“As you may know,” Walter began, speaking to Lady Vivian as if Daphne and Benedict were not present at all, “I had some investments tied up in trade routes. I have all but retired as a merchant myself, so I felt it was the right time to sell these assets.”
Lady Vivian leaned even further forward on the seat. “And what, pray tell, would such an investment see a price of?”
Looking very pleased with himself, Walter replied, “Oh, only ten thousand pounds a year.”
Benedict was forced to dart away from his mother as she jolted in her seat, clearly taken aback by this proclamation. She stared at Walter, examining his face the same way she would examine Benedict’s as a child to ascertain whether he was fibbing or not. Daphne, arms no longer crossed but instead entirely slack around her, gaped at her father with utter shock in her eyes. Benedict could not be sure from where it originated – was she surprised to know this information now, or horrified that it had not come earlier?
Benedict himself was too distracted by the reactions of his female companions to be able to form a coherent thought of his own. Walter Blanton was sitting on a pile of money, and nobody had any idea. Least of all his daughter, or apparently his estranged wife, who had gone on and left him under the assumption that he had no great assets in his name. They had truly all been played for fools.
“My dear Mr. Blanton…”
It was the first time in his living memory that Benedict had witnessed his mother rendered speechless. Daphne was still staring, slack-jawed.
Benedict blinked. “Are you entirely serious, Walter? Ten thousand pounds a year?”
“As an estimate, yes.”
Lady Vivian must have finally regained her composure. “Well then, it is certainly fortunate that I will be chaperoning darling Daphne, is it not? Ten thousand pounds is quite the dowry.” Then, more quietly, she added, “Yes, yes this does change the nature of things quite a bit.”
“This decision was also one of the reasons for my partaking in this trip to London,” Walter said. “I am sure there will be significant interest in such a valuable asset.”
What did all of this mean? Benedict wondered. He watched Daphne closely, who had not spoken a word; she was stunned to silence. She must have been thinking the same thing, for all the attention she believed she had missed out on, overlooked by those with greater wealth and title, was about to be turned to her. Benedict had no doubt that Walter was right – with a dowry as large as he was alleging, Daphne would surely have suitors lining up for her.
The thought perplexed Benedict, for he wanted to be happy about this announcement and what it would mean for his friend. She would be more secure, would likely have a better sweep of potential suitors who could offer her protection and security. This would be what Daphne lacked previously, and what would ensure her success in London this season. So why was he not happy for her?
He felt a tightening in his chest that he had never encountered before. He was entirely unsure what to make of it. Oh, he just wished that Daphne would say something so that her thoughts would become apparent; her face was so still and void that it was very difficult to work out her emotional state.
Benedict turned to Walter. “Why have you chosen now to make this information known?”
“The timing was right, and admittedly the decision was recent. And, of course, I want the best for my daughter.” He looked at her, took her still and pale hand into his. “She deserves only the best. It is her turn.”
The moment was touching, and Benedict knew that Walter was genuine in his affection. But still, Daphne had not spoken. She was not even looking at her father as her hand was taken up by his.
“All this time,” Lady Vivian said, more to herself than to anyone in her company. “All this time I had no idea that the life of a merchant could be such a lucrative one.” Then her eyes seemed to clear and she gave herself a little shake. “You have my congratulations and well wishes, Mr. Blanton. This is a very wise move and will certainly bode well for the future of your daughter.”
“Thank you, Lady Vivian. It is my only true wish that Daphne be able to enjoy the happy marriage she deserves, and to someone of good and admirable standing.”
Daphne blinked once, twice, then raised her eyes to meet Benedict’s. A bolt of cold lightning shot through him; her eyes were wide and confused and full of questions. The look they shared was fleeting, lasting a mere second, and suddenly that emptiness was gone, replaced by her usual warmth. So quickly was it over that Benedict began to think that he had imagined her expression.
“This is truly incredible, father,” Daphne said. Her voice was soft and wavered slightly towards the end. Walter did not seem to pick up on it the way that Benedict did.
“The time was right,” Walter said again. “I will see you married, my daughter.”
Yes, Daphne would surely be the centre of attention. Between her beauty and now her dowry, word would surely spread. She would be a fine lady indeed, and worthy of every affection and appreciative look and word that would be offered her way. It made Benedict simultaneously proud and nervous; proud to know her and to be close to her, but nervous for those same reasons.
What would this new information mean for him? For their relationship? Would Daphne change now that she had money attached to her name? Would something come between them? It was inexplicable that Benedict should feel anything other than relief for his friend, and yet here he was, worrying too much after himself and his relationship with Daphne to be able to enjoy her upcoming success.
Daphne was lovely, yes, but not just for her beauty. And a dowry only went so far in a world such as this one. Benedict could only hope that, whatever was to happen during their trip to London, and whoever they were to encounter during their time there, that Daphne would not lose the qualities that made her so inherently good.
There was so much to appreciate about her. She was, after all, his dearest friend from childhood. If there was ever a person familiar with her good temperament and adoring personality, it was him. The thought of her being taken advantage of, or being seen as anyone other than who she was at her core, filled him with dread and an incredible sadness. She was much more than just his friend, but his closest ally.
He would protect her, he vowed. As he looked upon her now-smiling face, he vowed to himself that he would ensure that her feelings were paramount, and that she would not be swept away on the false promises and narcissism of financially-driven suitors. After all, they were in this together. It was a joint decision. It was their adventure, and he was determined that she would enjoy it and come away happy – and stay that way. Daphne was not her father; she would not find herself in an unhappy and biased marriage that would lead to her downfall.
Silently, his eyes upon hers, Benedict promised this to them both.
Chapter 8
The First Ball of the Season
By the fourth dance of the evening, Daphne was growing tired, but still she danced on, exhilarated by the experience of her first ball in London for the season. The man she danced across from now in the procession had introduced himself as one Mr. William Ainsley. He was a tall and charming gentleman whose gait was even and his manner exceedingly polite. Daphne could feel his eyes on her as they danced.
Lady Vivian had helped choose her dress: a blue and grey gown that scooped at the shoulders to reveal the elegant décolletage. She had paired it with long gloves and kept her hair fastened in curls and pinned to her head. The colours brought out the flecks in her eyes and complemented the pallor of her skin. Her attire, coupled with the newfound rumour that Miss Daphne Blanton may have quite the dowry attached to her name, meant that her dance card was full, and that Mr. Ainsley was to soon make way for some other man, just as he had overtaken her previous partner.
Before him was a Mr. Hastings, who had asked Daphne early on in the evening to dance. Her excitement at being asked had swept her away, but she had since been avoiding the young man’s pointed looks; he was not a good dancer, and his manne
r was brutish. The man after that Daphne could hardly recall, for his name was something similar and his personality so lacking that he was entirely unmemorable. The man she had danced with directly previous to Mr. Ainsley was a Mr. Perry, who was so nervous that he had a developed stammer and his hands had been damp to the touch.
Daphne followed the movements of the people around her, circling around Mr. Ainsley as he looked into her eyes – dark eyes that were fixated on hers. His gaze was an intense one, as was the rest of his demeanour. His hand was much larger than hers and she could only wonder at exactly the age of this gentleman. Lady Vivian had seemed pleased that he had approached Daphne and been quick to confirm her acceptance. Her chaperone was doing a marvellous job, despite the somewhat questionable choice in partners, and Daphne was quickly learning more of the intricacies of a ball.
As the music ended, the dancers turned to applaud the band. Mr. Ainsley bowed, and Daphne returned the courtesy.
“You dance very well, Mr. Ainsley.”
He tilted his head with a smile. “I had an excellent partner. Thank you very much, Miss Blanton, for allowing me the opportunity.”
The two exited the floor together and made their way toward the side. All the time, Mr. Ainsley’s eyes were on Daphne. She was grateful for the fan that Lady Vivian so kindly gifted her, as the heat within the room seemed to cling to her.
“How are you enjoying London so far, Miss Blanton?”
“Oh, it has been splendid. I am very grateful to be here.”
He nodded. “Is this your first time in the city?”
“No,” she replied, still fanning herself. “It is my third. But this has been the most exciting season I have experienced.”
“Well then, I am glad to have been a part of your most exciting season.”
Mr. Ainsley was delectably charming, and Daphne’s heart skipped a beat as she found herself looking into those soulful eyes again. However, genteel as he seemed, there was just something that threw her a little off-balance about Mr. Ainsley. He was attentive, to be sure, and certainly an excellent listener, but the voraciousness of his eyes was as unnerving as it was enchanting.
“Thank you so much for the dance, Mr. Ainsley. If you’ll excuse me, I should find my chaperone.”
He bowed to her again and then, in a single fluid motion, captured her gloved fingers and pressed a kiss to her hand. “Until we meet again, Miss Blanton.”
He released his grip and turned away into the crowd. Daphne took a moment to catch her breath, her hand warm where it had been grazed, and went away to find Benedict. As she passed through the crowd, she was once again awed by the revelry around her: the ballroom in which they were dancing was lavishly decorated with silks and flowers and lighted from all corners.
The entire room was bathed in a resplendent glow that made the scene before her feel ethereal and otherworldly, like it existed in a fantastical painting. Women danced in flowing gowns of many colours across from their black-suited partners, all twirling and moving in unison, pulling in and out while the band played on their merry tune. The surrounding peoples were similarly dressed, each awaiting their own moment to approach the dance floor and join in the fanfare.
Now across the room, neither Benedict nor Lady Vivian were anywhere in sight. Daphne knew that Lady Vivian would not be a difficult woman to miss, for she was adorned in a whole manner of elegant drapery and jewels. She was likely setting up another meeting or occasion for Daphne and Benedict to attend. Daphne’s own father was not currently here; Mr. Blanton had decided to skip the first ball and keep resting instead, for he claimed the long journey and his announcement of his fortune had exhausted him.
A breeze took Daphne by surprise, and she followed its cooling breath to the double doors leading to a warmly-lit terrace beyond the threshold. Drinking in the freshness of the air, she fanned herself down and took a moment to enjoy the peace of the outside world.
She took a few steps further out and over to the railing, which overlooked the city streets beyond. It was such a different landscape to the country she was used to. Here there were no fields or forests – just streets and houses for miles and miles. It had a different kind of beauty, one that made her feel simultaneously present and lost.
Trailing laughter interrupted her daydream and Daphne turned at the sound. There he was. Benedict was dressed in an impeccable tailored suit and his shoes were so highly polished that they gleamed beneath the terrace lights. Daphne, relieved to see him, was about to step forward and call out when, from behind the wall that left her obscured, a beautiful woman emerged.
“What fantastic stories you have to share, Lord Gildon,” the woman said. She was standing so close to Benedict, close enough to reach out and touch his arm. Each of them had a glass of punch in hand and seemed to be getting along cordially, so much so that Daphne felt her face grow scarlet and retreated into the shadow by the door.
Even in the low light of the terrace and the short distance that separated them, it was immediately clear that this woman was very beautiful. She was dressed in a lovely gown of pale gold with long white gloves. She had pearls at her neck and in her hair, which was a similar shade of golden yellow. Daphne could not help but draw a comparison between the two: the stranger, in her gold and cream, opulent and a picture of decadence, and she, Daphne, in her blue and grey modest gown, all dark hair and borrowed beauty.
She was about to turn when a familiar call halted her step.
“Daphne!”
He had seen her, apparently. Daphne turned, fan in hand, and offered the pair a wave. A strange feeling of unease passed through her as she admired the beauty of the pair together – they were each a lovely complement to the other.
“Daphne!” Benedict called again. “Come and join us.”
She unwittingly closed the distance between them. Up close, the lady was even more beautiful, with high cheek bones and a narrow nose. In the light of the terrace, her eyes gleamed like wicked gemstones.
Benedict smiled at Daphne as warmly as ever and she tried her hardest to return one of her own.
“Daphne, this is Lady Winnifred Parker. Lady Parker, this is my dearest friend, Miss Daphne Blanton.”
Lady Parker curtsied with a grace that Daphne could not match. She exuded fine breeding and London propriety, so much so that Daphne would not have been surprised if she wrote the book on social etiquette.
“It is lovely to meet you, Miss Blanton,” Lady Parker said, her voice cool as the air around them and her words crisp. Her accent was that of a true Londoner.
Daphne rose from her curtsy and forced herself to look Lady Parker in those mysterious eyes. “The pleasure is mine, Lady Parker.”
“I have been sharing with Lady Parker the tales of Hedingham Estate,” Benedict explained. “She has never visited Essex, which is simply a crime, is it not?”
Daphne realised he was waiting for her to mirror his sentiment, but she was too distracted by the superiority of the woman before her to find the words. She felt suddenly embarrassed to speak, for her words were not sharp nor dainty nor polished.
Benedict left the question and returned to Lady Parker. “You cannot say you dislike the country until you have visited Essex, my Lady.”
“Such nonsense, my dear Lord Gildon,” she replied in that clean accent of hers. “Beyond fulfilling the need for fresh air, the country holds nothing of interest for me. Clearly you have yet to experience the dazzling wonders of high society in the city.”
Benedict chuckled. “That may be so, Lady Parker; there are many wonders I am hoping to enjoy this season. But I must insist that your opinions of the country are misguided. It is a shame you feel that way.”
Daphne’s eyes widened as she watched Lady Parker take his arm.
“Oh, Lord Gildon,” Lady Parker said, her voice suddenly wistful. “If only there were someone who could show me the beauty of the country, as I could show him that of the city.”
Once Upon a Dreamy Match: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 10