Viola recovered herself and gestured to the chair opposite the writing desk in her room. “Do sit down, Daphne.”
Daphne took the offered chair, crossed her fingers in her lap, and waited for an answer.
“Of course I meant it,” Viola said, “but what about your position here?”
“I intend to resign my post.”
“I thought you loved it at Tremore Hall.” Viola stiffened in her chair and gave Daphne a sharp look. “Has something untoward happened since yesterday?”
“No, not at all,” she hastened to assure the other woman, hoping she sounded convincing. She could not bear it if Viola or Anthony learned she had overheard their conversation and the duke’s low opinion of her. “I have enjoyed it here, but your words of yesterday about London have made me realize all that I have missed.”
Viola leaned back against the mahogany chair in which she was seated. “My dear Daphne, I am all astonishment. I had no idea my words would provoke such a reaction.”
There was a hint of dismay in the other woman’s voice, and Daphne’s heart sank. Perhaps the viscountess’s words about friendship had been lightly spoken. Perhaps she had been talking about her with Anthony for obscure reasons of her own. Nonetheless, Daphne knew she had to leave Tremore Hall, and Viola was her best chance of doing so. “Since my father’s death, my life has been following an inevitable path over which I have had little control.”
“Because you are a woman,” the viscountess said, an almost acerbic note in her voice. “We have little control over our lives.”
“Perhaps, but I have been turning our conversation over and over in my mind, and I cannot help but feel that it is time I found my mother’s family and took my rightful place in society.”
“Of course! I said as much yesterday, but you were adamant about staying here. Are you certain you wish to do this?”
“Yes. I have never had the chance to enjoy good society or make friends, for Papa and I were always moving. Here, I am buried in the country working alone all the day long and never meeting anyone.”
“Of course you must be very lonely here, and earning a living is beneath a baron’s granddaughter. I confess I had been thinking how delightful it would be to reunite you with your family and help you to come out into society. But I had thought your feelings—” She broke off, not voicing whatever she had been about to say. Instead, she looked down, fingering the quill pen on her desk, lost in thought. Daphne waited, silent, hoping the viscountess’s seeming reluctance did not mean she would refuse.
After a moment, Viola looked up. “Have you discussed this with the duke?”
“No. I felt I should speak with you first.”
She nodded. “I told you I would be delighted to have you at Enderby, and I would not have said it if I did not mean it. However, Anthony will not like it. What will he do without you?”
Daphne bit back the tart reply that Anthony would not waste one moment grieving her departure. “He will be able to find someone else for the post.”
“But not someone as excellent as you. Why, only the other night he was telling Sir Edward and me how skilled you are at your work. He admires your knowledge and intelligence very much.”
And that was all he admired, since she was a stick insect with no feminine appeal. Daphne did not want to think about his opinion ever again. In the light of a new day, remembering his words made her want to bash him over the head with one of his Samarian wine jars.
“This excavation and the museum he intends to endow with the artifacts means a great deal to my brother,” Viola went on. “He intends to retain you until the project is finished, and he will not want you to leave.”
Daphne did not care tuppence for what Anthony wanted. “He will have no choice.”
“Anthony has been a duke since he was twelve years old. He is accustomed by a lifetime of experience to getting his way.”
“He cannot force me to stay.”
“Oh, Daphne, you underestimate the power of a duke. News of your departure will displease him enormously, especially when he learns I am the one taking you away.”
Daphne’s heart sank. “I should hate to be the cause of any rift between you and your brother,” she said, trying to hide her dismay. “I understand if you wish to retract your invitation.”
Viola considered the situation for a moment, then she shook her head. “I shall do no such thing! To my mind, it is unconscionable that a young woman who is the daughter of a knight and the granddaughter of a baron should have to earn her living. You deserve your rightful place in society, and Anthony is only being selfish. It will be my pleasure to have you at Enderby.”
Daphne’s relief was so great, she nearly sagged in her chair. “Thank you. I am in your debt.”
“Not at all. I shall enjoy your company very much. All I ask is that when you resign your post, you give Anthony a month’s notice of your departure. He will need time to find someone to replace you.”
Another month here, knowing Anthony’s contempt for her, would be hard to bear, but she had no choice. “Of course.”
Viola picked up her quill and scrawled something on a sheet of paper. “I shall be leaving here shortly and going to Chiswick. I will anticipate your arrival there in about a month. If you change your mind, write to me at this direction.”
Daphne took the sheet the other woman held out to her. “I will not change my mind.”
“Do not be so certain of that. This excavation business is very important to Anthony, and he will not like losing you. I know my brother very well. He can be very persuasive when he chooses. And very determined.”
Daphne did not reply to that. She was leaving, and there was nothing more to say.
Anthony sank the spade into the ground with care, working to remove the earth without damaging any treasures that might lay buried in the ancient room beneath his feet.
He was probably the only peer in all of Britain who truly enjoyed physical labor such as this, he thought, as he pressed his boot down onto the spade and lifted another shovelful of damp earth. Most of his acquaintances would be shocked to see him now, covered in dirt with his shirt off, his body damp with sweat.
He dumped the shovelful of dirt into the wood-framed screen box beside him, and as he did so, he caught sight of Miss Wade approaching, weaving her way amid the workmen and the half-uncovered walls of the excavation. He paused and reached for his shirt, pulling it over his head as she came up to him.
“Could I speak with you a moment?” she asked. “It is rather important.”
“Is something amiss with the artifacts?” he asked as he lifted his arm to wipe the perspiration from his forehead with his sleeve.
“No. This is not about the artifacts. This is a personal matter. Could we speak privately?”
Her words surprised him. For one thing, Miss Wade seldom said more than two words together. Second, he could not imagine her having any personal matters, particularly not ones she would wish to discuss with him. His curiosity aroused, he walked with her to the antika. “What is it you wish to discuss?” he asked once they were inside.
“I—” she began, then stopped and closed her mouth, looking straight ahead, staring into the cleft of his unbuttoned shirt as if she were looking right through him. The sunlight through the windows glinted off the lenses of her spectacles, preventing him from looking into her eyes, and the rest of her countenance, as usual, revealed no hint of what she was thinking. He waited.
The silence lengthened. Impatient to return to his work, Anthony cleared his throat, and that got her attention. She took a deep breath, lifted her face, and said the last thing he would have expected.
“I am resigning my post here.”
“What?” Anthony knew he could not have heard her correctly. “What do you mean?”
“I am leaving.” She reached into the pocket of her heavy work apron and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “I have here my letter of resignation.”
He stared at the folded sheet o
f paper she held out, but he did not take it from her hand. Instead, he folded his arms across his chest, and said the only thing he could think of. “I refuse to accept it.”
A flicker of consternation crossed her face, a hint of emotion from the machine. He was even more taken aback.
“But you can’t refuse,” she said, frowning. “You can’t.”
“Unless the king tells me no, I can do anything I want,” he said, hoping he sounded quite smug. “I am a duke, after all.”
That reply only disconcerted her for a moment. “Is your lofty rank supposed to intimidate me, your grace?” she asked in her quiet voice, a surprising hint of anger in it he had never heard before. She slapped the letter against his chest, and when he did not take it, she pulled her hand back and let the paper float to the floor. “I am resigning my position. I will be leaving one month from now.”
She started to turn away, but his voice stopped her. “Where are you going, in heaven’s name? If you have been persuaded away by some other excavation—”
“I will be staying with Lady Hammond at Enderby. She is going to introduce me into society and help me find my mother’s family.”
That was just as ridiculous now as it had been last night when his sister had suggested it. There were only seven months before the opening of the museum. Seven short months in which they had an enormous amount of work to do.
Damn Viola’s sudden interest in romantic endeavors. She knew how important this excavation was to him, and also how crucial Miss Wade’s expertise was to getting it completed. He had no intention of letting this little scheme of theirs go any further.
“I can appreciate your desire to find your connections, Miss Wade, but you can easily make inquiries about your relations from here. Viola will not carry out any plans involving your departure from here without my consent. I refuse to give it, and will tell her so.”
A smile he could not help but describe as triumphant curved her lips. “Lady Hammond said that all I needed to do was speak with you and officially resign my post, giving you one month to find a replacement.” She gestured to the letter on the floor. “Now I have done so.”
“Find a replacement? God, woman, people like you do not grow on trees! You know perfectly well that anyone with your skill at restoration is committed to a project years in advance. It took me three years to get your father. The museum opens in seven months, and you know the villa will take at least five years. Replacing you is impossible at this point. I have assured the Society of Antiquarians that this museum will be opened in time for the London season, so that we might generate as much interest as possible. I will not have the opening delayed a year because you’ve got it into your head all of a sudden to go off to London in search of a husband and the frivolous amusements of society. You cannot leave until this project is finished. I have obligations to fulfill, and I have given my word.”
“You, you, you!” she cried, an outburst that astonished him, not only because she dared to speak to him in such a way, but also because it was the first display of real emotion he had ever witnessed from her. “You may be a duke, but you are not the sun around which the world revolves. In fact, you are quite the opposite, for you are the most selfish man I have ever known. Inconsiderate, too, for you order your servants and staff about without so much as a please or a thank you. You care nothing for the feelings of others, and you are arrogant enough to believe that your rank entitles you to behave that way. I—” She broke off and wrapped her arms around herself as if attempting to contain her emotions. As well she should, for this torrent of inexplicable criticism was both unjustified and unpardonable.
He opened his mouth to dress her down for her impudence, as he would any other person in his employ, but she spoke before he had the chance to do so. “The plain truth, your grace, is that I do not like you, and I do not wish to work for you any longer. Speak to Lady Hammond if you wish, but I am leaving in one month regardless of whether or not you forbid her to help me.”
Anthony watched her back as she walked out of the antika without another word, not knowing quite whether to go after her or go after Viola for putting idiotic notions into her head. In the end, he did neither.
Instead, he bent down and retrieved Miss Wade’s letter of resignation from the floor. He opened it and scanned the two lines written in her precise and perfect script.
As he refolded the letter, a memory came into his mind of the day she had arrived at Tremore Hall five months earlier. Today was not the first time Miss Wade had given him cause for surprise.
For a long time, he had wanted to excavate the Roman remains on his estate, and had envisioned a museum in which to put them. Not just a place for the wealthy and privileged to view a part of their history, but one open to British citizens of all classes. There was nothing else like it in London.
Sir Henry Wade had been widely acknowledged as the best antiquarian living, and Anthony had wanted the best for his excavation. He had spent three years trying to persuade Sir Henry to take on the villa excavation and the restoration of its antiquities, to no avail. He had been forced to use other, much less skilled restorers, and he had found their expertise woefully inadequate, but he had persisted in his attempts to persuade Sir Henry to return to England and take over the project, and the man had finally agreed to come.
But it had not been that eminent gentleman he had found waiting for him in the anteroom off of Tremore’s great hall that March day five months ago. Standing amid the stone statues, green marble columns, and crystal chandeliers of the anteroom, he had found a young woman with a round, solemn face and gold-rimmed spectacles, a woman who had proclaimed to his house steward that she was Sir Henry’s daughter. Dressed in a worn brown traveling cloak, wearing brown boots of heavy leather and a wide-brimmed straw hat, with a plain black portmanteau at her feet, she had looked as dry as the Moroccan desert from which she had come.
In a soft, well-bred voice that displayed no discernible personal feeling, she had told him of her father’s death and her arrival here to take Sir Henry’s place and complete his excavation.
His immediate refusal should have sent her scurrying for the door, but it had not. She had ignored his words as if he had not spoken at all. She had told him of her knowledge and experience in a recital of concise facts, listing in methodical fashion all the reasons why he should allow her to step into what would have been her father’s position.
When he had finally interrupted her, stating in the most icy tone a duke could command that he had chosen her father because he had wanted the best antiquarian available and he had no intention of hiring her without her father, she had not pleaded with him. She had not tried to play on his sympathy or his chivalry with some heartbreaking story about how she had nothing and no one and needed the job. She had merely blinked at him through those spectacles, staring at him with that inscrutable face and looking for all the world like a solemn baby owl as she had replied in utter seriousness, “I am the best available.”
His disbelieving laugh had gone right by her, for she had continued, “I am the daughter of Sir Henry Wade, and he was the best. I was trained by him, and now that he is gone, there is no one more qualified for this post than I.”
He had never intended to hire her, but he had few options. For the sake of expedience, he had agreed, and for the sake of propriety, he had brought Mr. and Mrs. Bennington from one of the lodges on the estate into the house, so that Mrs. Bennington might act as her chaperone.
During the five months Miss Wade had been here, he had come to realize that her words had been no idle boast. She knew more about ancient Roman antiquities than he could ever hope to know. She was an excellent mosaicist, and her fresco work was perfection itself. He had wanted the best, and as she had so bluntly told him, he had gotten it.
Anthony came out of his reverie and crumpled the letter in his hand into a ball. Until this project was complete, Miss Wade was not going anywhere. When he had the best, he was damn well going to keep it.
Chapter 6
Viola had predicted Anthony would not like the idea of Daphne resigning, and the moment he came storming into her sitting room scarcely an hour after Daphne’s departure, she knew her prediction had been an accurate one. He was frowning like thunder.
“Miss Wade is leaving,” he said without ceremony. “What have you been up to?”
Viola looked up from her letters to glance at her maid, Celeste, who had paused in her task of repairing a torn hem on one of her gowns, then back at Anthony. “If we are going to have a row,” she said calmly, “I should not like to do so in front of a servant.”
Anthony turned to the maid. “Leave us,” he ordered, and the girl stuck the last pin into the dressmaker’s model, bobbed a quick curtsy to both of them, and left her mistress alone with the duke, closing the door behind her.
Viola studied her brother for a moment, noting his narrowed eyes and the grim set of his mouth. Oh, yes, he was very angry indeed. Even to her, it was a bit intimidating.
“I really don’t know what you mean,” she finally said. “Daphne came to me and said she had decided to resign her post. She told me of her intention to find her grandfather, move in society, and perhaps begin meeting suitable young gentlemen. She asked for my assistance. What was I to do?”
“Refuse. That seems to be an obvious choice.”
“I would not do such a thing. She is a baron’s granddaughter.”
“Perhaps. We do not know that.”
Viola shrugged as if it did not matter. “A knight’s daughter then,” she amended, smiling. “I like her, we have become friends, and I think she deserves to be given the opportunity to find her family. She is no common servant sent up from the orphanage. She is a young lady, and she deserves to take her place in society.”
“Cannot this little venture of yours wait until spring? Or better still, five years or so?”
Guilty Series Page 5