To Write a Wrong

by Jen Turano

  Daphne returned the squeeze. “I know you were disappointed, Mother, that I’m not moving home after all the shenanigans I’ve been a part of lately. Attending the Devonshire Ball was the least I could do to make it up to you.”

  “You also put a great deal of effort into making amends with Lydia, and that, in and of itself, went far to banish my disappointment about you going back to your life in the big city.”

  Daphne shot a look to where Lydia was currently holding court, at least seven gentlemen vying for her attention. “All I did was give Lydia one of my Phillip Villard creations and promise her I’d personally see to getting her an appointment with Phillip to order a new fall wardrobe.”

  “An appointment I was unable to secure, given how much in demand Phillip Villard is these days.”

  Daphne grinned. “Here’s hoping my connection with Phillip will leave me in Lydia’s good graces for the foreseeable future.” She shook her head. “I’ve never really understood why Jack calls me brat when clearly Lydia fits that description far better.”

  Clara sent a fond smile Lydia’s way. “She is a temperamental creature, but I do think she has potential. She simply needs to grow up a bit more.”

  “At least she no longer needs to fear my reputation as a notorious woman will stifle her chances of securing an advantageous marriage.”

  Clara’s eyes twinkled. “I’m sure Lydia is thrilled that you’re now the toast of the town. Who would have thought so many ladies would rally around you, lending you their support over your unlikely occupations?”

  “That is hopefully a sign of the times and a sign for things to come. It would be lovely if, in the future, the inroads ladies such as myself have made will help other women achieve their dreams.”

  Clara smoothed back a curl that had escaped Daphne’s pins. “I am very proud of you, darling. I hope you know that.”

  Daphne’s vision turned a little blurry. “I always thought you were disappointed in my life choices.”

  “Not disappointed, dear. Concerned. Choosing an unorthodox path in life is never easy. I would have preferred you live an uncomplicated life, but obviously that’s not the type of life you wanted to embrace.” She nodded to someone over Daphne’s shoulder. “But speaking of complicated, we’ve yet to discuss Herman Henderson.”

  Daphne glanced around and found Herman deep in conversation with Jack. “There’s not much to discuss, although I need to thank you for securing invitations to the ball tonight for him, Cooper, and Eunice. I’m sure all of them are enjoying the festivities.”

  Clara’s gaze darted to where Eunice was standing still as a statue against a wall, all the guests giving her a wide berth. “I’m not sure Mrs. Devonshire appreciated my asking for an invitation for Eunice. She does seem to make people uncomfortable. I believe it’s all the black she wears, and perhaps the slight menacing air that seems to waft around her.”

  “She cultivates that air on purpose.”

  “For what reason?”

  “No idea. Eunice is fairly close-lipped about her personal life. She normally refuses to attend large social gatherings, but because our agency is still on Herman’s case, she thought it prudent to attend this evening so that she can keep an eye on him.”

  “Do you really believe there’s a possibility whoever wants to lay him low would have followed him to Boston?”

  “Probably not, but it would hardly do the agency’s reputation much good if we allowed one of our clients to come to a bad end because we let our guard down.”

  “I certainly don’t want to see Herman Henderson come to a bad end, because it’s not every day a man like that shows up at my door, seeking out my daughter.”

  Daphne laughed. “Since I don’t have a witty response to that, nor do I believe that sparkle now residing in your eyes, which always precludes a bout of matchmaking, is going to bode well for me, I believe this is where I’m off to mingle with the guests.” She consulted the small diamond watch that encircled her wrist, a watch her mother had insisted on giving her earlier. “And what fortunate timing. I believe the first dance is about to begin, and Mrs. Devonshire thought it would be lovely if I took to the floor with Herman. She believes her guests will enjoy seeing two famed authors twirling around the room together. She thinks it’ll be a novelty because there aren’t that many women authors out there—or rather, women authors who attend balls and are escorted to those balls by the, and I quote, ‘oh-so-handsome Mr. Henderson.’”

  “Herman is certainly handsome.”

  “And on that note, I’m off to join him before you start interrogating me.”

  “I wasn’t going to interrogate you, dear, although I am curious as to whether you and I should schedule some time to begin picking out china.”

  “It’s far too soon for china.”

  Clara’s gaze sharpened. “How interesting that you’re not flatly denying that china shopping could be a possibility in the future.”

  Daphne settled for sending her mother a bit of a wink before she turned on her heel and began gliding through the crowd, nodding every now and again to the guests who were smiling and sending her looks that didn’t seem to have a single trace of judgment in them.

  It was nice not being looked at as an oddity by people who, in the past, had barely looked at her at all.

  “Coming to claim our dance?” Herman suddenly asked, stealing up beside her and taking hold of her arm.

  She smiled. “I was, and it’s good timing because my mother was beginning to, well, do what mothers do.”

  Herman’s lips curved. “Taking a page out of my grandmother’s book, is she?”

  “Too right she is, and I should warn you, she has you in her sights.”

  He grinned. “Are you actually surprised about that, given that she did witness you, well, kiss me?”

  Heat immediately settled on her cheeks. “I really should have thought through that kiss a little more.”

  “It’ll work out in the end” was all Herman said to that, a rather vague reply if there ever was one.

  Before she could question him about how exactly that could possibly work out, Herman was leading her onto the ballroom floor, turning her to face him.

  “Jack has already warned me to be mindful of my toes,” he said.

  “Of course he has, but I should have warned you about that myself.” Daphne smiled. “I’ve never been light on my feet while dancing, even with my mother hiring an entire brigade of dance instructors for me over the years. I’ll beg your pardon in advance for the state of your toes, which will undoubtedly suffer during our time on the floor.”

  Herman pulled her closer to him as the first note of a waltz rang out. “Arthur told me you’re not nearly as horrible as you believe yourself to be. And he said the best way to avoid damage is to distract you. I thought we could speak of the hero you’ve been trying to develop.” He sent her a smile and moved smoothly into motion, guiding her effortlessly about the room.

  “So?” he pressed after they reached the far side of the ballroom.

  Finding herself astounded that she’d made it across the ballroom without stepping on a single one of his toes, while also feeling a very unexpected shiver of something that felt downright exhilarating when he whirled her around, she frowned. “I’m sorry, what was the question?”

  “Your hero. What are your thoughts about him?”

  “He’s a lovely dancer,” she said, even though she’d had no intention of writing a hero who could dance until just that moment.

  “Interesting attribute. One I’m sure your heroine will appreciate,” Herman said, a trace of amusement in his voice as he drew her a touch closer and moved his mouth directly beside her ear. “You’re doing wonderfully well, and you don’t appear to be bothered by all the people gawking at us.”

  She stepped on his foot, stumbled, but regained her balance because Herman pulled her even closer as he steadied her. “People are gawking at us?”

  “My mistake. I’m probably imagining that.”


  Daphne readjusted spectacles that had gone askew and looked over Herman’s shoulder, finding far too many guests lined up on the edges of the ballroom floor, their gazes directed her way. She stepped on his foot again. “I don’t think you’re imagining the gawking.”

  “Perhaps pointing that out wasn’t the best way to distract you. Arthur’s definitely going to be disappointed with me.”

  “While Jack’s going to gloat and spend the rest of the ball questioning you about the state of your feet.”

  Herman grinned. “I’m sure he will. Speaking of your brothers, I must admit that I’m very impressed with how supportive they are of you. When we first met, I got the distinct impression you were at odds with your family.”

  “I’m always at odds with my family because they try to boss me around. Even so, that doesn’t mean that I don’t love them all dearly. I especially love the new contract my brothers are working on, which will see my bank account increasing significantly if readers continue to buy my books.”

  “I don’t think you need to worry about that. From what quite a few of the guests were saying to me earlier, they find you fascinating. A few gentlemen, though, had the nerve to question if I’d been helping you with your writing because, according to them, you write like a man.”

  “I trust you set them straight?”

  “Indeed. I told them that you write better than most men I know. I also told them you don’t write like a man, you write like a Daphne.”

  She stepped on his foot again, impressed when he didn’t so much as wince. “Forgive me, Herman. There I go again, but your defense of me was beautifully done. I wish I had my notepad handy because that would be a marvelous thing to have one of my characters say. Unless, of course, you intend to use it in your work.”

  “Since I took the liberty of helping myself to your ‘impatience is not a virtue’ comment, it’s only fair that you help yourself to what I just said.”

  “I believe I will,” she said as the music drew to a close. “Goodness, but that didn’t seem to take long at all, and it wasn’t nearly as painful as dances normally are—for me, at least. I think it might have been somewhat painful for you, though. For that I will apologize again.”

  “There’s no need to apologize,” Herman said, taking her arm and leading her off the floor. “And I hate to escort you off the floor and leave you, but I’ve promised your sister the next dance.”

  “You’ll enjoy that dance much more because Lydia is a lovely dancer. Do make sure to compliment her on the Villard gown she’s wearing. She’s very pleased about that,” Daphne said. “I believe I’ll take this time to repair to the retiring room.”

  “Because you’re itching to take some notes?”

  She grinned. “It’s rather disconcerting how you know that, but I suppose that’s because you’ve done the same thing a time or two.”

  After Herman grinned and made his way over to Lydia, Daphne walked through the crowd, stopped every few feet by guests who were interested in speaking with her about her books or her position as an inquiry agent. By the time she finally made her way from the first floor to the second, where she’d been told there was a retiring room that was never crowded, she’d almost forgotten all the words Herman had spoken that she’d wanted to write down.

  Not wanting to forget everything he’d said, she headed for a small table that was placed against the hallway wall, setting her evening bag on top of it and pulling out the miniature notepad and pencil she’d not been able to leave home without. She immediately settled down to her notes, her pencil flying across the page.

  “Daphne, I was hoping to have an opportunity to speak with you.”

  The hair on the nape of her neck immediately stood to attention.

  Forcing herself to finish her notes and return her notepad to her evening bag before lifting her head, she found Mr. Thomas Sibley standing two feet away from her, the sheer size of the man making her feel as if he were standing closer to her than he actually was.

  Thomas, as usual, was dressed to perfection in black formal attire, his white shirt and collar impeccably pressed, and his tie knotted in the latest style. His black hair was combed back from his face, every strand in place, and the smile he was sending her showed off the white teeth he’d always been proud of.

  Frankly, Thomas Sibley was proud of everything about his appearance, his vanity one of the characteristics Daphne loathed about him the most.

  “Mr. Sibley,” she said, taking a step back from him.

  Thomas’s smile widened. “Come now, Daphne. There’s no need for formality between us merely because we’ve been out of touch for the past few years. We’ve been friends forever.”

  “We’ve never been friends.”

  His smile dimmed. “You know that’s not true. Granted, the last time we shared a personal conversation, you did seem slightly put out with me, but that was years ago. You’re not still distressed that I suggested your mother have you committed to an institution for a tiny little stay, are you?”

  “I’m fairly sure I was more furious than distressed, and no, that fury has not diminished over the years.”

  “Your inability to release your anger indicates that I was spot-on about your needing the rest and relaxation an asylum would have provided.”

  “And on that delusional note, I believe I’ll bid you good evening.”

  “I’m not done speaking with you.”

  The hair on the nape of her neck stood to attention again. “I don’t appreciate your tone, but I suppose, upon further reflection, I’m not done speaking with you either. I understand you’ve recently taken an interest in my sister.”

  His eyes glittered. “Is that jealousy I detect in your voice?”

  Reminding herself that shrieking at the man like a fishmonger was probably not going to benefit her in any way, Daphne summoned up a smile. “What a vivid imagination you have, Mr. Sibley. Have you ever considered that you might be a good candidate for a stint in an asylum? Imagining my being jealous is not only delusional, it’s also incomprehensible, something only a rational mind would understand.”

  Thomas edged closer. “You know full well I’m a rational man, more rational than any man you probably know. I take great pride in being able to read people, and I detect jealousy all over you, my dear Daphne. With that said, I don’t believe your time away in New York has been good for you. You seem more contrary than usual, and men don’t appreciate contrariness in women, although we’re not opposed to inspiring a dose of jealousy every now and again. Tends to keep women in their place.”

  The urge to shriek at him like a fishmonger grew stronger. “And that right there is why you should thank your lucky stars that I didn’t want to marry you. I’ve never been a woman who particularly cares to be kept wherever men believe I should be kept.”

  “As evidenced by your ridiculous actions of late. Publishing under a man’s name was bad enough, but working as an inquiry agent? That’s a bit of lunacy if I’ve ever heard some. No matter that you seem to believe differently, women do not have the intellect to solve crimes, something I believe was proven when you failed to uncover who wants to harm Mr. Herman Henderson, at least according to the article in the paper.”

  Daphne’s hand clenched into a fist, and it took a great deal of effort to refrain from punching the insufferable man. “That article was penned by a man with an agenda. And while you’re not wrong about Herman’s case still being unsolved, I hope to rectify that as soon as I return to New York City. However, that has nothing to do with you. What does have to do with you is my sister.”

  Thomas’s tongue darted out of his mouth as he licked his lips, sending revulsion slithering up Daphne’s spine. “Ah, the delectable Lydia. Now, there’s a lady a man wouldn’t be embarrassed to have on his arm.”

  “She won’t be on your arm because you’re going to leave her alone.”

  Thomas took another step toward Daphne, crowding her in a way he’d done often in the past. She edged bac
kward until she ran up against the small table she’d been writing her notes on, finding herself trapped.

  He licked his lips again. “I could possibly be persuaded to lose interest in Lydia. In fact, I can guarantee I’ll lose interest in her the moment you agree to marry me.”

  “What?”

  He leaned an inch closer. “I’ve always thought that you and I would suit well together. And even though you’ve been up to unappealing antics over the past few years, Bostonian society has decided you’re now the darling of our city.” He smiled. “Having the darling of Boston as my wife would certainly see me advancing rapidly at my law firm. As I fully intend to make partner in the next few years, I can’t ignore the fact that you could be the means to achieve that status sooner.”

  Daphne narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure that’s the reason you want to marry me? Or is it merely that you’ve never cared for rejection and haven’t been able to reconcile yourself with the fact I rejected you all those years ago?”

  “Nonsensical thinking like that lends credence to the notion you’d benefit from a stay in an asylum.”

  “It’s not nonsensical thinking.”

  Thomas arched a brow. “Then explain to me why, if you’d really rejected me, you used to spend your time watching me and doing deliberate things to capture my notice? Your refusal to marry me was yet another womanly ploy on your part to truly attract my attention.”

  Something heavy settled in the pit of Daphne’s stomach. “What things did I ever do to attract your attention?”

  “You’d take off your shoes and stockings when you’d go wading in the creek with your brothers and me. And you were always twirling your hair around your finger when you’d read those books you were always reading. I saw those things for what they were, though—your way of trying out your feminine wiles on me.”

  “I don’t think I’ve been wading since I was ten, and I started putting my hair up when I was fourteen, which means I would have been younger than that when you saw me twirling my hair. Believe me, I was not trying to attract your attention.”