“But he possesses a vast fortune and excellent connections.” Another unknown belittler snickered. “I could put up with quite a bit of mischief for such benefits, given he is easy on the eyes, but my father requires I marry a titled gentleman.”
“Ladies of quality do not tolerate such devilment, regardless of money or familial ties.” A third detractor scoffed. “But he would be fun for a night of naughty recreation, if you take my meaning.”
The three hens broke into a fit of cackles, and Daphne clutched her beau’s hand and squeezed his fingers, in a show of support. Dirk frowned and compressed his lips, while Rebecca craned her neck, as the foursome enjoyed tea and sweetmeats at Pâtisserie François, a quaint establishment where the notables converged to see and be seen. Were they in Portsea, she would have taken the detractors to task over their rude comments, but so-called polite society, which were anything but polite, played by its own rules.
A sennight had passed since the initial disclosure of Dalton’s discreditable act, along with Lord Sheldon’s part in the debauchery, and the ton was rife with speculation regarding the woman’s identity. Some had suggested Daphne completed the titillating triumvirate, but as she had just arrived in the city that spring, the rumor had not gone far.
“I am sorry, Daphne.” Dalton leaned near and imparted in a low voice, “If you would prefer to leave, I can have your selections packaged.”
“Nonsense.” After choosing a tempting lime-blossom madeleine, Daphne winked at her man, as nothing could spoil her afternoon with Dalton. “I am a proud provincial, and those self-professed ladies are nothing to me, so what care I for their good opinion?”
“Be that as it may, I shall remove their names from the guest list, for our fall gala.” Acting as chief-chaperone-in-charge, Rebecca folded her arms and humphed. “If they can be rude, then so, too, can I.”
“Darling, I love it when you are ruthless.” Dirk whispered in her ear, and Becca giggled. “What say you, sweetheart?”
“My randy lord, great minds think alike.” Rebecca fed her husband a small bite of shortbread. “And I shall don the new burgundy, again, just for you.”
“Promise me something.” Resolved to persevere, Daphne admired the viscount and viscountess, as they flirted without restraint or shame.
“Anything, angel.” Dalton scooted his chair closer. “What would you have of me?”
“Once we are wed, you will adore me, in public, as Dirk does Rebecca, and as the admiral does Lady Amanda.” Now that Daphne had made her decision, she would accept nothing less than her fantasy, and she wanted everything. And as she had delved into charitable work on Portsea Island, and management of the governorship in papa’s absence, she dove into courtship with her gallant knight, embracing all manner of social outings, musicales, and balls. Most of all, she desired a match based on affection. “Since I was a little girl, I have dreamed of being cherished, and I would never complain or grow tired of it.”
“My dear Miss Daphne, I would not even have to try to fulfill that request.” Now he favored her with his dimpled grin, and she could not help but laugh. “In fact, I may spoil you, as I cannot wait to make you mine.”
“But I am not asking you to buy me things, because you have done so much for me, already.” A now familiar fluttering in her belly distracted her, and she brushed crumbs from the skirt of her pale blue dress. “And I am so grateful.”
“I hesitate to remind you, because a gentleman would never do so.” For a scarce second, he studied her mouth, and then he met her stare. “But I am not interested in your gratitude, my lady.”
“Then take my heart, as it is yours.” And then Daphne bit her tongue, as she had not planned to make her declaration at that moment. There, amid the pink and white chintz wall coverings and matching tablecloths, she had made her stand for the future she desired. To her amazement, the surroundings seemed to fracture, her ears pealed, and she only had eyes for Dalton. For a while, her future husband simply gazed at her, shock investing his boyish features. When she could bear no more, she blurted, “I love you.”
“I know you do. Why else would you accept my proposal? And I believe I love you, too.” Furrowing his brow, he glanced surreptitiously about the crowd, as he rested her palm to his thigh and caressed the delicate flesh between her fingers, through her gloves, and she shivered. “At least, I think I do, but I am unfamiliar with such emotions. Yet I care for you, more than you realize.”
“Will you tell me when you know for certain?” Yes, she was disappointed by his not so ardent attestation, but she recalled the brooch’s mystical powers, her visions, as well as Lady Amanda’s assurance, and in silence Daphne pledged to persist. “As I would know when you share my devotion.”
“You have my word, although I am not sure I will recognize such attachment.” Despite his prosaic proclamation, she remained resolute. “Never have I experienced that singular sentiment, but if I could ever love anyone, it would be you.”
“Well, that is something.” No, his was not the commitment she had sought, but her circumstances had changed, and so she had to alter her expectations, but she had not ceded the fight.
“My, my, what a fetching sight.” With a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin, Lady Moreton stared down her nose at Daphne. “If it is not the black sheep and the rustic ragamuffin.”
“Better that than a low-rent doxy.” The soul of feminine deportment, Rebecca daubed the corners of her mouth, and Daphne could not stifle a snort.
“Well, I never.” The troublemaker humphed and drew herself up with regal hauteur.
“That is not what I heard.” The former spy inclined her head and arched a brow. “And I would thank you not to intrude on our family gatherings, as you are not welcome.”
“Why can you not leave us in peace, Almira?” Dalton stood. “Why can you not be happy for me? What did I ever do to you? And, as I told you, our arrangement is ended.”
“You do not throw me over, Sir Dalton.” Lady Moreton lowered her chin. “I am a lady of noble blood, widow of a great man, and you are nothing more than a second son.”
“You dare call yourself a lady?” Daphne shot to her feet. “Given your shameful behavior with Lord Sheldon and Sir Dalton, I wonder how you refer to yourself as such and maintain your composure. And I may be a backwater girl, but I would rather hail from a dignified if unfashionable Portsea Island upbringing than a cosmopolitan lifestyle that ranks iniquitous self-gratification above honor and respectability. Now I say good day to you, ma’am.”
Clutching a hand to her throat, Lady Moreton gasped, and her mouth fell agape. It was then Daphne noted the hushed whispers, as the patrons remarked on the confrontation. Unsure how to respond, she glanced at Dalton for reassurance, but he appeared too shocked to respond.
Without a word, Lady Moreton fled the establishment, and the murmurs grew louder. To the right, a group of older women stared at Daphne, and then one raised her glass, in toast.
“Well she will think twice before tangling with you again.” Rebecca beamed as a proud mama. “Nicely played, Daphne.”
“That was bloody brilliant.” Dirk clucked his tongue. “By God, but our mother could not have done better.”
“Are you positive she would approve?” Daphne reclaimed her chair, as the business resumed normal service in the wake of her brief contretemps, and Dalton had yet to offer his perspective of her exchange with Lady Moreton. “As I let my emotions get the best of me, and I should apologize. In my defense, I was born a Harcourt, and we are notorious for our quick tempers.”
“You were born to be a Randolph.” To her surprise, Dalton came alert, brought her hand to his lips, and pressed a chaste kiss to her knuckles. “And I should gift you diamonds, as I am in your debt, in more ways than one.”
“I beg your pardon?” In confusion, Daphne blinked, as he owed her nothing. “Given our arrangement, how could you be obligated to me?”
“Because you may have just rid us of the importuning Lady Moreton, once and for a
ll.”
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The Eddington’s massive ballroom reigned as a favorite of Dalton’s, because it contained a vast array of nooks and crannies perfect for an illicit tryst, and in the great hall he had engaged in numerous clandestine rendezvous amid the shadows. But on that night he had promised himself to remain on his best behavior, for Daphne’s sake, as they returned to the ton’s stage, as a dubious pair.
As he had anticipated, many partygoers, most he would describe as hypocrites, gave him a wide berth. Whispers and hushed murmurs greeted their arrival, and several women turned their backs on Dalton and Daphne, but his resilient rustic wavered not an inch. When he spied his newfound enemy, he flinched.
“What in bloody hell is Lady Moreton doing here?” He anchored Daphne at his side. “I do not like this. Almira is up to something.”
“Perhaps she received her invitation prior to our confrontation, and the Eddington’s did not wish to offend her.” Daphne peered at him, frowned, and flexed her fingers as she clutched his arm. “Is that not why we enjoy the same hospitality, because Lord Eddington could not rescind the summons without committing a breach in social etiquette?”
“I suppose that explains her presence, but we are welcome because Lord Eddington is a very good friend of my brother’s.” The termagant lurked as a jungle cat preparing to pounce, and he raised his defenses, as he scanned the vicinity for Lord Sheldon, given the two were thick as thieves. “Promise me you will remain with a member of our family, in my absence, for the length of the celebration.”
“But I am not afraid of her,” Daphne declared in a low voice. “As we have no more secrets between us, she can not hurt us.”
In the four days since the confrontation with Lady Moreton, Dalton had conferred with his bride-to-be and divulged every dirty tale of debauchery and devilry, going back to his years at Eton and Oxford, and including his particularly licentious tenure as a midshipman. While it had been painful to catalogue his nefarious capers for the gently bred virgin, and she had consumed impressive amounts of brandy during his bawdy recitations, he had been determined to spare no detail, which might function as an impediment to wedded bliss.
“Sweetheart, trust me. There is much mischief she can instigate, given we are minus a few allies.” Everett and Sabrina remained at home, with their new baby. And just prior to departing for the festivities, Dalton had received word that Cara had gone into labor, and Lance had opted to forgo the party and stay with his wife. Yet he could not blame his family for his predicament. For the umpteenth time, he wondered whatever possessed him to get involved with the widow, but he could not undo the past. “And Almira Moreton is a master of manipulation.”
“But you said we were rid of her, so why would she target us?” Daphne fidgeted with her diamond necklace, which he had gifted her in the wake of the set-to with Lady Moreton. True to form, his pretty provincial had protested the extravagance, until he threatened to throw the expensive bauble in the refuse. Only then had she acquiesced and accepted the matching earrings and bracelet, too. “And everyone watches her.”
“So I had presumed, but I can think of no other reason for her attendance.” And he could not shake the overwhelming sensation that Almira would seek vengeance. “In light of your haphazard revelation concerning her involvement in my discreditable activities, she needs no reason to fix on you. And Lady Moreton can hold a grudge like no one’s business. Do not be fooled by her delicate appearance, as she is a formidable adversary.”
“Then I shall be vigilant and do exactly as you suggest.” Despite her charming smile, the rigid set of her jaw betrayed her discomfit, and he hated ruining the otherwise fanciful evening for her. “Am I, at last, permitted to save all my waltzes for you? Is it permissible to make that statement, given our intent to wed, as I would rather eschew any other man’s embrace?”
“My angel, I command it, as I could not bear to see you in another man’s embrace.” To his inexpressible joy, she glowed. “And I might be persuaded to give you a tour of the Eddington’s library, if you are good.”
“Define ‘good,’ my gallant knight.” With a flirty titter, she licked her lips. “And I shall do whatever you wish.”
“Careful, my dear Miss Harcourt.” He bit back a groan, as everything inside him came alert at her innocent but inspiring proclamation. “I would not compromise you until the vows have been spoken, but you test my fortitude.”
“Am I so special?” The initial notes of the first waltz signaled the crowd, and he escorted her to the dance floor. “Given your extensive experience?”
“Would it shock you were I to admit I have wanted you since you bent over the tea stores in the Siren’s hold?” He arched a brow and hugged her tight about the waist. “Have I scandalized you?”
“Hardly, as I am well acquainted with your comedic nature, Sir Dalton.” Daphne squealed, as he twirled her in the rotation. “If you recall, I wore a hood, so my face was shrouded. How could you know anything of me?”
“I knew more than enough that night.” As always, he could not contain his laughter, when her arresting naïveté charged the fore. “Especially with you sporting those tight breeches, and I look forward to our honeymoon and a lengthy survey of your delectable derriere. Never let anyone tell you to be ashamed of your figure, angel.”
“Dalton.” Her attempt at reproach failed when she grinned. “So that is where your interest lies? And I had thought you partial to my mind.”
“Oh, I want that, too.” He reversed course. “I want to possess every part of you, my angel.”
When the dance ended, he led his lady to the edge of the throng. As the sea of bejeweled revelers parted, he noted a familiar visage and steered for the entrance.
“Where are we going?” Daphne inquired. “Your family is gathered in the back.”
“There is someone I want you to meet.” Standing before the grandest dame of the ton, Dalton drew up short, clicked his heels, and pulled Daphne to his side. “Miss Daphne Harcourt, may I present Lady Elizabeth, dowager viscountess of Wainsbrough and my mother.”
#
“Oh, my.” Daphne jerked, half-bowed, and then sketched a proper curtsey. Why had Dalton given her no warning? “Lady Elizabeth, I am so honored to make your acquaintance.”
“Are you not a delightful little thing. Please, you must call me Beth, as my son tells me we are to be family.” The poised noblewoman inclined her head and smiled. “And I wager I am far more excited to meet you than you are to meet me. Perhaps we can get to know each other, over tea, tomorrow.”
“I would love that.” In an instant, Daphne decided she liked her future mother-in-law.
“Wonderful.” The dowager extended a hand and flicked her fingers. “But now I would ask my youngest to favor me with a dance.”
“Of course, Mama.” Just as fast, Dalton jerked and glanced at Daphne. “If you will permit me to return Miss Daphne to—”
“Stuff and nonsense.” Daphne shooed her overly protective one true knight. “Indulge your mother. I know where to find Elaine and Celia, so I will be fine. And we are in the middle of a crowded ballroom. What could possibly happen?”
With that thought swirling in her brain, Daphne turned on a heel and weaved through the crush. After admiring a massive spring arrangement, which boasted a mix of roses, daisies, and snapdragons, she ventured into the shadows, where she located the youngest and quietest member of the odd extended family.
“Lucien claimed Celia for the quadrille.” Elaine drew Daphne behind a large bust perched atop a pedestal. “Do you see them? I feared Celia might burst, she was so excited.”
“How marvelous.” Daphne glimpsed the happy couple, and Celia emanated unutterable elation, as she gazed at the young sea captain. “Oh, no. She tripped.”
“She refuses to admit it, but she is smitten with him.” Elaine scooted lower. “And he is interested in her.”
“How do you know?” She craned her neck to gain a better vantage. “Have you heard something?”<
br />
“That is the benefit of blending into the background, as people do not hide what they believe others neither perceive nor detect. Watch and learn, my pretty friend.” With a muffled chortle, Elaine tugged Daphne to the other side of the column. “Men are not so difficult to read, as the clues are in their conduct. See how his fingers linger with hers, he licks his lips, when he meets her stare, and look how he admires her, when he thinks her unaware. She has caught his special attention, though he may not yet know it.”
“Does Dalton act in similar fashion, with me?” Daphne searched her memories for any relevant hints. “Have you noted any singular habits?”
“Indeed.” And then Elaine remained silent.
“Well?” Daphne shook Elaine. “What have you noticed?”
“Check his bearing.” The serene noblewoman pointed. “He searches for you, even in the company of Lady Elizabeth. When in deep conversation with the boys, Dalton adores you with his eyes. And when you stand within arm’s reach, he can’t stop himself from touching you, however brief the contact. I have witnessed such behavior, before, with my married brothers.”
“He cares for me.” It was a statement, not a question, and her knees buckled. Crouched in the Eddington’s ballroom with Elaine, Daphne realized Dalton had spoken the truth, when he claimed an emotional attachment. No, his had not been an attestation of undying love, but her one true knight harbored something for her, and that was better than nothing. In that moment, her heart sang.
“There is Sir Ross.” Elaine lurched upright and grabbed Daphne’s hand. “I would speak with him, but I promised Dalton I would not leave you alone.”
“Go to him.” Daphne grasped Elaine by the shoulders and gave her a gentle push. “As I can manage on my own.”
As the orchestra segued into an allemande, Lady Elizabeth patted Dalton’s cheek and then exited the grand hall. The gallant knight peered left, then right, and started in Daphne’s direction. So when Lady Moreton threw herself into his path, Daphne came alert. The nettlesome woman gestured with wild and frantic movements, while Dalton attempted to evade his nemesis, but she yanked hard on his coat sleeve. Conscious of the multitude of witnesses, her beau rested fists on hips and thrust his chin. Just as Daphne considered intervening on Dalton’s behalf, someone covered her mouth with a palm, slipped what seemed as an iron band about her waist, pinning her arms, and lifted her feet from the floor.
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