Chapter Eleven

“Are you simply dying, Daphne?” Artemis seemed to hope the answer was yes. “Here you are, being whisked across Town”—she made a sweeping gesture, filling almost the entire interior of the carriage—“to meet the mother of”—a hand pressed to her heart even as she sighed—“your dashing hero.” Her look turned very commiserating. “The hero’s mother is always a dragon, you realize.”

Daphne rested her forehead against her upturned hand. Artemis was on her third round of tragic predictions.

“She will be positively horrid and make you excessively miserable.” Artemis’s eyes pulled wide with excitement. “She might even demand that you be thrown from the house and the doors locked.”

“That is quite enough, Artemis.” Persephone generally had a large store of patience when dealing with the youngest of the Lancasters, but she had apparently reached the end of her endurance this time.

“But Daphne will be a tragic heroine. Those are the very best kind. They suffer and pine away in destitution, and some don’t even survive. I would be a tremendous tragic heroine. I would suffer with dignity only to faint dead away and quite possibly never revive.” Artemis made a habit of announcing herself on the verge of expiring. Did she even realize how many times she had, by her own declaration, narrowly escaped death in her fifteen years? “It would be heartbreaking.”

“But not unforeseen.” Adam made the comment under his breath, though Daphne overheard. Artemis might have as well had she not been occupied with positioning herself in a dramatic pose of ultimate suffering on the opposite side of the carriage.

“Artemis.” Persephone attempted to gain the girl’s attention. “Artemis.”

She looked up at last.

“Do attempt to act mature enough to warrant the invitation you have received,” Persephone said, a rare show of correction on her part. A bond existed between the oldest and youngest Lancaster sisters that none of the others shared. Daphne certainly had never been the favorite that Artemis was. “Lady Techney did not have to include you.”

Artemis pulled out her brilliant smile. “I know how to behave in public.”

“Adam knows how to dance the minuet,” Persephone pointed out. “That doesn’t mean he actually does.”

“I also don’t attend dinner parties,” Adam grumbled. “But here I am.”

Daphne sincerely hoped he meant to be at least a little cooperative. She wanted to make a good impression on James and his family. If Adam spent the entire dinner glaring everyone into terrified silence, the whole evening would be for naught.

The landau pulled to a stop at Techney House. A lump formed in Daphne’s throat. The hero’s mother is always a dragon. Daphne usually dismissed Artemis’s dramatic declarations. That particular observation hit too close to the mark though. She wanted to believe James Tilburn’s mother was as kind and caring as he.

They were handed out of the carriage in succession, and when Daphne emerged, she glanced up at the house’s façade with a growing sense of trepidation. Falstone Castle was far bigger and more imposing than Techney House, built almost entirely of stone, isolated in the midst of a thick, planted forest inhabited by a pack of formidable feral dogs. Yet the castle felt far more warm and inviting than this grand house did. Techney House felt empty in a way not at all physical.

The Techney butler received them with the correct degree of propriety. Not a single fault could be found with the entryway nor the state of the floors. Even the flowers on the narrow table were fresh and flawlessly arranged. The orderliness of it was reassuring, even as the perfection proved quite the opposite.

During her morning calls with Persephone, a social expectation her sister had seldom permitted her to skip, Daphne had more than once overheard comments questioning James’s motivations. Why, people had asked behind their hands, would a gentleman suddenly take up a whirlwind courtship with a girl so wholly unconnected with his family? Her dowry had come up often in those discussions, as had the likelihood of her acerbic guardian forcing the match to rid his hands of her.

She had borne the curious looks and whispered evaluations with the stoic endurance Adam had taught her more than half a decade earlier. In her heart, however, she couldn’t help but worry a little.

James stepped out onto the first-floor landing, and Daphne’s heart leapt at the sight of his familiar copper eyes.

“Forgive me, Your Grace. Your Grace.” He sketched a brief bow, his tone indicating a degree of anxiety that caught Daphne’s attention. “I had intended to greet you upon your arrival”—his gaze encompassed all four of them—“but my mother has been unwell. At the time your carriage was announced, I was attempting to comfort her.”

Was his mother often unwell? Perhaps that was the reason she, according to a great many comments made during their at-home earlier in the day, had not come to Town in at least twenty years.

“I hope Lady Techney recovers quickly,” Persephone answered on everyone’s behalf.

“As do I,” he said, again seeming to address them as a whole. “If you will follow Billingsley to the drawing room, my father and brother are waiting there.”

Adam offered Persephone his arm, ever the perfect gentleman where his wife was concerned. They followed the path the butler took. Artemis kept close on their heels.

“Good evening, Miss Artemis,” James said as she passed and received a very undramatic curtsy in return.

Daphne did her utmost not to wring her hands, all the while fearing their shaking was noticeable. Seeing James always set her stomach fluttering, simultaneously pleasing and unnerving her. It had always been this way, ever since that night on Adam’s balcony.

“Miss Lancaster.” He smiled a little awkwardly.

“Lord Tilburn.” Daphne was proud of the steadiness of her voice—not a hint of her nervousness had entered it. “I hope your mother is not seriously unwell.”

“She is not in any danger.” James’s worried, tense expression belied his confident words. “I fear, though, she is very uncomfortable.”

Artemis had not stepped entirely out of hearing range and, true to form, inserted herself in their conversation without invitation. “If your mother is ill, you must have Daphne recommend a tisane. It is her defining talent, you know.”

Did she have to point out one of Daphne’s oddities so early in the evening? The ability to recall herbal remedies was hardly a lauded accomplishment. James would think her strange, indeed.

“Have you a knack for such things?” Did he ask out of genuine curiosity or merely a desire to be polite?

“Oh yes,” Artemis said. “Even the apothecary we use at Falstone Castle cedes to Daphne’s expertise. She is an herbal genius.”

James walked with them down the corridor. “Does your sister exaggerate, or is this truly something you have studied?”

She heard no mockery in his tone nor saw dismissal in his expression. Others who heard of her interest in herbology responded with everything from disapproval to hurtful amusement.

“I have studied it,” she said. “Though I cannot say I would deem myself a genius.”

The look of concern that yet remained on James’s face echoed many such moments in her own life. How often she had worried over the health of her family members. Having the ability to help them with the knowledge she’d gained had always been a comfort.

“Perhaps if you told me, at least in general terms, what is ailing your mother, I could suggest something.”

“You would do that for a woman you’ve never met?”

“Certainly.” Why did that seem to surprise him so much? “If she is unwell and I can help, I would like to.”

James’s brow furrowed. Daphne felt suddenly very unsure. Did he disapprove of her forwardness in placing herself in the midst of his difficulties? They were not, after all, very well acquainted yet. She fumbled a moment in her mind, seeking a means of salvaging the situation. “Of course, if your mother would feel uncomfortable or if I have overstepped myself—”

But he shook his head without hesitation. “Not at all. I am only unaccustomed to offers of help, I suppose.”

“You are often left to fend for yourself?”

“I am often left to solve everyone’s problems on my own.”

Adam could be like that as well—independent to the point of isolation. Persephone had a talent for undermining his hardheaded insistence on doing things himself.

“I would like to help if you will let me,” Daphne said.

“There is nothing specifically the matter with her,” James answered. “She simply feels unwell in general and, as a result, has not slept as she ought.”

Daphne nodded. One needed rest during an illness, and yet the misery that accompanied it often made sleeping difficult. “Do you think she is more in need of an invigorating tonic or something to help her sleep?”

“I believe she needs sleep more than anything else.”

They had very nearly reached the drawing room.

“I know of several tisanes she might take. I will write a few of them down so your cook can choose the one she has the ingredients for.”

“You know several by memory? A lady of hidden talents.” His lightened tone did her heart good. Perhaps she had eased some of his worry.

“If she is still unwell tomorrow or is bothered by new symptoms, I hope you will send word to Falstone House. I likely know of something that can help.”

Then James Tilburn smiled at her, the very same smile he’d offered to a twelve-year-old girl hiding in the shadows of a balcony. It was soft and caring and infinitely charming. “That is very good of you,” he said. “Thank you.”

Her heart fairly sang at the realization that he hadn’t brushed aside her offer. As a girl, her attempts to help the family had been met with insistence that she was too young or too incapable of making a difference. Even after she’d proven herself more than adept at tisanes and herbal remedies, the family had been hesitant to come to her when ill. And now, though she was quite grown up, they still tended to dismiss her suggestions or tell her not to trouble herself. James had done neither.

They stepped inside the drawing room. Daphne vaguely noted the other occupants. James’s company was too distracting.

“Allow me to introduce you to my father and brother.” James stepped with her in the direction of their gathered family members.

Daphne felt a moment’s concern—introductions always made her uncomfortable. But James was with her. She trusted him.