A mistress? Daniel furrowed his brow and followed Begum’s point to that line in the middle of the page. “She is not my mistress.” Though pairing Daphne with that word conjured delicious images of her spread out on soft satin sheets, her crimson curls draped about her naked body. Did the freckles still mar her shoulders and back as they had years earlier, when she was a girl baring herself in a lake without words like “proper” on her lips? “She is my sister’s companion,” he clarified, when Begum continued to sit there staring at him, perplexed. The same woman who’d asked him to limit his drinking and to whom he, for some reason he still couldn’t rationalize, had agreed.
His man-of-affairs returned his attention to the page, assessing the purchases once more, but not before Daniel detected the skeptical glimmer in his eyes. “Uh, yes, well then, exorbitant purchases for any lady other than Lady Alice is, at this point, not a prudent use of your funds, my lord. I would rather encourage you to put your monies in safe investments to grow your wealth.”
“Trade?” he asked bluntly.
The other man hesitated and then nodded.
Most members of the peerage sneered at lords, or any one really, dealing in trade. Daniel had never been one of those pompous, priggish sorts. He wasn’t so arrogant that he’d look down at those who made their fortunes.
The truth of it was, he’d never worried after money. Those material matters always sorted themselves out. His uncle’s proposition was testament of that. “I have eight thousand pounds coming to me when my sister marries, Begum. I expect we’ve little to worry after that.”
“My lord?” Begum asked, as he came forward in his chair and searched through the ledgers for information that he’d not find there.
Daniel explained the funds that would be coming to the man who would be managing them. “As you can see, I but need to behave, allow Miss Smith to do her admirable work as companion, and,” he dusted his palms together. “All will be well.”
Begum removed a kerchief from inside his jacket and picked up his spectacles. He cleaned the lenses on that crisp white fabric, which Daniel had learned came to indicate the man was weighing his words. “I believe you’d still do well to at least consider the possibility of a steam—” A knock sounded at the door.
“Enter,” Daniel called out, relieved by the interruption.
The door opened, revealing his butler on the other side. “My lord, you’ve a visitor. His—”
Oh, bloody hell. “I don’t require a proper introduction,” a familiar voice boomed. Daniel swallowed a groan as his uncle strode around Tanner and entered the room.
“The Viscount Claremont,” the loyal servant offered anyway and then hurried out of the room.
“Uncle,” Daniel greeted, tossing his arms wide. Two bloody visits in the course of a fortnight? This was bad, indeed. “A pleasure. First you pay me a visit in the country and now an unexpected morning one all the way in London, during the Season, no less? Why, despite your indications otherwise these years, I believe you do care.”
His uncle snorted. “I’m not here for you, boy.” Uninvited, as arrogant as if he was the owner of this townhouse himself, his uncle came forward. Begum kept his head down and hurriedly gathered up his ledgers and reports. He made to rise, but Uncle Percival fell into the seat beside the man. “Going over your depleting coffers?”
Refusing to be baited, Daniel inclined his head. “Indeed.”
The viscount passed assessing eyes over Begum as he stacked the leather folios. “You’d best be a wizard to help this boy.”
Did he imagine the smile twitching on Begum’s lips? Disloyal bastard. “That will be all,” Daniel drawled. His man-of-affairs promptly smoothed his features, stood, and, with a bow for the viscount and Daniel, took his leave.
His uncle spent as much time in the country as Daniel did in London. Little drew him to the frivolities in Town which Daniel lived for. As such, he was not so naïve to believe this was anything but a calculated visit. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your esteemed company?”
“Do you truly believe I’m going to offer you eight thousand pounds and not oversee you this Season? That I’d be so foolish as to trust you at your word?”
Oversee him? Daniel choked. By God, his uncle spoke as though he were a green boy just out of university and not a man of thirty years. Still, his uncle proved himself the clever bastard he’d always been, with his rightful wariness. “Is it too much to hope you can’t simply take your word from the gossip columns?”
Of which Daniel’s name was invariably found.
His uncle laughed and his wide-shoulders shook with his amusement. “And you expect the gossips will have anything good to say about you this Season?”
Yes, fair point, there. Mayhap it was better to suffer through the occasional visit and the Season with his uncle in the same city. Daniel covetously eyed that brandy. A damned crutch she’d called it. It wasn’t, but by God, if it didn’t feel like Daphne was right, in this moment.
The viscount glanced around the office, searchingly. “I understand, you hired the girl a companion,” his uncle said suddenly.
“Yes. Those were the terms you laid out, were they not?”
His uncle grunted. “Well?” He stretched his hand out and thumped the desk. “Where is she?”
So this is why he’d come? To make a judgment on Alice’s companion. Alice’s companion who was, in fact, Daphne Smith. Of course his uncle was right to question how he had wrangled up any suitable woman and so quickly. Nonetheless, he gritted his teeth at having to parade Daphne before him, for his viscountly approval, all because Daniel was dependent on the coins he’d hand over at the end of the Season. He gritted out a smile. “I’m afraid I do not keep her under my desk,” he said with a sardonic edge.
Except, the mocking reply merely called forth wicked images of Daphne beneath his desk, on her knees. A wave of desire filled him.
“I’m certain it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve had a woman under there,” his uncle snapped, effectively dousing that delicious imagery.
It was one thing for Daniel to have those enticing musings of Daphne, quite another for his blasted uncle to disparage the lady’s reputation. “I assure you,” he offered coolly. “The lady is entirely appropriate and will fit with all the terms you’ve set forth and your expectations.”
The viscount rested his palms on his knees and leaned forward. “I will be the judge of that.”
Daphne had convinced herself that one mistake in her past did not matter to her serving as Alice’s companion. As Daniel had said; he was a rake, with limited options.
And Daphne was a woman nearly eleven years removed from that wanton night in her past. Surely the man who’d debauched her, with her approval, would not dare breathe that story to light if their paths ever did again cross?
…you should be honored, Miss Smith. I’ve never rutted with a cripple before…
Seated beside her charge in the breakfast room, Daphne’s stomach knotted. For after that night, she’d begged her father to leave London, never to know if Leopold had bragged of his conquest or whether whispers had surfaced. She absently stared at the untouched contents of her porcelain plate, hopelessly lost in those darkened memories and fears.
At her side, Alice nibbled at a piece of bread and pored over the copy of The Times. “They mention countless names,” Alice observed, as she turned the page. “But not a single one of Mr. Pratt.”
Mr. Pratt. The kind-eyed gentleman from the street. Diverted from her own depressed musings, Daphne attended her charge.
The girl picked her head up. “Do you suppose that means he’s not one of the scandalous sorts?”
Daphne fiddled with her fork. Actually, that is precisely what she’d make of it. Society fixed on rakes, rogues, and oddities. Lords and ladies who lived staid, respectable lives usually escaped whispers. Usually. “Does it matter whether or not he is one of those scandalous sorts?” she turned a gently spoken question, instead.
Alice’s cheeks bloomed red. “I expect you’ll find it silly that I should be captivated by a gentleman after a chance meeting in the street. But he came to your aid,” she said on a rush, “and glowered at his foul-mannered rake of a brother.”
So Daphne had been correct in her suspicions more than a week ago. Mayhap she was less wise all these years later than she’d hoped or believed. For instead of any disquiet at her charge’s revelation, Daphne bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. The girl had proven perceptive, seeing the obvious disparity between Daniel’s friend and that man’s brother.
“Not at all,” Daphne assured. After all, she’d also once been young and romantic. She, however, had the bad judgment to seek excitement with a rake. She’d not have Alice make the same mistake. “There is no shame in dreaming of love.” That elusive sentiment she’d so hoped for. She held Alice’s gaze squarely. “It matters that you find a man worthy of that emotion.”
“Daniel would never approve of him.” The girl wrinkled her nose. Lowering her voice to a deep baritone, she did a spot-on impersonation of her brother. “Any wealthy gent will do. Don’t go wasting your attention on anything less.”
Both women locked gazes and laughed. When their mirth faded, Daphne stretched her hand out and briefly covered Alice’s. “Your brother would not dissuade you from following your heart.”
“Do you truly believe that?” Hope melded with doubt in the rightfully suspicious girl’s eyes.
And yet for all the tales of Daniel’s debauchery, she did. She’d seen proof of his goodness in his offering her employment. Just as she’d seen it again when he’d sought to carry her abovestairs. “I do,” she said quietly. It was because of that goodness that she could not remain employed here.
Alice beamed and spoke with a renewed enthusiasm. “I read through the papers, hoping to see some mention of his name.” She lifted the scandal sheet. “Wanting to know more. But then not wanting to see his name here, either.”
No, because no good names or stories were ever mentioned on those pages. Reality intruded once more, ugly and unwelcome.
She gave silent thanks when Alice returned her attention to those pages.
Years earlier, she’d read through those same papers, with only one familiar name contained within. Lord Leopold.
The food in her mouth turned to ash and she forced herself to choke down the swallow. Somewhere between Daniel’s revelation at the base of his thirty-three stairs and this very moment, she had come to accept the realization—she could not serve as Alice’s companion. He had put the ultimatum to her so very quickly that she’d not had proper time to truly sort through all the ramification and implications that could visit his family if her past was to be revealed.
Liar. You thought of yourself and your security. You pardoned your actions, justifying them with the truth that Daniel was a rake.
But the truth remained. Gentlemen could be rakes and rogues and scoundrels. Society forgave them their wickedness, even lauded it. The desirability of those scandalous nobles rose because of their depravity. Ladies, however, were to be above reproach always and at every time. There was no allowance or pardoning of error. A lady’s reputation is all she had and once it was gone, nothing remained, except for an uncertain future.
Stomach churning, Daphne set down her fork, unable to take another bite.
Alice sighed and tossed aside her paper. “I’m rather tired of reading about all the activities and events occurring. Vauxhall Gardens, the opera, balls, soirees, and we are…” She gestured wildly about the room. “Here.” For which Daphne was eternally grateful. She’d rather waltz with the Devil in the bowels of hell than attend a single event.
And soon she would not have to. Why did that cause this ache inside her chest?
Alice let out a beleaguered sigh. “You would expect in having a rake for a brother, he’d care to show me…something.”
“There is still the matter of formally introducing you before Society,” Daphne gently reminded her. She’d no doubt when Alice was officially out, Daniel would usher his sister about Town, with the hope of coordinating the most advantageous match.
Alice plopped back in her chair and, with zeal, ripped a piece of bread with her teeth. “I really know nothing about it,” she said around her mouthful. She swallowed her bite and then tossed the unfinished bread onto her plate. “I should, given Daniel’s rare departure from London and his failure to miss any part of the Season.”
Sadness pulled at Daphne’s heart. Of course, with her mother having died shortly after she’d given birth to Alice, there had been no maternal guidance. With a rake of a brother, as she’d indicated, she should know something. “Did Mrs. Belden’s not prepare you for the Season?”
The girl gave her a mischievous smile; a dangerous twinkle glinting in her gaze that marked her more Daniel’s sister than even the deep brown of her eyes. “Oh, the instructors certainly prepared us about…” She paused and, squaring her shoulders, held up a stern finger and spoke in clipped tones the headmistress would be hard-pressed to not admire. “Propriety and decorum and politeness and Almack’s and…” Alice dropped her head into her hands and made a snoring sound.
Despite her dread, Daphne joined the girl in laughter. Having been born an only child, other than Daniel’s friendship when he was in the countryside, her existence had been largely a solitary one with only the servants and her parents for companionship. With Alice this past week, she’d found a joy in having another woman to speak to.
“Did you not have a Season, Daphne?” The question rolled from Alice’s lips, easily reminding her as to why she could not stay.
“I did,” she said softly.
“And?” the girl prodded with more of that raw honesty Daphne appreciated.
“There is something wondrous in the thrill of the orchestra, as you sit on the side of the ballroom and dancers twirl by in colorful gowns that put you in mind of a rainbow after a summer storm.” Long ago memories surged forward, so the orchestra’s strains played inside her mind. And she was that girl, Alice’s age, fresh-eyed with excitement.
“Sit.”
Daphne turned slowly to look at Daniel’s sister.
“You said, sit,” Alice clarified in gentle tones. “Not dance. Sit.”
The lady was far too clever by half and observant.
“Yes, well, some ladies sit.” The cripples. “And others will dance. You are one of the dancers. I promise you that.” With her glorious golden curls and flawless skin and gently curved figure, Lady Alice Winterbourne possessed the beauty that found young women named Incomparables and Diamonds.
“Did you wish to dance?” Alice pressed, searching her face.
All ladies wished to dance. Didn’t they? And run or walk or ride and jump. Any and all movement was glorious and freeing. Whereas Daphne’s failed body held her soul trapped inside, where it had been since Daniel had turned her over to her father’s arms all those years ago. …You judge me for being a rake… But at least I live… What of you, Daphne? How have you spent the past thirteen years… “I did,” she said quietly. “With the right partner.” Instead, she’d picked a ruthless bastard who’d told her everything she’d longed to hear and she’d given him all for it. She’d not even had her dance.
Now, she’d also be without a post.
Brought ’round to the meeting she’d been putting off for the better part of five days, Daphne grabbed her cane and shoved to her feet. “I have a meeting with His Lordship,” she explained to the question in Alice’s eyes. An unannounced meeting where she’d tender her resignation. “If you’ll excuse me?”
Alice gave a jaunty wave and then reached for her paper, losing herself in those sheets.
Lurching across the room, Daphne made her way down the corridors. With every step, she gave thanks for the first time for her lack of speed. She would convince him to release her of her obligations. Ask once more for those references, in the name of friendship, but she could not remain on here in Londo
n, a risk to his sister’s reputation and the funds he so needed. There was Alice. And her reputation could not be thrown into question by a disreputable companion. In being here, she posed a risk to the young lady.
And Daniel, caring about nothing more than those eight thousand pounds, well, he’d surely be glad to be rid of her to protect that fortune awaiting him. What rake with a need for coin and his dissolute lifestyle would forfeit that on even the mere risk of a scandal?
Drawing in a slow, steadying breath, she took a step and then froze in the threshold of the open doorway. Daniel and an older gentleman, his fine attire a testament to his status, both sat staring at her. “Forgive me,” she murmured and backed away. “I did not hear…I…forgive me,” she said hastily.
As one, the two gentlemen climbed to their feet.
“Please,” Daniel called. Coming around the desk, he motioned her forward. “Your presence was requested by my esteemed uncle, the Viscount Claremont.”
Oh, God, his uncle wished to meet her. Daphne’s stomach dropped. She was a cripple, but she was not hard of hearing, and she’d have to be deafer than a post to fail to hear the mocking edge threaded through that one slightly emphasized word. This was the uncle who’d saddled him with an unwanted companion and also the stern relation who’d come to judge her worth. Then, wasn’t that the way of the world? A lady was judged as to her worth as a wife, a woman, an employee.
Daphne pulled her attention away from Daniel and looked to the stone-faced viscount. “How do you do, my lord?” Shifting her weight over the head of her cane, she sank into an awkward curtsy.
“Come closer, Miss Smith,” he beckoned, in even tones that revealed little. “My wastrel nephew is, indeed, correct. I’m here to meet you.”
She pursed her lips at that unfavorable opinion so carelessly voiced about Daniel. She stole a glance at Daniel. He wore his patently false grin. How did he feel about that blatant condemnation? On the surface, he exuded an indifference, but how much of that was real? Entering deeper into the room, she claimed the seat Lord Claremont motioned to.
To Redeem a Rake (The Heart of a Duke Book 11) Page 15