. He brushed his hand over her shoulder, a silent show of affection. He watched her stumble forward and then closed the door, quietly locking it. He did not want to be interrupted.

Miss Davernay appeared not to have realized that they were alone, or perhaps she thought that he would simply go back to his paperwork. He let out a deep sigh. He did not know quite what to make of the chit.

She was still shaking violently. He walked to the sideboard and poured her a generous tumbler of brandy. Slowly, he approached her, as though she were a wild, injured animal, capable of lashing out at any moment. Slowly, he knelt down beside her.

“Miss Davernay… Daphne,” he murmured gently.

She either ignored him, or did not hear him. He placed his hand on her thigh. Her dark, wide eyes stared at his large palm, and then followed the path up past his unbuttoned and rolled shirtsleeves, up to his shoulder and, finally, his face.

“I want you to drink this,” he told her quietly.

“W-w-what?” she stammered.

He unclenched her fists and folded her hands around the crystal tumbler. He wrapped both his hands around hers and slowly brought the glass up to her lips. Her eyes never left his face as she took first one sip, and then another and another.

“There now, feeling better? Calming down?”

She nodded, sipped one last time, and set the drink aside. “I do not like it,” she whispered.

James smiled. He took her hand in his and lifted it so he could kiss her bruised wrist. He felt his stomach twist as he thought about what could have happened.

“Is there anything you would like to tell me?”

Daphne gasped and jerked her hand away from him. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

James sat down beside her on the settee. “I would like to believe you, Miss Davernay, but your eyes tell a different story.”

Daphne closed her eyes as though to hide the damning truth. She began to tremble again, only slightly, but it was enough to cause James to wish he had never baited her.

“Annalise is not nearly as upset as you are,” he said lightly.

Daphne shook her head. “She could have died,” she cried out, finally voicing what had occurred to her on the long ride home.

James reached across her and pressed the tumbler of brandy in her shaking hands again. She automatically tried to drink it, but was shaking so violently now that she merely sloshed the heady spirit down the front of her gown.

“I am certain it would never have gone so far, Miss Davernay. Here,” he said, fetching his handkerchief and attempting to blot the material away from her new gown.

“Don’t,” she cried, shoving his hands away. “Don’t you understand? She could have died, and it would be all my fau…”

“All your fault?” James scowled over her words. “Isn’t that what you were going to say?”

Daphne said nothing, glaring down at her lap. She knew she was overset and was revealing too much. If he pressed much harder, she would likely spill the entire bloody mess to him, and Lord only knew what he would do then.

“What did you mean?”

She quivered. He was peering down at her quizzically.

It was enough to loosen her tongue.

“I…only that death seems to follow wherever I go,” she whispered with truth and pain.

James grasped her shoulders and turned her so that she had to face him. She expected irritation and anger, but what she glimpsed in his face bespoke of compassion only. Compassion, and some other heady emotion she could not recognize. She blushed in mortification at what she had just revealed.

“Daphne, it is not your fault that your father died, nor is it your fault that some bloke saw a pretty girl and thought to make an easy mark. You mustn’t blame yourself for these things.”

She shook her head, pondering over his words. “If he wanted Annalise, he should not have grabbed me.”

He shook his head, exasperated. Did she never look into a mirror? He gentled his hold on her, stroking her arms, thinking about what to next say.

Daphne shook him away. “I would like to rest now, Your Grace. I am not feeling quite the thing.”

“Of course,” he replied, moving away.

He had forgotten. The last thing a pretty girl like herself would ever want to suffer was his wretched touch.