That had been over six months ago, Maitland thought with alarm. He hoped that wasn’t an omen.
* * *
Seeing that he had upset the older man, he hastened to reassure him. “I’m sure he’s quite well, but busy with his grandchildren,” he said.
“How far is Bexhill from here?” Daphne asked, cutting to the heart of the matter, as usual.
“Only six miles or so, I should think,” Greaves said to her coolly. The very proper upper servant clearly found Daphne’s abrupt manner difficult, though he would never say so aloud. It was indicated only in a slight lessening of the warmth he’d shown Maitland. Still it was noticeable.
Raising his brows at the man he’d known since he was a boy, the duke was not displeased to see him color a little at the rebuke. Daphne might not be to everyone’s taste, but she was one of the four owners of the house and an earl’s daughter to boot, and as such deserved the man’s cordiality as well as his respect.
“Perhaps I can ask cook to pack a picnic luncheon for your drive,” the butler said, trying to make amends.
“Oh, but I don’t think…” Daphne began.
“That would be perfect, thank you, Greaves,” said Maitland at the same time.
Looking from one of them to the other, the butler seemed to decide that the duke outranked his new mistress. “Very good, your grace. I will inform her at once.”
When he and Daphne had reached the ground floor again, Maitland said, “A kind word goes a long way with the servants, you know. Even if it’s just to thank him for his time.”
“But it is his job to give me his time,” Daphne said, looking puzzled. As if he’d suggested she thank the banister for aiding her ascent of the stairs.
“Of course it is,” he said patiently. “But everyone likes to be appreciated. Don’t you like to be told you’re clever?”
“I suppose,” she said, giving the matter some thought. “But I already know I’m clever. So it does me no good to have someone else tell me. I’d be more pleased if they told me I’d done something well that I am not generally good at. Like needlepoint.”
He hid a smile. “You’re not fond of sewing, eh?” He had a difficult time imaging her dutifully seated before a needlepoint frame, plying her needle.
“I like it well enough,” Daphne said with a sigh. “But I am horrid at it. Which is why words of encouragement make me feel a bit better about my less-than-elegant work. It goes against my logical side, of course. Truth is important, but I am beginning to learn that there are times when it hurts.”
“Precisely. So you must simply think of thanking the servants as a sort of encouragement for their version of needlepoint.”
“Your gr—Dalton,” she corrected herself, much to his pleasure. “That makes very little sense. They are presumably excellent at their occupations, so, it doesn’t follow at all. Though I suppose I will try to do as you say and simply thank the servants when the occasion arises if, as you say, it makes them feel better.”
“That’s all I ask,” he said with a nod.
Eager to be on to the next part of their quest, he took her hand and pulled her toward the main staircase.
“Where are we going now?” she asked, stifling a yawn. “Should we go back to the library and see if we can find anything else?”
“Most assuredly not,” he said pulling her hand up to kiss the back of it, making her color up quite prettily. “You, madam, are going to take a nap.”
“A nap?” she protested, though her exhaustion was evident in the shadows beneath her eyes. “I am not a child, Dalton.”
“No, you are not,” he said with a sigh. He was well aware of that fact every time he felt her brush against him. “But, you have had an eventful few days. And if we’re to journey to Bexhill tomorrow, you need to get some rest.”
When they reached the door to her bedchamber, he pulled her against his body and leaned his forehead against hers. Slowly and deliberately, he kissed her, infusing the caress with some of the passion he’d been holding in check all day.
She was breathless and looking a little dazed when he pulled away. She said nothing, only held a hand up to her lips as she blinked at him.
Sorely tempted to drag her into the bedroom beyond and continue what he’d started, Maitland got himself under control. When he had her for the first time, it would not be in the middle of the afternoon when anyone might disturb them.
“Sleep well, dear Daphne,” he said as she continued to watch him.
She didn’t speak until he’d already turned to go.
“I never feel it with you,” she said softly.
Arrested by both her cryptic words and the touch of vulnerability in her tone, he turned back.
* * *
“The fear,” she continued quietly. “Whenever I meet eyes with someone, I get this … this knot of fear in my stomach. Anxiety.”
She looked down at the floor, then quite deliberately looked up and met his gaze. “But not with you. I can look at you, see you, without that feeling.”
It was perhaps the saddest thing he’d ever heard. But also the most exhilarating.
* * *
He knew instinctively that he’d just been given a gift beyond price.
“Thank you,” he said softly. Not daring to step closer to her lest he break his vow not to follow her in.
“Thank you, Dalton,” she said with a sweet smile. “I didn’t think I’d ever have that with anyone.”
Then she stepped into her bedchamber and shut the door behind her.
Alone in the hall, Maitland slumped against the wall, staring at the now closed door.
Unless he very much mistook the matter, he was in serious danger of falling in love with her.
And maybe. Just maybe. She was falling for him, too.
Standing up straight, he strolled down the hallway, tempted to whistle a jaunty tune like a jubilant schoolboy.
* * *
The next morning, a picnic basket—put together by the cook at Greaves’s request—tucked away beneath the seat, Daphne and Dalton set off in his blue-and-yellow trimmed curricle for Bexhill.
She’d informed the other ladies of their plan last evening when they met in their shared parlor before bed.
“I suppose it would look odd if we were all to go en masse to Bexhill to question him,” Sophie said, though there was something in her tone that told Daphne she rather wished they could do so anyway.
Then she’d given a squeak, and rubbed her arm. As if someone had pinched her.
The Hastings sisters were quite odd sometimes, Daphne had reflected.
“It certainly would look odd,” Ivy said firmly. “Besides, we have plenty to keep us occupied here. What with the number of calls we’re sure to receive now that word of Mr. Sommersby’s death has got out. I knew we could rely on Squire Northman’s wife to tattle all over the village.”
That lady had been quite rude to Ivy not long after she’d announced her betrothal to Lord Kerr, and Ivy had yet to forgive her.
“It would have gotten out sooner or later,” Gemma said with a shrug. “And we can use the opportunity to question the neighbors about Sommersby’s coming and goings. Whoever killed him could still be in the village, you know.”
Daphne would like to be there to question the village ladies, but she knew that her talents lay elsewhere. She could never quite figure out what to say to that sort of woman, and always managed to insult them in some way or other. Even when that wasn’t her intention. Truth be told she’d be far more comfortable with Maitland.
“Speaking of those who are ‘still in the village,’ Daphne,” said Ivy with an apologetic look, “Quill told me earlier that your father is still in the neighborhood. Staying with the Northmans, in fact. So perhaps it’s a good thing that you and Maitland are leaving.”
“I thought Maitland’s ruse about the betrothal would have reassured him enough to make him go back to London,” Daphne said, shocked despite knowing her father was nothing if not unpredic
table.
“You don’t think he has doubts about the validity of the betrothal, do you?” asked Sophia with a slight frown. “Perhaps he’s remained here to make sure you weren’t trying to fob him off.”
That was something Daphne hadn’t considered. She’d been so relieved—after the initial shock of Maitland’s outlandish announcement—at the prospect of being freed of her father’s demands, even if only temporarily, that she hadn’t thought beyond his departure. And once they’d found the clue to the cipher, she hadn’t thought of Lord Forsyth at all.
* * *
“Even if he is,” Gemma said, trying to reassure her, “then we will simply need to spread word of your happy news to the gossip-hungry matrons who come to talk about Sommersby. A few congratulations from neighborhood busybodies will allay any doubts your father might have.”
“And, your day trip with Maitland will lend credence as well,” Ivy said. “A courting couple might go for an afternoon’s drive together without incidenct, but an all-day journey must surely mark you as an engaged couple.”
Somewhat mollified by their assurances, Daphne nodded. “I suppose you’re right. And perhaps if we’re lucky, by the time we return from Bexhill, Papa will have decided to go back to London.”
“You don’t suppose there’s a possibility that you and the duke could decide to make your betrothal real, do you?” asked Sophia, tilting her head as if she were trying to see more clearly into Daphne’s thoughts. “I couldn’t help but notice how cozy the two of you were in the hallway.”
At the mention of the hallway, Daphne’s face flushed. Had their kiss been observed? In truth, she’d been too caught up in the moment to consider it.
“Don’t tease, Sophie,” chided her sister. “Besides, it’s impolite to spy on betrothed couples. Everyone knows that.”
“I’m just pointing out that it may not be so easy to dissolve this pretend betrothal as they think,” Sophia said, ignoring Gemma’s censure. “And it’s not as if Daphne is immune to his charms. We all know about her indecent proposal to him the night of Ivy’s shooting.”
“I’m not sure you’re aware of it,” Daphne said in seriousness, “but I am still in the room. And I fear that I was carried away yesterday. But there’s been no actual declaration from the duke. And aside from that I cannot consider any of this until we’ve found the cipher and learned who killed Sommersby. Some things are just far more important than…”
“Than love?” Sophia asked pertly. “Is that the word you were searching for?”
“Than fooling my father,” Daphne returned. Whatever this newfound closeness she had with Dalton, it could hardly be called love. Friendship, maybe. But not love.
Looking disappointed, but thankfully seeing that she would get no more revelations from Daphne about her relationship with the duke, Sophia changed the subject.
“Do you think the duke will let you take the reins?” she asked, genuinely wanting to know. The petite brunette was quite fond of driving and had tried and failed to get Dalton to let her drive his curricle on more than one occasion. “His grays look like they’re quite spirited.”
“I shouldn’t think so,” Daphne said with a shake of her head. “I am quite content to let him drive, as you well know.”
She paused, recalling what Dalton had said about thanking the servants. Perhaps if she complimented the other ladies about the things they were good at, it would make them feel as she did when someone complimented her terrible needlepoint. They likely knew what they were good at, of course, but it was something. “You are quite good at driving, Sophia.”
The other three stared at her in astonishment.
“What?” she asked, when they remained silent. “Did I say something offensive?”
“Quite the opposite,” Ivy said with a grin. “Do you realize you just paid Sophia a compliment?”
“So?”
“So,” Gemma said, gleefully, “you have never paid any of us a compliment before. Never. In the three months of our acquaintance.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Daphne said with a blush. Was she so difficult? It wasn’t as if she did not respect them. Of course, she did. Lady Celeste would not have chosen them as her heirs if they were not experts in their fields.
“It is true, I’m afraid,” Sophia said. “But clearly something has happened to bring about this change in your manner.”
“Or someone,” Ivy said with a raised brow.
Daphne’s cheeks grew hot. So much for stopping their interest in romance. “Of course not. I simply wanted to make Sophia feel good about herself, so I told her she is an excellent driver. Though she likely knows that already.”
Though they knew she did not like it, she felt all three girls move closer and hug her one by one.
“I did know,” Sophia said as she drew away. “But it was nice to hear all the same.”
Now, in the light of day, Daphne recalled the conversation with a small smile as she watched Maitland … that is, Dalton … handle the reins.
“You’re quiet,” he commented, as if sensing her scrutiny. It really was extraordinary how he seemed to know what she was thinking much of the time. If only she had a reciprocal ability to interpret his thoughts.
“Did you not sleep?” he asked, glancing at her before turning back to the road ahead of them. “‘Journey proud’ my old nanny used to call it.”
“I slept quite well, thank you,” she said, answering the question. She liked to do things in order.
The truth of the matter was that for the second night in a row, she’d slept soundly. She hadn’t realized it before Sommersby’s death, but even when she’d known he was thousands of miles away in Egypt, she never could quite trust that she wouldn’t be jarred awake in the middle of the night by his unwanted advances. She’d even slept with a burning lamp in her bedchamber for a time, that is, until her father discovered the practice and scolded her for wasting fuel.
Before he could speak, and possibly question her more about her sleep habits, asked, “What is ‘journey proud’?”
She’d had a nanny when she was small, but she’d been a dour woman who had disliked Daphne’s impertinent questions and odd ways. When they’d no longer had the funds to pay her and she left, Daphne had not put up a fuss.
Now, seated beside this handsome man who had clearly enjoyed a different upbringing than she had, she was curious about what sort of nanny his had been. It hadn’t really occurred to her before that some children held their nannies in great affection.
“It’s the feeling one has,” he explained, glancing over at her again with those green eyes that missed nothing, “the night before a trip. You have trouble falling asleep because you’re anticipating the next day’s traveling. You’re far too excited at the prospect of an adventure.”
Daphne frowned. “I never knew there was a name for it,” she said. There was so much, she’d come to realize, that she didn’t know. It was easy enough when she was in the world of numbers, and ciphers, and puzzles to think she knew all. But, she’d come to learn in the past months at Beauchamp House just how ignorant she was on some subjects. Even something as simple as this phrase Dalton’s nanny had taught him. “I suppose that’s one more thing I can add to my list.”
That seemed to intrigue him. “What list?”
They were approaching the outskirts of Little Seaford. But this bit of the road was deserted. And she was glad of it. She felt as if they were cocooned in their own private world where she could speak freely without fear of upsetting someone or saying the wrong thing.
Only with Dalton could she be this comfortable in her own skin. Silently, boldly, she slipped her arm through his and leaned into his body, already dangerously close on the narrow curricle seat. Daring even more, she leaned her head against his shoulder, the hard muscle beneath his arm making her feel protected. Safe.
She’d never imagined how addictive physically touching another person could be.
Rather than object to her forwardnes
s, or questioning her unusual behavior, he instead seemed to welcome it. Silently, he took both reins in his left and used his right to stretch out her arm so that he could clasp her hand.
Then, as if nothing had happened, he said, “Tell me about this list of yours.”
Relaxing against him, she said, “I keep a list of things I’ve learned since I arrived at Beauchamp House. It’s getting quite long.”
He was quiet for a beat, and she wondered for a fleeting moment if he was about to laugh at her foolish list. Her father certainly would. Mostly because he disliked the fact that she was able to calculate sums and gauge how many cards had been played before he could. He had no compunction about using her abilities for his own profit, but even so, the fact of it seemed to irritate him beyond bearing.
“And what have you learned in your months here?” he asked, sounding intrigued. There was no hint of censure from him. Only curiosity. Still …
* * *
“It’s silly. Forget I said anything.”
“Of course, I won’t forget it,” he said lightly. “You’ve got me primed now. Besides, if we’re going to make this false betrothal convincing then we need to know these things about one another.”
His words were said in a teasing tone, but the fact that he used the word false told Daphne all she needed to know about the possibility of their turning the engagement into something more permanent. A pang of disappointment rang in her chest, before she tamped it down, reminding herself that she’d never wished for the betrothal in the first place.
Still, he did have a point about their being able to make it seem real. Especially if her father was lingering in the village in hopes of finding them out.
“Fine,” she said grudgingly. “But it’s not very exciting. Just a catalog of things I should have known but somehow did not.”
Dalton tilted his head, but didn’t turn to look at her. “Why are you keeping a list? And what sort of things have you put on it? Besides ‘journey proud’ of course.”
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