“Are we not witty?” With a mighty scowl, Trevor stared at Dalton. “Heed my counsel, and tell Daphne what happened, with all due haste, as you do not want her to find out from someone else.”
“Believe me, I am trying, but I would not do so in the middle of a crowded ballroom.” The signature notes of the opening waltz had him searching for Daphne. “But at this instant I have a dance to claim with my lady.”
So Dalton mustered a smile, as he drew Daphne from her newfound allies, ignored Rebecca’s countenance of reproach, and led his bride-to-be to the throng of couples.
“Oh, Dalton. Never have I attended anything so grand as the Richmond’s gala.” With his arm settled about her waist, and their fingers twined, she beamed inexpressible joy, and a strange sensation welled within him, warming his insides and quelling his unrest. “The fashions are spectacular, the jewels are extraordinary, the hothouse roses are magnificent, and the tapestries are awe-inspiring. I can’t help but wonder if I belong here, as I have no fortune or connections.”
“Of course, you belong here.” It bothered him that she deemed herself unworthy, when she possessed more integrity in her little finger than the collective of revelers. “And I would ask a favor, if I may.”
“Your wish is my command, sir.” She squealed with delight, as he whirled her in rhythm with the music. “As you have made me so happy.”
“I like the sound of that.” He found her enthusiasm contagious, as the dark thoughts infesting his consciousness yielded to her euphoria, and the waltz worked on him in way he had never experienced. “But I would request a private audience, tomorrow morning, as I have an urgent matter I must explain before we venture to another party.”
“Is something wrong?” Her bright light dimmed, and he cursed himself for ruining her celebration. “Have I embarrassed you? If you have reappraised the situation and wish to rescind your offer, I will understand.”
“Would you surrender me so easily, angel?” The second he voiced the query he hated himself for asking it.
“Never.” The subtle flinch of her fingers betrayed her internal unrest. “But neither would I hold you to our bargain, if you choose to end it, as I care too much for you to force you into a marriage you no longer covet.”
“You care for me?” She could not know it, but she had just caught the attention of every inch of him—and a few wicked ones, in particular. “I mean, your affections are engaged?”
“Yes.” Her eyes flared. “And I—”
“Excuse me.” Lord Sheldon smirked. “But I believe this quadrille is mine.”
Everything within him railed, as he refused to cede the gently reared virgin to the wolf of London. But how could he avoid causing a scene and shaming Daphne?
“There must be some mistake, as this is my dance.” Damian bowed and extended a hand. “Now be a good lad and shove off, Sheldon.”
“Your Grace.” The blackguard gritted his teeth and disappeared amid the crush.
With Daphne safe from harm, Dalton turned and discovered Lady Moreton. Without a word of acknowledgement, he dipped his chin and returned to the Brethren’s customary meeting place, only to find Everett struggling to keep a visibly distressed Sabrina upright.
“Dalton, fetch our coach, as I fear my wife is in labor.” Everett waved at Blake, who lent assistance. “Hurry, man.”
Winding his way through the mass of attendees, he located the butler. “Summon the Earl of Woverton’s rig, at once. And send a messenger to Dr. Handley, with due haste, as it is an emergency.”
“Yes, sir.” The manservant bowed and rushed to relay the orders.
“I told you we should have stayed home, as did Lance and Cara.” Everett walked Sabrina to the entrance. “When you carry our next child, I shall confine you to Beaumaris, as I will not risk your life or that of our babe for a silly ball.”
“But I only wanted to—oh.” Wincing, Sabrina bit her lip and hugged her belly. “Everett, I am afraid, as it is too early.”
“Hold on to me, darling.” Despite the public venue, Everett kissed her forehead, stared at Dalton, and frowned. “I will let nothing hurt you or our second born.”
“Where is mama?” Sabrina moaned and then shrieked, as a puddle of fluid pooled at her feet. “Oh, no. My water just broke.”
“Bloody hell.” Everett waved with frantic intensity, as the coach arrived, and footmen scurried to assist Everett and Sabrina. “Dalton, locate the admiral and Lady Amanda, and tell them what happened.”
“I will find them.” In the main hall, Dalton glanced straight ahead and then right. The admiral preferred to linger among the old guard, and Lady Amanda never left his side, so he veered toward the salon. As the venerable leader of the Brethren traded war stories with retired Royal Navy men, Sabrina’s mother perched at the end of a sofa, sharing conversation with the wives.
When she spied Dalton, her smile morphed into a frown, and she stood. “Mark, I think something is wrong.”
“What is it?” the admiral asked, as they huddled near the front wall.
“Sabrina is in labor, and Everett has taken her home,” Dalton said, in a low voice.
“But she is not due for another few weeks.” Lady Amanda clutched her husband’s arm. “Hurry, Mark. We must go to her.”
“I will relay the information to the others.” Then Dalton sprinted into the ballroom. In mere minutes, he related the pertinent details to Blake, Damian, Elaine, and Celia. When Dirk and Rebecca exited the dance floor, Dalton signaled his brother and sister-in-law and explained the events. “Where is Daphne?”
“She is with Elaine and Celia,” Rebecca replied, as she scanned the vicinity.
“No, she is not.” A dark sense of foreboding shrouded him in palpable anxiety. “I found Elaine and Celia, and Daphne was not with them.”
“I will check the dining room, as she may be at the buffet.” To Dirk, Rebecca said, “Darling, will you look in the back parlor, as she may have ventured in there.”
“Then I will search the terrace.” Dalton glimpsed the open doors. “And we will meet in the foyer.”
As he navigated the ocean of couples, he shrugged off the panic pulsing within his muscles and told himself he was overreacting. Daphne was curious, and she had probably enacted an impromptu exploration of the Richmond’s home. When he stepped to the flagged surface, and the cool night air penetrated his clothes, he shivered. Following a graveled path, hushed voices brought him to the side garden, and he halted in his tracks.
Bathed in the silvery glow of a full moon, an obscene congregate, of sorts, framed his future wife at either side. Whispering in her ears, Lady Moreton and Lord Sheldon stood as two foul bookends, and Daphne sobbed when she spotted Dalton. Tears glistened as they streamed her cheeks, her expression manifested unspoken horror, and her gaze struck him as a vicious punch between the eyes.
“Enough.” Daphne wrenched free and raised a clenched fist. “I would thank you never again to intrude upon my hospitality, as I may be moved to violence.”
And then she ran in the opposite direction.
THE LUCKY ONE
CHAPTER NINE
Five days later, Daphne huddled on the landing at Randolph House and fought cursed tears. Repulsed by her own weak spirit, she dried her face on her sleeve and vowed not to cry again. Of course, she would break that oath, as she had done little else after the Richmond’s ball. Given what Lady Moreton and Lord Sheldon had disclosed of Daphne’s erstwhile true knight, she loomed at a painful impasse, and she prayed her appointment would provide some comfort and much needed insight.
“I am sorry, Sir Dalton.” Hughes clasped his hands behind his back. “Miss Daphne bade me convey her regrets, as she remains unwell and unavailable.”
“Thank you, Hughes.” Dirk chucked Dalton’s shoulder. “Worry not, brother. She will come around, as she is a sensible girl, but she needs time. Why not join me in the study for a brandy?”
“But I need to explain what happened.” Dalton appeared bedraggled,
as if he had not slept since last Thursday. “Sheldon drugged me, and I ended my affair with Lady Moreton. They hurt Daphne on purpose, because of me, and I must make amends, as I cannot lose her.”
Dalton’s spontaneous and unintended confession captured her attention, as he had just altered her perspective, though he knew it not. Mollified, to an extent, she gazed at the ceiling and sighed, as she hated being at odds with her savior. Covering her mouth with her hand, she hugged the wall and almost screamed when Rebecca tapped Daphne on the shoulder.
“Down the back stairs, now.” The viscountess led the way. “I had the coach brought to the mews, so you might avoid Dalton until you are ready to receive him.”
“Becca, do you think ill of me?” Daphne bumped into her hostess, when Rebecca came to an abrupt halt. “Am I wrong to seek some understanding of Dalton’s actions, before granting him an audience?”
“No.” At the terrace doors, Rebecca retrieved Daphne’s pelisse from a chair and draped the coat about Daphne’s shoulders. “When Dirk related Dalton’s discreditable behavior, my first desire was to string the younger Randolph from the highest yardarm, as I could not stomach his stupidity.”
“But now you feel otherwise.” Desperate for the minutest measure of solace, Daphne grasped Becca’s hands. “Tell me I am wrong. Tell me I am making too much of nothing. Tell me to believe in him, and I will do so.”
“My dear, calm yourself.” Rebecca squeezed Daphne’s fingers. “Come. Let us get you in the rig, so you might find peace and make your decision, as the choice must be yours, freely made. And I can’t advise you in this matter, as I have no right to judge Dalton, because I am hardly an impartial critic without sin.”
“So you have an opinion?” Together, they walked through the garden. “I would love to hear it.”
“After you have reached your conclusion, I will explain an intimate part of my past, which has direct bearing on your situation with Dalton.” Rebecca unlatched and opened a gate. “But not until you reconcile things with him, as I would not influence your position.”
“I understand.” In the rear courtyard, a footman handed Daphne to the coach. “Thank you, Becca.”
The former spy winked, retreated a step, and shouted, “Drive on.”
As she reclined in the squabs, Daphne examined the ermine trim of her lavender pelisse, the matching day dress, and her crisp white gloves, all purchased with Dalton’s funds. Whenever she pondered the fact that his money had supplied every stitch of clothing on her body, she shivered. She owed him so much, yet she could not ignore the salacious deeds Lady Moreton and Lord Sheldon had described in embarrassing detail.
When she had accepted Dalton’s less than romantic proposal, the happy bargain had not included an ill-mannered former mistress and a handsome but cunning reprobate bent on spreading ill will. But the simple fact remained that she cared for Dalton, and she had faith in him, though he tested her conviction to new lengths. And while she had withdrawn from society, as she had to gather her wits, and she refused to cry in public, what hurt her most was the prospect of never winning Dalton’s heart. But how could she compete, given his carnal predilections?
Just then, the coach halted before a resplendent brick mansion, which boasted a double-door entrance and the number 24 etched in the masonry. As she ascended the stairs, a very proper butler set wide the oak panels and then bowed.
“Miss Daphne, I presume?” The manservant smiled.
“Yes.” She nodded, stepped into the foyer, and doffed her outerwear. “I have a prior engagement with Lady Amanda.”
“Her ladyship awaits your presence in the drawing room.” The butler lifted his chin. “If you will follow me, please.”
The elegant chamber sported distemper wall coverings trimmed in mahogany, velvet drapes, a damask sofa and matching chaise, and two Hepplewhite chairs, bathed in rich navy blue. A fire burned in the hearth, which abated the unseasonably cool May afternoon. Seated amid the majesty, the graceful hostess, with hair black as a crow’s feather, regal features, and crystal blue eyes, smiled.
“Miss Daphne is just arrived, your ladyship.” The manservant bowed.
“Thank you, Hamilton. That will be all.” Lady Amanda stood and approached, with arms outstretched. “Daphne, how wonderful to see you. And how are you, my poor dear? I have heard some of your travails, when Rebecca visited Sabrina and my new granddaughter, yesterday.”
“How is Sabrina?” At Lady Amanda’s urging, Daphne eased to the sofa. “And what of Phoebe? Rebecca tells me the baby is beautiful, and Everett is thrilled.”
“Daresay I have never seen a prouder papa, and I have no doubt my son-in-law will spoil her, as Everett dotes on her, already.” Lady Amanda giggled. “But I would have it no other way. And Dr. Handley assures us Phoebe and her mother is in fine fettle. Yet you did not journey here to trade pleasantries about the latest addition to our family, and I must confess I am intrigued. How might I be of service?”
“I know not where to begin.” Daphne accepted a cup of tea and resituated herself, as Lady Amanda perched to the right. “So much has happened in so little time, and I am at a loss to keep pace.”
“Perhaps you might start with the obvious question.” Lady Amanda inclined her head. “What has this to do with me?”
“Well, in truth, nothing directly.” Daphne gazed at the plush carpet and frowned. “I had hoped we could discuss the brooch and its predictive nature.”
“The brooch?” With an owlish expression, Lady Amanda dropped a napkin to her lap. “Ah, yes. Dalton relayed the events surrounding your initial meeting and the temporary absence of my family heirloom.”
“I apologize for that.” Awash in shame, she slumped forward. “My youngest brother, Richard, took it from Dalton’s ship, so we could sell it for food.”
“A noble endeavor.” Then Lady Amanda’s countenance sobered. “You wore it.”
“I beg your pardon?” Daphne bit her tongue.
“Do not try to deny it.” The admiral’s wife scooted close. “What did it show you?”
Myriad repudiations flitted through her brain, as Daphne had not planned to reveal such intimate revelations. Then again, she had read Lady Amanda’s most private thoughts, so it was only fair to share. “A gold coin, tossing about in the air.”
“Upon my word.” Marked by a demeanor of utter shock, Lady Amanda gasped. “Dalton is your one true knight.”
“Do you believe so?”
“I do not doubt it for an instant.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I know, firsthand, the power of the artifact.” Lady Amanda averted her stare. “Although it has been years, I made use of it, after my sister loaned it to me, while my beloved Mark was at sea. Do you know what it imparted?”
“Yes, as Dalton allowed me to peruse the journal.” With trembling fingers, Daphne returned the cup and saucer to the tray. “I hope you are not offended when I say I found your entry quite romantic, but it was your certainty, regarding the lore, which brought me here. And I must know, do you accept the visions as irrefutable fact?”
“I do,” Lady Amanda responded with unshakeable conviction. Then she extended a hand. “Do you see the band I referenced?”
“‘Ego dilecto meo et dilectus meus mihi.’” Daphne twisted the simple gold ring. “It is lovely, but what does it mean?”
“I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.” A tad misty-eyed, and with a ghost of a smile, Lady Amanda sighed. “Mark gifted it just prior to casting off, after my father denied my dashing sailor’s initial request to wed me, and never have I removed it, since. During our separation, which reigns as the most painful period of my life, as we were so in love, Olivia insisted I consult the brooch, in an effort to ascertain whether or not Mark was my one true knight.”
“But you dreamed of a captain’s insignia.” Daphne recalled the tender archive. “Did you ever vacillate?”
“Never.” The striking noblewoman lifted her chin. “As I had pledge
d my troth to my Mark, or I vowed I would die a spinster. When he surprised me at my father’s birthday celebration, gorgeous in his new regimentals, I was ecstatic.”
“So you think I should marry Dalton.” Daphne grasped at the slightest bit of optimism. “As the brooch must be correct.”
“I would not go that far, as you must decide, for yourself, what you want for your future, because it is an irrevocable commitment, once it is sworn at the altar.” For a while, Lady Amanda simply studied Daphne, and she shifted beneath the scrutiny. “But I would wager you know in your heart what you desire.”
“I love Dalton.” And so she declared her deepest secret, and it had not destroyed her, as she had feared it would. Instead, Daphne could not help but laugh, as the misery from the past five days seemed to evaporate, in a flash. “I love him, I do. I did so wish the coin was his, before I discovered it belonged to Dalton.”
“Then Dalton is your match, in every way. He is your one true knight.” Then Lady Amanda furrowed her brow and sank against the cushions. “I apologize, but I have been unwell, of late.”
“Oh, no.” Daphne provided assistance, as she collected Lady Amanda’s cup and brought it to her. “You should have cancelled our appointment, as I would have understood.”
“It hardly signifies.” She sipped her tea. “I have no idea what is wrong with me, as I am always tired, I often suffer dizzy spells, and my belly has been downright temperamental, especially in the morning.”
“It sounds as if you are pregnant.” Daphne chuckled.
“Oh, my goodness.” Peering left and then right, Lady Amanda’s mouth fell agape. Then she grabbed Daphne’s arm. “That had not occurred to me, until this very moment.”
“But—is it possible?” Given Lady Amanda’s advanced age, Daphne presumed the suggestion ridiculous.
“It is most definitely possible, yet I should summon Dr. Handley, tomorrow.” The noblewoman surrendered to a strange fit of mirth. “But it has been so long. Wait until I tell Mark.”
A knock at the door silenced the spontaneous celebration.
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