* * *
It took Daphne the better part of an hour to convince Rowena she was fine. Even after she’d told her about the late earl’s letter and her confession to Hugh, the woman still looked haggard and scared. She only left Daphne’s chambers because she needed to fetch something to hide the worst of the bruises.
Once she’d gone, Daphne lowered herself into her bath, hoping she could dress in time to join Hugh at breakfast. Thinking about seeing him made her flush—both with pleasure and embarrassment. She couldn’t help looking at her body with an entirely new eye. Her figure, which she’d always thought too tall, angular, and thin, now struck her differently and she saw herself as Hugh had: as a desirable woman.
She watched the water moving over her body, remembering where his hands had roamed so freely the night before. Even though she was alone she blushed at the memory of the things they’d done. The night had been magical in every way.
It was true that all was not perfect; there would be scandal to face and Hugh would still pursue his life at sea—a life that was dangerous and would take him away from her. But those were small concerns compared to what she’d faced only yesterday at this time. Daphne closed her eyes and allowed herself a little time to luxuriate in her happiness.
* * *
When Daphne came into her dressing room she saw one of her new gowns laid out, a yellow walking costume.
“Am I going someplace?” she asked as she sat at her dressing table.
“You promised to take Lucien and Richard to the park. They’re mad to try out that contraption Lord Ramsay gave them. They broke one of the schoolroom windows chucking the wretched thing about inside. I thought the yellow would be best as it has such a high collar.”
Daphne nodded absently, her mind on Hugh and whether he might join them in the park. He’d found the toy—more of a weapon, it sounded—on one of his journeys, perhaps it had been Australia? She would invite him at breakfast.
She hadn’t paid attention to the yellow gown when Rowena had showed it to her, but now she saw how flattering it was. It was trimmed with three rows of ruching around the bottom of the narrow skirt and had a lovely crushed velvet spencer with a keyhole to show the matching ruched panel across the bodice and then buttoned again at the neck. Even Daphne, with her chronic lack of interest in clothing, could not help but admire the gown.
Still, it was all she could do to sit patiently as Rowena fussed with her hair and then clasped pearl earrings in her ears and a five-stranded pearl bracelet on her wrist. Daphne opened her mouth to protest the jewels but then looked at her reflection and realized she looked quite nice. She warmed at the thought of Hugh’s reaction and stood.
“My lady?” Rowena held out her hand to relieve Daphne of her spectacles.
“I will wear them, Rowena.” She ignored her maid’s look of disapproval. Why walk through the world bumping into doorways when the only person whose opinion mattered loved the way she looked wearing spectacles—and nothing else.
Cherishing that thought, Daphne hurried from her room on a rare cloud of bliss.
* * *
The breakfast room was empty when she arrived. She was just about to ring and ask if Lord Ramsay had come down when two footmen entered. One bore fresh coffee and the other a letter.
“Lord Ramsay said to wait until you’d come down to breakfast to give you this, my lady.”
Daphne forced herself to take a sip from her cup of coffee and order some fresh toast from the remaining footman, waiting until he’d left before tearing open the letter:
My Beautiful Lover,
It was wretched work leaving you lying so warm and soft in bed this morning. Only the knowledge that I must secure the means to have you in my bed and arms every night and morning caused me to make indecent haste and leave you. I am off to procure a special license. I will not rest easy until I can call you my own—in law as well as deed (are you blushing at that thought, my beautiful darling?).
Yours alone,
Hugh
As love letters went, it was not a long one. However, his desire to wed her so speedily told her everything she needed to know about his feelings for her.
* * *
Despite her best efforts to move the morning’s activities along, it was past noon before Daphne, Rowena, the two boys, and one boomerang set out from Davenport House. They took the barouche and enjoyed a leisurely if overcast ride to the park.
Since the item Lucien and Richard would be hurling might cause harm to bystanders, Daphne had the coachman set them down in one of the less frequented areas of the park.
She took one of the footmen with her but waved away the other. “We will not be long,” she told the coachman. “Return for us in three-quarters of an hour.”
They walked a short distance from the carriage path to a clearing that was well shaded. Daphne and Rowena settled themselves on a blanket while the footman led the boys through the trees toward the nearby clearing.
“Do not throw that instrument at one another, and take turns,” Daphne called after them.
Rowena took one of the boys’ jackets from her large canvas bag and began darning one of the tears or holes they made in every garment they possessed.
Daphne leaned back against a tree and opened Herr Goethe’s Zur Farbenlehre, which she’d purchased at Hatchards. She read, listening with one ear for any howls of pain or arguments.
She couldn’t have said how long they’d been seated thus when an angry shout came from beyond the trees.
Rowena frowned. “Oh, Lord. It sounds as if they might have hit someone.” She began to put down her work but Daphne stopped her.
“Don’t disturb your labors,” she said, getting to her feet, “I am much less profitably employed. I will go see what they have got up to.”
The first thing she saw when she emerged from the trees was Richard running toward another small stand of oaks on the far side of the clearing. Lucien was nowhere in sight; neither was the footman.
Daphne cupped her hands around her mouth and called out, “Richard! Please tell your brother to fetch his toy and come back!” Richard either didn’t hear her or didn’t heed her as he, too, disappeared into the trees.
“Disobedient little wretches,” she muttered beneath her breath, walking faster than was easy in such a form-fitting dress and becoming uncomfortably warm in the process. As she neared the trees she heard the sound of boyish squealing followed by adult voices. Without any thought for her dress she broke into a run, rounding the trees in time to see a burly man grab Richard. A second man was vainly attempting to drag a flailing, kicking, and yelling Lucien toward a large rickety coach. Her footman lay in an unmoving heap.
Daphne’s body was already in motion. “Stop! Release him at once!” She lunged at the closer man—the one holding Richard. “Let him go!” she shrieked.
“That’s the one—grab her,” the other man yelled, and then let out a blood-curdling shriek. Daphne saw Lucien’s mouth was attached to the man’s arm. His captor drew back his free hand and struck her son hard enough to send him reeling.
“You brute!” she screamed, grabbing Richard’s arm with one hand and lunging toward Lucien. She’d taken only a few steps when a hand like a vise grabbed the nape of her neck and stopped her in her tracks.
“Now ear then, missus, you howd on a minnit! We don’t reckon to arms the boys or you neever. Jes’ calm yerself, luvvy,” he crooned in a reasonable tone as he effortlessly drew her toward him, in spite of her struggling and flailing.
Richard struggled and squirmed and kicked, which made it difficult for the man to pin Daphne to his side—obviously his intention. Daphne would be lost if he got her into the crook of his huge arm, so she kicked and fought as hard as her son, punching him over and over. He responded to her abuse by squeezing her neck so hard she thought her spine would snap. A hoarse scream came from the direction of the carriage and they all froze.
Again, it was Lucien’s tormentor who’d issued the anguished cry.
By the manner in which he was clutching his groin, Daphne thought Lucien must have hit him between the legs with the boomerang, which he held while running toward Daphne and Richard.
It was only because the large man holding them had two arms rather than three that Lucien was able to beat him on the back with the wooden implement. He aimed again for the man’s private parts and must have struck home because the huge brute dropped Richard’s arm in order to reach behind him to stop his small tormentor.
“Run, Richard!” Daphne screamed, her loud screech startling everyone around her. “Run!” He ran, but Daphne felt as though he were moving in water. She twisted in her captor’s grip and caught a glimpse of Lucien. He was behind them, kicking at the man, who’d somehow gained possession of his boomerang.
“Go, Lucien! Get Rowena!” Her voice dropped to a gasp as the man got his arm around her throat and drew her tight.
Just then Rowena came running around the trees, her mouth and eyes wide at the scene before her. Daphne could no longer scream to order her maid to flee, but the boys kept running, for once obeying their mother.
The man who was still huddled beside the waiting carriage screamed at his partner in an unnaturally high voice. “We needs to get out o’ ere, Sidney! Get the mort, e said she’s wurf the most dosh.”
Her captor dragged Daphne, his arm around her neck.
“No!” The sound came from behind them and was accompanied by an enraged scream.
A second later the man holding Daphne staggered and grunted before turning around, his elbow tightening around her neck until her eyes bulged.
“Ow! Give over, luvvy!” He sounded more perplexed than angry.
“Let! Her! Go!” Rowena screamed, punctuating each word with something that sounded like a kick.
“Leave off, ye owd bird!”
He evidently decided Rowena was more of an annoyance than a danger and began moving toward the carriage again. Daphne heard sounds of scuffling but was too busy trying to breathe as the man’s grip tightened every time Rowena commenced assaulting him. There was nothing for a long moment and then an enraged scream as Rowena’s kicking struck home.
Unfortunately, his yell was followed by a sickening crunch and the dull thud of something hitting the ground. Daphne could see nothing but sky as she fought for breath, her vision beginning to darken. She’d begun to drift into unconsciousness when something heavy—a wool cloak?—dropped over her head. Arms picked her up and tossed her. She landed on something padded and a door slammed shut. The carriage lurched into motion and she teetered on the edge of the seat before rolling off and landing on her head.
The last sounds she heard as darkness engulfed her were, “Mama! Mama!”
Chapter Twenty
Hugh tossed Pasha’s reins to his groom. “I shan’t need him again today, Wilkins.”
Perhaps he would be in luck and Daphne would have no other engagements and they could dine at home this evening. He grinned. If that were the case, they might skip dinner altogether and just go right to dessert. He mounted the steps two at a time, tossing his hat and gloves to the footman as he entered the hall.
“Is Lady Davenport in?” he asked, not breaking his stride.
“No, my lord. She took the young masters to the park and has not yet returned.”
“Tell her I am in the library and would see her when she returns.”
Once in the privacy of the library, Hugh took out the marriage license and laid it on the desk, thinking about his morning’s work.
While he hadn’t been looking forward to confronting Lady Letitia after last night, he had to admit the conversation had gone better than he’d expected.
She’d received him in her chambers, far earlier than was usual for her to take callers.
Her hair, bereft of its usual turban, was a soft, white cloud beneath its cap. But her eyes were still as sharp as daggers.
“You have come to explain your wretched decampment last night?”
Hugh took her hand and bowed low over it before seating himself in the spindly gilt chair her maid had placed at the side of the bed.
“Thank you for seeing me at such an uncivilized hour, Aunt. I have indeed come to apologize for last night.”
Her mouth twisted. “You lie very prettily. I expect you have really come to tell me you will be marrying Thomas’s widow.”
Hugh couldn’t help laughing. “As usual your directness is superseded only by your acuity.”
“Ha! You’d best enjoy my candor, my boy. I suspect there will be many among our acquaintance who will not do you such a courtesy. I know the snubs and cuts won’t cause you any heartache, but what of the gel?”
“She is not concerned with the opinions of London society. I believe she has had her fill of life among the ton after only a brief time.”
“So she says.”
“She is an intelligent woman who knows her own mind. I will not second-guess her.”
Lady Letitia snorted. “Well, it wouldn’t surprise me if it were true. I daresay a decade with my brother broke her of too many expectations in that department.” She shook her head in disgust. “Will you protect and care for her and her brats? You abandoned this life twenty years ago. Why do you think you are more suited to it now?”
Hugh refused to rise to the bait. “I have not come seeking your blessing or approval, my lady. I am here merely as a courtesy.” He gave her his blandest smile.
This time it was she who laughed. “Ho! Look at Captain High-and-Mighty! Smooth your feathers, boy. You needn’t come on your high ropes with me.” Her old eyes became sly. “I’ll still receive the pair of you, don’t you fret about that. After all, what is the point of money and position if you cannot draft your own rules?”
Hugh tried to hide how stunned he was that she was so sanguine about his decision to marry her brother’s widow. But he must have failed because she chuckled evilly.
“You’d better close your mouth or something might choose to make a nest in such a great cavern.”
Hugh chuckled and began to stand, but she was not finished shocking him yet.
“I knew from the first moment I saw those two brats they did not belong to Thomas. The boys’ eyes are the only attractive feature their true great-grandfather, Caleb Hastings, could claim.”
“You knew Hastings’s grandfather?” Hugh said stupidly.
“Of course I did, dolt! And rather well—too well. Caleb was between Thomas and me in age and I was bosom bows with his first wife. She was a sweet gel and he drove her to kill herself as surely as if he’d done it with his own hands.” She scowled. “Her two sons took after their father, I’m afraid. No doubt Daphne and her mother endured more than a decent woman should be forced to bear while under Walter Hastings’s roof. I imagine it became far worse when his nephew Malcolm inherited Whitton Hall—there’s a rotten apple that did not fall far from the tree. I’ve always suspected Thomas rescued the poor thing.” She glared at Hugh. “Well, that was one of the wisest things my brother ever did. Believe me when I tell you nobody except your cousin John wanted John as the next Earl of Davenport.” Waves of anger rolled off her. “Which—thanks to your absconding hide—he would have been!”
Hugh’s face became hot, but he kept his mouth shut.
“I would have rather seen the title go to an unlettered savage than to John to destroy.” Her gray eyes glinted a challenge— as if Hugh might judge her for condoning her dead brother’s deception. “You will let the situation stand.”
It was not a question, but Hugh nodded. “Lucien Redvers is the Earl of Davenport. Anyone who says otherwise will have to answer to me.”
His words failed to appease her and she raised a hectoring finger.
“You might have my approval for this marriage, boy, but you’ll find yourselves under the glass for a time—you can lay a wager on that. If that wretched war weren’t dragging on, you could remove to Paris for a few years. Most of the nitwits here can’t remember anything beyond more than a few days. But
of course that little Corsican monster has made Paris impossible.” She fumed and ground her teeth as she considered the gall of the man who dominated a goodly chunk of the Continent.
Hugh laughed. The old lady managed to reduce the war raging across Europe to a personal inconvenience to the Redvers family.
She ignored his levity. “You’d best go about your wedding the correct way. No hole-and-corner nonsense or you’ll both live to regret it, you mark my words. I recall that was what happened with that Pendleton chit some time back—she just ran off to Scotland with the old fool.” She stopped and looked musingly into space. “Although I believe she was his brother’s widow, and not his niece?” She shook her head. “It makes no difference. They carried on as if they were in the wrong from the very start. No, it won’t serve!” she snapped, as if Hugh had offered any argument—or any words at all, for that matter. “You must do it the right way.”
Hugh refused to allow the ferocious old bat to bully him. “I’ve procured a special license and I—”
“Do you have a pudding between your ears?”
Hugh frowned. “I will—”
“Have you lost your grip of English after living among savages for so many years?” she demanded. “I just told you the thing would have to be done correctly.”
“No, I just—”
“Hold your breath to cool your porridge, fool!”
Hugh was stunned to silence, unable to recall when he’d last endured such a thorough—and effective—bollocking.
“You must invite everyone and it must have more pomp and ceremony than a royal wedding.”
“Yes, well I shall leave those decisions to Daphne and—”
“You will not!” She hurled the words at his head like a club. “Every word that leaves your mouth only proves you have more hair than wit. The two of you lovelorn dunces would only make a hash of it. That gel knows as much about social strictures as I know about that wretched philosophical claptrap she and Thomas were so fond of boring on about.” She shot Hugh a look of supreme contempt. “I shall manage this and contrive to pass everything off creditably. I daresay I’ve dealt with greater challenges in my day than sorting out the likes of you two.” Her face creased into an impish expression that made her resemble a wicked fairy. “You’ve got more money than God, boy, and none of our set will be able to stop themselves from paying court to your wealth. Now,” she said, her tone businesslike and abrupt, “get out.” She flicked her hands in a shooing motion toward the door. “No need for you to be lurching around here any longer.”
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