Chapter Eighteen #2
Daniel sat, maintaining the posture of calm authority that had served him well in countless difficult situations. "I am at your disposal, Lady Smith."
"Are you indeed? How gratifying." Her eyes, sharp as cut glass, studied him with undisguised assessment.
"You arrive at my house gathering without invitation, looking as though you have ridden through several counties without pause for rest or hygiene.
You disrupt my carefully arranged entertainments with your presence.
You pursue a young woman who is under my protection, despite having, by all accounts, treated her abominably in recent weeks.
" She paused. "Have I summarized the situation correctly? "
"You have, Lady Smith."
"And you have nothing to say in your own defence?"
Daniel considered his response carefully. He could offer explanations, he could speak of his fears, his parents' legacy, the terror that had driven him to push Lillian away. But explanations, he was beginning to understand, were merely words dressed up as justification.
"I have behaved badly," he said simply. "I hurt someone I care for deeply, and I am attempting to make amends. That is all I can say in my defence, and I am aware it is not much."
Lady Smith's expression did not change, but something shifted in her gaze; a flicker of something that might have been surprise, or perhaps reluctant respect.
"Most men in your position would offer excuses. Reasons why their behaviour was justified, or at least understandable."
"I have reasons, Lady Smith. But Miss Whitcombe has heard them already, and they did not prevent me from causing her pain. I am not certain they deserve to be repeated."
"Hmm." She was silent for a moment, her fingers tapping against the arm of her chair. "I knew your parents, Your Grace. Well enough to observe their marriage. It was….. Tempestuous."
Daniel felt his jaw tighten. "So I have been told."
"They loved each other with an intensity that was almost frightening to witness.
And that intensity destroyed them both, in the end.
" Lady Smith's voice had softened slightly—not with sympathy, precisely, but with the understanding of someone who had witnessed tragedy firsthand.
"I have often wondered what became of their children.
Whether the same capacity for... excess. .. had been inherited."
"I have spent my life trying to ensure that it was not."
"By feeling nothing at all?"
"By controlling what I felt. By refusing to allow passion to override judgment." Daniel met her gaze steadily. "I believed I was protecting myself. Protecting others from what I might become. I see now that I was merely hiding."
"And Miss Whitcombe drew you out of hiding."
"She did. Without trying, without any apparent effort; she simply looked at me, and I could not hide anymore.
" He paused, searching for words to describe what Lillian had done to him.
"She sees me, Lady Smith. Not the title, not the mask I have constructed but just me.
And instead of being repelled by what she found, she offered me her heart. "
"Which you rejected."
"Which I threw back at her, because I was terrified of what accepting it might mean.
" Daniel heard his own voice crack and did not try to conceal it.
"I hurt her. I know I hurt her. And I am here because I cannot bear the thought of losing her forever without at least attempting to prove that I can be different. "
Lady Smith studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she rose, moving to the window with the careful grace of a woman who refused to acknowledge the limitations of age.
"I have hosted a great many house gatherings, Your Grace. I have watched young people fall in and out of love with the regularity of the changing seasons. Most of them are playing at emotion—enjoying the drama of courtship without any real understanding of what they are committing to."
She turned to face him, and her expression had softened; not dramatically, but enough to be noticeable.
"You are not playing. That much is clear.
" She paused. "I will not throw you out, Your Grace.
You may remain for the duration of the gathering.
But understand this: Miss Whitcombe is under my protection while she is here.
If you hurt her again, if you retreat into your castle of ice and leave her to suffer the consequences, I will make my displeasure known in every drawing room from here to Edinburgh. Do I make myself clear?"
"Perfectly clear, Lady Smith."
"Good." She returned to her chair, her manner becoming brisk once more.
"Now, there is the matter of appearances to consider.
Your arrival has caused considerable speculation among my guests.
If you wish to minimize the damage to Miss Whitcombe's reputation, I suggest you conduct yourself with impeccable propriety for the remainder of your stay.
No private conversations, no midnight assignations, nothing that might provide fodder for the gossips. "
"I understand."
"Do you? I wonder." Her eyes narrowed. "You are accustomed to doing as you please, Your Grace.
The privileges of your rank have insulated you from the consequences that ordinary people must face.
But Miss Whitcombe does not have that protection.
Any scandal attached to her name will follow her for the rest of her life, while you will emerge relatively unscathed.
Remember that, when you are tempted to act on your feelings rather than your judgment. "
Daniel absorbed this, recognizing the truth in her words. He had been so focused on proving himself to Lillian that he had not fully considered what his presence here might cost her.
"You are right," he said quietly. "I had not thought..."
"No. Men seldom do." But there was no real censure in her voice; only the weary resignation of a woman who had observed masculine thoughtlessness for too many years to be surprised by it.
"Go now. Conduct yourself appropriately.
And for heaven's sake, do something about that cravat—you look as though you dressed in the dark. "
Daniel rose, bowing with the formality the situation demanded. "Thank you, Lady Smith. For your honesty, and for your forbearance."
"Do not thank me yet, Your Grace. The forbearance is conditional on your behaviour."
He left the sitting room with her warning echoing in his mind, and he found himself, for perhaps the first time in his life, genuinely grateful for the interference of a society matron.
***
The drawing room that evening was a battlefield of carefully concealed observation.
Lillian had spent the afternoon avoiding both Daniel and Edward; the former because Lady Smith's warnings about propriety had reached her through Rosanne, the latter because she had no desire for further conversation. But dinner was unavoidable, and the gathering afterward even more so.
She found herself seated near the fireplace, engaged in conversation with Mrs. Hartwell while her twin daughters whispered nearby.
The topic was innocuous, the unseasonably warm weather, the prospects for the winter social season, but Lillian was aware, with every fiber of her being, of Daniel's presence across the room.
He was speaking with Lord Hartwell and Sir William Drake, his posture correct, his expression attentive. To a casual observer, he appeared entirely at ease; the Duke of Wyntham engaging in the ordinary social commerce of a house gathering.
But Lillian knew better. She could see the tension in his shoulders, the careful control in every gesture.
He was performing, as he had performed his entire adult life; but this performance was different.
This time, he was not hiding behind the mask.
He was using it as a tool, maintaining appearances while remaining present, engaged, there.
She watched as Sir William launched into yet another interminable story about his hunting exploits.
She watched Daniel listen with apparent interest, offering appropriate responses at appropriate moments.
She watched him not retreat, not escape, not find some excuse to remove himself from a conversation that had to be desperately tedious.
He was staying. Just as he had promised.
"Miss Whitcombe." Mrs. Hartwell’s voice broke through her observations. "You seem distracted this evening. I hope nothing is amiss?"
"Not at all, Mrs. Hartwell. I was merely….. Wool-gathering."
"Ah." The older woman's eyes followed Lillian's gaze to where Daniel stood. "I see. The Duke of Wyntham is quite a striking figure, is he not? Though I confess his sudden arrival has been the subject of considerable speculation."
"Has it?"
"Oh, indeed. The general consensus is that he has come to pay court to some young lady, though opinions differ as to which young lady has captured his interest." Mrs. Hartwell’s tone was light, but her eyes were sharp. "You would not happen to have any insight into the matter, Miss Whitcombe?"
Lillian felt heat rise to her cheeks but kept her voice steady. "I could not say, Mrs. Hartwell. His Grace's intentions are his own affair."
"Of course, of course." But the knowing look in Mrs. Hartwell’s eyes suggested she had drawn her own conclusions.
The conversation turned to other matters, but Lillian remained acutely aware of every movement Daniel made, every word he spoke, every small interaction that demonstrated his commitment to remaining present in this room, among these people, despite every instinct that had to be urging him to flee.
It was, she realized, a kind of courage she had never expected from him.
Not the dramatic courage of grand gestures, riding through the night, appearing without invitation, but the quieter courage of endurance.
Of staying when staying was difficult. Of facing discomfort rather than retreating into isolation.