Chapter Three
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Daphne sat at her dressing table eyeing her formidable brother-in-law in the mirror. “I fully intend to petition the House of Lords and have this particular form of torture outlawed.”
Adam merely shrugged. “Most of them would not comprehend a word you said.”
She smiled in spite of herself. Adam had on more than one occasion denounced the Upper House as “a collection of molded jellies piled atop one another without so much as a thought between them all.”
“I will speak in short, simple sentences,” she said. “That should increase their chances of grasping the issue at hand.”
“Your sister was so eager for a Season she resorted to underhanded schemes and the employment of diversionary tactics.” Adam looked no more happy about that bit of history than he had six years earlier when it had originally played out.
“Circumstances were different for Athena.” Daphne’s gaze drifted back to her own reflection—her plain, short, unexceptional reflection. “For one thing, she was older than I am. Further, she takes great enjoyment in the social whirl. Also, she had Harry.”
“She did not know she had Harry,” Adam countered.
“She did not know she had Harry in the way she had Harry, but she still had him.”
“Splitting hairs will do you no good, Daphne.” Adam came and stood beside her mirror, looking at her directly rather than reflection to reflection.
Though she did not think his badly scarred face truly bothered him, she had noticed he seldom looked in mirrors.
“Like it or not, you are to have a Season.”
“But I do not wish to have one.” She preferred the quiet of home and the company of those who understood her reticence and accepted her as she was. “I have made my bows. Can we not declare that sufficient pain and suffering and return to Falstone Castle?”
“This is Society. No amount of pain and suffering will ever prove sufficient.”
“How comforting.” She turned in her chair and looked directly at him. “You know I hate these things every bit as much as you do. I am doomed to end my debut in failure.”
“If Society doesn’t take to you, Daphne, it will be no failure on your part. You are well-spoken and intelligent and—”
“When was the last time a gentleman at your club slapped his crony on the shoulder and said ‘Perchance, have you met London’s newest diamond? Every gentleman in Town is clamoring to win her regard because she is so well-spoken and intelligent.’” Daphne ended in a withering tone.
“I doubt 90 percent of the gentlemen in London could spell the word perchance, let alone use it correctly in a sentence.”
She let her disenchantment show. “And these are the gems with whom Persephone wishes me to spend the next few months?”
Adam was clearly not willing to debate. He stood mutely, waiting.
“Why could we not spend the afternoon in our usual way?” Daphne tried a different approach. “Would not an hour spent in your book room discussing the issues of the day or simply reading quietly be a more pleasant use of our time?”
She had begun spending every afternoon with Adam shortly after coming to live with her sister and brother-in-law years earlier.
Persephone, however, insisted that Daphne begin making calls and receiving callers as the other ladies of the ton did.
Not only was Daphne to be forced into social interactions, something she severely disliked, but she was also to be denied her afternoons with Adam, something she treasured.
“You know better than to expect me to contradict your sister.” He was unwaveringly devoted to his wife.
There would be no avoiding her obligations. She took a fortifying breath—a tactic Adam himself had taught her when she was young and often too shy to leave the house.
“I suppose I must report to the drawing room for Persephone’s at-home.” She stepped toward the door. “Shall I provide you with a detailed recounting afterward?”
“Actually”—he caught up to her and guided her into the corridor—“I will be joining you.”
“You are attending an at-home? Has someone informed the Times? This could be the lead story.” Though she teased him, Adam’s presence at tea was entirely unprecedented.
“One remark like that and I will have you locked inside Almack’s and force you to listen to Lady Jersey prattle for hours on end until you apologize in abject humiliation, you impudent child.”
Daphne smiled inwardly. Adam did have a flare for colorful threats.
Persephone was standing at the center of the drawing room when Daphne and Adam arrived, supervising the setting out of tea and finger foods for the guests who were anticipated.
“Adam, are you joining us this afternoon?” Persephone laughed, obviously convinced her husband had no intention of remaining.
“I am,” he said.
The look of surprise on Persephone’s face was very nearly comical. “What, may I ask, has brought on this unexpected change? I doubt you have suddenly grown fond of Society.”
“I would like nothing better than to see the lot of them fall into the Thames and never be heard from again.”
Persephone’s brow pulled down. “Are you planning to abscond with them, here, this afternoon, and deliver them to their watery graves? Because I warn you, there will be no kidnapping during my at-home, Adam Boyce.”
“I won’t abduct or shoot any of your guests. Beyond that, I make no promises.”
With a grace Daphne had never possessed, Persephone glided to Adam’s side and slipped her hand in his, pulling him to a nearby sofa.
She sat close to his side, a smile touching her face.
Daphne enjoyed watching the two of them together.
To be so loved by another person. She had wanted that all her life.
She’d been but twelve years old when James Tilburn had captured her heart.
She always thought of him as James Tilburn, both names together.
He, however, likely had no recollection of that meeting or of the timid girl who had been so touched by his kindness.
She saw him about Town occasionally but never managed the courage to speak with him beyond the polite greetings customarily exchanged amongst very distant acquaintances.
“I have a feeling you have concocted some sort of plan, Adam,” Persephone said. “You simply must tell me what it is.”
“Not a plan, dear.” He held his wife’s hand in both of his.
“Then why remain? You seldom do.”
“Because today I have”—his gaze flicked briefly to Daphne—“invited a guest.”
A guest?
“And who is this guest?” Persephone’s curiosity had clearly been piqued.
“Do not press for information, as I have no intention of offering any.”
Daphne could see Persephone intended to do just that, and she silently encouraged her sister. Whom could he possibly have invited? Adam could not abide the company of anyone outside their intimate circle of family and close friends.
“Lady Genevieve,” the butler announced from the door of the drawing room.
Persephone shot Adam a questioning look. “Your guest?” she whispered.
“That old bat had better not even be invited to my funeral,” Adam grumbled.
“Behave,” Persephone scolded as she rose to her feet and moved to greet the first arrival of the afternoon.
Adam stood as well, though no one could possibly interpret his expression as one of pleasure.
Lady Genevieve appeared appropriately alarmed at his presence and general aura.
She quickly found a seat far enough from Adam to apparently feel safe once more.
He offered a bow and a mumbled greeting before selecting a chair beneath the tall windows as far as possible from the designated gathering area without actually leaving the room.
Persephone sat at the tea service, as was expected of a hostess. Daphne sat beside her, knowing she would be required to help serve the guests.
Why could Persephone not have left well enough alone? Daphne wanted no part in any of this. A future as an elderly, maidenly aunt appealed far more than being paraded about Town in the hope that somebody of reasonable intelligence, conversation, and hygiene took notice of her.
Lady Genevieve looked her over with an air of blatant curiosity. Daphne doubted she would ever grow accustomed to that. For eighteen years, she had been the Lancaster sister no one ever noticed.
“I understand you mean to attempt a Season, Miss Lancaster. I applaud your determination. You have never struck me as one who could make a splash in London society.”
From his distant seat, Adam cleared his throat far too loudly for the act to have been unintentional. Lady Genevieve, obviously startled, glanced in his direction. Adam’s piercing glare did not waver from their guest.
Lady Genevieve looked decidedly uncomfortable for a moment. “That is to say . . . I am so pleased you will be gracing Society with your presence.”
Adam’s lips silently formed the words old bat as his eyes drifted to the window. His offense on Daphne’s behalf was touching, if unnecessary. Daphne knew all of London was not only shocked at her come-out but was also fully expecting her to fail rather spectacularly.
The presence of the Dangerous Duke had the happy effect of cutting short Lady Genevieve’s visit. She stayed not a minute longer than the quarter-hour expected of her and spent the entirety of the call glancing uneasily in the direction of her host.
Looks ranging from apprehension to full-bodied fear seemed the order of the day.
A great many guests paraded through the drawing room.
Every single one stopped short upon spying Adam; a few even turned around and darted back out.
Persephone barely concealed her amusement, letting her annoyance show more often.
For her part, Daphne rather preferred the shorter visits.