A Season in London (Timeless Regency Collection Book 6)

by Elizabeth Johns

  Daphne was delighted by Jamie’s scowl as he did so. “Miss Daphne Hutchins, may I present my cousin, Mr. Jonathan Woodbridge? Jonathan, this is Miss Hutchins.”

  Mr. Woodbridge bowed again, and Daphne most likely stunned the entire room when she curtseyed rather perfectly before him. “A pleasure, Miss Hutchins.”

  She gave him a fond smile. “And mine as well, sir.”

  Jamie looked between the two of them with suspicion. “What is this? What are you doing?”

  “Is he speaking to you or to me, Miss Hutchins?” Mr. Woodbridge asked in mock confusion.

  “I cannot say, sir,” Daphne replied innocently. “Surely he would never be so informal with a young woman, whether or not his cousin was courting her.”

  Mr. Woodbridge nodded soberly, his blue eyes dancing the same way Jamie’s did. “Quite so, very poor manners. Might I redeem our family name with a dance, Miss Hutchins?”

  Oh, this was going to be rich. Daphne beamed up at him and placed her hand in his. “It would be an honor to allow you the attempt, Mr. Woodbridge.”

  After two full weeks of refusing every dance, the room seemed to still in stunned response to her being led out to the dance floor, and Jamie may have squawked in distress when his cousin yanked her hand out of his.

  The music started up, and Daphne and Mr. Woodbridge joined the rest of the couples in the first movements of the dance.

  “That was entirely too much fun, Mr. Woodbridge,” Daphne praised as they took hands to circle around.

  He chuckled softly. “Yes, I thought you might enjoy that.”

  “How did you know?”

  He gave her a knowing look. “You think Jamie doesn’t confide in me? I know all about you, Miss Hutchins. I know what sort of spectacle you make, and how much you want Jamie to leave you be.”

  Daphne blanched at being so exposed and lowered her eyes to his cravat, grateful when they were able to be part of the next movement, saving her from having to answer.

  “It is nothing personal,” she confessed when they were back together. “Your cousin is a fine man, and there is nothing untoward about him.”

  “Oh, Miss Hutchins,” Mr. Woodbridge broke in, shaking his head. “Don’t think for a moment that you need to defend my cousin, or that I am in some way criticizing you for anything. I know Jamie very well, and you won’t find a better man in England, except perhaps myself.”

  Daphne released a short laugh at that and clamped down on her lips again.

  “I’m enjoying this process very much,” Mr. Woodbridge continued, sounding more serious than his words were. “You are proving quite a challenge for Jamie, and it is rare that I get to witness such a thing. It is good for him to have to work for what he wants. It is what makes him who he is.”

  The urge to laugh faded, and she peered up at this somehow wiser version of Jamie, though they were only months apart. “And you think that I am something he wants?”

  She received a rather sardonic look that held a very serious tone behind it. “You don’t think so? My dear Miss Hutchins, aren’t you paying attention at all?”

  Daphne sputtered softly, then glanced over at Jamie, who was watching them both with a somewhat conflicted expression. He seemed pleased and yet also thunderous, his eyes fixed on them with a curious intensity, his arms folded across his chest.

  That was not the Jamie she had expected to find.

  But it was quite an attractive Jamie to behold.

  “Good heavens,” she muttered under her breath.

  Mr. Woodbridge laughed to himself and lifted his chin a bit more. “Come, Miss Hutchins, let us show off this brilliant dress of yours to the other side of the room, just in case anyone here has not been blinded by it.”

  Daphne laughed loudly in response, which made the room titter once more. “You know all my antics, then,” she stated, looking closely at this cousin of Jamie’s, noting their similarities, which were many, and their differences, which were few.

  “I do,” he replied with a nod.

  “And which has been your favorite?”

  He smirked down at her. “I was rather fond of the tartan and Scottish accent at Lady Raeburn’s garden party two days ago.”

  Daphne grinned with great pride and delight. “Yes, that really was quite a good one. I was quite proud of my brogue. Do you know which has been Jamie’s?”

  Mr. Woodbridge shook his head, still smiling. “He doesn’t have one. Jamie likes them all.”

  She hadn’t expected that, and it quite occupied her mind for the rest of the dance.

  “Who is that?” Mr. Woodbridge asked suddenly, indicating a man across the room who was staring at them.

  Daphne looked, then rolled her eyes dramatically. “It’s my brother,” she told him drily. She glared at Ned fiercely from her spot. “He probably wonders what I’m doing.”

  On cue, Ned raised a brow at her.

  “I imagine many other people have that same question,” Mr. Woodbridge mused.

  She looked up at him with a quick smile. “Not you?”

  He shook his head easily, looking bemused. “You seem to have a plan, and it would be ungentlemanly to question it.”

  Despite her aversion to liking Jamie Woodbridge, and all that he wanted from her, Daphne found herself growing quite fond of this particular cousin, and that was something she did not mind anyone else knowing.

  After she had been turned over to Aunt Josephine, she witnessed the wordless argument between the cousins as Jamie made his way across the room to her. Aunt Josephine watched in bemusement as Jamie turned Daphne back toward a corner of the room where he fetched her some punch and glared at her.

  “That was not at all sporting, Daphne,” he scolded quite plainly. “You can’t dance with Jonathan anymore.”

  She shrugged as she sipped. “I don’t need your approval to dance with Jonathan, Mr. Woodbridge.”

  Jamie shook his head repeatedly, swinging back and forth firmly. “No, no, I draw the line at you calling him Jonathan while I remain Mr. Woodbridge. Did he tell you to call him that?”

  “He might have done.” She sipped her drink slowly, then smacked her lips together just to shock the older woman sitting nearby, who quickly moved to another seat.

  “He would never,” Jamie vowed. “Not even the Mothers call him Jonathan unless he is in a very fine mood.”

  “The Mothers?” she repeated, giving him an odd look. “That sounds ominous. What is it?”

  Jamie reared back slightly. “Are you asking me a personal question, Daphne? Out of real interest?”

  All of Mr. Woodbridge’s words about Jamie came flooding into Daphne’s mind, and she exhaled slowly, letting a genuine smile form on her face as she looked at him now. “Don’t make me regret it, Jamie. Tell me now before I change my mind and ignore you again.”

  He looked so pleased by her response that she completely forgot to be indifferent and enjoyed every moment that he spent talking about his mother and his aunt, both of whom were as mothers to him, and then they spoke of his family home in Oxfordshire, as well as his own estate in Norfolk. Before she knew it, Daphne was falling in love with both houses and quite desperate to be rid of London to see them both.

  When she decided it would be better for her to leave, Jamie escorted her back to Aunt Josephine and her brother, who had apparently grown bored as well.

  “Why did it bother you so to have me dance with Jonathan?” Daphne asked Jamie as they approached them. “Tell me the truth.”

  Jamie looked sheepish, but he held Daphne’s hand tighter. “As a general rule,” he told her quietly, “and apart from pitying wallflowers, Jonathan only dances with women he considers to be potential and suitable candidates for marriage.” He wrinkled his nose and shrugged helplessly. “I didn’t want him putting you in either category.”

  Daphne tilted her head, her heart warming. “I am no wallflower, Jamie. So why fear the other?”

  His hold tightened. “Because I don’t want to risk him taking
you from me. And there it is.”

  Oh.

  His eyes searched hers, waiting for a response of some kind, and Daphne stared right back, barely able to breathe.

  Slowly, she brought her worn glove up to his face and caressed his cheek gently. His eyes widened, and his grip on her other hand suddenly clenched.

  “I’m not choosing Jonathan,” Daphne whispered before she could stop herself. Then she dropped her hand and swept away, fighting warring emotions of relief, embarrassment, excitement, and horror within herself.

  What was she doing? What was she about? She wasn’t choosing Jamie either; she wasn’t choosing anyone. She was here to ruin herself, to ensure she never came back to London, to live out her life in peace and alone, in her own company. She should not be excited to see Jamie. She should not want to kiss him for his sweet words, nor laugh at his wit, nor wish to dance in his arms by the light of the moon.

  Those were silly wishes for silly girls, and she refused to be one of them.

  Ned walked her to the coach and frowned when there was only room for her and their aunt within. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asked, scolding her a little, sounding too pompous for her taste.

  Daphne glared down at him from her carriage seat, then pretended to recollect something. “Oh, that’s right, I forgot to get a husband today. I knew I had forgotten something.”

  She slammed the door in his face and called to the driver, who sent them racing for home, leaving her brother to find his own way there.

  Chapter Six

  He was going to marry Daphne Hutchins. There was no doubt in his mind about that anymore—not that there had ever been much doubt at all.

  Even Jonathan was insisting that he do so, which was a shocking revelation in and of itself.

  Granted, Jonathan had been laughing when he’d said so, which ought to have been warning enough, as his cousin understood how difficult it would be to convince Daphne to consent to any such thing, as she was still so resistant to their courtship.

  A full month of courting her, and she still scowled when he got too close.

  He knew it was only halfhearted, though. He could see the way she looked at him when she forgot to have those walls of hers up. When she was not pretending to hate him, she actually liked him.

  And as she was not seeking out attention from any other man to spite him or make him jealous, he thought he might have had a fair chance of eventually convincing her to give up her charade and like him in earnest.

  He liked her in earnest.

  He loved her.

  And not many people would believe that, seeing her the way they did.

  Jamie loved her more for being harder to understand. It made every glimpse into her true self more precious to him.

  And now that he could sense her resistance weakening, he was willing to be patient, knowing it may reap the reward he so desired in the end.

  But knowing Daphne, she had more secrets up her sleeves. She was always surprising him, and while he did not know the reasons for her behavior this Season, he did not doubt that there was an excellent reason for it.

  She was always better behaved if her parents were around, but he did not believe it was any sort of deference to them. Oh, he had no doubt she loved her parents, but there was some very strong resentment there, and he suspected her being in London was chief among that resentment. She seemed more herself when he called upon her at home, dressed in more comfortable clothing and usually with a book in her possession. More than once he had wondered if she might beat him with the book, but after getting to know Daphne more, he wagered she valued the book in question too much to be so cruel to it.

  He knew she was trying to force him to cease his courtship, though he didn’t understand why. And she didn’t seem to understand that nothing she was attempting was remotely terrifying for him and certainly nothing that was going to send him running from her. She was a bold and engaging woman with a sharp wit and lively spirit. Too brash, perhaps, but she had not as yet done anything that could possibly ruin a reputation. For all her shocking behaviors, nothing ever could be considered breaches of morality, and her gowns, while either hideous or simply out of fashion, were never daring in cut or inappropriate for the setting.

  Even Daphne Hutchins had boundaries, and he enjoyed seeing what she would do within them.

  He was determined to dance with her tonight, despite having not succeeded thus far. She could not hold him off forever, and he had seen how she had danced with his cousin. She was graceful and elegant and had enjoyed every moment of it. He’d tried to inform her that he was a much better dancer than Jonathan, but she did not seem to care.

  He hadn’t been able to speak with her yet this evening, but he had seen her enter with her parents and brother, and as she was in the company of her family, she was quite properly dressed. Quite fetchingly, too, in the simplest of white muslins. She looked ethereal, and he wanted to tell her so. He wanted her to know what she made him feel. He wanted . . .

  Well, he wanted a great deal, but patience was a virtue he was growing quite good at.

  Mostly.

  He started in the direction of Daphne, whose parents had moved on to another group while she remained behind with a few others, none of whom looked displeased with her, so she must be behaving.

  A small commotion near the front of the ballroom drew his attention, as well as that of others. A striking man was entering the room with a petite blonde woman on his arm, and suddenly the room seemed to buzz a little more.

  Daphne’s face had gone as white as her dress, and her gloved hand clenched her fan so tightly it was likely to break.

  The man, whoever he was, entered the room completely and smiled at the gathering, then saw Daphne and brightened. “Ah, my little friend,” he said loudly enough for anyone nearby to hear. “I hadn’t heard you would be in London. You finally came out of hiding, eh?”

  Daphne’s chin clenched tightly, as if she wanted to give it an impertinent lift but could not manage it. She barely resembled the fiery woman he had come to know. She looked more like a frightened child than anything else.

  Jamie looked around for her parents and brother. They watched the exchange with wide eyes, almost fearful. Well, if they would not go to her, he would, and he made his way through the curious guests towards her.

  What was going on here? He didn’t like anything that made Daphne look so small. Whoever this man was, Jamie wished him far, far away.

  “I heard it was quite a long time before anyone saw you, Daphne,” he continued, patting the hand of the girl next to him, who obviously had no idea what was going on. “I do hope you’ve gotten over it.”

  Anybody watching this interaction could see that Daphne had not gotten over it—whatever it happened to be. She was trembling where she stood, and the whispers reaching Jamie’s ears spoke of broken hearts, broken engagements, and possibly a loss of virtue. Whether any of that was true remained to be seen, but there was nothing that society loved as much as gossip, and this was certainly a story.

  Daphne swallowed, but said nothing as she stared at this man, betrayal and anger etched in her features.

  The man nodded at her and pulled the girl on his arm away, gliding on to the next group.

  Daphne remained where she was, still staring at where he had been, her face no longer white, but a rapidly darkening shade of pink. She was, no doubt, hearing the whispers now—the judgment, scorn, and pity of those around her.

  Jamie moved as quickly as he could, nodding at Jonathan, who also began to move. Daphne’s family seemed to be in shock where they stood.

  Jamie reached Daphne first and took her arm gently, but firmly in his hold. “Come, Miss Hutchins,” he murmured with a warm smile. “I must claim the dance you promised me before my cousin claims one for himself.” His words had the exact effect he’d intended, those around her now gossiping on the Woodbridges associating with her and what that could mean.

  Daphne looked at him with watery e
yes, no hint of indignation or fire in them.

  He smiled further at her. “Come, I must have this dance.”

  She nodded absently and came without resistance—another indication that all was not well. “Jamie,” she whispered when they were away. “I cannot dance at this moment, not even with you.”

  “I know, Daph,” he replied gently, rubbing her arm discreetly. “We’re going outside.”

  She nearly sagged in relief and nodded, one tear making its way down her cheek.

  Jamie held his breath that no one would see that, and he could not wipe it away without causing more gossip, which was the last thing she needed. He hurried her outside and down off the terrace into the garden, which was lit well enough for anyone to stroll in. The night was cooler than he expected, and he rubbed Daphne’s arms gently as he led her farther from the house, keeping to the best lit paths should her family wish to seek them out.

  A small bench rested near a large tree, and he settled Daphne there, not sure if he ought to sit beside her or stand before her. He settled for taking her hands and rubbing his thumbs over her fingers. “Are you all right?”

  She looked up at him and slowly shook her head before dissolving into tears, effectively breaking his heart in two.

  “Oh, Daphne,” he murmured, moving to sit beside her.

  “I’m fine,” she said through her tears. “I’m fine.”

  “Yes, so your tears express,” he teased, wiping a few from her cheeks.

  She managed to smile a little. “I’m just so . . . so angry! And hurt and confused and embarrassed.”

  He nodded sympathetically, holding her hands tightly. “I could see that. I brought you out here so that you could cry or yell or hide for a while—whatever you need to do, away from all of that.”

  “Thank you,” she managed, her head dropping as more tears fell.

  Jamie was beside himself, wanting to hold her, but not entirely certain she wanted him to, or that he would be able to stop if he did hold her. All he knew was that he would give a fortune to see her smile again. “I will even let you slap me, if you think it will help,” he suggested with a smile.