A Kiss to Remember

by Rebecca Minto

  “I have much to decide,” she said. “I am… there are all these thoughts in my head,” Daphne admitted, reverting back to her schoolyard days of admitting just what was in her heart. “They keep spinning round and round and I can’t make heads or tails of them, and meanwhile time is passing too quickly, and I know I must decide how to act.”

  “Act?” Annalise was the one who sounded wary now.

  “I have much to do, Annalise.”

  “I dare say. James will plan us a busy Season,” she retorted baldly.

  Daphne blanched at the thought. Dear Lord, would he plan such a busy Season she would not have time to carry out her plans?

  “That isn’t the problem, Daphne. I still want to know why you did not send for me when your father died,” Annalise went on, incensed. “I would have stood by you. Chrysanthe would have,” she cried out.

  Daphne sighed. “I did not think of it, Annalise. They… they had to restrain me. They gave me opiates to keep me from—” Daphne broke off, blinking back the memories.

  Annalise slowly sat down on the edge of Daphne’s bed, blinking. “Keep you from what?” she asked quietly.

  “Understand, I was out of my mind with grief,” Daphne whispered. “I was most insensible and given to rash judgments.”

  There was a long, tense silence, which Annalise finally broke.

  “Daphne, I know you loved your father very much—”

  Daphne stormed away from her, fairly bristling with ill-suppressed rage. She had never felt her emotions so close to the surface, so volatile, and even as she feared these remarkable changes within her, she also knew that she must learn to use them.

  “—but death is a natural journey we must all take,” Annalise gently reminded her, full of authority.

  Daphne whirled around, white flushed with anger. “There was nothing natural about Papa’s death!”

  “Daphne—”

  “No, you listen, Annalise,” she hissed, pointing a trembling finger at her. “Perhaps if Papa had been ill, I could accept it. If I had been prepared—”

  “He was trying to protect you,” Annalise hurriedly interrupted. “Daphne, your father loved you and—”

  “Yes, Papa loved me, and I him.” The reminder actually calmed her. She stopped pacing and folded her hands across her abdomen. “That is why I will not fail him now.”

  “W-what do you mean?” Annalise stammered nervously.

  Daphne exhaled heavily and sat down so that they were facing each other from across the room. The near explosion of all the suppressed pain and rage of the past weeks had helped to clear her mind. She was thinking clearly now.

  “Anna, do you honestly believe my father had some secret ailment? Do you believe he could have hidden such a thing from me?”

  Annalise studied her warily. “What are you trying to tell me?”

  “I walked down to Papa’s study on my birthday. He had been shot.” She quivered, unable to keep the memory of the blood at bay. She knew it would haunt her for the rest of her life.

  “Daphne!” Annalise cried, a keening wail of pain.

  “They said he had been cold for hours,” she murmured, deep in thought. “I was sleeping upstairs and he was…”

  “You mustn’t dwell on it!” Annalise whispered achingly. “Oh, Daphne, I had no idea. No one even mentioned—”

  “Of course not.” She met Annalise’s unhappy stare, dark eyes peering into gold. “That is one of the reasons I could not send you a note, you or Chrysanthe. They thought… They thought if we did not announce it at first, if we could stave it off, the murderer would show up and we could draw him out. We failed,” she ended miserably.

  “We?”

  Daphne shook her head. “I was working with the barrister. He…he was fond of Papa, and the investigator had not arrived yet. They said he was coming from London.”

  “I…see,” Annalise murmured weakly.

  Daphne jerked to her feet again. She was restless, like a caged animal. She could not bear to be indoors, yet she could neither stomach the thought of going off into London to lose herself in the various shops and sights to be found in the city. She wanted…

  Justice, she thought. All she wanted was justice for her father.

  “Daphne, did you tell James?” Annalise asked quietly in a fearful voice.

  She shook her head. Tell the Duke? Never!

  “I-I think you should,” Annalise whispered, only to cut off abruptly at a subtle knock at the bedroom door.

  Daphne marched across the room and swung the door open, glaring at a meek-looking maid.

  “Miss Daphne, there is a-a visitor here to see you,” the young woman told her worriedly.

  Daphne nodded, dismissing her and turned to peer at Annalise. Her friend immediately rose to her feet and followed her out of the room. She did not think Daphne was in a stable state of mind at the moment, certainly not enough to remember all of the strict rules that restrained their society.

  Downstairs, Villiers motioned towards the parlor. Daphne wordlessly marched inside. Annalise sent Daphne’s shoulder a wary look and whispered directions for the butler to arrange for tea and cakes to be served. She then followed Daphne inside, and quietly shut the door.

  She was not surprised to see their other friend, Chrysanthe, sitting prettily in one of the over-stuffed chairs before the fire. The three of them had been quite inseparable at school, and though since they had returned to their homes they had not seen one another as frequently as they might have liked, they did keep in touch.

  Chrysanthe looked quite unlike the reckless hoyden Daphne recalled, and much more the refined lady. She had kept a mental image of Chrysanthe with her rumpled, stained dresses and untamed riot of flaming tresses. The girl sitting before her was far removed from the hoyden.

  Chrysanthe was quite petite and small, with creamy, pale skin that went well with her wildly red hair. Incandescent blue eyes peered out at her from beneath lightly arched brows. She was dressed in what Daphne could only imagine was a new day dress of yellow and green. The only recognizable features that she could resign to the Chrys she had grown up with was the wry twist of her mouth and the fiery color of her hair, which was quietly arranged atop her head.

  Daphne sat down on a settee, only to be joined by a worried Annalise. They stared at one another for several, silent moments.

  “Well, it is about time!” Chrysanthe exclaimed at last, sending Daphne her most intimidating peevish glare. “I’ve been waiting for you to get here forever!”

  “Chrys—”

  Chrysanthe held up a single finger for silence. They all fell still. Five seconds passed, then another ten, before the door quietly opened to reveal a tea cart laden with treats.

  Annalise felt her jaw drop. For some reason, Chrysanthe had unquestionable instincts, as she always had. It never failed to shock her, especially as the two girls often found themselves at odds. Chrysanthe relied on her instincts just as Annalise had always relied on her book-smarts, and both were determined to always be right. It was only Daphne’s patience and kindness that had kept the peace many times over the years.

  Once they were alone again, Annalise took over the duty of pouring tea. She made certain to add three lumps of sugar to Chrysanthe’s cup, as she knew their friend detested the drink, and would only sip at the beverage if it was liberally sweetened.

  Chrysanthe piled a delicate-looking plate high with biscuits and scones. “I received some distressing news from my uncle this morning, Daphne.”

  Daphne looked longingly at the sweets laid out before them before settling back with an unsweetened cup. “Oh?” she inquired politely.

  “Yes. You know my uncle, Uncle Balfour? He works for the War Department?”

  Daphne made a light hum in the back of her throat.

  “Yes
, well,” Chrysanthe continued around a mouthful of buttery scone, “he told me that there is an investigation ongoing regarding the untimely murder of one Baron Davernay, of Surrey, no less. Now, I asked myself, why was I just hearing about this, and from my own uncle, not my dear, beloved friend?”

  Daphne smiled placidly. “But you had heard of Papa’s demise before this?”

  Chrysanthe sent her a fulminating glare. “Of course I had, Daphne! I am not a bloody idiot!”

  Annalise was still playing hostess. “Do you want a biscuit, Daphne?”

  “I thank you, but no,” Daphne replied easily, patting her belly ruefully. “I am trying to watch my weight.”

  Chrysanthe snorted. “Daphne—”

  “Oh, yes, all right, my father was murdered, there is an investigation ongoing, and I could not send for the two of you for the funeral or otherwise, before now. Satisfied?”

  “Not remotely! What, did you think to draw the killer out by keeping it quiet?”

  “It was actually the barrister’s idea,” Daphne defended in a bored voice. “It did not work, however, so I must find—”

  “You must what?” Annalise demanded, finally joining in the conversation. “This is what you were leading to upstairs, isn’t it? You are planning something.”

  Chrysanthe sneered at Annalise. “Of course she is planning something. He was her father.”

  “Yes, but… Daphne, I think your father would have wanted you to just go on with your life,” Annalise decided firmly. “He would not want you to risk your life just for his memory. He is dead. You, fortunately, are not.”

  Daphne sent Annalise a disbelieving look. “Papa would have known what I needed to do, Annalise, and he would have supported me wholeheartedly.”

  Chrysanthe nodded agreement. “Her father loved her, Anna, but unlike your father, he understood her.”

  Annalise bristled, spilling scalding tea down the front of her dress. “Just what is that supposed to mean? Are you saying my father did not love me?”

  Daphne closed her eyes and inwardly winced. Here was an old wound, one that Chrysanthe often nudged whenever Annalise was acting too superior. She did not want to have to deal with it now.

  “Your father loved you,” Chrysanthe agreed, “but he never understood you, Anna.”

  “My father cherished me!” Annalise hissed furiously.

  “He cherished the beautiful debutante he wanted you to be,” Chrysanthe countered seamlessly. “He did not want a bright daughter, he wanted a ravishing beauty!”

  “Enough,” Daphne glowered at them both. “No one is denying that your father loved you, Anna, least of all Chrysanthe.” She sent the woman in question a warning glare. “Our circumstances are different, however.”

  Annalise calmed slightly and nibbled at a sugary biscuit. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, for starters, you were but a girl when your dad died,” Chrysanthe mocked. “Daphne is a woman.”

  “Oh, hush, Chrys,” Daphne snapped. She did not want a fight, but to calmly decide what to do. “Annalise, your father died of natural causes. Mine was shot through the head.”

  “On the eve of your birthday,” Annalise murmured. “Do you believe that is significant?”

  Daphne frowned. She had not considered that. “I do not see how it could be, Anna. It is possible, but…”

  “Unlikely,” Chrysanthe nodded. “If you did it, perhaps, but who else is likely to have a great interest in your birthday? The rest of your family?”

  Daphne shook her head sadly. “I have not seen my uncle or cousin in years, and as for Aunt Cassie, Papa disinherited her long ago.”

  “I remember,” Annalise said. “Remember, Chrys, we were there. So was James,” she added thoughtfully.

  Chrysanthe frowned. “Daphne’s birthday party?”

  “Of course. Cassie’s son tried to drown Daph in the lake. Didn’t you run in to bite him, Chrys?”

  “I would have, but you were holding me down,” Chrysanthe recalled unhappily. “You should have let me; I could have taken him—”

  “He was fourteen years old, and we were all nine!” Annalise snapped indignantly. “Who did put a stop to it?”

  Daphne shivered beside her. “Your brother,” she whispered.

  She still remembered the look on the Duke’s face. He had only been back in England for a few months, she recalled. James had been fighting in the war on the Continent, and had been sent home because of some injuries he had sustained. She had only met him twice before and he terrified her. But when she got a good look on his face after he cold-cocked her cousin and dragged her to the bank, she had realized she had never known true danger before. He had been livid.

  Of course, if Annalise’s brother had been ready to hurt someone, it had been her own father who was ready to kill. Indeed, Papa had told the stable boy to run and fetch a pistol and to shoot the lot of them. After that, he said they were no longer family and they were not welcomed on any Davernay lands ever again, and if they were stupid enough to return, he would have them shot on sight.

  “Well, what are you planning to do,” Chrysanthe asked, turning their minds from the unhappy memory.

  “Do?” Annalise gasped.

  “I need to conduct my own investigation,” Daphne murmured thoughtfully.

  “Now, wait just a minute, Daphne! There are proper officials who—”

  “Are completely untrustworthy,” Daphne interrupted Annalise. “I met the man. He was trying to spin it all on me, and then he decided it was mere ruffians. He does not care, one way or the other, and he will likely lock up the first fool he finds.”

  “Most likely,” Chrysanthe agreed unhappily. “We do have an unequal justice system. Uncle said it was a most unfortunate affair, but there was little he could do about it.”

  Daphne nodded. “So, you see, I must conduct my own investigation.”

  “Daphne, your father would not want you to put yourself in danger,” Annalise argued heatedly. “Please reconsider. I do not want to see you come to harm. Look,” she added gently when Daphne merely stared through her. “Here we are, all three of us reunited, and we are about to start our first Season. Don’t you think we could all just look for husbands and—”

  “Annalise, be reasonable,” Chrysanthe said quietly. “He was her father.”

  “And you are my friend!” she exclaimed. “I don’t want to lose you!”

  Daphne shifted in her chair. “You are not,” she told her firmly, “going to lose me. Please, Anna, I have to do this. Don’t you understand? If I don’t do this, I will never be able to live in peace. I will forever be haunted by the knowledge that the man who killed my father is out there, free.”

  “Not to mention,” Chrysanthe added in a worried voice, “that the killer might not have finished his job yet. Who said he is only to stop with the baron. They might have their sights on Daphne, too. If she does not find out the truth, she will forever be looking over her shoulder.”

  Daphne and Annalise stared at Chrysanthe. “Do you truly think so?”

  Chrysanthe sighed. “There is always the possibility.

  We must discover why Baron Davernay was targeted.”

  “We?”

  “We,” Chrysanthe agreed. “You must agree, Daphne. We will be in this together.”

  “Just like old times, then,” Daphne laughed weakly. She felt her eyes stinging with unshed tears. She was deeply moved.

  “I still think you should tell James,” Annalise told her unhappily, “but I will help however I can.”

  Chrysanthe raised her now tepid tea in a toast. Daphne and Annalise joined in.

  “Together.”

  Chapter Three

  “Why does your brother hate me so?”

  Annalise peered up at Daphne, who had been disrobed
down to her unmentionables and was currently standing on a stool in the center of a small room crowded with discarded bolts of fabric. Her arms were stretched out to either side of her, as though she were about to be nailed to a cross. She had a long-suffering grimace on her expressive face.

  “James does not hate you, Daphne,” Annalise giggled.

  Daphne raised an arm, scowling at the seamstress. “Of course he hates me. The man can barely stand to be in a room with me. He runs away whenever he sees me coming. And—” Daphne broke off as the seamstress tugged hard on the material that was draped around her.

  Apparently the seamstress did not care for her client’s attitude regarding fashion. She shoved a pin through the pale material she was stretching around Daphne with a trifle too much force and it bit into the tender flesh of her hip.

  “Ouch!”

  “Well, if you would hold still, mistress, you wouldn’t get stuck,” the woman snapped irritably.

  “I am freezing,” Daphne complained. “Why do I need two hundred gowns? I will never wear two hundred gowns!”

  “You are exaggerating,” Annalise chided her.

  “Not by much,” Daphne sneered.

  Finally, the torturer, erm, seamstress was finished making measurements. Daphne jumped down and wrapped a wrapper around her shoulders. They had several more fittings scheduled before they could leave the shop.

  Annalise was ignoring her, as she tended to do whenever Daphne started her endless litany of complaints about the Season and what would be expected of them. She was admiring a bolt of topaz colored silk, slowly running her fingers down the sleek material.

  Daphne sighed inwardly. She resigned herself to pretending that she actually cared about fashion for at least another hour.

  “That would look good on you,” she said lightly.

  Annalise sent her an unfathomable look. “I could never wear such a daring color,” she murmured, ashamed for being caught in the act of longing for something inappropriate.

  “Ridiculous. It would suit your coloring quite well, Annalise,” Daphne remarked simply. “Why don’t you tell the pin-sticker—”