A Return of Devotion

by Kristi Ann Hunter

  Daphne’s legs nearly went out from under her. Kit gasped and scrambled across the room. Graham went to join William in creating a wall of bodies. Lady Chemsford gave Kit and Daphne a strange look as Kit steered Daphne in a circle, intent on going down the stairs to the kitchens. Only someone else had just come up those stairs because Benedict ran into the room and threw his arms around Daphne.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he whispered in her ear as he squeezed her tight. “I got all the way to Mr. Leighton’s last night and realized the only person I wanted to talk to was you because you’ve always been my mum.”

  “My goodness!” Araminta cried. “Who is that?”

  Benedict stepped back but kept one hand on Daphne’s shoulder as she turned to face the front hall.

  Daphne’s heart pounded and her breath came in short, small bursts until her lips began to tingle and a dimness crept across her vision. She could see her father clearly enough, though, as everyone turned to look at Lady Chemsford.

  Then another man, with a beautiful woman on his arm, stepped in behind her father, and it was the sight of Maxwell Oswald that finally did her in. Those short, harsh breaths came faster and faster until she wasn’t sure she was actually breathing at all.

  “I don’t think we’re going to have enough guest rooms,” she choked out.

  And then she fainted.

  Chapter thirty-eight

  William wasn’t sure who to handle first: Araminta, Mr. Blakemoor, or his wastrel of a cousin. When Daphne’s legs gave way and Benedict scrambled to catch her, the question was answered.

  He strode across the room and picked her up, holding her tightly to his chest. She was breathing now and a bit of color was returning to her face. He glanced around the room at the various expressions ranging from outrage to surprise to mild panic. Perhaps it was best if she didn’t wake up too soon.

  Everyone trailed behind him as he carried Daphne into the drawing room off the front hall and placed her gently on the sofa. Kit was there immediately, kneeling by Daphne’s head and brushing the hair from her face.

  Benedict knelt beside Kit, while Graham stepped behind and placed a hand on each of their shoulders.

  Mr. Blakemoor slowly approached the sofa, looking at the daughter he’d thought he’d lost. He braced one hand on the back of the sofa and reached the other down to clasp Daphne’s cold fingers. “Daphne? My Daphne? Oh, my sweet girl.”

  A slight burn hit the corners of William’s eyes. He’d known this reunion needed to happen. But it probably shouldn’t have happened in quite this way, because everyone else had trailed into the drawing room as well, and they weren’t nearly as happy.

  Araminta pointed one long finger at Benedict. “Who is that boy?”

  Maxwell snorted and wore a look of complete superiority. “Isn’t it obvious? The perfect, self-righteous Lord Chemsford has a son.”

  “Actually,” William bit out, “he’s your son.”

  Kit groaned and dropped her head to the sofa next to Daphne’s shoulder.

  “Probably could have stated that a little gentler,” Graham whispered.

  “Probably shouldn’t have said it at all,” Kit added.

  They were both correct, but there was nothing William could do about it now. The truth was, he was through being delicate. This was his home, and of all the places he should have control it was here. But he was losing the person who mattered most to him because he was trying to be perfect for everyone and he was tired of it. A glance at Benedict’s pale face made him wish he’d held on to aristocratic diplomacy a bit longer, though.

  Then again, if William had been more direct and actually answered his cousin’s missives, the man probably wouldn’t be here now.

  “He’s not mine,” Maxwell shouted, stepping forward. “I don’t have a son, I’ve never—oh.” His words came to a crashing halt as he got close enough to see over the edge of the sofa and identify Kit. “I assume he’s yours, then.”

  Kit glanced up at William, then Graham, before setting her mouth and borrowing William’s line. “Actually, he’s hers.” She nodded her head toward Daphne.

  Graham groaned. “Really, dear?”

  “As if everything wasn’t about to come out in the wash right now anyway. We might as well get it over with while she misses the worst of it.”

  The woman who had come in with Maxwell gasped. “What? When were you with her? Who even is she?”

  “That’s my daughter,” Mr. Blakemoor growled. Then he looked at Benedict, his eyes glazed. “And that’s my grandson. Who are you?”

  Jess slipped into the room with a bottle in her hand and tried to ease around the crowd. It was a bit difficult. The drawing room hadn’t been designed to hold this many people standing around one sofa.

  “I am Mr. Maxwell Oswald,” he said, puffing up his chest. “And I have never seen that woman in my life.”

  Lady Araminta stepped in. “Are you calling the Marquis of Chemsford a liar?”

  Kit sprang up from the floor and rounded the sofa, fists clenched. “She was in my costume when you set out to ruin me, you monster.” She started to swing her fist, but Graham wrapped an arm around her and held her back.

  “No, I rather think she has the right idea.” William went around the other end of the sofa, his own fist clenched. He’d never hit a man before but this seemed a prime first opportunity.

  Araminta screamed, but Graham was there again, one arm still around his wife’s middle as he grabbed hold of William’s arm. “I don’t think this is the answer.”

  Then the sickening thud of bone to flesh followed by Maxwell’s howl of pain had everyone turning to see Mr. Blakemoor shaking his hand out and Maxwell cupping his eye.

  “Well, then,” Graham said as he let his captives loose.

  “It wasn’t supposed to be her,” Maxwell moaned and then pointed at Kit. “I thought it was her.”

  Graham sighed. “Don’t make me want to hit you, too. It wouldn’t take much at this point.”

  “Why me?” Kit asked, leaning into Graham’s side. “Why did you want to ruin me?”

  “It was just supposed to be your reputation.” Maxwell shrugged as if what had happened was as inconsequential as tripping over a torn hem during a dance.

  William growled and stepped forward. The hand Graham placed on his shoulder wasn’t all that heavy and William could have easily stepped free of it, but it was a reminder that punching the man wouldn’t change anything.

  “That doesn’t tell us why,” William said instead, straightening his coat with sharp jerks.

  Maxwell glanced at his wife. “She hated Katherine. Said the only way she would marry me was if I put her in her place.”

  Charlotte, who had up until this point been trying to stand to the side, gasped. “You can’t blame this on me.”

  Kit crossed her arms and stepped forward. “What was it you told me? That you’d made a bet with Maxwell about women who married and women who dallied?”

  Charlotte blanched a bit. “I might have been young and foolish. But weren’t we all? I never meant for this to happen. I just wanted you to step back down where you belonged.”

  In the next moment, a pillow came flying across the room, tassels fluttering as it connected with Charlotte’s head and shoulders. She screamed and ducked to the floor as everyone’s attention swerved once more.

  Jess was calmly walking away from a now-pillowless chair, bottle of smelling salts still in hand. As she made her way to the sofa and uncorked the bottle, she looked around at all the faces and raised her eyebrows. “It was that or the vase.”

  Kit’s snicker broke the silence, but no one else said anything as Jess knelt and waved the smelling salts beneath Daphne’s nose.

  Those beautiful brown eyes blinked open, and William rushed back to her side, supporting her head as she lifted it and looked around the room.

  “I think,” she said softly, “that I’m going to be sick.”

  The water cooled Daphne’s neck as Jess changed o
ut one cloth for another.

  After her declaration, Kit and Jess had swooped in and escorted Daphne from the room, one under each arm. William had wanted to follow, but Kit had told him there were other people who needed to be dealt with right then. Benedict had followed them down to the kitchens but stayed out of the way.

  “I think I’m well now.” Daphne slid the cloth from her neck and used it to dab her face. “Physically, anyway.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Kit asked, rubbing one of Daphne’s hands between her own.

  “I don’t . . . I can’t . . .” There were so many people. People in the house, in the kitchen, on the estate. Everywhere, there were people. How was Daphne supposed to think straight with so many people around? How could anyone think like that?

  Jess slid a cup of tea in front of Daphne. Kit moved toward a basket next to the hearth to grab a couple of Naples biscuits.

  “Not those,” Jess said. “I’m taking those out to the goats.”

  Kit frowned at the treat. “Why? What’s wrong with them?” She took a tiny nibble of one and then groaned. “What is wrong with you? You can’t feed those to goats.” She snatched the entire basket and brought it over to Daphne. “Try one of these.”

  Thankful for the distraction, Daphne took two of them before Jess grabbed the basket and chucked the remaining ones into the fire.

  Kit whimpered.

  Daphne bit into the biscuit, but instead of the hard crisp she was accustomed to, her teeth sank into it and gave her a mouthful of something that seemed more like a cake. She chewed on a moan and swallowed. “That’s fabulous. What did you do?”

  “Added syrup,” Jess grumbled. “And you’re both wrong. It made them completely terrible.”

  Daphne couldn’t hold back the snicker.

  Kit shoved the rest of her biscuit into her mouth. “Clearly there’s a story here,” she said around the crumbs, “and I’m sure I want to hear it, but it made you smile again, so I really don’t care what it was.”

  “Mama Daphne?”

  Daphne looked over to see Eugenia, Sarah, and Reuben hovering by the kitchen door. “You heard?”

  Sarah nodded, her eyes wide, those thick dark lashes standing out starkly against her fair skin. “I think everybody heard.”

  That was not what Daphne needed to hear. She groaned and dropped her head to the table.

  “No, no, no.” Kit pulled on her shoulder and got her sitting back upright.

  Daphne knew Kit had the right idea, so she straightened up and made a gesture to welcome the children forward. Then she waved Benedict over as well and wrapped her arms around the lot of them. “I don’t regret a single moment with you. I love all of you.”

  Arms twined around her, the children grabbing on to her wherever they could reach.

  Even this felt overwhelming, telling Daphne what she truly needed was to be by herself. “Kit, did you bring your carriage out here?”

  “Actually, we brought Nash’s wagon. Our carriage cracked an axle on the way into town.”

  That was good. It wouldn’t take long to hitch up, and she wouldn’t have to take a coachman with her.

  “I can hitch up Balaam,” Reuben said as he pulled out of the mass of bodies swallowing Daphne.

  “I’ll drive you back,” Benedict added. He glanced over at the door of the kitchen and the stairs beyond. “I’m not staying here.”

  Daphne didn’t blame him.

  “I’ll pack you a bag,” Kit said, easing up from her stool.

  Soon Eugenia was wrapping up bread and cheese as if the trip were longer than a mere two miles, and Sarah busied herself repairing Daphne’s topknot. Jess changed out Daphne’s cloth for a cool one again. It was wonderful to have friends who cared about her.

  Kit brought in Daphne’s satchel and set it on the table. “I know you want to be alone, but you might want to go to Mrs. Lancaster’s shop instead of her house. We, uh, that is, Graham and I brought a woman with us. I don’t want you to worry about that right now, I just wanted you to know where she was staying.”

  Daphne nodded and took her bag. She hugged Sarah and Eugenia one more time. The last thing she wanted was them to feel bad about anything. Kit and Jess would simply have to make sure that didn’t happen. Then she went out the kitchen door to find Benedict pulling the wagon over. Balaam the donkey brayed at her as she climbed in, and then they were rattling slowly down the lane and away from the house.

  Part of Daphne wondered if she’d ever be back.

  A rickety wagon usually wasn’t where a mother-son relationship started, but with a two-mile trek and a world of confessions between them, Daphne knew it was either clear the air or throw herself off the wagon.

  “Can I ask . . . I just want to know why,” Benedict said as he stared straight ahead, hands gripped on the reins.

  That was a fair question, though it had no good answer.

  She told him what she could, twisting her fingers into her faded skirt as she spoke. After telling him about her and Kit’s intention to start a family, she explained her reasons. Right or wrong, they’d been what she was thinking at the time.

  Benedict said nothing as he guided the donkey down the narrow lane.

  Finally Daphne had no more words, though it felt like the explanation of something so important should take longer. Her decision had been simple, though, even as the consequences were never-ending.

  As they crossed the bridge and the edges of Marlborough came into view, Benedict gave a gentle shake of his head and finally spoke. “Adults can be so stupid.” He gave her a crooked grin. “I’m glad you loved me enough to stay.”

  “What you said back there, in the house . . .” Daphne said, watching Benedict’s profile. “Did you mean it?”

  The boy nodded. “You’ve always been my mother. I can’t think of anything I’d have had you do differently.”

  Daphne had been so afraid that her boy would think he’d ruined her life, and he might one day think thoughts like that. But right now, they were moving on, healing. If that was the only good thing to come out of this crazy day, it would be enough.

  Chapter thirty-nine

  Two small rooms above a grocer’s shop in the middle of town, and Daphne breathed easier in them than in a large four-story house. She stood in the bedchamber, looking out over the street while Mrs. Lancaster and Benedict talked softly in the other room. Daphne had tried to tell Benedict to go back to Mr. Leighton’s, but he’d refused, saying he was the man of their family and he was going to make sure she was well before he left.

  It had been adorable and endearing, so she’d let him stay.

  She’d closed herself off in this room an hour ago and had been standing at the window ever since. Her breathing was coming easier now, and her heart wasn’t beating hard enough to be painful anymore. Nothing was tingling and her vision was clear.

  And she had an answer to the question. There was no way she could marry William. Though he had not outright proposed to her, she had to assume that was his intent because he was a good, honorable man with no intention of repeating his past mistakes. If it were only him to consider, she’d jump in. But he was a marquis. And Daphne simply could not be what she’d known titled ladies to be. Even the good and kind ones.

  She took a deep breath. As painful as the decision was, having made it seemed to lift a burden off her shoulders. Laughter greeted her as she walked into the other room. A small fire crackled in the fireplace, and Benedict and Mrs. Lancaster sat at a small table, playing a card game.

  “There now, you see, boy? I told you she just needed a little bit of time. Your mother’s a deep one. Solitary. She needs a bit of space every now and then.”

  Daphne joined them at the table and fiddled with one of the cards. Mrs. Lancaster had probably gotten the boy to tell her everything that had happened at Haven Manor by plying him with candy and tea and that sweet smile of hers.

  “Are you going back?” Mrs. Lancaster asked as she played another card on the table.


  “No,” she said. She knew she couldn’t be around William and not give in. From the safety of Haven Manor she would believe she could handle it, but as this week had taught her, she couldn’t.

  “I’ve been wanting to get some help in the shop,” Mrs. Lancaster said. “You may not know this, but I’m getting older. Someday I’m going to need someone to take over for me.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Daphne said. How awful would being a shopkeeper be? People in and out, constantly on display right in the middle of High Street. Could she do it? She might have to. She had, hopefully, a great deal of life left to live. She couldn’t survive on charity. And she already knew she was a horrid house-keeper.

  She glanced up to find Benedict staring at her, a question in his eyes and too much maturity on his face.

  A knock at the door had Daphne groaning. “No more knocks. No more knocks, no more doors. I forbid anyone from ever visiting me again.”

  Mrs. Lancaster chuckled as she crossed the room to answer the door. “May I help you, sir?”

  “I’m here to see my daughter.” There was a brief pause, during which Daphne lifted her head and stared at the door in disbelief. “And my grandson, if he’s here.”

  Benedict whimpered, and Daphne blindly reached her hand out to him while still staring at the door. He clutched it so hard she could feel all his calluses that had built up over the years and the strength that had come along with them.

  The door opened wider and then suddenly there he was. Her father. She wanted to run into his arms, she wanted to run away, she wanted . . . Oh, she didn’t know what she wanted.

  “I’m sorry, Daphne,” he said, hat clutched in his hands. “I’m so sorry. I never should have let you leave. I should never have tossed you out. I stayed mad for so long. And then I got your letter and learned you kept the baby, and I got angry all over again and threw it in the fire before I could finish it. I don’t even know what I was angry about anymore. I’m not a perfect man, Daphne, but for some reason I thought I was. I’ve learned different since then, and I’m hoping you can forgive me.”