“Miss Clemens, please don appropriate attire prior to joining us for breakfast, and Mr. Reid,”—Mrs. Hastings’ wearied eyes slid to him—“Edward will hear of this.” She gestured at Daphne’s sheer dress.
“I have no doubt my mother and aunt will as well.” Beaming, he bowed to both ladies and strolled to the library door. “Miss Clemens,” he said, turning around. “As I have not fulfilled my promise, I will forgive yours. However, if you are ever in need of my services again, I would happily assist you with any less than desirable pursuit.” Touching his hand to his chest, he bowed again, then disappeared into the hallway.
“Miss Clemens, during your stay here, I encourage you to form an attachment with Miss Randall. Mr. Reid,”—Mrs. Hastings paused, her eyes on the open library door—“is not equipped to properly guide you in your efforts to remain a lady.”
Spinning around, she exited the library, her footfall disappearing up the staircase. Daphne glided over to the bookshelf, trailing her fingers along the spines of the books, a faded black leather one catching her attention. Rubbing her thumb over the smooth binding, she hooked her finger and tugged the book toward her. Silently, the bookcase slid open, revealing the inky darkness of the tunnel.
Daphne jumped backward, knocking into an armchair, and screamed. Glancing around, she giggled nervously and smoothed her sopping dress, then approached the bookshelf. Reaching out, she pushed the book into place, and the bookshelf slid closed. With a grin, she skipped from the library, pleased she had discovered the secret lever on her own, but skidded to a stop at the base of the staircase when Miss Randall’s melodious voice drifted down the hallway from the dining room.
“Good morning, Mr. Reid. Are you joining me this morning?”
Daphne’s shoulders slumped. Miss Randall was beautiful, captivating, hypnotizing, and sweet, which really was the most irritating part of the whole cruel satire. If Miss Randall was malicious like Miss Shirely—Daphne shuddered as the image of Alice’s sneering face popped into her mind—she would have cause to hate Miss Randall for her obvious interest in Mr. Reid, but she wasn’t. She was lovely.
“I would be delighted,” Mr. Reid replied, his voice adopting a sugary tone.
That truly was the problem. Mr. Reid seemed quite smitten with Miss Randall, and Daphne had no merits with which to compete for his attention.
She glanced down at her soiled dress, fingering the sheer material. Even at her most scandalous, she still failed to capture Mr. Reid’s attention. Dread settled in her stomach. Were there worse things than becoming a spinster?
Perhaps she should reconsider Mr. Lockhearst’s offer of marriage. Rumors of his gruff behavior had circulated in her mother’s social circle for months. However, a businessman, such as Mr. Lockhearst, would understand the importance of civility. Her mother had been known to spread false gossip, and there was a significant possibility the rumors regarding Mr. Lockhearst were fabricated as well. She could certainly do worse than him. Daphne shuddered, her skin crawling as a ghostly feeling of Mr. Shirely’s finger brushed down her cheek.
“Daphne, why are you standing on the staircase?”
Startled, Daphne emitted a small squeak, her head whipping left. “Aunt Abigail, you frightened me.”
A smile pulled at the older woman’s lips. “I have been standing here for five minutes, and during that entire time, you have not moved one step. Tell me, where is your head?”
In the dining room, watching Mr. Reid fall in love with Miss Randall.
“I’m sorry.” Daphne offered her a belated curtsy. “I was thinking of horseback riding.”
“Do you know how to ride a horse?” Aunt Abigail limped into the entrance hall, heavily leaning on her cane.
“No, however, Mr. Reid offered to give me lessons if you approved of the activity.”
“I approve.” Aunt Abigail’s eyes sparkled. Her gaze traveled over Daphne’s dress. “Do you intend to wear that garment?”
Daphne glanced down at the puddle forming around her feet as rivets of water dripped down her back. Shivering, she wrapped her arms across her chest. “Mrs. Hastings requested I change prior to breakfast.”
“No one has ever died from eating breakfast while wet.” Aunt Abigail slipped her hand through Daphne’s arm, tugging her toward the dining room.
“No!” Daphne pulled against Aunt Abigail, ripping her arm away.
Turning, Aunt Abigail arched an eyebrow. “No?”
“I…” Daphne’s eyes flew between the dining room and Aunt Abigail, just as Miss Randall’s laugh, joined by Mr. Reid’s baritone chortle, floated into the hallway again.
“I see.” Aunt Abigail recaptured Daphne’s arm. “If Thomas cares about the state of your clothing, he is not worthy of your time.”
“Please do not interfere, I beg you, Aunt Abigail.” Daphne’s stomach flipped over, bile rising to her throat.
“I swear.” Aunt Abigail placed her hand over her heart. “However, we still need to eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Of course, you are.” Aunt Abigail steered her into the dining room.
“Mrs. Stanton, Miss Clemens, good morning,” Miss Randall greeted them joyfully, her face glowing. “Are you dining with us as well?”
“Unfortunately, we cannot. Daphne and I have some matters to attend to.” Aunt Abigail shifted her cane to her left hand and lifted her plate from the table. She turned toward Mr. Reid, “However, Daphne has my permission to learn horseback riding.”
“Excellent.” Mr. Reid tore his eyes from Miss Randall. “When would you like to begin, Miss Clemens?”
“This morning, as soon as you are finished eating.” Aunt Abigail replied, ladling eggs on her plate. She added two pieces of toast and passed the plate to Daphne. “Come, Daphne, you will dry faster if you stand in front of the fire.”
“Why is your clothing wet?” Miss Randall asked, peering over the table to inspect Daphne’s dress.
“She fell in the river,” Mr. Reid replied, “she believes herself to be clumsy.”
The blush crawling up Daphne’s neck exploded onto her face. She curtsied to Mr. Reid and Miss Randall, dashing from the room after Aunt Abigail, clutching the plate.
“You swore you would not interfere.” Daphne hissed as she ran down the corridor.
“I have not.” Aunt Abigail limped into the parlor, and perched on the sofa, holding out her hand for the plate of eggs.
“I have a riding lesson this morning.” Sinking down beside Aunt Abigail, Daphne twisted her fingers together. “I have never even sat on a horse.”
Aunt Abigail glanced up, the fork halfway to her mouth. “Do you want to spend time with my nephew?”
“Yes…”
“Daphne,” Aunt Abigail set down the plate and fork, “how is he ever going to know of your attachment if you do not show him?”
Daphne licked her lips, her heart constricted. She would not cry. “Miss Randall is beautiful.”
“That she is.” Aunt Abigail took Daphne’s hands in hers. “However, she is not you, and you are—”
“I am unremarkable.” Dropping her head, Daphne blinked rapidly, combating the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.
Aunt Abigail brushed her finger over Daphne’s cheek, collecting the moisture. “Your mother is wrong about you, Daphne. Do not let her poisonous nonsense direct your life.”
Digging the toe of her shoe into the rug, Daphne spoke to the floor. “I have been considering Mr. Lockhearst as a potential suitor.”
“Have you?” Aunt Abigail lifted the plate again, taking a bite. “I was unaware of his interest.”
“His attachment hinged upon my dowry.”
Aunt Abigail choked, spraying bits of egg across the floor. “Was the sum not large enough for him? I discussed it at length with Benjamin and Thomas.”
Daphne sighed, her gaze rising to Aunt Abigail. “I may have misled him regarding the amount.”
“Why?”
“I was uncertain his temperament was suited to mine.”
“And now?”
“I believe I would be content in the match.”
Aunt Abigail set the plate down again, her stern gaze locked on Daphne. “Are you entertaining this idea because you want to marry Mr. Lockhearst or because you have no other offers?”
“I have other offers,” Daphne mumbled, a line appearing on her forehead.
“Mr. Shirely does not count as a potential suitor. I forbad you from marrying him.” Aunt Abigail thumped her cane on the ground.
“I have no intention of marrying him.”
“You have no intention of marrying who?” Mr. Reid asked as he strolled into the room. Leaning over, he snagged a piece of toast from his aunt’s plate.
“Mr. Shirely.”
“I should hope not.” Mr. Reid took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “Especially since I punched him in the face.”
“You did more than that, Mr. Reid,” Daphne replied, twisting her fingers together.
Aunt Abigail’s mouth pulled into a pensive line, her eyes drifting between Daphne and Mr. Reid. “Is Miss Randall joining you at the stables?”
“No.” Mr. Reid shrugged, grabbing the second piece of toast. “She would like to settle into her chamber this morning; her maid is helping her unpack.”
“It is her loss.” Aunt Abigail smiled, patting Daphne’s arm. “Thomas is an excellent tutor.”
Grinning, Mr. Reid bowed low. “Miss Clemens, are you ready for your first lesson?”
Daphne paled, a myriad of excuses tumbled through her mind, then she thought of Miss Hastings and how she would react if Mr. Reid had invited her.
“Yes,” Daphne replied, her voice holding none of the conviction with which she spoke.
“Thomas,” I expect you to return Daphne in the same state as she is at this exact moment.”
“Including the damp clothing?” Mr. Reid chuckled, his eyes traveling over Daphne. Her stomach flipped over.
Aunt Abigail arched an eyebrow. “Thomas, while my sense of humor is quite forgiving, neither your mother’s nor Mrs. Hastings’ will be. Therefore, unless you wish to be forced into a wedding, I suggest you take caution with Daphne.”
“Yes, Aunt Abigail,” Mr. Reid replied, bowing to Aunt Abigail. His dutiful comment held no trace of humor. “I shall have Miss Clemens report her progress to you.” Mr. Reid offered his arm, helping her rise from the couch. “I think you should begin on Phantom,” he murmured in her ear as they passed into the entrance hall.
“The horse’s stall where the trapdoor was hidden?” Daphne asked, lowering her voice.
“You have a good memory.”
“Is he a gentle horse?”
“He’s invisible.” Chuckling, Thomas pulled open the door and escorted Daphne into the bright mid-morning sunlight.
“Then, I shall have no fear of falling.”
Pausing on the veranda, Mr. Reid turned, his brown eyes studying Daphne. Heat crawled into her skin, and she glanced down. He reached out, hooking his fingers under her chin and lifting her eyes to his. “I will never let you fall. I swear it.”
“Swearing, Mr. Reid?” Daphne teased, attempting to distract herself from the fluttering in her stomach. “I am shocked.”
“Only the worst words,” he replied and winked, sending a smattering of butterflies fluttering through her stomach.
“Mr. Reid, do not trick me into friendship until you have fulfilled your obligation,” she replied with a curtsy, then strode across the veranda toward the stables.
“And what is my obligation to you?” Mr. Reid asked, his long legs catching up to her in moments.
“To teach me how to ride a horse.”
“I accept your terms.” Mr. Reid took her arm, escorting her across the courtyard. “However, I would like to add a condition to our agreement.”
“Which is?” Daphne stopped walking and turned toward him.
“Since it will take several lessons, I propose increasing our intimacy of friendship proportionally as well.”
Daphne tilted her head, digesting Mr. Reid’s suggestion. “How would you determine the appropriate level of friendship?”
“After each lesson, you must tell me one of your secrets, and I will tell you one of mine.”
“I am hardly a person with secrets.”
“On the contrary, I believe you are filled with them.” Mr. Reid extended his hand. “Do we have an agreement?”
“We do.” Daphne accepted Mr. Reid’s hand, shaking it once, then he pulled her forward, leading her down the final slope into the barn, and stopped in front of the first stall.
“Since you’ve already been introduced to Shadow, it will be easier for you to trust each other.” Reaching into his pocket, he extracted a sugar lump, pressing it to the horse’s mouth. Gobbling up the treat, Shadow pushed his head against Mr. Reid, searching for another lump of sugar.
Taking Daphne’s hand, Mr. Reid pressed it to Shadow’s muzzle. The horse bumped its nose against her palm. Giggling, Daphne lifted her other arm, stroking her fingers over Shadow’s soft skin. “He’s beautiful.”
“Don’t tell him that,” Mr. Reid whispered loudly. “He already thinks he runs the stables.”
Daphne laughed. “Do they all have personalities?”
“Of course.” He patted the horse, running his fingers along the horse’s jawline. “All animals do.”
Lifting the gate latch, Mr. Reid entered the stall, removed a bridle and bit from the wall, slipped it over Shadow’s head, and secured the straps. Leading the horse out of the barn, Mr. Reid stopped beside a small training paddock. “If you stand on the upper rung of the fence, you should be able climb onto Shadow’s back.”
Daphne swallowed.
“You can do this,” she muttered to herself. Gathering her skirt, she lifted it to her knees and climbed onto the fence. Reaching out, she placed her hands on the horse’s back. With a grunt, she jumped, hoisting herself onto the horse. Mr. Reid appeared instantly at her side, steadying her.
“As you are a beginner, I would not recommend riding side-saddle. It will be easier if you straddle the horse.”
Nodding, Daphne swung her leg over the horse’s neck. Wobbling, she shrieked and flung herself forward, grabbing onto the horse’s mane. Her skirt rode up, exposing her thigh. Mr. Reid yanked the material down, but his hand lingered over her leg, pressing it against Shadow’s body. Heat pulsed from his fingers, pouring into her skin. She shivered. Mr. Reid was trouble, and she was dangerously close to losing her heart to him.
“I think it best I ride behind you.”
“Behind me?” Daphne squeaked, her head spinning toward Mr. Reid.
“Yes.” The hand gripping the reins tightened, and Mr. Reid vaulted onto the back of the horse, scooted forward, and pressed his chest against Daphne’s back. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he gathered the reins in his right hand and leaned forward, the vibration from his lips tickling her earlobe. “Hold on.”
The faint scent of hay and oak washed over her, sending a cascade of shivers racing down her back. Her heart beat an erratic rhythm of anxiousness and elation.
“Don’t be afraid,” he murmured. His left arm retracted, securing her snugly against his torso. He nudged Shadow with his legs, clicking his tongue. Shadow took a tentative step forward.
Screaming, Daphne’s hands flew to her face, covering her eyes. After a moment, she peeled her fingers away. “We’re not moving.”
“We’re not.”
“Why?”
“He can sense your fear.” Mr. Reid’s hand twitched, his fingers splaying across Daphne’s stomach. She tensed. Leaning forward, he whispered in her ear again. “I can too.”
Whipping around, Daphne frowned at him. “Are you laughing at me?”
“No.” Mr. Reid mirrored her frown. “Why would you think that?”
“My previous tutors were less… kind.” Daphne twisted forward. Inhaling, she shifted her position and nodded, her eyes locked on the horse’s head. “Alright, I am ready.”
Nudging the horse again, Shadow walked unhurriedly toward the courtyard, jarring Daphne with his swaying motion. Gritting her teeth, Daphne wrapped her hands through the horse’s mane and shifted again.
“How does one get used to this?”
“Roll your body with the motion.”
“Pardon?”
Mr. Reid tightened his hold on her waist, melding her with his body. “Feel the movement.”
Closing her eyes, Daphne concentrated on the rocking motion, rolling her hips with the horse. The fire radiating from Mr. Reid singed her back, coursing through her skin. She longed to lean back, lay her head on his chest, and press her lips to his. Not that she had ever kissed a man, but she was certain, with his sordid reputation, Mr. Reid knew how to kiss a woman senseless.
Aunt Abigail’s warning floated into her mind. With the threat of a wedding, she had no cause to worry about Mr. Reid behaving inappropriately. It was the one thing Aunt Abigail could have said to deter Mr. Reid’s interest. She grimaced.
“Would you like to go faster?” Mr. Reid murmured as the horse plodded across the courtyard.
Her eyes flew open. “Is that safe?”
“It depends upon whether you trust me.”
Daphne swallowed and nodded. “I trust you.”
“Excellent.” Without warning, the horse bolted for the main gate. Daphne shrieked, her body sliding to the left. Mr. Reid yanked her upright, tightening his grip, and clicked his tongue. The horse responded, breaking into a gallop. Reaching the main road, they turned right, following the path.
“This must be what flying feels like,” Daphne said, leaning forward a bit. Her hair had ripped free of its pin and was trailing behind her like a flag.
Mr. Reid laughed. “I have tried frequently to explain that same sentiment to Benjamin, but he still prefers his coach.”
“Where are we heading?”
“Toward the Shirely’s estate.”
Daphne frowned, glancing over her shoulder. “You do intend to turn around before we arrive?”
He didn’t respond. Slowing the horse, he yanked on the reins until Shadow stopped with an indignant snort. Mr. Reid’s eyes narrowed, studying something over Daphne’s shoulder. Recognition passed through his face, and his skin paled.
“We are turning back right now,” he said, his voice tight.
“Why?” A line creasing her forehead, she turned, but Mr. Reid captured her chin, pulling it toward him, a strange darkness glowing in his eyes. He lifted her leg, twisting her body until she sat side-saddle, and his arms wrapped around her waist, drawing her head against his chest.
“Close your eyes.”
“Mr. Reid—”
He placed his finger on her lips. “Miss Clemens, I beg you. Please do as I say. Close your eyes. I shall tell you when you can open them again.”
Daphne nodded, closing her eyes. “The only reason I am doing this is I promised to trust you.”
“And I am thankful for that promise,” he replied, removing his finger. The horse spun in a half-circle, then Mr. Reid dug his heels into Shadow’s flanks. The stallion whinnied his complaint before bursting into a gallop, racing down the road.
“May I open my eyes?” Daphne asked, her muffled voice rising from his shirt.
“You may,” came Mr. Reid’s tense response.
“What did you see?” She glanced up. Forming a hard line, his lips pressed together as if he were attempting to physically hold the truth in his mouth. “Mr. Reid, if we are to be friends, you must trust me too, and since you owe me a secret, I wish you to tell me this one.”
Did she really want to know?
A myriad of thoughts passed over Mr. Reid’s face, his lips scrunched as he debated her argument, his light brown eyes darkening to burnt umber. He sighed. “The body of Mr. Horace Pierce.”
Daphne gasped, hysteria crawling through her limbs. “Are you certain it was he?”
“Quite.”
“How do you know he was dead?” she pressed. Perhaps Mr. Reid was mistaken…
“Because he was hanging from a tree.”