His lips pressed against her temple offering comfort. “Tell me.”
“You mustn’t tell a soul, but my sister killed herself.” Daphne forced her gaze to his.
“I won’t, sweetheart. I never have since the day I first found out.”
Chapter Fifteen
Making a solemn pledge, Paul crossed his heart with two fingers. He peered down at Daphne and wiped away the remnants of her tears with his thumbs. Her expression froze in shock. “It hurts, Daphne. I know it does.”
“You know?” Her voice trembled. When she stepped out of his reach, he reluctantly let her go. She rubbed her forehead with her hand. “How?”
“Your brother.” How to tell her without causing her more pain? “Alex was lost in grief one day and let the secret slip.”
She heaved the heaviest sigh he’d ever heard coming from such a small body. “The day he challenged you to a duel?”
He nodded once. “That was one of the blackest days I’d ever experienced. I allowed Pembrooke to believe I was at fault. It was stupid on my part, but at the time, I thought I was helping by taking the blame. Thankfully, he didn’t see it to fruition.”
With a huff, she blew a loose curl out of her face. “No, it was stupid on Alice’s part. She fell in love with a boy who worked at the stable in the village. He’d come to Pemhill looking for extra work.” She bit her lip, then locked her gaze with his. “There’s no use keeping her secrets hidden. She became pregnant by him.”
“Daph, I know,” he said.
“I suppose you figured it out when she snuck into your room that night and crawled into your bed.” A brilliant blush blossomed in her cheeks. “I was so angry with her over that trick.”
“Shush.” He took her hand in his. “I was quite foxed that night. When I woke in the early morning hours, she was staring at me. She told me about the baby and how desperate she was.” With his finger, he tipped her face to his. “I told her I’d marry her, but we had to tell Alex the truth. She said she couldn’t face him or your mother with the news.”
“I’m sorry she tried to force you into marriage.” She squeezed his hand with hers. “She never shared with me that you actually offered. That was gallant.”
“No one has ever called me gallant.” He entwined their fingers together, hoping to give her strength—letting her know she wasn’t alone to bear the grief by herself. “I could become accustomed to you calling me that.”
Finally, she smiled, but her expression turned solemn again. “I find myself so angry with her. All the time. She hurt so many people.”
“Shall we continue this sitting down?” he asked. She nodded, and he took her hand and led her to the sofa.
When he took the seat beside Daphne, she looked so forlorn that all he wanted was the power to take all of her grief and claim it for his own. Her normal brightness had dimmed, and he knew in that moment that there was nothing in this world he wouldn’t do to ease her pain. “I find that I’ve an overwhelming need to hold you, Daphne Hallworth. Will you allow that?”
She nodded. Before he could pick her up, she leaned toward him, making it easy for him to tug her onto his lap.
Once he had his arms around her, she rested her face against his neck. In that quiet moment, the air of her rhythmic breathing against his neck and her gentle weight felt perfect. He realized that his contentment, his sense of place in the world, and his belonging was only attributable to her.
* * *
Daphne wrapped her arms around his neck and breathed his scent. In his arms, she felt insulated from all the ugliness of Alice’s death.
With his lips pressed against her forehead, he murmured, “Moonbeam, when I feel the sadness ready to descend over losing Robbie, I force myself to dwell on the good things I was fortunate enough to have had with him.”
“Like what?” She’d take everything he offered if she could find a way to forgive Alice.
His eyes had deepened into a startling hue of dark blue. “Tell me one thing you remember about her that always made you smile.”
She grimaced, then relaxed as fond memories pushed aside the painful ones. “When a mare was foaling, Alice would be the first one in the family to ‘introduce’ herself. She’d even beat Alex to the barn, and that was his favorite pastime, to wait for the new colt or filly to name.” Her lips twitched. “She’d rush from the barn to find me and insist I come and meet the new horse. She’d make an exaggerated formal introduction between the foal and me. It was quite comical.”
He soothed his finger over one cheek, and she found the courage to continue, “Alice could find such wonder in the simplest things. She loved Pemhill.”
“That’s how I remember her. All those times I visited, she was full of mischief and laughter.” With his forefinger, Paul pushed an errant curl behind her ear. “Now that you’re aware that the estrangement between your brother and me started because of this, you should know the rest of the tale.” He grew suddenly serious. “It’s doesn’t paint me in a very favorable light.”
She squeezed his hand encouraging him to share more.
He studied their hands again, then intertwined his fingers with hers. “Mind you this was before your brother married, but I’d told him that his wife-to-be was my lover.”
“I know,” she said softly. “I hated you for that. I love Claire just like a sister.” She released her breath.
“Wretched of me, wasn’t it?” He laughed, but there was no humor—only self-loathing. He turned away to study the fire. “I let Alex believe what he wanted about Alice. He was blind with grief, and I thought if he directed all his anger at me, it might help him. But, when he bought my vowels at the Reynolds and forced me to break my engagement to Claire, I was livid and wanted to strike back.”
Sweet, kind, and gentle, her sister-in-law had filled a void in Daphne’s heart, making Paul’s confession painful to hear. Regardless, she’d never rest if she didn’t ask the question that begged for an answer even if it tore her world apart. “Why hurt Claire? Did you hate my brother that much?”
“No, I didn’t hate Pembrooke, and I didn’t mean to hurt Claire. I just wanted her back.” When his eyes caught hers, there was a defiance much like a challenge. The muscles in his square jaw jerked, and his angular cheeks deepened in ruddiness.
All those years ago, she’d told him that he was a horrible actor and never to gamble. He proved her right today. This wasn’t defiance, but pain. He was protecting himself. “Paul, I’m not going to judge you.”
“Perhaps you should. When I was engaged to Claire, for the first and only time in my life my father was proud of me. You see, he wanted Robbie to marry Claire, but when he fell sick, I was the stand-in. When your brother ruined me, my father was livid. Being the vain peacock that I am, I tried to win her back any way I could.” His eyes locked with hers.
“Did you love her?” she whispered.
His gaze held hers. “No. I once thought I did, but now I recognize that wasn’t love.” He took his fingers and trailed them down her cheek until he held her chin between his thumb and forefinger.
“I’m sorry your father was such a horrid man.” She leaned in and pressed a light kiss against his lips.
He was momentarily speechless in his surprise. “Thank you, Moonbeam. I’m stunned you’re not throwing me out of your house.”
“I, above all people, know that grief can make people do the craziest, most illogical things that hurt others.” She touched her nose to his. “But you’re wrong about you being a vain peacock.”
“How so?” He reciprocated the touch of noses.
“You’re vain, but I’ve never seen you in feathers,” she teased.
“Someone is feeling better.” He chuckled, then leaned close, and his thumb gently traced her lips. “I think it’s best if I’m here when your brother arrives.”
“I want to have the conversation with Alex alone. Over the last several days, I’ve decided to find my own residence. I’ll explain how far along I am in my plan
s for the home. He and Claire need to be aware that I’m taking Tait and my lady’s maid, Mavis Taylor, with me.” She drew back a little and gazed at the fire. “I’ll tell them how you saw to my welfare and that we spent time together, including our Christmas breakfast. Hopefully, it’ll make it easier to mend your friendship.”
When she made the mistake of turning her attention to him, she truly understood the magpie’s behavior. He was gloriously handsome today in a dark navy broadcloth coat and a light blue brocade waistcoat. As if he were a shiny coin, she wanted to keep him all to herself.
“I’m not sure that’s the wisest course of action,” Paul insisted. “If Pembrooke is upset, he can take his anger out on me instead of you.”
“No. I appreciate your offer”—she placed her hand over his to reassure him, but the warmth of his skin sent a shiver through her—“but this is important to me.”
His gaze, sharp as a falcon’s before diving for its prey, flew to where her hand rested. He exhaled deeply before placing his over hers. With a reluctant smile, Paul nodded, but the narrow lines surrounding his eyes exposed his wariness. “Devan and I will take our leave. Just so you know, I told William not to tell Pembrooke about today. I want to stop by tomorrow and explain exactly what happened and why we were here.”
His look of worry made her feel even more guilty.
She’d laugh if the irony weren’t so heart-wrenching. Paul, who had always courted outrage, wanted to protect her from the scandal, one that he was completely innocent of having any hand in.
It was all her.
She’d have it out with Alex, then the rest of her Christmas holiday required she find Garland. Even if she had to spend the night in the carriage in front of the Reynolds tomorrow, she’d get her diary back.
Like a dropped anchor, her heart sunk.
What if they published another fantasy about Paul?
Or worse, what if they published one of her letters to Alice?
* * *
“Devil take it.” Halfway home, Paul suddenly knocked on the roof on the carriage, causing it to stop immediately in the middle of a deserted street. All of the fine residents of London were undoubtedly still at Christmas morning services.
“Such language, from a duke no less. It’s a holy day,” Devan lectured. “You should have attended the early service with me this morning before visiting Lady Daphne. Perhaps you’d have a cleaner mouth.”
“I can’t leave her to face Pembrooke alone. I should have insisted I stay,” Paul said, completely ignoring his friend’s comments. He opened the window to instruct the groomsman to turn around.
“Let her be.” The force of Devan’s words caused Paul to stop. The vicar only used that tone when he was serious.
“She needs me—” Paul shook his head. “What I meant is she needs us.” The words shouldn’t have surprised him. From the moment he saw her at the Reynolds, he felt an overwhelming urge to provide for her welfare. Of course, it was only until her brother returned home. Within hours, Pembrooke would arrive to find her safe and sound, ending Paul’s obligations to Daphne.
Even he was having a hard time believing that excuse.
But his sense of unease wouldn’t abate. In fact, the farther the distance grew from Pembrooke House, the more his disquiet increased. He could have sworn that he saw real trepidation in her glorious gray eyes. Paul could not care less that Lord William made an untimely visit. No, he wanted her to be as happy as when they’d shared their gifts with each other.
She had nothing to fear from Pembrooke. He adored Daphne, always had. When he’d become head of the family, Daphne’s only brother always made decisions that kept her best interests at heart. Still, the nag wouldn’t leave him be. He needed to be by her side.
The only explanation that made sense was honor. When Pembrooke arrived, Paul would make certain that he understood the situation. It would ease Daphne’s burden over the last several days, besides being the honorable and right thing to do.
“Southart, she needs to do this by herself. She wants to do this by herself.”
“How do you know so much about her?” Paul growled.
“Because I’m observant, you ducal oaf.” Devan narrowed his eyes. “I’ve watched her with you and you with her. This isn’t any of your concern. This is her fight. She chose to stay in London for a reason, and your interference will muddy the waters with her brother. She’ll come to you when she’s ready.”
If he never had to hear “any of your concern” ever again, it would be too soon. “What are you talking about?”
“Save me from fools.” Devan tilted his head and studied the roof of the carriage. “It’s like watching two moles dance that can’t see anything in front of their faces.” He exhaled and turned his gaze back to Paul. “Besides, won’t your footmen find the boy and the journal today? She’ll see you tomorrow when you deliver it.”
“Your Grace?” the groomsman called. “Did you want to go somewhere else?”
He did.
He wanted to go to Daphne.
“Devil take me,” he muttered under his breath. In a louder voice, he called, “No, Carter. Let’s continue home.”
Merry Christmas, indeed.
* * *
As Daphne waited in the salon for her brother, she did the only thing that helped pass the time.
She paced.
Besides having to deal with Alex’s questions as to why she stayed in London, she now had to decide what, if anything, she could do to stop The Midnight Cryer from acquiring any more of her journal. She still felt the poker-hot flicks of humiliation that Devan had recognized not only that it was her writing but also, more important, that she was writing about Paul. What if someone else recognized him?
Or, God forbid, her?
If her journal wasn’t returned to her tomorrow, she might have to find an escort into Seven Dials and try to find it herself. With the publication of her diary page, she was running out of time. She’d call on her solicitor, Mr. Fincham, and ask his advice. He might know of a way to halt the publication of any other of her personal pages.
Frustrated, she let out a sigh. That was highly doubtful, since The Midnight Cryer published all sorts of outrageous comments and titillating tidbits of gossip without any harm befalling the paper or its publisher, Mr. Martin Richmond.
She had such a delightful time with Paul until it had been ruined by The Midnight Cryer. The house felt empty without his presence. She was in serious danger with him. “Friendship” really didn’t even describe them anymore.
Heaven help her, she was thinking nonsense.
Right now, she needed to concentrate on her brother. She rehearsed the points she wanted to make. She continued pacing with deliberate but unhurried movements. If she expelled her nervous energy before Alex’s imminent arrival, she’d exhibit more confidence when she told him of her future plans.
All her thoughts scattered like leaves caught in a winter gust when the door crashed open.
Alex stood in the doorway. Mud covered his boots and greatcoat—a clear indication he’d ridden like the wind to reach her. Tait stood behind him.
“Happy Christmas.” She surprised herself with her calm demeanor. “You must be cold and famished. Let me get you some tea.”
“Not now.” Alex’s gaze never left hers. “You may leave us, Tait.”
As soon as the door clicked shut, Alex examined her from the top of her head to the bottom of her dress hem. Without a word, he swiftly reached her side. She tilted her head and regarded him as she prepared herself for their conversation. Though he’d only been gone a few days, she’d forgotten how tall he was.
Suddenly, she found herself in her brother’s embrace. “My God, Daphne, I rushed back here. I couldn’t live with myself if anything had happened to you.” He released her. “Are you well?”
“Of course I am.” She swept one hand in front of her, inviting him to examine her once more. “I’m uninjured, unhurt, and unscathed. To put it concisely, I’m safe and
happy. I had a lovely feast this morning. There’s plenty left if you’d like Mrs. McBride to prepare you a plate. She’s Tait’s mother—”
“Daphne, stop.” Without any regard for the mud, he pulled his greatcoat off and threw it on one of the pink and red chairs closest to him. “I don’t want to discuss food.”
This was it, the moment his anger would explode like a lead ball from a cannon.
Instead, he continued to stare at her. The silence between them was deafening.
“What would you like to discuss?” she asked while she stood her ground. She’d come too far these past several days to show weakness in front of him. Nor would she, under any circumstances, tell him about the lost journal. “Before we get to me, how was your time at Pemhill?”
“You know damn well what I want to discuss,” he growled. “Why didn’t you send a note?”
Her heart skipped a beat, but she ignored the warning to proceed cautiously. She’d prepared for this conversation and would not become flustered and apologize. The good girl guise was long gone from her world.
“Shall we sit?” Without waiting for his acquiescence, she took the chair nearest to where she stood. It was her favorite, a high wing-back chair covered in a cheerful rose-colored brocade. “I was angry when I first discovered that you’d left without me.”
“Now wait a minute, Daph—”
“Allow me to finish before you answer.” She lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders. “But then I realized something. I wasn’t your primary responsibility or concern. More important, I discovered that I didn’t want to be. I want to be responsible for myself and my own happiness.”
Alex shook his head once. Weariness made his face look like he’d taken a direct punch and was trying to get his bearings. He collapsed in the chair opposite her. “You can’t imagine the worry I’ve carried all the way here. I didn’t even know if you’d be here. You never answered the question. Why didn’t you at least send me or Mother a note?”
The Good, the Bad, and the Duke Page 17