Chapter Nine #2
But it wasn’t simply his own fate and the need to secure Daphne’s fortune for himself.
If she were forced to marry Pozenby—he couldn’t even imagine what that would do to her.
Over time, the man would strangle any hint of the strong, independent, and quite remarkable woman she appeared to be.
He was cruel, vicious, and it would be—if she was his wife—well within his rights to subject her to any sort of treatment he chose.
There had been, to his mind, enough men in Daphne’s life who had treated her thusly.
Even Lynley. While the man had truly believed himself to be jilted, there had been no great effort on anyone’s part to locate her when she’d “eloped” before.
No one had ever thought to check and see if perhaps she’d taken off of her own accord or if she’d been forced to do so.
Everyone else’s word had held more weight than her own.
Because she was a woman? Perhaps. Because she was young?
Again, it was possible. Or maybe it was simply that she was surrounded by so many selfish people, himself included in that number at present, that no one dared to give her even the slightest consideration.
She’d suffered terribly and suffered still, because the world was simply not designed to accommodate a woman who did not bow to the will of men.
Perhaps it was his lack of expectation prior to the unforeseen tragedies that had befallen the Quill line, but he’d never understood the appeal of a woman who lacked a mind of her own.
If a wife was meant to be a helpmate to man, as the Church told them she should, then surely a mindless woman would only be a burden.
In truth, he felt that such behavior was encouraged in women because men feared what women might become without some degree of dependence.
But then, he’d often been accused of overthinking things.
Analyzing, dissecting, picking something apart until he could examine every last bit of it—that was his way.
And it had often made life more difficult rather than less.
They were near Nottingham, had stopped just outside of it to stretch their legs and allow the coachman and the horses a rest. Daphne emerged from the coaching inn where she’d made use of their facilities to wash up.
Even a short drive could leave one covered in dust. Of course, the aging carriage they’d procured didn’t need additional dust from the road.
It had come with more than enough of its own.
Fletcher approached her. “Let us walk the rest of the way. I’ll inform the coachman we are going on ahead and when he has finished his meal and the horses changed, he can follow and pick us up. I cannot face the notion of being cooped up in the carriage just yet.”
She sighed with relief. “Yes. Thank you. The fresh air is divine.”
After discussing the matter with the coachman, Fletcher returned to her and they set out, making their way along a small path that bordered the road, just on the other side of the hedgerow.
The weather was mild, the sun shining though the air was crisp.
It was quite different from their walk the previous evening.
Perhaps, if he were to believe in such things, it might be a portent of things to come.
They were leaving the storms behind—both of them together—and walking into the light.
“What shall we do after?” she asked.
“After we are married?”
She nodded.
He shrugged. “It will be a struggle at first… to find a balance between societal obligations and the management of the estate. It’s quite in shambles.”
“Must societal obligations be met?”
“You do not wish to be part of society?” he asked.
Daphne shook her head. “It isn’t that I do not wish it, but that it may have no use for me.
I have significant scandals attached to my name now.
Even if I am welcomed, it will be with reservation…
and likely only so others can watch us falter.
I’m not certain that I’m cut out for being an object of curiosity any more than I’ve been cut out for being an object of ridicule. ”
“We need not do anything you do not wish. If society is not welcoming to you, then we need not be welcoming to it. Nothing that has occurred has been of your own making… well, save for this elopement. Nothing that preceded it has been of your making and that you are the only one being held accountable for it is unconscionable.”
“You are a truly remarkable man, Fletcher Quill. More so than you know, I think.”
“The same description—remarkable—could well be applied to you. As could resilient. Resourceful. There is much to be admired in you… and with every passing moment, I find myself more grateful to Mrs. Dove-Lyon than you may ever know.”
Her steps slowed, then faltered until she was standing still among the lacy shadows of the trees. “When you kissed me… was it only because I asked you to do so?”
“No. It was only because I wanted to do so. And if there is any question, yes, I want to do so again. It’s been ever present in my mind since,” he replied with unflinching honesty.
Before either of them could say more, he simply took her in his arms again.
And when he kissed her that time, there was no hesitation from her.
No shyness borne from ignorance. She knew what to expect and she came willingly into his embrace where his advances were evenly met.
Daphne would not be the shy, retiring sort. She would not be the wife who needed coaxing to the marriage bed. Instead, she was proving that she was possessed of a passionate and curious nature, one given to sensual exploration. What a glorious turn of fortune that was!