‘Daphne,’ he whispered.
Some rational part of him heard footsteps on the stairs.
‘Someone is coming.’ He eased her away from him. ‘We had better say goodnight before we do something two friends might regret.’
‘I wouldn’t regret it, Hugh!’ She tried to renew the embrace.
‘Not now.’ He pushed her away gently.
The footsteps were coming closer, nearly at the top of the stairs, he guessed. He opened her door and picked up his cane.
‘Oh, madame!’ an accented voice said. ‘I—I have come to assist you. If—if I do not disturb you.’
‘You must be Monette,’ Hugh said. ‘I have walked Mrs Asher to her room. She is a bit unsteady.’
He heard Monette rush over to her. ‘My lady! Are you ill?’
‘Not ill,’ Daphne said. ‘Feel wonderful. Am dizzy, though.’
‘She drank some brandy,’ Hugh explained. ‘Without realising the effects.’
‘Je comprends, sir,’ Monette said, sounding very French. ‘I will take care of her.’
He felt the two women move past him and walk through the doorway. The door closed behind them and Hugh was left to find his own way back to his bedchamber to await Carter’s assistance to ready him for bed.
Sleeping would be difficult this night, he feared.
* * *
Daphne rose the next morning humming the tune to ‘Barbara Allen’. She laughed at herself. Why was she singing a song of death when she felt so happy?
The previous evening was fuzzy to her, but she remembered their quarrel about money and she remembered that she and Westleigh had made a pact to be friends. It felt wonderful to have a friend, even a temporary one. She so rarely had a friend.
She remembered calling Phillipa Westleigh her friend, but, truly, Daphne had simply been trying to use Phillipa to help in her attempted conquest of Xavier. Daphne had been no friend. She wanted to be different with Hugh—she could call him Hugh now. She wanted to be a good friend.
She had a vision of sharing kisses with him, but that was nonsense. A dream, certainly. She’d dreamed of kissing Hugh, like she used to dream of kissing Xavier. One could not help one’s dreams.
One thing was certain. Fantasy must never overpower reason in her relationship with Hugh as it had with Xavier. She would be content—overjoyed—that she and Hugh would spend the next ten days as friends.
Monette entered the room to help Daphne dress. Daphne was tempted to ask for the prettiest of the three dresses she had packed with her. It did not matter what she wore, though, because he could not see her. She did not have to look pretty for him. Imagine! He wanted to be her friend without even knowing what she looked like.
Once ready, she hurried from her room. Hugh was leaving his bedchamber at the same time.
‘Good morning,’ she said, suddenly reticent to even use his given name. What if he’d changed his mind since the night before?
He smiled and turned in her direction, not quite facing her directly. ‘Good morning, Daphne.’ His voice was low and deep and warmed her all over. ‘Are you bound for breakfast?’
She brightened. ‘I am, indeed.’
He offered his arm. ‘Would you like to see if I remember how to find the dining room?’
Her fingers wrapped around his muscle. ‘It would be my pleasure.’
They descended the stairs together.
‘Any ill effects from the brandy?’ he asked.
Her head hurt a little, but she was too happy to care. ‘None to speak of.’
When they reached the last step, he hesitated. ‘Go ahead and lead me. I don’t mind floundering on my own, but I would hate to run you into a table or the wall.’
‘I will this time,’ she responded. ‘But you mustn’t always act the invalid.’
He smiled again. ‘You have surmised it is a role I detest.’
‘Oh, yes.’ She exaggerated her expression. She did not sound much different than any other time she engaged men in conversation, but inside she felt transformed.
Breakfast was pleasant. It reminded Daphne of those days in her marriage when it seemed as if she made her husband happy.
* * *
After breakfast she suggested they take a walk.
They stepped out of the house into a morning as glorious as her mood.
‘Tell me what the day is like,’ he said as she led him on the same path as the day before. ‘Is it as fine as it seems?’
She did not want to answer right away, too acutely aware of all he missed by being unable to see. ‘First tell me why you think it fine.’
‘Well...’ He paused before they stepped onto the road. ‘First the air smells of all the wonderful smells of a spring day, of new leaves forming, fresh grass growing, flowers blooming. The sun feels warm on my face. And the birds are making a great deal of noise.’ He covered her hand with his. ‘Now tell me what you see.’
It had rained the night before and it was as if the rain had scrubbed the landscape into its most presentable appearance. ‘First, there is dew on the grass and it sparkles.’ Like tiny jewels, she thought. ‘There are spring flowers in bloom, in flower beds around the cottage. The sky is very clear. It is that deep, clear blue one does not see very often.’
How many times had her husband compared the colour of her eyes to such a sky? And her hair to the narcissus blooming in the garden? Men always commented on her beauty. This man could not see her, though, and he liked her anyway.
‘We’re starting on the road now,’ she warned him as they walked on.
They approached the stable where John Coachman stood in the door.
‘We’re near the stable now,’ she said. ‘My coachman is there.’
The coachman stepped forwards. ‘Good morning, ma’am. Good morning, Mr Westleigh. I’d say you look a sight better than when I saw you last.’
Hugh stopped and extended his hand, but the coachman was too far away to reach it. He strode over to accept Hugh’s grip.
‘You assisted me,’ Hugh said. ‘I thank you.’
He coloured. ‘’Twas nothing, sir.’
‘You know my name.’ Hugh released his hand. ‘What is yours?’
It had not occurred to Daphne to introduce them.
‘I go by John Coachman, mostly,’ the man replied.
Hugh nodded. ‘My father always called our coachmen John Coachman. My mother always knew their Christian names, their wives’ names and the names of all of their children. She also knew precisely how they should raise their children and how they should conduct every aspect of their lives.’
Daphne knew none of those things. When she’d sent for John Coachman to meet her in Ramsgate, had she taken him away from his family? She’d certainly never given it a thought.
Her coachman gave Hugh a toothy grin. ‘Not married, nor have any children.’ He winked. ‘That I know of.’
Hugh sobered. ‘We’d better not pursue that conversation, not with your employer standing here.’
The coachman darted her an anxious look.
‘What is your name?’ she asked, feeling ashamed of herself. ‘I am sorry I never learned it.’
‘Oh, John Coachman does well enough,’ he responded. Rather kindly, she thought. ‘But, if you would like the real thing, it is Henry Smith.’
‘I’ll call you Smith from now on, then.’ The sounds of voices came from inside the stable. She glanced towards them. ‘How are the stable boys working out?’
Smith glanced back, too, a pleased expression on his face. ‘They leave me nothing to do. They are good workers, ma’am.’
At least she’d eased his load a bit. ‘You must enjoy some leisure, then, Smith. Take some time for yourself.’
His eyes widened. ‘Thank you, ma’am.’
She took Hugh’s arm again and they continued on their walk.
‘I ought to have known his name,’ she murmured.
He touched her hand again. ‘My mother’s style was always to insinuate herself into everyone’s business, whether they were family or servants. Not everyone adopts such a style.’
She knew a little about Monette’s life. Monette had been the daughter of English parents who’d lived in Switzerland. She’d also been orphaned at an early age, with no relatives to take her in. The convent had given her a home, but she was never meant for that life. Daphne had given her a different choice.
Of Carter she only knew he had been stranded in Switzerland without employment. Now she wondered about his story, as well.
She thought about the servants at Faville House, about how little she knew of their lives, and of the servants at the estate in Vadley, the house and property her husband had left her and where she had spent so little time. How would the servants feel about her return? she wondered. Would they be dreading it?
His voice broke into her reverie. ‘A penny for your thoughts,’ he said. ‘Or whatever the rate is for a wealthy widow.’
‘I was thinking of my servants at home,’ she answered honestly. ‘Of whether they would welcome my return.’
‘How long have you been away?’ he asked.
‘More than two years.’ She’d spent only a few months in the house in Vadley after the new Viscount Faville had taken possession of Faville House. He was the son of her husband’s cousin whose wife had been eager for her to leave.
‘You’ve been two years in Switzerland?’
She guided him around a rut in the road. ‘Almost.’
If he was more curious about her stay in Switzerland, he did not say so. The sound of horse’s hooves in the distance seemed to distract him.
‘Someone riding this way?’ Hugh asked.
Daphne turned to see. ‘No, one of the stablemen is leading one of the horses. They are going in the opposite direction from us.’
‘Which reminds me.’ His tone was light. ‘Was the hiring of the stable workers more of your charitable efforts?’
‘I suppose so.’ She furrowed her brow. ‘Was I so terribly foolish?’
He pulled her closer to him. ‘I think you were terribly generous.’
She felt like weeping at the compliment. At the same time, her senses soared at his closeness. ‘You could not see them, but the new maids were so very thin and very eager. How could I say no? And then Mr and Mrs Pitts came up with the idea for hiring the others.’ She considered this. ‘I wonder if there are many people needing work so urgently.’
‘There are many former soldiers out of work, now that the war is over,’ he responded. ‘And with the Corn Laws there are a lot of hungry people.’
Feed the poor.
One day she had helped the nuns give out bread to needy people. The looks of hunger on their faces had rendered them grotesque. An empty belly was a pain she’d never experienced.
‘What is one to do?’ she wondered aloud.
‘You’ve done well enough,’ he responded.
She jostled him. ‘But you are paying, remember? Except I will pay the stable boys. I insist upon it.’
Another stable boy led another horse out of the stable.
‘Lord, I miss riding.’ His voice turned wistful. ‘I do not suppose you have a riding horse in that stable? I’d be tempted to have one of those workers take me out riding.’
‘Only the carriage horses.’ But Daphne smiled. Surely there were riding horses to procure in the village. Perhaps John Coachman—Smith, she meant—would not mind his leisure interrupted to make riding possible for Hugh.
For her friend.
* * *
The very next day after breakfast when she and Hugh, complete with new hat and gloves, walked towards the stables, she remarked, ‘Oh, there is Smith again.’
‘Morning, ma’am. Mr Westleigh,’ Smith responded.
‘Good morning, Smith,’ Hugh greeted cheerfully. He inhaled. ‘Do you have a horse with you?’
‘I do indeed, sir.’ Smith grinned. ‘And one of the boys is here, as well. Henry.’
‘Hello, Henry,’ Hugh said.
Daphne smiled at the young man mounted on a horse and staring open-mouthed at her. Somehow she was glad Hugh could not see the boy’s reaction.
‘This may sound daft.’ A corner of Hugh’s mouth lifted in a half smile. ‘But may I pet the horse?’
‘I’ll do you one better, sir.’ Smith pulled the horse forwards. ‘How about you take a ride with Henry here.’
It was Hugh’s turn to be open-mouthed. ‘You are jesting.’
‘It is no jest.’ Daphne pushed him forwards. ‘Mr Pitts found us two riding horses. One for you and one for Henry, so he can accompany you.’
Hugh turned back to her, shaking his head, but speechless.
‘Enjoy yourself,’ she said. ‘Smith was told this horse will not dump you in a hedge.’
He laughed. ‘That is a good thing.’
Smith brought the horse to him and Hugh patted the animal.
‘I’ll help you mount, sir.’ Smith guided him to the stirrup, but Hugh mounted easily as soon as his foot was in it.
Smith touched his hat and walked back into the stable.
Daphne stood and watched Hugh ride away, straight backed and confident, as if he was free of the bandages.
Her heart soared with joy. Was it always this way when one did something to make another so happy? This was a gift better than any she’d ever received.
Chapter Nine
What were the odds Hugh would find any recuperation enjoyable, especially this one?
For the past four days he’d ridden in the mornings before breakfast, starting the day feeling free and unfettered by the bandages covering his eyes. Afterwards, he shared pleasant breakfasts with Daphne and they spent most of the rest of the days together. Taking walks. Playing the pianoforte. Talking. In the afternoon and evenings she sometimes read the London newspapers to him or books about exotic places, places he intended to visit and see for himself. They shared dinner and afterwards retired to the drawing room where he sipped brandy and she drank tea. That she seemed happy gratified him more than he could say.
She didn’t pour herself brandy, though. Did not repeat that release of restraint that had led to the kiss he could not put out of his mind. His senses burned for her; otherwise the time was idyllic.
This morning was no different. He and Daphne walked together to the stable where Henry waited with his horse. Hugh bid Daphne goodbye and he and Henry set off. There was a field nearby where they could give the horses their heads and race at exhilarating speed.
This was Hugh’s favourite time, a time he forgot the bandages on his eyes. He merely savoured the wind in his face and the power of the horse beneath him. He’d galloped like this through cannon and musket smoke in the war. This was not so different—except perhaps that no cannon or musket fired at him. He and the horse were familiar with the field now. Hugh knew how long before the horse would slow and they would progress at a milder pace through some brush.
But now he was flying free. Life was good.
The next moment, the horse balked and stumbled back. Hugh pitched forwards, his face hitting the horse’s neck and loosening his bandages and pushing them askew. He managed to hold on to the horse, but in his struggle, he did the unthinkable.
He opened his eyes.
He saw nothing but the white of the loosened bandages. A stab of pain lanced both eyes and he immediately shut them again as he found his seat and pulled on the reins to steady the horse. The pain persisted until finally subsiding into an ache reminiscent of the first two days of his injury. He repositioned the bandages as best he could, but he’d in
jured his eyes again. He was certain of it.
He heard Henry’s horse approach. ‘Are you hurt, sir? You almost took a tumble.’
‘Not hurt,’ Hugh said. At least, not hurt in the way Henry meant. ‘Merely shaken. Do you know what happened?’
‘Something spooked the mare,’ Henry said. ‘Didn’t see what it was.’
‘Well.’ Hugh’s breathing almost returned to normal. ‘No harm done. Let’s keep on.’ He didn’t want to turn back. Didn’t want to admit to himself that everything he hoped for might be lost.
* * *
By the end of the ride Hugh had composed himself. Mr Wynne was due to call this very day. He’d change the bandages and they’d again be tight. Until then Hugh must simply remember to keep his lids closed. Maybe Wynne would tell him he was still on the mend. Maybe he had not done terrible harm.
He managed to act normally during breakfast. Daphne needn’t know he might have ruined all her efforts at taking care of him.
‘I must go into the village this morning,’ Daphne told him. ‘Monette asked me to accompany her. I’ve neglected her of late.’
‘You’ve neglected your lady’s maid?’ This was indeed an odd statement.
‘She is not accustomed to being in England.’ Daphne explained, sounding embarrassed. ‘Nor to being around so many people.’
So many people? In a village?
‘Besides, I think there is something on her mind,’ she went on. ‘There is nothing like a nice walk to help loosen tongues.’
He must be careful not to agree to a walk with her today, then.
‘I should be back by the time Mr Wynne calls,’ she added.
He was due in the afternoon.
‘I’ll find some way to amuse myself.’ Hugh would probably sit in his bedchamber and worry, but she need not know that.
* * *
She was gone most of the day, which was just as well. Hugh heard her voice outside as she returned. He left his rocking chair to make his way down the stairs.
‘There you are, Hugh!’ she said brightly.
Were her cheeks flushed from the exercise and fresh air? he wondered. Would he ever see such a sight?
A Lady of Notoriety (The Masquerade Club) Page 10