Chapter Forty #2
“No doubt she’ll make a good match one day,” James said.
Mr. Lancaster looked at him then, brow drawn in obvious irritation. “Already married. To me, you bounder.” He followed that declaration with several epithets Daphne ought not to have been privy to.
James whispered an apology. “He does not recollect himself enough to hold his tongue.” To Mr. Lancaster he said, “I meant Daphne.”
“I have a girl named Daphne.” Mr. Lancaster drew in several difficult breaths. “Cute little thing. Likes to sit on my lap. Asks the smartest questions.”
When he dissolved into coughs, Mrs. Ashton provided his glass of water once more. She looked across at James, communicating without words that perhaps they ought to draw the visit to a conclusion. He knew the gentleman’s endurance was all but nonexistent.
He nodded his understanding. “We should let him rest,” he whispered to Daphne.
She remained entirely mute as he led her by the hand from the room. James closed the door behind them. The corridor was blessedly empty, providing him with a moment to gauge how overset she might be.
“I hope that was not too upsetting, Daphne.”
She fought with her composure. He could not very well leave her in the corridor battling emotions for anyone to see. She would be mortified.
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her to the small sitting room nearby. It was empty, so he left the door ajar.
Daphne leaned her head against his shoulder when he sat beside her on the sofa. She sighed. James took her hand in his.
“I understand what you meant now when you said my father remembered me but did not recognize me.”
“He has spoken about all of you at one time or another,” James said. “Though he shifts unpredictably between believing himself a child and speaking of his own children.”
“He remembers us, then?”
“All of you except Artemis. He does not seem to have any recollection of her. Mrs. Ashton believes he remembers his family as it was before his wife’s death but has shut out any memory afterward.”
“He was rarely with us afterward,” Daphne said. “Actually, that is not entirely accurate either. He spoke at times with the boys and quite a lot with Persephone. But not often with Athena. He never really acknowledged Artemis.”
“And what of you, Daphne? How was he with you?”
She did not answer immediately. James gently rubbed her hand with both of his, knowing the memories she had were not always happy.
“He told me once, when I was no more than seven, that he had no use for me, that he would much rather be alone than in my company.”
James winced. Was it any wonder she’d learned to guard herself against anticipated rejection? “Your father speaks more of you than of anyone else. And I assure you it is not to disparage your company. There is an abundance of pride and adoration in his recollections.”
“Then why would he have sent me away?” Heartache permeated every word, something in her tone putting him firmly in mind of a pained and frightened little girl.
James shifted enough to very nearly face her, though it necessitated breaking the contact between them.
She must have sensed his gaze because she turned her eyes up toward him.
“I know you have been through an ordeal this afternoon, but have you the endurance to hear a bit more, something which will probably prove likewise tumultuous?”
“Is it something awful?”
“No.”
She nodded, and James took it as permission to proceed. He hoped he was doing the right thing.
“Your father told me—or whomever he thought me to be during that visit—that though his wife was an acclaimed beauty, what had captured his interest and heart was her wit and intelligence and goodness. Those qualities, he said, were what continually drew him back to her.” Daphne seemed to be holding up, so he continued.
“During another visit, he told me that his second daughter looked the most like his wife.”
Daphne nodded.
“But,” James pressed forward, “that of all his children, ‘little Daphne’ had the largest measure of her mother in her. He said that spending time with you was like being in company with a miniature version of his wife.”
“He never said anything like that to me,” she whispered.
“I think that is why he spent so much time with you when you were very small, because you reminded him of her. Those same qualities he treasured in her, he treasured in you.”
“But then he didn’t want me anymore.” Her eyes had taken on that pleading quality that tugged so fiercely at James’s heart.
“I honestly believe, Daphne, that he couldn’t bear it.
You reminded him so much of the lady he had lost and missed acutely, and the pain pushed him beyond his limit.
It does not excuse what he did, nor make it right.
But you must understand that his neglect came not from any shortcomings on your part nor a lack of love on his but from a misguided attempt to save himself from the agony of his grief.
And I believe that by the time the pain would naturally have abated to the point where he might have returned to normal life, his mind had already begun to deteriorate and he no longer truly realized what he was about. ”
She looked away from him, not in anger or pique but with an expression of contemplation. “You have certainly given me a lot to think about.”
“I hope that you will,” he said. “Life has placed far too many burdens on you. This is one you need not carry.” James brushed a loose brown tendril away from her face. “You look positively done in,” he said, guilt pricking him at the realization.
“I am rather worn to the bone.”
“You should go rest, perhaps even have a dinner tray brought to you.”
“I might just do that.” She rose, and James followed suit.
Not two steps from him, she turned back. “I meant to ask you,” she said hesitantly, “did you have a hand in . . . that is . . . did you have my bedchamber redone?”
James’s stomach knotted. He’d forgotten about that bit of presumptuousness.
“I did,” he confessed. Suddenly nervous, he rushed through his excuses.
“It was so dreary. I could not imagine you being remotely happy in there. I only meant to make the smallest of changes, but the project seemed to grow entirely out of proportion. I hope you are not upset with me, that it is at least a little to your liking.”
She stepped back to where he stood waiting for her condemnation. Her delicate hand lightly touched his face. Daphne rose on her toes and pressed the lightest of kisses on his cheek. “It is perfect,” she whispered.
So shocked was he by her salute that he did not so much as blink. He only remembered to breathe after she had already slipped from the room.
He was so close to securing her regard. He could sense it within his reach. The walls she had erected to protect her battered heart had begun to crumble, and he needed only to find his way in.