Chapter Thirty #2
“In the Lancaster family,” the lieutenant continued, “our lives have the uncanny tendency to resemble those of our ancient counterparts. I, for one, am hoping to not be strangled with my own lyre. If I possessed the smallest degree of intelligence, I would have chosen a different instrument, though at thirteen, it had seemed rather too comical a choice to turn down.” He shrugged, something of a mischievous smile hovering on his lips.
Did all the Lancasters know how to produce just such a look?
James had even seen Daphne’s face light with mischief on occasion.
The lieutenant continued. “How likely is it, do you think, Lord Tilburn, that our Daphne will find herself transformed into a tree?”
“A tree?” Was the man in earnest? “Not likely, I would venture.”
“On that, sir, I must beg to differ.” The lieutenant offered no further explanation.
“I place the blame entirely on Apollo,” the duke said. “If he’d been a man of purpose and determination, he not only would have wooed her with some degree of capability but would also have caught up with the stubborn girl before things got so blasted out of hand.”
James knew something about unsuccessful courtships and felt more than a bit of sympathy for Apollo. “Perhaps he realized too late what he would lose if he did not redouble his efforts. Perhaps he never was given the second chance he needed.”
“Perhaps,” the duke ventured, “he was a thick-witted buffoon.”
“But the river god might have given Apollo an opportunity to make things right before turning the poor girl into a tree,” James insisted.
Of a sudden, both men were looking directly at him, their expressions quite serious. The duke spoke, though obviously on both their behalves. “Had he—reluctantly, mind you—postponed the transformation long enough for Apollo to try his hand under very, very close scrutiny—”
“Armed scrutiny,” the lieutenant amended.
“—and only out of love for the nymph, not any degree of empathy for the bird-brained Apollo, would the addlepated man have made a mull of it, do you think? Would he have only made things worse? Made more promises only to break them?”
James understood now the reason for the story. He was cast in the role of Apollo to his modern-day Daphne. “If given the opportunity, he would have tried again. And again and again if need be.”
“The river god might still have whisked Daphne away, feeling Apollo was not good for her or good enough for her,” the duke warned.
“At least they could have discovered as much.” James’s pulse pounded in his neck.
They were going to give him a chance. Daphne might still reject him, might want nothing to do with him, but he had a chance.
“If nothing else, she might not have hidden herself away. Her loss of vibrancy was the true tragedy, not Apollo’s lost opportunity. She deserved better. She still does.”
“That,” the duke said, rising to his feet, “is exactly what I needed to hear.”
James rose as well. His Grace and the lieutenant walked away from the desk, pausing a few steps from the doorway. He looked back at James. “Come on, then. Time for dinner.”
“Dinner?”
“You do eat, do you not?”
“I do.” What was the duke getting at?
“You’ll be taking your evening meal here tonight.” His Grace pushed open the doors.
James took several quick steps in order to catch up with his apparent host for the evening. “I doubt I will be welcomed by the rest of your family. They were hardly happy to see me this evening whilst waiting for your return.”
“That is also not required.” His Grace motioned James into the drawing room. “If they wish to carve you alongside the braised beef, so be it. But if your presence here will help Daphne come back to us, then it is worth trying.”
“I will do whatever I can,” he promised. “I hate seeing her so withdrawn.”
“In case you are wondering,” the duke said, “you will be permitted to speak to her, look at her, be in the same room as she, but”—His Grace moved closer, eyes boring into James’s, his expression growing more ominous—“under no circumstances will you be permitted to touch her. One finger, Tilburn—you lay one finger on her, and I will break that finger and all its companions one at a time with a hot fire poker.”
“And I will drop you in the Thames with an anchor tied to your neck,” the lieutenant added.
“I understand.” James accepted the limits placed on him. He hadn’t expected to be permitted anything.
The Lancaster sisters were all in the sitting room when James and his would-be torturers stepped inside.
“Is Lord Tilburn staying for dinner?” Her Grace asked, clearly not too pleased by the prospect. “I hadn’t expected a guest.”
“Lord Tilburn is here as my prisoner,” the duke explained.
“Oh, how wonderfully horrid!” Miss Artemis sounded delighted. “I just knew you could be a dastardly, bloodthirsty guardian, Adam, if only you would put your mind to it. Prisoners! How wonderful!”
James’s attention was on Daphne. Physically, she appeared whole.
But her eyes were different. The spark had disappeared.
The look of forced serenity on her face slipped momentarily into surprise when her eyes fell on James.
She stood stiffly, brows drawn together, lips turned downward.
James stepped forward, alarmed, as the color in her face drained by degrees.
She held up her hand. He stopped a few steps from her, knowing what the gesture meant. Daphne’s eyes darted in the duke’s direction, then returned to James’s face almost immediately. She did not look happy to see him.
“Why have you remained?” she asked in an urgent whisper.
“Your brother-in-law invited me to take my evening meal here.”
Daphne shook her head. “The Dangerous Duke does not issue invitations. He threatened you.”
“I wanted to stay, and he is allowing me to.” It was something of a twist to the actual facts but true, just the same.
She only looked more confused. The life still hadn’t reentered her eyes, but at least there was a hint of animation in her face. “Well, then, welcome, Lord Tilburn.”
So formal. So impersonal. He bowed in response. “A pleasure, Miss Lancaster.”
She was not particularly talkative with her family, he noticed as the evening wore on. Aside from the occasional nod or quietly offered response, Daphne kept to herself throughout the meal. James had seen her with her family before and did not remember her ever being so distanced from them.
After dinner, Daphne took a seat near the window while the rest of her family sat in a more intimate grouping around the empty fireplace. No one seemed surprised by the distance she placed between herself and her family members. How commonplace had this become?
He had hoped in time to achieve some degree of absolution from the lady he’d harmed.
But his goal changed entirely over the course of that single evening.
He swore to himself he would do whatever he must to see her happy again, whether or not she ever forgave him.
His Daphne would not meet the same fate as her namesake.