Chapter Thirty-Two #2
“Certainly not, Lord Tilburn.” Artemis seemed positively gleeful. “For I am working quite tirelessly at making the perfect picture of sorrow and suffering. The sky has been horridly uncooperative, but walking in apparent loneliness would be quite a nice touch, do you not think?”
James’s brows knit together and, after a moment of hesitation, he nodded.
Daphne slipped her arm through his when he offered it.
The feel of his arm beneath her hand still affected her as much as it ever had.
Her heart beat louder, her cheeks felt warmer.
They slowly retook the path she and Artemis had been walking before James and Scamp’s arrival.
“I am not at all certain just what your sister meant by all she said.” James kept a firm grip and a close eye on Scamp, though he glanced over at Daphne as they walked. “Does her sense of the dramatic never taper off?”
“Not ever.” How she wanted to ask him how he felt about staying at Falstone House. She feared the answers too much to ask. Her bravery did not yet extend that far.
“Let us hope her desire for sorrow and suffering cannot be fulfilled vicariously. If she tells your brother-in-law that I walked with your arm through mine, he will likely amputate mine.” Most people quaked when speaking of Adam’s threats.
James, though clearly acknowledging the reality of Adam’s fierceness, was not quelled by it.
Artemis kept to the promise she’d made Persephone and did not wander off nor trample the flowers, though her face took on the dreamy expression that indicated her thoughts had flown quite far afield.
“How much longer will Lieutenant Lancaster be ashore?” James asked.
“That is not yet firmly decided. Our father is quite ill, and Linus is torn between returning to our family home and returning to sea.”
“I am sorry to hear your father’s health is poor.” James’s eyes met hers, and she saw real concern in their depths. “Can anything be done for him?”
“I am afraid his decline is irreversible.”
James pressed her arm to his side, a squeeze she instinctively knew was meant to comfort her.
Beyond allowing her to read the letters sent by Father’s caregiver, no one in the family had truly reached out to her.
As Artemis was wont to point out, Daphne did not allow herself to be openly emotional.
Most people would not think to comfort someone who did not look in need of it. But James had done exactly that.
“A difficult position for your brother,” James said. “He no doubt feels his responsibility to his fellow seamen yet cannot deny his family duty either.”
“We do not know yet what he will decide.”
James watched her a moment as they walked. “If I do not mistake the matter, you hope he will choose to remain.”
How had he seen that? She had worked hard at keeping her opinions hidden lest Linus be unduly influenced by them. “I worry less when he is on dry land.”
“You have already lost one brother.” James understood what she had never voiced out loud.
“And both of my parents,” Daphne added quietly. Though death had not yet claimed her father, she knew full well she had lost him years ago.
James slipped his arm back enough to entwine his fingers with hers. “Please tell me if I might do anything for you. Anything at all.”
“Thank you.” How she managed the response, she could not say. Her eyes were fixed on her hand still held in his.
A moment later, they were once more arm in arm like any promenading couple. That flicker of hope she’d felt upon first leaving the house grew a little brighter. She did not know yet if she could trust its light, but she clung to it for that one beautiful moment.
Then that moment died.
Mrs. Bower and her daughter came around the corner and directly toward them. There would be no avoiding the encounter.
“Why, Lord Tilburn.” Mrs. Bower rushed over, her daughter swift on her heels. “This is fortuitous.”
Miss Bower’s attention shifted too quickly to Daphne. “Miss Lancaster. What a surprise.”
“Indeed,” her mother said. “I had understood you and Lord Tilburn were no longer on friendly terms.”
James spoke before Daphne could think of a response. “I cannot imagine why anyone would think that. Clearly Miss Lancaster and I are quite fond of one another.” He indicated their current friendly position.
“You are walking here alone?” Miss Bower’s words held a note of censure.
Daphne decided it was time she joined in her own defense. “My sister Artemis is with us, as I am certain you can see.”
“Artemis.” Mrs. Bower tapped her finger against her lips. “Are all of the Lancaster sisters named for goddesses?”
“No, Mother. Daphne, you will recall, was only a nymph.”
That distinction had pained and bewildered Daphne all her life. She had always been the nymph among the goddesses.
“Daphne wasn’t merely a nymph,” James said. “She was the daughter of the river god. Apollo mourned her tragic loss eternally. There was and is nothing ‘mere’ about her.”
The praise was as buoying as it was unexpected. And yet, there he stood, his chin held at a defiant angle as if daring the Bowers to contradict him.
“At least her name isn’t ‘Cynthia,’” Artemis said, her offhand observation punctuated by some indefinable thrust. “I’d hide away in a turret tower if I were burdened with such an insignificant and dull name as that.”
Daphne’s champions had quite effectively silenced the Bowers.
“If you will excuse us,” James said. “I should very much like to continue my pleasant sojourn with my lovely companions.”
“We will see you at the Kirkham’s ball at the end of the week?” Mrs. Bower asked.
“If I attend, I will do so as a member of Their Graces’s party and, therefore, cannot say whether or not our circles will overlap.” As far as set downs went, it was a gracefully and pointedly executed one.
The Bowers understood the message. Their upward aspirations would not be accomplished on James’s coattails. They continued on their way, heads pressed together, plotting already.
“Lord Lampton will no doubt be at the Kirkham’s ball,” Mrs. Bower told her daughter. “He is of higher standing than the Tilburns will ever be. We must set our sights a touch higher.”
“But Lord Lampton is so odd,” Miss Bower objected.
“He is an earl, Cynthia. He is allowed to be odd.” It was the last thing Daphne overheard before the ladies were too distant for their words to be distinguishable.
A moment of silence passed between Daphne, James, and Artemis. The others were no doubt waiting for her to fall to pieces. She didn’t intend to. “Artemis, I didn’t realize you disliked the name Cynthia so much.”
“I don’t dislike it at all; it is a lovely name.” Artemis glided past them. “I simply dislike her.” She looked back over her shoulder. “No one speaks to my sister that way. Not anyone. Not ever.”
Daphne was touched more than she felt equal to expressing. She didn’t think Artemis had ever come so close to saying that she cared about her.
“The Bowers are insufferable,” James said. “I hope you don’t mean to give heed to anything they said or implied.”
She squared her shoulders. She had, after all, decided just that morning to be strong and courageous even in the face of her own lingering doubts. “I am determined, Lord Tilburn, that no one will ever be permitted to hurt me again.”