“I understand, but it is such a shame.” Suddenly, Viola gave a cry of vexation. “Oh dear, I must go back. If my brother discovers I have run away from this excavation of his, he will be so disappointed in me. He is always trying to persuade me to intellectual pursuits.”
Viola started for the door, but turned in the doorway to look at her one more time. “By the way, Daphne, beauty does not mean a thing, you know.”
Daphne watched as her new friend vanished through the doorway, and she smiled a bit ruefully. “Beautiful women always say that,” she murmured to the empty doorway.
Chapter 4
Anthony leaned one hip against the pianoforte, studying Viola’s expression in the candlelight as she stared into space and tapped out a soft melody on the keys. He did not fail to observe the half smile that curved her lips. “You look quite pleased with herself,” he said, “and whenever you look like that, I begin to worry. What are you thinking about?”
“Venus,” she answered, and looked up at the man standing beside her.
His eyebrows rose at such an oblique answer. “The goddess of love? What makes you think of Venus?”
“Did she ever arrange marriages between mortals?”
His eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Are you planning to fight my marriage to Lady Sarah and arrange for me a better one? Pray desist, Viola, for you know my feelings on this.”
“No, no.” Viola stopped playing long enough to wave one hand carelessly in his direction, then resumed her music. “You have made your choice, and I know when it is futile to attempt to change your mind. I suppose,” she added with a sigh, “that when one looks at it in a prudential light, it is the best decision for you. You are the Duke of Tremore, after all, and should marry high for duty’s sake, even if your choice is without love and affection. No, I have moved on to arranging a possible match for someone else, a match that provides me a far better chance of success. Daphne’s.”
“Daphne?” He frowned. “I do not recall—”
“Miss Wade.”
He stared at Viola as a vague vision came to his mind of brown hair raked back in a bun, spectacles, dreary dresses covered by heavy work aprons, and an inability to speak without stammering.
“You intend to arrange a marriage for Miss Wade?” he asked, astonished.
“If I can persuade her to go to Enderby with me, I shall introduce her to some eligible young men, and we shall see what happens.”
“You will do no such thing.”
The vehemence of his tone rather startled Viola. She stopped playing again and looked at him, wide-eyed. “Why, Anthony, you sound quite heated. I had no idea you would mind so much.”
“I do mind. Miss Wade has work to do here, vital, important work. I won’t have her go off gallivanting about Chiswick and London with you. What happens to my museum and my excavation?”
“That excavation is all you think about these days. There are some things in this world that are more important than your Roman villa.”
“Nothing can be more important than uncovering history.” He could hear the passion he felt for the excavation in his own voice as he spoke. “Viola, this site is one of immense historical significance. It is the best site of Roman ruins ever uncovered in Britain, and it is on my estate. We are learning things about life in Roman Britain that we never knew before. The artifacts we uncover here will be of tremendous benefit to scholars and historians, and the museum in London will allow all British people to learn about their heritage. This is a piece of our history.”
“I am not concerned with history, dear brother,” Viola said, with no understanding at all of what he was attempting to achieve. “I am concerned with the life of a young lady of good family who has been forced by circumstance to seek employment, is allowed no life of her own, and has had no amusements or society in her entire life. Why, she does not even know how to dance. It is appalling how neglectful her father was of her comfort and care.”
Viola paused for a quick breath, but before Anthony could point out that history and serious antiquarian study were far more important than dancing, she went on, “And now, Daphne is forced to earn her living. A young lady working herself to exhaustion scrubbing mosaics and piecing clay pots back together like a servant. Worst of all, she has no future prospects for her life except more drudgery.”
Anthony frowned, displeased by the accusatory note in his sister’s voice, as if Miss Wade’s so-called drudgery were his fault. “The work Miss Wade does for me is crucial to the success of this project, and she is paid quite well for her efforts.”
“Her future seems precarious to me.”
“Hardly. The museum in London will be open in mid-March, but it will take far longer than that to finish the villa. She has employment here for the next five years, at least.”
“And after that is finished? When your museum is complete and your excavation is done, what happens to her then?”
“She finds a new position, I suppose.”
“By which time she will be nearly thirty, an age which virtually eliminates her chances of ever marrying. Did you know she is the granddaughter of a baron?”
“That is absurd. Her father had no such relations.”
“I am talking of her mother’s father. She knows no other details about him, or if she does, she did not wish to impart them to me. I do not believe she intended to tell me anything at all, but that bit about her grandfather slipped out. Why she should wish to keep it a secret, I do not understand. Pride, perhaps.”
“Or a need for privacy. Some people do value their privacy, Viola,” he pointed out. “In any case, her future is her own affair.”
“I am making it my affair.” Before he could reply, she went on, “This is no sort of life for a baron’s granddaughter, even if she has been left in virtual ignorance of her own background. Since she knows so little of her relations and she has no friends to help her—”
“She seems to have found a friend in you.”
“Yes, she has. I like her, and we have become friends. In fact, I am envisioning her as a sort of protégée. I should like to introduce her into society, help her make new acquaintances, and perhaps even secure her matrimonial future. I know quite a few young men to whom I should like to introduce her. She might take a fancy to one of them, and nature will take its course.”
“Poor girl.”
Viola shot him a look that told him she did not find his dry comment amusing. “Not everyone chooses a wife as you do, Anthony, picking the one least likely to win your heart. Nor does everyone who falls in love end up unhappy. I should like to see Daphne have a season in London, have a romance of her own, and make a sensible and affectionate marriage to an honorable gentleman of good character who will love her and provide for her.”
He felt compelled to mention the obvious. “I do not see why you wish to embark upon such a futile exercise. Women like Miss Wade are not made for romance, and they do not marry.”
“Anthony, what an extraordinary remark. What on earth can you mean by it?”
“I mean, the girl hasn’t a romantic bone in her body. If she had a dowry, or if her connection to this baron were established, her prospects for matrimony would be better, but without them, you are embarking on a hopeless business. One only has to look at the girl to know that.”
“I do not know it, and I have looked at her quite a bit in the last day or two. I should imagine any number of well-bred young men would find her quite charming.”
“Charming? With that horrible bun she wears and those dreary clothes, the girl’s as noticeable as a stick insect on a twig. She is so much a part of the background, I doubt any man would even see her unless she were standing a foot in front of him, and even then, he would forget her the moment she was out of his line of vision. I know I do.”
Viola stiffened. “I did not realize that a woman’s physical beauty was the only quality that made her worthy of a man’s attention,” she said coldly.
Anthony felt the sting in those wor
ds. “I did not mean it that way.”
“What did you mean?”
“Her face never changes expression, and you never know what she is thinking or feeling. Unless she is talking about artifacts, the girl cannot even carry on a conversation.”
He saw Viola staring at him in dismay, but he went on, “When she does manage to get out a few words, she cannot seem to string them together without stammering. In truth, I do not know what came over her. The first day she was here, she talked well enough, but she has scarcely said a word since then. Taken all in all, she is the most insignificant creature I have ever met.”
“Yet she is so important to your excavations that she cannot leave. Therefore, she must have some desirable qualities.”
“She is intelligent, I grant you that, and excels at her work. She can translate Latin, Greek, and I do not know how many other ancient languages. She is an excellent mosaicist and restorer. She draws well. But those attributes hardly qualify her for matrimony. She has no dowry, no connections but a mythical baron, and no feminine appeal to make up for those deficiencies.”
“She knows me, and if her grandfather is a baron, then she has two connections, at least. If we can find her grandfather, he might provide her with a dowry. As to her other so-called deficiencies, that is only your opinion. You see her as just another person employed by you, like Mr. Cox, or Mr. Bennington, or one of the servants. I doubt you have once looked at her as a woman.”
“Miss Wade is not a woman. She is a machine. An efficient, well-ordered machine. She is never ill, she never makes mistakes. You know, I do not think I have ever heard her laugh.”
“Oh, don’t be absurd. I heard her laugh only this morning.”
“I never have.” Anthony paused, trying to think how to describe Miss Wade to Viola from a man’s point of view. “When looking for a wife, a gentleman would not want a machine. He would want a woman with some womanly attributes. Miss Wade, unfortunately, has none. It is rather pathetic, really.”
“I had no idea that you see her in such an unfavorable light,” Viola said slowly.
“I believe any other man would share my opinion about the girl.”
“Will you stop calling her a girl?” Viola countered with some irritation. “She is twenty-four. She is a woman.”
Anthony thought of the shapeless apron that concealed any womanly shape Miss Wade might possess. “If you say so.”
“I do say so. Everything you have mentioned is a flaw of upbringing, not character or beauty. I think Daphne could be quite pretty, with some proper advice from me. She has lovely eyes and a beautiful complexion. A bit too tanned for fashion, but surprisingly light if one considers she has lived so much of her life in the desert. She has a nice smile, she is intelligent and well-read, and I can assure you, that though she might be a rather serious young woman, and is perhaps a bit shy, she is quite capable of laughing.”
“You had better find her connections, then, for plain, shy, serious young ladies who fade into the wallpaper do not catch husbands otherwise. They become spinsters. An unfortunate dictum, but true.”
Viola gave him a cold stare that told him more clearly than words what she thought of his opinion, and he felt a hint of self-reproach. Perhaps he was being harsh, but really, Daphne Wade was as drab as an English February. He decided it would be wise to give no further opinions on the subject. “It hardly matters, so let us not argue. The girl is not going anywhere until my museum and excavations are finished.”
A stick insect on a twig.
Daphne felt frozen, her hand still poised to push open the door leading into the music room. The door was slightly ajar, and the conversation she had overheard hung in the air like the acrid smell of smoke that lingered after a fire.
No feminine appeal.
She stared down at the wax-coated wooden tablet in her other hand, her mind blank. Upon her soul, she could not remember now why she had been so excited to find Anthony and show this to him the very moment she had finished translating it. She couldn’t even remember what it said.
Hugging the tablet to her chest, she turned away from the door and ran, unaware of where she was going, unable to force the coherent thought of a destination to the forefront of her mind. She was too dazed to think, too numb to feel, but she could hear, over and over again, the carelessly brutal opinion of her uttered by the man she adored.
Miss Wade isn’t a woman. She’s a machine. It’s rather pathetic, really.
Like a moth blundering in lamplight, Daphne stumbled her way through the maze of Tremore Hall’s many corridors, only instinct guiding her to the refuge of her own bedchamber on the other side of the house.
Once inside the privacy of her own room, she slammed the door behind her, dropped the tablet heedlessly to the floor, and clamped her hands over her ears, but it was a futile gesture. She could still hear Anthony’s words ringing in her ears, muted only by the sound of her own sobs as her heart fractured into pieces.
Chapter 5
The human heart must be a strong and resilient thing, Daphne decided when she awoke the following morning. She was surprised to find that she was no longer in the throes of wrenching heartbreak and pain. Instead, in a strange way, she felt as if she had been reborn.
She had spent the entire evening and most of the night crying into her pillow and nursing her broken heart. She had shed countless tears for the pain of Anthony’s insulting words. She had told herself, more with defiance than sincerity, that this Lady Sarah he intended to marry was welcome to him. She had called herself all kinds of a fool for her unrealistic illusions. Most of all, she had grieved for the painful destruction of the hope in her heart, hope for Anthony’s affections, hope that she had not even acknowledged to herself until his opinion of her had shattered it.
Now, though a vestige of pain still lingered, Daphne did not feel sad or foolish. She felt free.
As she dressed, she tried to understand herself, and she realized that it was as if a great weight had been lifted from her. She had spent the last five months trying to be what Anthony wanted, trying to anticipate and fill every need or desire he expressed to her, working like a slave to please him, and all it had gotten her was his indifferent scorn.
Daphne sat down at the dressing table in her room and stared idly at her reflection as she brushed out her hair. A rueful smile tipped her mouth. Anthony had called her pathetic, and she looked rather a sorry mess just now with her face all puffy from crying, but the only pathetic thing in this scenario was how much of herself she had wasted on him.
Anthony’s words had been harsh, but they had made her understand something about herself, something that she had never seen before.
Since her mother’s death, she had spent her life needing to be needed, trying to fill the void in her father’s heart with the love her mother’s death had taken from him, trying to be his partner in his work, trying to be the antidote to his grief. Here, she had tried to do the same with Anthony, desperately wanting him to need her, wanting him to make her feel valued, appreciated, loved.
As noticeable as a stick insect on a twig.
Now, in the light of a new day, she vowed that things would be different. She remembered Viola’s questions in the antika yesterday, and she realized they led to a much more fundamental one.
What now?
Daphne turned in her chair and surveyed the room around her, a room that was ornate to the point of opulence. The gold and green damask draperies around her bed, the paneled walls and fireplace mantel of carved rosewood, the elaborate moldings of angels on the ceiling, the malachite-topped dressing table where she sat, and the painted urns of peacock feathers. Like all the other rooms at Tremore Hall, it was large and overpowering, conveying immense wealth and a true sense of history, but it was a house with little warmth. Rather like its owner, she thought. He thought to marry without any sort of love or affection. How cold he must be, and how blind she had been never to have seen that aspect of his character before.
Daph
ne returned her attention to her reflection in the mirror, met her own gaze, and made her first decision about her future. She had to leave Tremore Hall. She could not stay here. To be near that wretched man, to continue to work for him like a slave for the next five years, knowing the disdain with which he regarded her, was an intolerable prospect.
But where else could she go? What could she do? She had done excavation work all her life. For the first time, she began to wonder if there were other possibilities for her future.
I should love it if you could come with me to Enderby.
Daphne remembered the viscountess’s words of yesterday in the antika. She also went over what she had overheard of Viola’s plans for her, and she felt a spark of excitement. The viscountess had admitted being lonely. She envisioned Daphne as a sort of protégée, and wanted to find her a husband. Perhaps she would agree to allow Daphne to stay with her for a time, introduce her to people, help her form some connections. Who knew what might happen? With the viscountess to guide her, she could gain a great deal of experience with the ways of good society, ways she had only read about in books.
Perhaps this opportunity would enable her to become a governess to a wealthy family. Or perhaps she should swallow her pride and make another attempt to unite with her grandfather. She might even fulfill Viola’s matchmaking hopes and find someone to marry, someone who truly loved her and wanted her.
Daphne decided it was time to stop believing she had no choices for her future. It was time to begin deciding her own destiny. Perhaps it was even time to have a bit of fun.
She would leave here and enter the glittering world of English society. As for Anthony, he could go hang, and his opinions with him.
“I beg your pardon?” Viola set down her quill and stared at Daphne in complete astonishment.
Daphne knew she was being quite bold, but she was desperate. “Yesterday you mentioned how you wished I could go with you to Enderby when you leave here. Given our short acquaintance, I know it is presumptuous of me to ask, but did you mean it?”
Guilty Series Page 4