“And your family resides in…?”
“Suffolk, though we have houses in London and Derbyshire.”
“That is lovely country.”
“It is.” A pang of homesickness struck Daphne. To dispel it, she said, “And since we are talking of banalities, where does your family reside, Captain?”
His dark brown eyes twinkled. “In Gloucestershire. My father is a baronet and we have property near the Welsh border.”
“And you were encouraged to join the army because you are a younger son?”
“I rather liked the idea of going to India, and the army seemed a better fit than being attached to the East India Company.”
“I understood the army here belonged to the East India Company. What does it mean that you are a king’s officer?”
They took a turn going down the line, and when they came together again, Fletcher said, “The Company maintains its own forces, but mostly those are sepoys, native soldiers trained in European tactics. I am attached to the Company troops, but ultimately my orders come from England, represented by Colonel Dalhousie. Not that I would disobey an order from any of my superior officers here in India.”
“I see.” Daphne curtseyed to her partner as the music came to an end. “And how do you find India, Captain Fletcher?”
Fletcher offered her his arm, and the unusual smile touched his lips again. “Endlessly fascinating.”
“You are smiling—pray tell me what is so amusing, Captain.”
“Nothing amusing. I rarely meet anyone whose demeanor so closely matches her emotions. It is a pleasant sensation—though as you are not a Discerner, I cannot explain it to you any more than you could tell me how it feels to Bound.”
“I understand, though I am sure it is a pity we cannot share experiences as easily as you sense emotions. Imagine how well the world would roll along if that were true!”
“I have to agree with you, Lady Daphne.” He bowed, and added, “Will our newfound acquaintance support my asking you an impertinent question?”
“You put me in great suspense, Captain.”
“Very well. Why are you not in the Peninsula?”
It struck her almost like a physical blow. “Why—that is indeed impertinent. I don’t see why it matters to you—”
“I know your talent is strong. What brought you to play the role of carriage driver for the earl’s family?”
She could not bear it. “I am… unsuited to war, Captain, and that is all I may say on the subject.”
“I see. I apologize for offending you.”
“I am not offended, Captain, it is—I would prefer not to speak of it. You see, it is a private matter, I would expect a Discerner to understand that—”
“I do. Thank you for your candor.” He smiled that unusual smile again. “Lady Daphne, it has been a genuine pleasure making your acquaintance.”
“Thank you, Captain, I have enjoyed meeting you as well.” She felt unexpectedly downcast at this obvious farewell. “I see Miss Hanley—I should go to her—”
“May I escort you?” He offered her his arm, and she took it, feeling slightly uncomfortable knowing that he would be aware of her emotions; this felt so much more intimate, after the conversation they had had, than dancing. But he said nothing, merely bade her goodnight and walked off into the crowd. Miss Hanley watched him go, her mouth slack with astonishment.
“Do not tell me you danced with Captain Fletcher?” she said in a low voice. “I wasn’t aware he knew how.”
“He is a very good dancer, and agreeable, though I cannot see how he endures these balls if he is so reluctant to dance, not that I blame him for not wishing to.” Daphne fanned herself with her hand again. “He is interesting.”
“Oh, interesting?” Miss Hanley’s eyebrow arched. “Is that so?”
Daphne felt a blush rise across her cheeks and wished she could push it back with her fingers. “You may stop looking at me that way, he is nothing to me, and you are terrible, to hint at such a thing!”
“I have said nothing. It is all your own conscience that makes you blush.”
“I believe you must be very bored, to make matches on such slim evidence. I believe I would like a glass of punch now.”
“I will take your sudden change of subject as a sign that I am right,” Miss Hanley said. “In seriousness, Lady Daphne, I cannot say I have ever seen Captain Fletcher converse with a woman at one of these balls save Lady Loudoun herself. He must find you interesting, too.”
Daphne recalled that odd, intriguing smile. “I cannot say I find that unpleasant.”
“Lady Daphne!” Lady Loudoun appeared at her side. “Here is someone with whom you will have much in common. Pray, let me make known to you Major Schofeld.”
“Lady Daphne, it is good to make your acquaintance,” Schofeld said with a smile and a bow. “I am also an Extraordinary Bounder.” He was tall and broad-shouldered, the very image of the perfect Bounder, and wore the uniform of the War Office, black-on-black, that she was unlikely ever to wear again.
Daphne kept a smile on her face through pure willpower. She remembered Schofeld well. His words echoed in memory: There she is again, the Littlest Bounder come to make her plea. Does she not know how ridiculous she is? She had seen him often at Whitehall three years ago, when she was trying to make the War Office take her on early. He had never spoken to her directly, simply mocked her behind her back while smiling pleasantly to her face. Did he believe she had forgotten him, or did he simply not know she knew what he had said? Well, he might have forgotten, but she never would.
With Lady Loudoun standing there, beaming with pleasure, Daphne dared not snub the man. “How nice to meet someone who shares my talent,” she said. “Surely you are not posted to India, Major?”
“Just passing through,” Schofeld said jovially. “Will you do me the honor of dancing with me?”
She would prefer to have nothing to do with him. “Certainly,” she said, not meeting Miss Hanley’s eyes. Was the woman tired, yet, of being passed over? Or did she care?
Schofeld was not a good dancer, though he seemed unaware of this. Daphne gritted her teeth and reminded herself that she need only endure for a few minutes. “I saw you dancing with Fletcher,” he said without preamble. “Kind of you.”
“It was no kindness; he is an excellent dancer, and I enjoyed it very much.”
“Really? I’ve always found him a bit standoffish, myself. Not that he’d be likely to dance with me, no?” Schofeld laughed. The sound annoyed Daphne, like the braying of a tone-deaf donkey. She chose not to respond.
“At any rate, I am glad to have finally met you. Your fame quite preceded you. Your speed at Skipping, your knowledge of essences, and of course your role in the capture of Lord Endicott—I have long wished to know you.”
“You flatter me, Major.” More of his superficial pleasantries. What had he said about her to his fellow officers when she could not hear? “Do you come to Government House often?”
“Sometimes. I am tasked with liaison duty between Colonel Dalhousie and the War Office. I dislike India, the heat and the insects and all the rain—don’t you agree?”
“I am rather fond of the place.” She would have disagreed with him if he had said water was wet, but she felt defensive of India, despite the shortness of her time there.
“Oh.” Schofeld looked taken aback by this, which satisfied her. “Well, at any rate, it’s an enervating climate, as I’m sure you’ll find. Ages a man rapidly—I would hate to see its effects on you, my lady.”
“That is very kind of you.”
“No kindness. I really do admire you tremendously.” His expression was admiring, but it only made her angry. He had seemed admiring three years ago, too. She wished she had brought her pocket watch, so she could check the time and gauge how much longer she would have to spend with him.
But Schofeld settled down to ordinary talk, questions she had already answered for Lieutenant Wright, anecdotes of his Bounding activ
ities. It was true, she enjoyed discussing her talent with someone who shared it, even someone she disliked. Had she found him appealing, she would have enjoyed his conversation despite his poor dancing skills. Instead, she could not help but compare him to Captain Fletcher, whose questions, if impertinent, had hardly been routine.
As time wore on, though, she began to feel guilty. Schofeld was so open, so friendly, and perhaps she was being too critical of him. It had been three years, after all. Suppose he had changed in that time? She had, after all, accomplished much since then that could not be dismissed. Perhaps she should be more generous of spirit.
As the music came to a close, she curtseyed. “Thank you, Major, it was most enjoyable.”
“It was my pleasure, Lady Daphne.” He offered her his arm. “I never expected I would be introduced to you. I have seen you before this, of course.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, at Whitehall three years ago. You were much younger then, of course, but still so small—the Littlest Bounder, we called you!” He laughed. “Your appeal was so very amusing, though of course doomed to failure.”
She stiffened. “I am glad to have provided you with so much amusement,” she said, wishing she were a Scorcher to set his feet afire and watch him dance a tarantella of fear. He thought her amusing, like a clever dog?
He failed to hear the wounded anger in her voice. “That’s all well in the past, though. I wonder that you’re not in the Peninsula, a talented Bounder like you.”
“I serve where I am bidden. Just like you.” She released his arm and curtseyed. “Until we meet again, Major.” And may it be a long time coming.
She wished she could leave, go to her bedchamber and pound out her anger and humiliation into her pillow, but someone would take notice of that, and Lady Loudoun might be offended. So she danced again, with affable Ensign Phillips and agreeable Captain Ainsworth. The latter was as talkative as Captain Fletcher had been reticent, passing on gossip about people Daphne did not know. “It was good of you to stand up with Fletcher,” he said as they met in the figures of the dance. “He is extremely reluctant to dance—Discerner, you know.”
“He told me.”
“He’s too isolated, I always say. But he seems to like it that way. Good thing Schofeld is so rarely here—they’ve bad blood between them.”
This was the kind of gossip Daphne liked. “How so?”
“They were schoolmates together, rivals—or at least Schofeld felt they were; I don’t know that Finn—Captain Fletcher felt the need to compete. He always took top honors, anyway. But Schofeld knows how to strike at him. He can manipulate his emotions so a Discerner can’t help but be overwhelmed. I hope you don’t think less of Fletcher for that.”
Daphne thought of her secret weakness, and said, “On the contrary, I think better of him.” So it was not just undersized Extraordinary Bounders the major felt compelled to tease. Her dislike of Schofeld hardened on Captain Fletcher’s behalf.
They separated to go down the line, and when they once again clasped hands, Ainsworth said, with a wary look, “Best you not tell Fletcher I told you that.”
“Why not, Captain?”
“He doesn’t like people believing he’s weak. He’s spent years mastering his talent—it’s just bad luck Schofeld can manipulate him.”
“I assure you I would never consider him weak.” If she thought poorly of anyone, it was this man, sharing his friend’s secret with a stranger. Her interest in his gossip dried up entirely.
Tired, her feet aching, Daphne bade Captain Ainsworth goodbye and found herself once more standing next to Miss Hanley. “Have you enjoyed yourself?” Miss Hanley asked.
“I have, but I am so tired,” Daphne said, “and I hope it is not too early, because I would like to retire.”
“You are fortunate in that you need not wait for a litter,” Miss Hanley said, stifling a yawn. “I declare it is nearly one o’clock. Lord Moira may well not sleep at all, if he intends to rise at four as he usually does.”
“Let me return us both,” Daphne said impulsively. “We can make our goodbyes to Lady Loudoun and be in our beds in five minutes.”
“Oh, Lady Daphne, that is the best idea I have heard all evening.”
Having bade farewell to their hostess, they retreated to an unused room on the first floor, and Daphne caught Miss Hanley up and Bounded them both to the left-hand parlor of Lindsey House, whose essence Daphne knew well. They ascended the stairs together in silence, but when they reached Daphne’s room, Miss Hanley said, “I wish you would not isolate yourself so, Lady Daphne. People are beginning to call you standoffish. And I know Miss Donnelly’s interest in keeping you occupied will only grow as you put her off.”
Daphne was too tired to dissemble. “Do you call me standoffish, then?”
“I perceive you have a great trouble bearing down on you, and I understand how that might make you disinclined to pursue casual acquaintances. But I don’t believe it does you any good to shut yourself in your room.”
“I—Miss Hanley, I am simply not ready to share my burden, and I dislike imposing myself on others when my mood is so uncongenial. And I can avoid Miss Donnelly indefinitely. Pray, do not fret about me. Someday…”
Miss Hanley’s smile was sad. “I see. Well, if you wish to talk about anything—”
“I will remember. Thank you.”
She disrobed in the quiet darkness of her bedroom, not bothering to light her candle. She had been telling the truth; she did not care to burden others with her private pain. She had not even told her parents or her cousin Sophia the truth about why she was in India. Someday, she would be able to bear it, but until then…
Sleep eluded her, and she tossed and turned, kicking the blankets off as too warm, tangling her feet in the netting shrouding her bed. She drifted off sometime near dawn, sleeping restlessly for what seemed only a few minutes before something nudged her consciousness. It threaded its way into her dream like a wisp of smoke, tingling her nostrils, and she came awake with a jolt, fearing fire in her room.
~Lady Daphne!~
Daphne blew out a deep breath. Miss Hanley, waking her at—it was nearly 8:30, how had she slept so long!
~Lady Daphne, you must wake!~
Someone knocked on her door, a diffident sound. Miss Hanley could not bear to make a fuss by raising her voice or knocking too loudly, though Daphne thought such would be less intrusive than having thoughts inserted directly into one’s brain. Daphne fought her way free of the netting and opened the door.
“Oh, good, you are awake,” Miss Hanley said. “I have no way of knowing how my Speaking is received.”
“Is something wrong, Miss Hanley?”
“Something urgent,” Miss Hanley said. “Government House contacted me two minutes ago. The Governor-General insists you attend on him. Immediately.”
In which Daphne receives new employment
he Governor-General’s quarters in Government House were filled with morning light that drenched the ebony and gilt furnishings in gold. In a few hours, the windows would be shuttered against the brutal sun, but for now the corridors were, if not cool, at least not uncomfortably warm. The place was already a hornet’s nest of activity. Lord Moira was an early riser, riding at four o’clock in the morning, returning for an early breakfast, then settling in for a day of work. However, Daphne had never been summoned earlier than noon. If this were an emergency, she saw no sign of it in the placid busyness of Government House’s servants.
She strode briskly through the halls, concealing her nervousness behind a calm demeanor. This was not a summons to convey Lady Loudoun to England; it would be the middle of the night there, and she would have been directed to the countess’s apartment, not the official wing of the palace. Could this be the War Office’s doing? No, it was unlikely they would want her back, and just as unlikely they would direct such an order to Lord Moira. Could they—was it her parents? Had something happened to them? She sped up until she was nearly runnin
g, drawing cold stares from the men she passed. Not her parents, not her family!
The door to the Governor-General’s office was closed, the antechamber empty. Daphne hovered, winding her fists into her skirts to keep herself still. Should she knock? She was reluctant to draw Lord Moira’s attention to herself in any way, though he had summoned her.
She turned her attention to the portraits on the walls, former Governors-General and famous administrators of the East India Company. The Marquess of Wellesley, brother to the famous Field Marshall Wellesley Daphne so admired, had a narrow face and deep-set eyes that followed her about the room as if daring her to do something outrageous in her anxiety. He had been a military man, committed to extending English rule throughout India, but had been sent home in disgrace for overreaching himself and starting wars the Company had no interest in pursuing. Would her life in India be different if she had served under Wellesley rather than Moira? Impossible to say.
Her hands were sweating, and she was certain she was wrinkling her gown. She released her grip on its fabric and surreptitiously wiped her palms on her skirts, though there was no one to see. She ought to knock. She glanced back into the corridor, looking for someone who might give her direction, and found that no one was paying her any attention. Nervously, she rapped twice on the Governor-General’s door and immediately heard a muffled command to enter.
Lord Moira was not alone in his sumptuous chamber. Captain Fletcher, once again impeccable in his dress uniform, stood opposite the door. His lips twitched in a smile when she entered. Daphne made a curtsey to the room in general and said, “My lord, your summons?”
“Lady Daphne,” Lord Moira said, his heavy brow looking like thunder. “Pray, be seated.”
Daphne sat in the high-backed chair someone had set before the Governor-General’s desk. Normally it stood with its mate across the room, near where Fletcher stood. It made her feel like an errant schoolgirl, called to answer to the schoolmaster for some infraction. Not that she had ever been a schoolgirl; everything she knew about such things came from novels. But the comparison was inevitable.
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