No longer.
Monette tied Daphne’s hair with a ribbon, and her curls fell around her face as if it all had been carefully arranged.
Daphne stood and straightened her spine. ‘Thank you, Monette,’ she remembered to say. ‘I do look a great deal neater.’
She left her room and descended the stairs, placing a smile on her face and stuffing all other emotions deep inside. With her social facade erected, she entered the drawing room, where Mrs Everard stood staring at Daphne’s portrait so prominently displayed.
She really ought to have it replaced by some nice landscape.
‘Mrs Everard?’
The woman turned and quickly composed her unhappy face into an expression of politeness. She curtsied.
Daphne approached her with hand extended. ‘I am Lady Faville.’ She glanced at her portrait. ‘As you have undoubtedly guessed.’ She shook the woman’s hand. ‘I am so sorry to have kept you waiting. Especially when it was so kind of you to come.’
Mrs Everard’s handshake was very tentative. ‘Ma’am’ was all she said.
Daphne took her arm and led her to a set of chairs near the fireplace. ‘Do sit.’ She gave Mrs Everard a chair that did not face her portrait. One Lady Faville was enough for the woman to deal with.
Daphne had always known she was prettier than most women. Her mother certainly had told her so from the time she was in leading strings. It had been the abbess who helped her understand how much a barrier her beauty could be. She’d realised, though, that the biggest barrier had been one she created herself. She’d been the one who’d not looked beyond a person’s physical appearance.
She smiled at her guest. ‘I’ve ordered tea. It should be here any minute.’
Mrs Everard’s gaze did not quite meet Daphne’s. ‘You ought not to have gone to so much trouble for me,’
Mrs Everard was young, perhaps no more than twenty. She was pleasant looking, but plain, although with a little effort she might actually be pretty. Her hair was a nondescript brown, pulled away from her face and covered by her bonnet. Her dress was well cut and well sewn, but it was an unadorned grey, the colour of a dreary day. Her eyes were an identical shade of grey, but Daphne suspected they would brighten with colour if she chose to wear rich greens or blues. Daphne could think of three gowns in her wardrobe that would look lovely on the young woman. Would Mrs Everard accept them? she wondered.
Daphne exclaimed, ‘Gracious! It is no trouble to serve tea. And it will make our visit more cosy, will it not?’
The young woman’s eyes flashed. ‘As you wish.’
Mrs Everard was angry about the visit! Daphne had not seen it at first, thinking her merely uncomfortable, but Mrs Everard resented being here, Daphne would wager.
The tea arrived, carried in by one of the London footmen. Daphne resolved to learn his name.
‘Thank you,’ she said as he placed the tray on the table between the two ladies.
He left the room.
Daphne lifted a tea cup. ‘How do you take it?’
Mrs Everard removed her gloves and placed them in her lap. ‘A little milk will do.’
It stood to reason she would not want sugar. There was no sweetness in her manner at all, but the unguarded expression of her face suggested her acerbity was meant entirely for Daphne. Such a reaction, to dislike her for her looks, was as familiar to Daphne as being liked for them.
She poured the tea and handed the cup to Mrs Everard. The silence between them stretched until Daphne was considering making the weather a topic of conversation.
‘My husband talks of you a great deal,’ her guest finally said.
Ah, jealousy. Daphne lifted her cup to her lips. ‘Does he?’
Mrs Everard nodded. ‘He has talked of nothing else, I believe, since your letter arrived that you were returning to England.’
Daphne knew how dangerous jealousy could be. It had nearly caused her to burn down a building. ‘He takes his duties very seriously.’
‘Too seriously, some might say.’ Mrs Everard lifted her cup, but did not take a sip. ‘I believe he frets more over your finances than he does over our own.’
Daphne laughed a little, trying to make light of it. ‘I cannot see why he should.’
The woman’s eyes flashed again. ‘Can you not?’
Oh, dear. She must tread very carefully. She took another sip and took on a thoughtful expression. ‘Perhaps your husband has more trust in your management of money than he does mine. He spoke in such a complimentary manner of that very thing when he called this morning.’
Mrs Everard’s gaze shot back to Daphne’s. ‘He called on you this morning?’
Oh, dear. ‘Very briefly,’ Daphne quickly assured her. ‘Merely to make certain I would be home to receive your call, so you did not exert yourself for no purpose.’
The young woman’s brows knitted as if she had not considered that possibility. Of course, Daphne feared the visit from Everard had been mostly to indulge his infatuation. How could she convince him that an infatuation was nothing but fantasy?
Daphne went on. ‘I asked your husband for the name of a good cabinet maker and he spoke of you as the expert in that area. I understand from him that you have very nicely decorated your home at the most reasonable cost.’
Mrs Everard swept a gaze over the room. ‘What need have you of furniture, especially furniture of modest cost?’
Maybe if she pretended to take Mrs Everard into her confidence, the young woman would become more at ease. She’d tried such a tactic with Phillipa Westleigh once upon a time, when she’d pretended to herself they’d been friends.
It would be so nice to have a woman friend. Not this woman, though. Mrs Everard hated her without knowing her, hated her by sight alone.
Daphne leaned towards her. ‘I will tell you why I wish to buy furniture, but you must promise to say nothing to your husband.’
Mrs Everard returned a wary look. ‘I am not in the habit of keeping secrets from my husband.’
Spoken like a newly married woman, indeed. Daphne waved a dismissive hand. ‘Oh, but this is a matter only of importance to me. You see, I recently authorised the repair of my tenants’ cottages and I thought it would be a nice gift to all of them if I would buy them each a piece of furniture.’ She took a sip of tea. ‘What do you think? I thought perhaps a bureau for each family would be best. And some nice wooden chests for the farm and stable workers.’
Mrs Everard spilled some of her tea into the saucer. ‘You are purchasing furniture for your tenants?’
‘And the workers,’ Daphne added. ‘So I need good sturdy furniture, but I want it to be well made and pleasant to look at, too.’ She gave Mrs Everard another thoughtful look. ‘I do think everyone enjoys pretty things no matter what their circumstances.’
‘I see.’ Mrs Everard took her first sip of tea. ‘Why would you do such a thing?’
To atone for never giving such people any thought her whole life, she could say. ‘Call it a whim,’ she said instead.
‘Well.’ Mrs Everard placed her tea cup back on the table and opened the strings of her reticule. She took out a piece of paper and handed it to Daphne. ‘Here is the name of a cabinet maker in Cheapside.’
Daphne read from the paper. ‘Jeffers Cabinetry.’ She smiled. ‘Thank you so much for this! I am so greatly indebted to you.’
Mrs Everard picked up a glove and put it on. ‘If you would forgive me, I must leave. I have taken up too much of your time already.’
Daphne stood. ‘Nonsense. It has been delightful to meet you.’
Mrs Everard rose, putting on her second glove. She started to walk away, but stopped and turned to Daphne. ‘One thing more.’ She looked Daphne directly in the eye. ‘My husband is unnaturally attached to you.’ She glanced from Daphne to her portrait and back
. ‘A woman like you must—must exert an undue influence on men. I would ask that you release my husband from your clutches.’ Her eyes flickered with pain. ‘He is all that I have.’
She turned to leave, but Daphne put a hand on her arm. ‘I am fond of your husband, but he is my man of business. Nothing more. I wish you both happiness in your marriage.’
Mrs Everard moved out of Daphne’s grasp. ‘You outshine me. He cannot even see me when you are near.’
Daphne wanted to tell her she would not be around for long. Toller should be in touch any day now. If there was one thing today had taught her, it was that she should not come to town. Here she only made people unhappy.
She walked Mrs Everard to the door. The footman, whose name she did not know, stood in the doorway about to knock.
‘Another caller, my lady,’ he said. ‘Mr Westleigh.’
Hugh?
Her heart flew into her throat.
Mrs Everard’s head cocked in recognition, but she could not know of Hugh. More likely she knew of Phillipa Westleigh. Perhaps even her foolish husband had told that whole story.
No wonder the poor woman feared she would steal her husband.
‘Mr Westleigh may come in,’ Daphne said to the footman. To Mrs Everard she said, ‘Thank you so much for coming and for bringing me such an excellent recommendation. Please do not worry over the rest.’
Mrs Everard avoided looking at her and simply followed the footman back to the hall.
* * *
The woman in grey glanced at Hugh as she passed him in the hall. She did not seem the sort who would call upon Lady Faville.
‘Lady Faville will see you in the drawing room, sir,’ the footman said, gesturing to the doorway to the room where Hugh had been the day before, where he had made love to Daphne.
He nodded politely to the woman in grey and crossed the hall to the drawing room.
Daphne stood waiting for him. ‘Hugh, come in.’
He inclined his head in the direction of the hall. ‘Did I interrupt?’
She shook her head. ‘She was just leaving.’ Her brow knitted. ‘Is—is this about the pianoforte shop? I give you my word I did not know anything of Xavier’s connection to the shop. If I had known, I would have gone to a different place.’
She wore the same green-and-white-striped walking dress she’d worn earlier, only her hair was a loose cascade of blonde curls tied with a ribbon high on her head. Her expression was not the cool perfection of her portrait, but seemed wounded and sad.
He remembered their frenzied lovemaking in this room. Was she still reeling from that assault or was encountering Xavier responsible?
Or the lady in grey?
In any event, she was on the defensive.
And he with her. ‘Why did you purchase my sister’s music?’ he said, forgoing niceties.
She flinched at his words. ‘I felt I owed it to her. It was the least I could do.’
Owed it to her?
She went on, ‘I also enjoyed her music when she performed.’
‘And you bought a pianoforte so you could play her music?’ Was that not a bit much?
She glanced away. ‘I purchased the pianoforte because I do not have one here. As you know, it helps one pass the time.’
‘Do you need help passing time in London during the Season?’ Usually a lady received more invitations than she could accept.
Her lashes fluttered before she gazed at him again. ‘I am not attending social events.’ She brushed a curl off her forehead. ‘Not that I expect any invitations.’
He frowned. ‘No invitations?’ Had her scandal with Xavier and the Masquerade Club damaged her reputation to that extent? Surely someone would want such a beautiful creature in their ballroom.
‘I did not announce my arrival in town.’
Then why had she come?
She stepped away from him and faced the window, the same window through which he’d glimpsed her the previous day when he’d had no intention of seeing her again. ‘I am only staying a few days, but I promise you, any encounter with you or—or your family will be a happenstance, like today. I say again, I do not wish to trouble your family.’
But she troubled him. He closed his eyes and caught her scent of roses. His hands itched to hold her again. His body yearned to join with hers. The anger that had once burned as hot as the inn’s fire now merely smouldered in a corner, nearly forgotten. Much hotter had been his need to protect her from his brother’s rudeness to her in the pianoforte shop.
‘You are in town only for a few days?’ He tried to make his voice sound as if this did not greatly disappoint him. ‘May I call upon you while you are here?’
She whirled around. ‘Call upon me!’
‘Start over. Become acquainted. You with the new manager of a gambling club, me, with Daphne, Lady Faville, a woman I do not believe I know.’
‘I—I do not know what to say.’ Her voice was little more than a whisper.
‘Say you will walk with me in the park. Right now.’ Why not? They’d enjoyed walks together when he’d been blind.
She stared at him.
He averted his gaze. ‘I promise to be a gentleman. I will not repeat yesterday’s appalling behaviour.’
He looked back at her and could read only puzzlement in her expression. ‘A walk? Like old times?’ he pressed. ‘It is early. The park should not be crowded yet.’
It was not yet three o’clock. The fashionable hour for being seen in the park came at four o’clock.
He lowered his voice. ‘Daphne?’
She swept a curl off her forehead. ‘Just give me a moment to get my hat and gloves.’
* * *
Daphne rushed up to her bedchamber, her heart racing with pleasure. He’d said he wanted to spend time with her. To take a walk with her.
Perhaps it would feel a little like the walks they’d taken at the cottage, only this time he could see. She could take his arm and he could lead her, not the other way around. And she could see his whole face, all his expressions, nothing blocked by bandages.
Even if it lasted only the few days she was here in London, it was more than she’d ever dreamed.
Monette was in her room, folding her laundered undergarments. She looked up, all bright eyes, when Daphne entered the room. ‘My lady, there is a letter for you!’
‘A letter? But I am in a hurry.’ She rushed up to Monette and clasped her hands. ‘Mr Westleigh has called and invited me for a walk!’
Monette seemed to force a smile. ‘Oh, that is so nice for you.’
Daphne peered closer at her. ‘Something is troubling you. Tell me what it is.’
Monette turned away. ‘Oh, it is nothing that cannot wait. You must hurry.’ Her tone was flat.
Daphne persisted. ‘What is it?’
Monette glanced towards the table near the door. ‘The letter.’
‘Oh.’ Understanding dawned. ‘Is it from Toller?’
Monette cheered. ‘I believe so. Would—would you please open it? See what he says?’
Daphne strode over to the table and picked up the letter. ‘It is from Thurnfield!’ She broke the seal, unfolded the paper and read aloud, ‘“Dear Lady Faville.”’ She had explained to Toller her true identity. ‘“I most gratefully accept your offer of employment. I will travel to London in four days’ time and will anticipate returning to your employ with great pleasure. Yours respectfully, Toller.”’
She looked up.
Monette beamed. ‘He writes a pretty letter.’
‘He does indeed,’ Daphne agreed.
‘He will be here in four days’ time!’ Her voice rose in excitement.
‘In three days’ time, Monette,’ Daphne said. ‘The letter is dated yesterday.’
Mone
tte flung herself into Daphne’s arms and hugged her tightly. ‘Oh, thank you, madame. Thank you!’
Daphne’s spirits soared. She’d done something good.
Monette released her. ‘But you must hurry! Mr Westleigh is waiting for you.’ She ran to a drawer and pulled out a fresh pair of gloves. Her expression turned worried. ‘He is not angry at you, is he?’
Daphne grinned. ‘No, he is not angry. So I am happy, too.’
She reached for the hat she’d worn earlier, but Monette stopped her. ‘No. No. Wear a prettier one.’ She went into the closet and brought out a bonnet trimmed in silk flowers with a thick satin ribbon to tie under her chin. Monette put the bonnet on Daphne’s head and fussed with the bow. She helped her into the spencer that matched her walking dress. ‘There, you look very pretty now.’
Daphne gave her a quick hug. ‘Thank you, Monette!’
She rushed out of the room and down the stairs.
Hugh stood at the foot of the stairs, waiting for her, his hat in his hands. She’d seen similar admiring looks on countless men’s faces, but seeing it on Hugh was an entirely new thrill. It mattered to her that he admired her. She wanted his admiration for her character, as well.
It was something for which she would strive. Even if she never saw him again, it could be like a little test—would Hugh think well of me for this?
He put his hat on his head and offered her his arm. ‘Shall we go?’
She nodded, liking him all the better for not prosing on about her beauty.
The footman opened the door and they left the town house.
They had only to cross Park Lane to reach the Cumberland Gate to Hyde Park. They chose a path that led to the Serpentine. It might not have been the fashionable hour, but there were other people in the park. Governesses with children in tow. Clerks and shop girls taking a quick respite. A few gentlemen with fancy-dressed women who were likely not their wives.
‘It is not as quiet as the cottage in Thurnfield, is it?’ Daphne remarked.
‘It was not quiet there,’ Hugh said. ‘Although I might not have heard all the noises, had my eyes not been bandaged.’
A Lady of Notoriety (The Masquerade Club) Page 21