A Kiss to Remember

by Rebecca Minto

  Anna supposed she had always thought painting to be some wishy-washy hobby. Something dreamers did, something that lacked substance. If she had ever thought of Daphne sitting by her lake painting, she would have imagined dreamy look on her face while she drifted rainbow-colored brushes over a canvas.

  What she saw now was nothing which spoke of dreaming and everything to do with raw emotion. Daphne looked as though she were at war with canvas, attacking it with barely suppressed violence. Instead of sword or dagger, she wielded a paint brush, and even that looked like a weapon more than a tool of artistry.

  Slowly, Annalise approached her friend, almost afraid that, when she finally arrived to her destination, Daphne would turn that rage on her. When she peered over Daphne’s shoulder, however, her friend stopped, sending her a small smile.

  “Curious, are we?”

  “I have never seen you work before,” Annalise admitted, impressed despite her own convictions.

  “It keeps me sane,” Daphne laughed wryly.

  Annalise sat down nearby to watch and wait. “What do you mean?”

  “Did you always think I was a content person, Anna?”

  “I suppose I did,” Annalise agreed cautiously.

  “I doubt there is anyone truly settled. If we were settled, we would be perennially dull creatures. We would not feel anger or pain or…passion.”

  “True,” Annalise admitted. “Is that your father?”

  Daphne nodded. “I am painting him in his study, with the sun shining in. Lately, I have been reliving many fond memories. I thought it might be pleasurable to put them to canvas.”

  “You are talented, Daphne. You could go professional.”

  Daphne laughed. “Ah, but I would not have the freedom to paint as I choose. I would have to take commissions. I paint from my soul, Annalise, not from a still study. Perhaps if I were a pauper I would consider it. I have no need of coin.”

  They were silent for a long time. It was apparent that Daphne was absorbed in her art, or perhaps other thoughts that Annalise could not comprehend. She continued to war with her canvas, stopping now and then as though to catch her breath. Annalise, for her part, enjoyed watching her. This was far more intimate than any of their misbegotten adventures together, any quiet secrets they told in the dark. This was seeing Daphne at her most unguarded moment, wild and wicked and strong. Like a warrior-goddess fighting for the goodwill of all mankind.

  Perhaps it was the intimacy of this moment that made Annalise so brazen, or that she sensed there was a great deal Daphne was feeling that she was not admitting. Perhaps it was merely worry brought on by the previous evening. Annalise dared to ask one question none of them had ever spoken in the quiet.

  “Daphne, what is it you truly want?”

  Jarred, Daphne stopped, sending Annalise an inquiring look. “Want, Anna? What do you mean? A bit soon to be asking for my Christmas list, isn’t it?”

  Anna smiled. “Not as in a gift or anything. What I mean is, what do you want from life?”

  Daphne did not answer right away. She peered at her work, judging, then changed colors.

  “That is not an easy question, Annalise.”

  “It isn’t,” Anna agreed evenly. “But I would like to know.”

  Daphne nodded. “Well, whatever I say will not matter because it is impossible.”

  “You speak of your father,” Anna murmured, distressed.

  “Yes, I would like to be with Papa,” Daphne admitted. “I know, even if I had the chance to bring him back to life, I would hate myself for ripping him from an eternity of peace. It is the living who suffer, Anna.”

  “I am glad you understand that, Daphne. I worried that you did not.”

  “I have grown up a great deal since…since my birthday. That isn’t what you asked, is it?” Daphne laughed to cover her suddenly tearful eyes.

  “Is the question so difficult, then?”

  Daphne shrugged. “Impossible, and I don’t believe in dwelling what we can’t have. It only makes reality that much more painful. But, if I could, I would like to purchase my home. To return to Lilac Manor and live there with myself and my painting, with Papa’s horses and the memories.”

  “Alone?” Annalise pushed.

  “Yes, alone,” Daphne murmured. “Of course, it will never happen. My fate was decided the moment I was born female.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Daphne attacked her canvas with a vengeance. “Because I was born a woman, I must marry to have any sense of freedom. Or be a spinster forever reliant on others for my house room.”

  “I thought you wanted to find a love like your father and mother had,” Annalise whispered achingly.

  “Yes, well, I have grown up a great deal since then. I know Papa wanted the same for me, but such things are unrealistic. The most I can hope for is a man who respects my need to be alone to paint, or to wander, one who does not like to throw big balls and who also prefers the countryside to town.”

  Annalise squeezed her eyes shut. She knew no such man.

  “I would like to have children,” Daphne continued thoughtfully. “I do not anticipate my duties, but I think I could withstand them if it led to motherhood.”

  “That is a lonely existence you plan for yourself, Daphne,” her friend murmured.

  “Yes, so it is,” Daphne said cheerfully. “I have always dealt best on my own, Anna. All three of us did. I think that is one reason we could ever be so close.”

  It was true enough, but it made Anna want to weep for her. Something, surely, had happened to make her feel these things. Blast it all, Annalise knew something had happened. But Daphne wasn’t talking.

  So, she did what any good friend would do in such circumstances. She changed the subject.

  “James said we shall go to the opera again tonight.”

  “Must we?” Daphne moaned. “I detest listening to those screeching harpies.”

  Annalise laughed, as Daphne had intended, and the intimate mode evaporated. “They are not harpies, Daph. If you would learn the languages—”

  “No thank you. I have no need to learn Ukrainian or Greek or whatever it is they squeak in.”

  Annalise glanced around. “Where is Darcie, by the by?”

  Daphne shrugged. “I gave her the day off,” she admitted. “She seemed eager for it.”

  “How peculiar.”

  Daphne shrugged. The last thing she wanted to talk about was about her over-protective lady’s maid.

  Chapter Twelve

  It was the first time Daphne was forced to be around James, to spend almost every moment for hours in his presence, and to fight not to throw herself into his arms.

  Memories burned in her heart, memories of his kisses, the blaze of his touch, the taste of his breath. Memories of his impassioned words of how much he desired her.

  And heart-breaking memories of why she could never betray her true feelings.

  She already felt like a fool. Although he had denied it repeatedly, she could not help but think that it was partly her own eagerness for his touch that had turned him away. Despite that, however, she knew his words were truth. He was an honorable man. He would not take her virginity, by force or otherwise, without doing right by her. He was forbidden even from that because of her father’s wishes.

  It was tempting to beg him to change his mind, to tell him sweet lies that she would rather have one night in his arms than an eternity of without. She would rather be his mistress than the ward he threw at another man. Yet, as painful as the truth was, Daphne knew that if he ever took up such an offer from her, she would not love him nearly as much.

  There was the crux of the matter. Love. She loved him. Not as a brother, or as a protector, or as the man who had once saved her life, but in the way a woman should love her husban
d. She craved the sight of him, even as it pained her. She craved his touch, his kisses. More than anything, she wanted his babe to quicken in her belly. She wanted to spend hours talking with him, to sleep by him each night, to wake up next to him, even if he hogged the covers and had terrible breath come the morn.

  In essence, she wanted the impossible.

  It was going to be difficult enough hiding her true feelings for him from others, especially from Annalise and Chrysanthe. It had to be done, however. The mask she had to wear was a sword twisting deep inside, slowly killing her. Worse than poison, worse than a gunshot, she felt as though each heartbeat was robbing her of what had always pushed her beyond pain.

  Besides, even if things were different, it would make no difference. James had said he wanted her. He desired her, as so many of his peers desired their mistresses. He had not spoken of love. Even if she could be with him, it would kill her, day by day, loving him so deeply, knowing it was only her body that bound him to her.

  She sighed, blinking back tears. Crying would not help. Shouting and raging did not help. Only her quiet painting would get her through this. The brush had never failed her before. She could only pray her art could save her this time ‘round.

  After the torturous performance was over, she headed out, flanked by her guardian and Annalise. The foyer was filled with others who would linger to discuss the opera, or business, or simply flirt. Ordinarily, they would have joined in with the useless chatter, but James had quietly told her that he was taking them to a ball afterwards.

  “It is for the best,” Annalise confided as they headed towards the carriage. “If you refused to show your face, they would decide you guilty. You would never be welcomed in any sitting room again, Daph.”

  “You say that as though it is a bad thing,” Daphne replied.

  Annalise laughed, but somehow she doubted that Daphne was jesting.

  Luckily, it was a relatively short ride. Daphne was only too eager to get out of the tense carriage. Still, it was somewhat daunting to walk into an enormous mansion sparkling with lights, with hundreds of carriages milling about. This was a more formal affair than the Ashford bash had been. Daphne had never felt more out of place.

  Dozens of footmen milled around the foyer, accepting cards, taking wraps and directing guests to the proper stair. As Daphne stared down into the glittering ballroom, she vaguely remembered her disillusionment with her first ball. As she stared into the throng, she was amazed to see that her fantasy ball had finally become reality.

  This was no cramped, overheated room with too many hot bodies, but a veritable mammoth ballroom that could easily fit all of Lilac Manor inside. Windows were open, letting in a fragrant, balmy breeze. There were plump sofas and little tables along the sides, where couples could join in intimate conversations.

  Daphne used to imagine one day seeing something so magnificent, pretend that she was one of the highborn ladies in all her best finery in such a spellbound place, but as she walked down the steps between what was now her disjointed family, she felt more the dowdy cinder-sweeper than a fairy tale princess.

  Not that she was not dressed appropriately. To the contrary, she knew she looked respectable in the ivory and deep blue ball gown. Her mother’s sapphires winked at her ears and throat. Her step was even, her head held high. She acted every ounce the lady.

  And felt like the biggest imposter on Earth.

  James went through his usual motions when escorting them to a ball. He would first escort them over to meet their host and hostess, and once introductions and pleasantries were exchanged, they would part their separate ways for the evening.

  This exchange was entirely different than the other times, however. The host and hostess, as usual, all but gushed over the esteemed Duke, graciously thanking him for his presence. Their eagerness extended to Annalise, as well.

  However, when they caught sight of Daphne, their demeanor changed drastically. Lord Henley gave her a hostile look of the deepest loathing. He did not so much as nod to her. His wife, however, did something much worse.

  She gave Daphne the cut direct. In front of everyone.

  Dazed, Daphne walked away, blindly seeking somewhere to compose. She had heard of it, of course. It was the most insulting thing that could happen to anyone, or so she had heard. It happened, but only very rarely. She had never heard of a hostess doing it before, however. Was she supposed to leave? It was painfully obvious that she was not welcome. Would they throw her out?

  Shaken, Daphne sat on a plump settee, staggered. What if they did throw her out? What would she do? Where would she go? She did not even know what part of London they were in. Could she walk home? She had not brought her pelisse. She did not have the coin to hire a hack.

  “Mama is coming,” a familiar voice whispered.

  Daphne turned, staring at Chrysanthe. “W-what?”

  “Mama wants to talk to you,” Chrysanthe told her.

  Daphne looked down. Chrys was holding her hand. She was shocked. She had never even felt it.

  Lady Sinclair arrived, with her lips pressed together in grim disapproval. Oh God, Daphne thought, alarmed. What had she done now?

  “Go away and do something naughty, Chrysanthe,” Lady Sinclair ordered briskly.

  “But Mama—”

  “Go, I don’t care what you do. Just go.”

  Daphne was alone with Chrysanthe’s terrifying mama.

  “I saw what Lady Henley did,” Lady Sinclair murmured. Like Chrysanthe, she sat down and took Daphne’s hand in hers. It was warm and soft, full of comfort. “It was reprehensible. They are now on my black list.”

  “W-what do I do?” Daphne beseeched her desperately. “Should I leave? Will they kick me out?”

  “Hardly,” Lady Sinclair sniffed. “They would have to contend with the affluent Duke then, and there are not many who would dare to incite his wrath. Of course,” she added snidely, “one never knows what to expect from a Henley. I thought they were decent people.”

  Daphne sent Chrysanthe’s mother a sad look. “This is only the beginning, isn’t it?”

  “I fear it is, Daphne. All you can do is what you have been doing from the start of it. Keep that head held high, my dear.”

  She shivered. “I should have left for the country. It was a mistake to ever start my Season so soon.”

  “Why did you?” she asked softly.

  “T-the thought of being left in the country alone was unbearable,” Daphne murmured, ashamed. “I wanted the comfort of my friends. It was a selfish decision,” she ended bitterly.

  “Never think that, Daphne. In such times, we do what we must to survive. Men like to think they are the only ones who understand courage and strength. Then again,” Lady Sinclair whispered viciously, “Lord Sinclair has never had to suffer childbirth.”

  Daphne managed a smile. Somehow, with a kind woman holding her hand, it did not seem nearly so impossible.

  “Now, I had best let Chrysanthe come back to comfort you, else she do something truly wicked. Mind yourself, Daphne. I fear you have many enemies in the ballroom tonight.”

  “Lady Sinclair,” she whispered feelingly, “thank you, for everything.”

  Chrysanthe’s mother had not been jesting about her. Chrys was at her side in a heartbeat, curiously looking livid, disappointed and worried all at once.

  “I am so sorry about Papa. He is not here tonight,” Chrys added with a small smile.

  “Where is he?” Daphne asked, distracted.

  Chrys smirked. “Licking his wounds at the club.”

  “I did not mean to cause a rift between your parents, Chrysanthe.”

  She shrugged. “It was not your fault, but Papa’s. Mama says he is worse than a woman, the way he gossips among his comrades. And yes, they are still speaking, mostly at the top of their lungs, with a
great deal of broken treasures, but speaking nonetheless.”

  “Broken treasures?”

  Chrysanthe smiled outright now. “Well, apparently I get my unruly temper from Mama,” Chrysanthe admitted ruefully. “She keeps throwing things at Papa’s head. She mostly hits her mark, too. Although she won’t admit it to me, I think my uncle must have taught her quite a few unfeminine tricks when she was young.”

  Daphne sighed. She was unhappy to hear about the disruption in the Sinclair household. She felt as though it were her fault, no matter what anyone said to the contrary.

  “So, what happened after everyone left?”

  Daphne did not miss a beat. “I slept with Annalise.”

  Chrysanthe coughed loudly. “You what?”

  “I went to bed with Anna,” Daphne told her. “You should come stay the night. That way, I can sleep with you, too.”

  “Daphne, have you lost your mind?” Chrys hissed.

  Daphne laughed. “Oh, I just considered that, since everyone seemed to think I have been carrying on with my guardian I might as well make it an entire family thing. Annalise rubs her feet together in her sleep. It is quite annoying.”

  Chrysanthe sniggered. “I always took her for a snorer.”

  “Give her time,” Daphne murmured.

  “So, what do you do in your sleep?” Chrys asked. She wanted to extend the lighthearted topic for as long as possible.

  “Well, I would not know, since I am asleep at the time, although Papa used to tell me he would hear giggles coming from my room late at night.”

  “Giggles?”

  “Yes, he claimed I giggled in my dreams. I wish I could remember them.”

  “Mama says I hog the covers,” Chrysanthe told her. “I don’t think she is correct, though. I have never slept with anyone, so how could she possibly say I steal the covers?”

  “Perhaps she has been sneaking your suitors in your room late at night and they all leave because you are such a selfish cover-hog?” Daphne suggested blandly.

  “Hmm. I will have to ask her. Can you imagine the look on her face? ‘Mum, have you been sneaking men into my bed?’”