Chapter Twenty-One

Mother was on the mend by that morning, something the family owed entirely to Daphne. In the quiet hours of night while this guardian angel of theirs had silently ministered to a woman she hardly knew, James’s view of Daphne had undergone a material transformation. Though he’d not chosen to court her, he had come to realize that being permitted to do so was a gift he’d not fully valued. She was a wonder, a lady with a heart so deep and so giving as to put to shame every other person James had ever known. And he was fortunate enough to have the opportunity to know her better, to be her particular friend.

He pulled a chair up next to hers, where she sat keeping an eye on his mother’s progress. “How is our patient this morning?”

“You’ll be pleased to know she was alert enough for conversation earlier.”

Oh heavens. “What did she speak about?” He hoped his nervousness didn’t show.

“At first she simply said again and again how surprisingly good she felt.” Daphne smiled the tiniest bit, her eyes heavy with weariness. “And I do not think she was at all prepared to find me at her bedside.”

James didn’t like the sound of that. “I hope she was not unkind to you.”

“She accepted my presence after a time.” Daphne rose and adjusted Mother’s blankets. “Though she was upset that I wouldn’t allow you to be awoken.”

“I would happily have taken over for you.”

“You were finally sleeping deeply. There was no need to disturb you.” Daphne checked Mother’s temperature with the back of her hand. She must have been satisfied; she returned to her seat once more. “Besides, tending the sick is a skill of mine, one I do not often get to use. I suppose that is something for which I should be grateful. Other than my father, I am blessed with a healthy family.”

James nodded. That would be a blessing. “I have never known a time when Mother was not susceptible to illness. Father has no patience for it.”

“You seem to have patience enough for the entire family.”

They sat quietly, neither speaking nor moving. He’d discovered that about Daphne; she was not uncomfortable with silence.

“The physician was impressed to see that you travel with your own herbs and remedies,” he said after another moment.

She pulled her legs up beside her in her chair. “Only those I need most often. I can generally find what I need in London, but these are taken from plants I cultivated myself. I know them better, know precisely how to use them.”

“So you are an herbologist and a gardener?”

“The best apothecary is always both.”

How she’d changed in the past weeks. He’d hardly had a word from her that first visit to Falstone House and only a handful more during their drive. They’d come far enough to speak easily.

“What first interested you in the apothecary arts?”

She didn’t answer immediately. He saw in her face a debate, as though she wasn’t sure she wished to answer his question.

He took her hand in his own, hoping to assure her that he could be trusted. He found, however, that he himself benefited from the connection. She soothed and calmed him every bit as much as her teas and tonics had Mother.

“My mother died when I was too young to have any real memories of her.” She spoke in a quiet voice. “My father closed in on himself over the years since, pushing away everything and everyone. At first he was simply distant and hermit-like. I remember coming into his book room and asking to sit with him, something he allowed with less and less frequency. He would shoo me away or ask that I not disturb him.” She seemed to think a moment. “He grew less reachable with each passing year. By the time I left home to live with Adam and Persephone, Father did not seem to be more than vaguely aware of the world around him.”

What a difficult experience that must have been.

“Once, while his was still a purposeful isolation rather than an ailment of the mind, I asked Persephone what was wrong with him,” Daphne continued. “She told me his heart was broken. In my naivety, I assumed his physical heart was unwell. I knew enough to realize we could never afford to pay a man of medicine to cure him.”

“So you sought out the cure yourself.” He clasped her hand ever tighter, imagining in his thoughts a tiny girl with thick black hair and deep-brown eyes poring over books of medicines and concoctions in a desperate attempt to save her father.

She took a long breath, leaning against the back of her chair as she let the air out. “I finally asked the local apothecary where in the old book he’d given me I might find the treatment for a broken heart. He told me, ‘There is no herb on earth can cure that.’ I’d learned how to treat pain and fevers and infections but had to admit to myself that I could do nothing to get my father back.”

“Has he been slipping away all these years?”

She nodded. “He is less aware of the world around him every time I see him.”

James rubbed her hand with both of his. “I am so sorry. I cannot imagine watching a parent slip so slowly away.”

“It is an agony I do not wish on anyone.” Her head rested against his shoulder, though he didn’t think she slept. While he hoped talking with him, sitting there with him, eased some of the pain he’d heard in her retelling, he found it lessened his burden as well. How was it that this remarkable young lady he’d not even known a month earlier could calm his mind by her very presence?

Guilt and relief made for an odd combination. He felt he’d learned enough of Daphne Lancaster to find a great deal of peace in the idea of courting her. She had a good heart. She was intelligent, well-spoken, selfless. Her dimple alone was reason enough to coax a smile from her. He could easily imagine himself being quite happy with her in his life, no matter the unfortunate way in which their courtship began. But knowing he had been, and out of necessity would continue to be, dishonest with her, if only by omission, nagged at him.

Her head grew heavy against his shoulder, her breathing steady and deep. He hoped she was sleeping. She’d spent the entire night tending to Mother. He adjusted his position enough to look down at her. She didn’t even stir as he moved. Lud, she looked tired, even in her sleep.

“We have been unfair to her,” a raspy and raw voice said.

How long had Mother been awake?

“Life has been unfair to her, I am discovering.” He kept his voice low so as not to wake her. “She lost her parents as a child. As a young lady, she endured the rejection of Society simply because she is quiet.”

“And we decided to hate her without even meeting her.” Mother’s pale features showed real remorse. “No one as sweet and kind as she could conspire the way I assumed she had.”

“I fear everyone in the neighborhood will assume something of that nature should she eventually accept my suit. I believe most of London Society suspects something underhanded on someone’s part.” James gently rubbed Daphne’s hand between his. “It is a shame no one is aware of her worth. Not even she seems to recognize it.”

Mother tried for a moment to turn and look at him but, in the end, simply lay back, exhausted.

“Have you decided what you mean to do, James?” she asked. “Have you given up the idea of finding a wife of your own choosing?”

The question was certainly direct. He had spent the night firming his decision, yet it still pained him. “I have decided I must.” He would not tell Mother of Father’s threats and the subsequent agreement he’d made. She had suffered enough at the hands of her unfeeling husband.

A small tear appeared at the corner of Mother’s eye. “You admire her and respect her. I can see that you do. That is a better start than your father and I had. And you are a better man than he.”

He held back the I should certainly hope so that immediately sprang to his mind.

“Commit yourself to making her happy, James, and I think you will find your own happiness as well.” Her eyes closed once, twice, and finally the oblivion of sleep took hold.

James stayed in his chair, holding Daphne’s hand. She slept peacefully in the chair she’d occupied most of the night, her head still resting heavily against his shoulder.

Commit yourself to making her happy. He could do that. He’d learned a great deal about her already and could at least begin to guess at the things that would bring a smile to her face. He’d moved forward on the expectation of a cold rejection of the suit he’d been forced to undertake. In that quiet moment, having been given such a tender glimpse into the person she was, he found that outcome no longer suited him.

For the first time, he could almost imagine himself making a life with the remarkable woman seated beside him. If only a chasm of unspoken truths didn’t stand between them.