Chapter Thirty-Six
o
The next evening, Fanny motioned James aside in the corridor. She was the chambermaid who had accompanied James and Daphne on their memorable ride through Hyde Park. She held an impressive handful of deepest-red roses.
“Miss Daphne prefers the red roses,” Fanny whispered, her eyes darting about the corridor as if she were sharing a great national secret and feared being found out. “These’re the reddest we have, I’d wager.”
Fanny had taken a great interest in his rather pathetic romantic endeavors, asking after his success whenever they crossed paths. She had a crookedly endearing smile and an infectious enthusiasm James had grown quickly fond of.
Though the flowers were beautiful, their fragrance filling the air, James couldn’t like the idea of Fanny’s getting in trouble for taking them. “Will you be scolded for this?” he asked.
She shook her head confidently. “M’ uncle is the groundskeeper here at the London house. He knows all about you courting our Miss Daphne. We’re all cheering for you, in fact. Such a quiet, sweet thing, Miss Daphne. She deserves a good man who loves her.”
James took the bouquet with a smile of gratitude. “Perhaps if the rest of the staff would rally behind me and drop a few kind words in Miss Lancaster’s ear about how worthy and good I am.”
Fanny laughed, her smile turning evermore lopsided. “We’ll do that, Lord Tilburn.”
He smiled, touched by her support. “Wish me luck.”
“I’ll do even better,” she said. “I’ll pray.”
As he reached the corridor that led to the drawing room, James decided Fanny must have been praying for all she was worth. The lady who had occupied his every waking thought stood at the head of the enormous grand staircase. She smiled when she saw him.
“You look exceptionally happy this evening,” he said.
“This promises to be an enjoyable evening.” Her eyes strayed repeatedly during the brief reply to the small bouquet in his hand. James recognized a hopeful expression when he saw one.
He offered her the flowers with as much gallantry as he could without being ridiculous.
“I know these roses. You’ve been pilfering the grounds?”
Ah, that lovely dimple of hers! “It seems the groundskeeper likes me. He allowed me to bring these to you.”
They walked beside one another, neither speaking, though the silence was not awkward.
A natural, easy smile touched Daphne’s lips as she breathed deep the roses’ fragrance.
James simply watched her, pleased that she appeared less somber than she so often did.
If mere flowers could have such a happy effect, he told himself he’d find a way to bring her an offering regularly.
James slipped his hand around hers and lifted her hand to his lips. “I have missed you,” he whispered.
She looked quite convinced he was teasing her. “Since breakfast this morning?”
“Is it so strange to miss someone after such a short separation?” he asked.
“If that someone is me, yes.”
James held up his index finger in warning. “Daphne. Do I need to pull you in front of a mirror again?”
“I have thought back on that conversation.”
He could not tell by her expression whether those recollections had been pleasant ones.
“Did you mean what you said about continuing your courtship because you wished to and not merely because you were forced?”
His Daphne was standing on the proverbial riverbank, debating whether to accept the river god’s escape or turn and attempt to trust her Apollo. Theirs was a tenuous connection, the thinnest, most fragile of threads.
“I meant it with utmost sincerity,” he told her. “I liked you from the first, and that liking grew to affection. Soon that affection deepened to a tenderness I have never felt for another person in all my life. In time, my dearest Daphne, I hope you can come to trust the truth of that.”
They reached the doors to the drawing room, and James released her hand and motioned for her to precede him.
Daphne looked at him with uncertainty as she passed. Beneath that bewilderment, however, was a reassuring hint of hope.
Miss Artemis’s voice rang through the drawing room. “Are you absolutely certain I cannot pretend to die?” she asked with something akin to desperation. “Or at least swoon? I am particularly adept at feigning a swoon.”
“No such display will be required this evening,” the duchess said.
James happened to meet the duke’s eyes in that moment and caught in them a look of amusement that would not have seemed so foreign on any other gentleman.
He had always suspected the duke cared a great deal for Daphne but, until that moment, hadn’t realized he had a fondness for his youngest sister-in-law as well.
“Your father accepted our invitation almost before we issued it,” His Grace said with a twist of his mouth.
“I do not find that particularly surprising.” Father had likely nearly swooned himself at the prospect of being a guest at Falstone House.
“It is absolutely essential that you do not appear particularly surprised by anything that might be said or done this night.” The duke gave him a penetrating look, emphasizing the importance of his words.
“I will do my best, Your Grace, though I cannot guarantee my acting abilities.”
“Your best is all we ask.”
“Is there anything I might do to aid your effort, Your Grace?”
“You can begin by not ‘Your Grace’-ing me all the time. Your father must be made to see that you are an accepted part of this family.”
But was he? James fervently wished it were true, though he could not quite convince himself. “What do you want me to call you?” He was not about to hazard a guess.
The duke did not pause to ponder or debate with himself. Apparently he had thought out this part of the plan ahead of time. “Kielder will do. Though my family members call me Adam, I think it wise not to give your Father any reason to find you impertinent.”
“And the duchess? How am I to address her?” He seemed to have hit upon an unexpected question.
The lieutenant, standing in the drawing room doorway, gave the decisive opinion.
“The privilege of Christian names is rarely given between any gentleman and lady unless they are inarguably related. I believe Persephone must be ‘Your Grace’-ed and ‘ma’am’-ed throughout the evening.
And Artemis had best remain Miss Artemis”—he threw his youngest sister an impish smile—“though it lends her an air of maturity that could never ring entirely true.”
Miss Artemis clasped her palm to her heart. “Your cruelty has slain me!” she declared in tones that rang with drama as she sank to the ground in an excessively graceful manner.
Not a single member of her family rushed to her inert form, nor looked the least bit concerned. Their countenances registered a mixture of amusement and exasperation. James found himself smiling, something that seemed to occur far more often than not of late.
A moment after melting into a heap on the floor, Miss Artemis regained her feet. “Was that not quite convincing?” she asked, obviously certain her swoon had struck fear into their hearts for her well-being. “I am certain Lord Techney could not help but be moved by such a sight.”
Their Graces merely shook their heads, turning to each other for a private conversation.
Lieutenant Lancaster came to Miss Artemis’s side. “Should a swoon prove necessary, we will be certain to inform you.”
“Excellent.” Miss Artemis could scarcely have looked more satisfied. “We must concoct a secret sign of some kind, a word or a gesture by which I will know I need to have a convenient fit of the vapors.”
James leaned a touch closer to Daphne. “Miss Artemis must keep everyone’s days lively.”
Her eyes smiled up into his. “If there is one thing I can say for my family, it is that life amongst us is never dull.”
He laughed at that. “Life with my family is hardly dull, but it is an entirely different kind of interesting.”
Her expression clouded with concern. “How is your mother?”
“She is well,” James said. “And tells anyone who will listen that your teas are nothing short of miraculous.”
“I am so pleased she is feeling better.” To his utter astonishment, Daphne slipped her hand into his. “I have always admired how deeply you care about her. You are a good son, though I have my suspicions no one ever tells you as much.”
He lightly touched her face with his free hand, a shiver of awareness passing down his arm and through his body. She affected him more every time he was in her company.
He knew her blush was one of pleasure. He brushed his thumb along her cheek. Given time and a little encouragement, she might come to trust him with more than just a hypothetical estate. One day she might allow him to care for her.
Something hit James squarely on the temple—too small and soft to cause injury but solid enough to get his attention. At his feet, a wrapped candy rolled to a slow stop. That, no doubt, was what he’d felt hit his face. But who had lobbed it at him?
Lieutenant Lancaster, standing beside Miss Artemis, who appeared to be fighting a veritable fit of laughter, tossed an identical candy repeatedly in the air, catching it without taking his gaze off James. He mouthed the words “hands off” with a look of warning.
James complied but reluctantly. He had no desire to antagonize Daphne’s brother, though the prospect of continuing to keep her close to him was remarkably tempting.
An upstairs maid poked her head into the room. “Lord Techney’s carriage has just pulled up, Your Grace.”
“I ought to have him placed in the holding cupboard,” the duke said. “Alas, the evening calls for a bit more subtlety, more’s the pity.”
“The holding cupboard?” James asked Daphne. “I am dying of curiosity.”
“It is a very large closet,” she explained, “one large enough to seem like a small, windowless room. Adam considers it a somewhat acceptable stand-in for his beloved gibbet and stocks while he is in London. He only recently resigned himself to the fact that Persephone will not be persuaded to permit the installation of a rack.”