Chapter Seven
Reginald was attempting to appear calm as he waited.
It was half past two and Pozenby was to arrive at any moment.
His additional search efforts had proven equally futile.
At first, he’d almost convinced himself that Daphne had simply run away and would be found with friends or possibly holed up somewhere with one of her blasted books.
But as the morning and now afternoon had worn on and still no sign of her had been uncovered, he’d had to accept a terrible truth.
She’d escaped entirely. But to where? And with whom?
One thing he did know, his wife would make every moment a misery until those facts were uncovered.
It puzzled him. She had minimal funds and would not have been able to undertake such a thing entirely on her own.
From what quarter had she been aided? Surely, if he could deduce that, he’d be able to track her down easily enough.
But sixteen hours had passed. Sixteen hours had passed where he’d been deprived of sleep and sustenance all because she refused to come to heel.
There was a disturbance from the hall, and he knew precisely from whence it came. The suitor had arrived.
“What does this mean, Acres, that she’s gone?” Cecil Pozenby demanded as he shoved the door open forcefully.
“It means, quite simply, that the girl fled into the night… or possibly the dawn. We haven’t pinpointed entirely when it was that she left,” Reginald replied, striving for an even tone.
Pozenby’s eyes narrowed. It was a remarkable feat really when one considered how beady they were to start.
“Must I remind you, Acres, just how deeply in debt you are? Not only to me, but to others who will be much less understanding of your inability to pay than I am. Your daughter’s hand in marriage was my only incentive to cover those debts and spare you public humiliation, if not worse.
After all, you do not have the protection of a title to keep you from the Fleet. ”
“I am well aware,” Reginald replied. As neither Pozenby nor his wife had not failed to remind him of just that fact at every opportunity, it would have been impossible for him forget the ignoble fate which hung over his head.
“My awareness does not change our current situation. The girl is gone and I’ve no notion where. ”
“Where do girls always go when they run away? She’s found some other man to marry her, and they’ve set off for Gretna Green.”
It wasn’t a possibility he’d actually considered, but he could not fault the logic in it. The question remained, however, how? She’d not been in society at all.
“Surely not! Who would have her?” Reginald asked, appalled at the notion.
Pozenby sneered, “Whatever opportunist that crone at the Lyon’s Den has put before her. Bessie Dove-Lyon, as has been boasted, can get any girl a husband if she’s money enough to pay for one! Now, how long has she been gone?”
Reginald shrugged. “I can’t say for certain. Sometime in the wee hours of this morning, I presume.”
“They can’t have traveled very far by now, not in only a single day. My coach is outside. We will go after her.”
Reginald didn’t have the option to refuse though the prospect of being trapped inside a small vehicle with Pozenby’s odiferous person for such a journey was only slightly more appealing than debtors’ prison. “We will never catch up to her if that is the case. They are hours ahead of us.”
“We don’t have to catch up to her before the wedding itself. Only before the consummation thereof. If so, the marriage can be voided and it will be as if nothing happened at all. Do not tarry, man.”
For the life of him, Reginald couldn’t fathom why the man would go to so much trouble.
It wasn’t as if there was anything particularly noteworthy about Daphne.
She was tolerable enough as young ladies went, but perhaps she favored her mother so greatly it was impossible for him to see why any man would want her.
“Why? Why on earth do you want her so desperately?”
“She’s beautiful. I like beautiful things. And there’s an ample fortune to the man who gets her to the altar. Those are two very powerful inducements.”
Reluctantly, Reginald rose from his chair and followed Pozenby out to the waiting carriage.
He hadn’t much feeling for his daughter one way or another.
He had even less for his young son. At least the boy could be sent off to school and largely ignored.
Daughters were a drain on a man’s purse and nothing more.
If he had any qualms about bartering his daughter to a man of Pozenby’s habitually poor hygiene and even more offensive proclivities, his debts would certainly deter any sentimentality on his part.
Pozenby’s desire for her made the girl an asset when before she had only been a liability.
Given the man’s attitude, it was little doubt that he’d chase her to the ends of the earth if it meant “winning,” which seemed to be the only concern Pozenby had.
For himself, he’d go along, because to do otherwise would incur enmity when he very much needed Pozenby to be in a forgiving mood.
If he didn’t at least make the appearance of good effort in getting her back, any chance of leniency when it came to his markers would be forfeit entirely.
At the end of the day, that was really all Reginald cared about.
How could he come out of the situation with the least damage incurred.
They reached the small hunting lodge just as a light rain began to fall.
Even with that, it was frigid. She was shivering uncontrollably.
Fletcher walked beside her, close enough that his large frame partially sheltered her from the wind and rain as he carried the small basket of food that Ellis’s cook had prepared for them.
There wasn’t very much left of it. Some cider, bread, and cheese, but she supposed they’d be thankful enough for it as the evening wore on.
“We’ll get a fire going once we’re inside,” he assured her. “There won’t be much in the way of material comforts, but we can be warm at least.”
“Warm sounds delightful,” Daphne said. “Like a dream, in truth.”
After they finally reached the small stone-and-timber structure, he opened the door for them with a key hidden above the lintel and ushered her inside.
Once she’d settled on a small and lumpily upholstered settee, still draped in holland cloths, she watched as he made quick work of the fire.
There was wood laid there already, dry and ready for use.
When he placed a match near it, the pile of logs ignited instantly, a warm glow spreading throughout the rapidly dimming room.
“Will it storm?”
“Perhaps,” he replied. “Are you frightened of storms?”
Daphne shook her head. “No. I’m frightened of delays,” she said. “I don’t want anything to slow our progress. I’m terrified that Father and Lord Pozenby might catch up to us before it’s too late for them to intervene.”
He rose to his full height and crossed the narrow space between the hearth and the settee she occupied.
When he settled on it beside her, it groaned beneath his weight.
Not for the first time, Daphne was struck by his appearance.
Fletcher Quill, Lord Aldwyn, was more than simply handsome.
He was darkly beautiful in a way that defied description with his curling black hair and vivid blue eyes.
With their thick lashes and topped by winged brows, most ladies of her acquaintance would be envious of them.
Beyond that, the perfectly carved bone structure was reminiscent of ancient sculptures.
He made her feel, not homely, but perhaps a bit like a little brown wren in the presence of a peacock.
She was pretty enough in a very ordinary sort of way with blonde hair and soft features.
But he was vivid and bold, everything about him commanding attention.
“You really are terribly handsome.”
He turned toward her with an amused expression that wasn’t quite a smile. “You say that if it was somehow a flaw.”
“It isn’t a flaw so much as… well, perhaps a bit inconvenient?
I don’t mind so much that you are marrying me for my fortune.
Better you than Cecil Pozenby or even Viscount Lynley.
But everyone will look at us and know that is why you married me, and I find that ever so slightly humiliating,” she admitted.
“I am not certain that is true. I’m hardly a prize, given that I bring quite literally only myself and significant debt to the match…
regardless, I’m sorry that you feel that way.
I’m sorry that you haven’t been afforded the luxury—and the dignity—of being courted and wed solely for yourself.
Which is, in every way, quite remarkable. ”
She made a sound that was laden with skepticism.
“I’m not at all remarkable. Dull. Dull Daphne.
That’s what I heard some of the more unkind debutantes refer to me as during our first season out.
It was true enough, I suppose. I was so afraid of putting a foot wrong then that I never dared to be myself.
And now? Well, there’s no reason to behave.
I can’t go more wrong than I already have. ”
“Jealous cats,” he mused. “You’re a bit of a rebel, Daphne. Running away from an arranged marriage after having narrowly avoided one disastrous marriage and escaping a kidnapping scheme. I’d call you many things, but never dull.”
“That may be the nicest thing anyone has ever said about me.”
“Then they are all fools.”
The room grew quiet then. Awkwardness—no, expectation, perhaps—stretched between them.
And she wasn’t so naive that she didn’t know what it meant.
She might not have experienced all the things most betrothed young women had, like stolen kisses or scandalous embraces, but she’d heard enough whispers about such things that she had an inkling.
And she realized in that moment that if Fletcher wished to kiss her, she very much wished to let him.
“Fletcher?”
“Yes, Daphne?”
Bolder than she had ever been, Daphne uttered a request that would change everything. “Would you mind very much to kiss me? … It’s just that… well, this is my second betrothal and no one ever has.”
Silence so thick a pin drop would have sounded like canon fire seemed to grow around them, wrapping them up like clinging vines. Regret clawed at her intensely. She’d been bold and now she knew that she’d taken it too far. “Never mind,” she finally managed. “It was a sill thin—”
She didn’t finish the statement. She couldn’t. His lips had settled firmly over hers even as his arms closed about her, hauling her against him with a kind of possessive certainty that left her as breathless as the sensation of his firmly sculpted lips moving overs.
It was at that precise moment that all thought fled. And Daphne allowed herself to simply savor the moment and the man.