Chapter Twenty-Nine #2
Daphne found she could smile at that. “He has had an influence on me, I will confess.” They walked a moment in contented silence. “I am enjoying my rare moment outside, as Adam predicted I would.”
“He is almost as intelligent as he is fearsome,” Linus said.
“And he is coming this way.” Daphne motioned toward the figure of their frightening brother-in-law walking in their direction with his usual air of barely concealed bloodthirstiness. “If you have other things needing attending, I am certain he will see to it I complete my day’s exercise.”
A look of relief slid over his features. “Excellent. I will leave you to it, then.” He disappeared down the path before Daphne had a chance to say so much as one more word.
“Why is it that gentlemen can’t seem to abandon me fast enough?” she asked no one in particular.
She had been doing better. Resignation had very nearly given way to something resembling contentment.
But then James had made his sudden appearance—a few words, a kindly glance—and she once again found herself in a battle against her own heart.
She would wonder for just a moment if perhaps James’s most recent actions were indicative of some tender regard only to swiftly remind herself that she had misinterpreted his attentions in precisely that way before with disastrous results.
Self-pity had become a dangerous tendency of hers lately, one she would do well not to indulge. She rubbed a hand over the very spot on her arm where James had touched her two evenings before. That tiny contact had nearly brought her to tears.
She missed James. She missed the connection she’d thought they’d had, the tenderness she’d imagined in his eyes, the attentions she’d believed were sincere.
Adam arrived at her side in the next instant. “For all his show of being a rough-around-the-edges naval man, when it comes to dealing with the women of his family, Linus Lancaster is a blasted coward.” Adam motioned her ahead. “Now. Two more circuits, if you don’t mind.”
“Are you walking with me?” It was not the same as being granted an afternoon in his book room, but it was better than being left out entirely.
“No one else in this family can win a battle of the minds with you, so I suppose your well-being falls to me.” He motioned her ahead of him, back on the path that wove through the garden.
“Not even Persephone?”
“She could,” Adam answered. “But being the ideal husband I am, I mean to spare her that task.”
“How is she feeling?”
Adam shook his head. “None of your diversionary tactics. Persephone is not the topic at hand.”
They passed a rosebush, its fragrance strong, almost being overpowering.
“I am growing exceptionally weary of discussing my dashed hopes, Adam.”
He was unsympathetic. “I am growing weary of suffering through a daily tragedy of Shakespearean proportions.”
She eyed him sidelong. “You are expecting me to stab myself in the family crypt?”
“I will stab myself in the family crypt if I have to endure your infuriatingly calm resignation one day more.”
For all Daphne loved him, Adam was not always a comfort in one’s time of need. “Resignation? You would rather I weep inconsolably?”
“Yes.”
She smiled at the ridiculousness of that. “You wish me to turn into Artemis?”
Adam kept walking, his gaze decidedly not wandering in her direction. Daphne knew what came next. He always grew uncomfortable with personal conversations.
“You have retreated, Daphne. I find myself confronted once more with the little girl who came to live with me six years ago, who seldom spoke and rarely looked at anyone. I cannot like seeing this change in you.”
The comparison pricked at her. She felt like that little girl again in many ways.
The confidence she’d gained in the past half-dozen years had crumbled more than a bit, as had the assurance that her timidity and comparative plainness weren’t the hindrance to happiness she’d once believed them to be.
She was working very hard to keep the pain at bay.
A sudden commotion cut off whatever he meant to say next. People were rushing in and out of Westminster, voices raised in obvious panic.
“What the blazes is going on?” Adam muttered. He cupped her elbow with his hand and led her in that direction, eyeing the comings and goings. “Hartley.” He called out to his fellow duke. “What is all this commotion?”
His Grace turned toward them, and Daphne knew on the instant that something truly terrible had happened. “Perceval’s been shot in Commons.”
Merciful heavens.
“Is the Prime Minister dead?” Adam asked.
“No one seems to know for sure.” They were all moving very nearly at a run. “It is chaos. Utter chaos. Who knows how many others might be lying in wait with pistols at the ready.”
Assassins in the halls of Parliament? Daphne forced herself to breathe normally and keep calm.
“We must not allow this government to come to a standstill at the hands of murderers.” Adam twisted the handle of his walking stick a half turn in one direction followed by a full turn in the other and pulled an épée from within its wooden sheath. “Let’s go clear the corridors.”
“There might be any number of assassins inside, Adam.” Daphne’s stomach tied in knots.
“And I mean to see to it that number becomes zero.” He turned to the Duke of Hartley. “Where’s your man Tilburn?”
“Seeking information.” They’d nearly reached the crowd pressing in and out of the entrance to Westminster. “Tilburn!” the duke shouted, waving.
The sudden return of James Tilburn amidst the turmoil of an assassination at Westminster surprisingly didn’t fluster Daphne in the least. She felt more numb than anything else.
“I can’t seem to get a consistent answer to anything, Your Grace.” James addressed his employer. “All anyone can agree on is that Perceval was shot at close range.”
“Tilburn, take Daphne home.” Adam’s words emerged clipped and quick. “Directly to Falstone House. No stops along the way.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
“And remain there until I arrive,” Adam added. “No matter the protests that house full of stubborn women will no doubt make, you stay there. Abandon them and I will scoop your brains from your skull with a ladle.”
“I’ll chain myself to the bannister if need be.” That earned James a brief smile from the Duke of Hartley but no notable reaction from Adam.
“Daphne, show Tilburn where the carriage is and return home posthaste.”
She nodded her agreement.
“And, James,” the Duke of Hartley jumped in quickly, “have one of the Falstone House footmen send word to my wife that I am well but will not be home until the mess here is sorted.”
“I will, Your Grace.”
“Be safe, Adam,” Daphne said.
“I always am.”
The two dukes strode into the crowd. Daphne summoned the cool head Adam had long ago taught her to maintain and led the way toward the Kielder carriage. “To Falstone House,” she instructed the coachman as James handed her inside.
Adam never employed anyone who wasn’t the absolute best at what he or she did.
His coachman was no exception. The crush of traffic on the London streets and the added chaos associated with the news spreading out of Westminster proved not the slightest hindrance.
The coach wound at a quick pace down road after road on its way home.
“Your sister does not seem the type to give in to hysterics,” James said, “but do you feel we ought to send for a physician?”
She shook her head. “Persephone is made of stronger stuff than that. We all are.”
Another moment passed in silence. “I truly had not intended to force my company upon you again, Miss Lancaster. If you would prefer, I will keep to the corridor or entryway at Falstone House.”
“As I said, Lord Tilburn, we are made of stronger stuff than that.” Her calm came easily now, as if the well of her emotions had finally run dry. “I won’t be bothered one way or the other.”