Chapter Twenty-Four #2
She should not have kept listening but couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever James and his father were discussing was of utmost importance.
“Do not assume, Tilburn, that I have not pieced together your counterstrategy. If Miss Lancaster rejects your suit, you intend to argue that you still kept your part of our bargain, that you had undertaken the courtship as agreed but can’t be held accountable for her rejection.”
Daphne’s lungs tightened to the point of pain. Counterstrategy? One that involved his expectations of a rejected suit? His apparent hope for a rejection. From her.
She slowly shook her head, attempting to dislodge the unease that saturated her every thought. His attentions had been too pointed to have been anything other than an effort at courting her. All of Society knew his intentions and the happiness with which she had accepted them.
“The outcome of all this does not rest on my shoulders alone,” he said. “You may have the power to threaten Mother and Ben and even me, but you cannot threaten her. You cannot force her hand as you have forced mine.”
Forced his hand? No. He could not have meant that.
“I am not interested in her choices, James. Only in the outcome of yours.” Lord Techney spoke with every bit as much firmness as James had a moment earlier. “This family needs the connection, needs the boost to our status. Your efforts here are meant to secure that. You will not fail me in this.”
Say he is wrong, Daphne silently begged James. You are courting me because you like me. Tell him. Tell him you are beginning to love me.
But no correction was forthcoming.
Daphne’s surroundings lost focus, her eyes refusing to sharpen the painful scene playing out before her. She leaned heavily against the tree, her breaths coming in near-silent gasps. James was being forced to court her.
She could make out their silhouettes and hear the vague sound of their voices still in quiet conversation, but nothing made sense in her spinning mind. Each breath she took required more effort than the last. Her throat seemed to be closing off as she looked away.
He was courting her to obtain social status for his family, to fulfill an agreement he’d made with his father.
He did not pay her these attentions out of adoration or tenderness or any of the other reasons she, in her foolishness, had imagined.
The gentleman she’d silently adored for six years had courted her just as she’d hoped but hadn’t meant a moment of it.
And that meant he didn’t love her.
Hot tears stung Daphne’s eyes. She had believed him. She had naively embraced his lies.
She heard Scamp bark but did not look about for him. If anything, her surroundings had grown more indiscernible. A nauseating weakness overtook her. Daphne had never swooned in the course of her entire life yet felt dangerously close to sinking to the ground.
Long-past memories she’d forced herself not to think about rushed headlong to the surface.
“Such a lovely looking family, the Lancasters. Except for that little Daphne. A little mouse of a thing. Has not a bit of her mother’s beauty.
She’ll not amount to much.” “Go, Daphne”—her father’s voice—“I would far rather be alone.”
The deep, pulsating wounds those comments and dozens like them had inflicted over the years ripped through her anew.
She closed her eyes, pressing her hand to her chest the way she’d done since childhood.
She’d always managed to push back the pain, ignore the sting of ridicule and rejection until time lessened its impact.
But as she stood there alone in the small cluster of trees, the anguish refused to be silenced.
For the first time, she could not discount those caustic evaluations.
She had only ever warranted the notice of one gentleman, and he had fabricated it all.
“Daphne?”
She recognized James’s voice but didn’t open her eyes.
“What’s happened?” he asked. “Are you unwell?”
Unwell? A less-apt word had likely never been spoken. Daphne forced herself to look at him, allowing herself the tiniest morsel of hope that she would see in his eyes something to refute the bitter truth she had stumbled upon.
His expression was precisely the same one she’d seen repeatedly over the weeks: concern, sympathy. A quarter of an hour earlier, that look would have melted her. Now she felt only cold.
She had wept for days after Evander’s death.
She had probably cried when her mother had died, though she’d been too young at the time to remember.
Outside of those two moments, she had met the slightest threat of tears with fierce resistance.
Standing there so entirely alone, forced to face the horridness of her situation, she did not hold back the rush of emotion.
“Good heavens, Daphne. You’re crying.”
She flinched at the soft brush of his fingers along her cheek. His hand stilled immediately.
“What has happened? Why are—” He laid his hands on her arms. She pulled back. “How long have you been standing here?”
“Please leave me be,” Daphne whispered.
“You may have misunderstood something you heard. I—”
She pushed away from the tree, distancing herself from him. “Just leave me alone.”
The panic-stricken look on his face told her what would come next. He would attempt to explain it all, to justify a month’s worth of lies. She could not bear it. No one should be made to endure so much deceit.
Daphne turned and walked swiftly in the direction of the house, though avoiding the gathered guests at the picnic. She did not slow as she crossed back to the house.
She dropped onto the small bench set near the door, pressing her hand to her wounded heart. She could not stay—not now. Certainly Persephone would agree to leave forthwith. She likely would not even press Daphne for an explanation.
She only sank further at the thought of facing Adam. How certain she’d been that time would prove his doubts unfounded. How assured she’d felt of James’s regard. But she’d been wrong. So very wrong.
Her fairy-tale courtship was nothing but a lie.