Chapter Twenty-Four

Even the most talented landscape artist could not have captured the perfection of the meadow to which the Techney House butler led Daphne and Persephone. Though several other guests had been invited, Daphne knew James meant the picnic for her. She could not remember a time when something had been planned purely for her enjoyment.

“What do you suppose inspired Lord Tilburn to have a picnic?” Persephone glanced at Daphne, a teasing glint in her eye. “Perhaps merely a passing fancy?”

“I think it is a splendid idea.” Daphne smiled, caring not at all that her cheeks glowed a revealing shade of red.

“I will say this, Daphne: Adam has his misgivings about this courtship, but I believe if he had been here to see the change in you these past few days, he would wholeheartedly support Lord Tilburn’s suit.”

“Once Adam has returned and we resume our afternoons together, I intend to tell him how wrong he was,” Daphne said with a laugh. “The Dangerous Duke doesn’t often find himself being fed humble pie.”

Persephone’s eyes shone with amusement. “I cannot say it is a dish he enjoys.”

Daphne watched as James made his way to where they sat on large cushions beneath the cooling canopy of an ash tree. She hoped Adam really would come to see how wrong he had been about James. He was good and kind. Though his courtship had caught them off guard, his regard had proven sincere.

“Good afternoon,” he greeted upon reaching them. “May I join you a moment?”

“Certainly.”

He sat nearest her seemingly without hesitation. Daphne’s heart fluttered frantically in her chest. The awkwardness of their earliest interactions had melted away over the course of the past week. A comfortable contentment had settled over her and a growing excitement. She had loved him for years, and finally, he had begun to feel the same for her.

“I believe your picnic is a success,” Daphne said.

James smiled at her. She managed to hold back the delighted giggle that sight inspired in her. “This is your picnic, Daphne, despite the plethora of extra attendees. My father could not allow an opportunity for lording about to pass. He added significantly to the guest list. I hope that hasn’t ruined it for you.”

“Not at all. Everything is perfect.”

He shook his head, though the gesture struck her as one of disbelief rather than negation. “Is she always this easy to please?” he asked Persephone.

“Daphne is, perhaps, the least demanding person I have ever known.”

Why did Persephone’s response not feel entirely like a compliment?

“I can see I have embarrassed you.” James leaned closer, taking her hand in his, which had become a gesture he engaged in increasingly often of late. For her part, Daphne loved that he had adopted such a tender gesture.

“I blush very easily. You need not always assume I do so because you have embarrassed me.”

“Have I though?” His gaze met hers.

Hearing herself being discussed had ever been an uncomfortable experience, and it had, in all honesty, been a little embarrassing. His words, however, were kind, unlike many conversations about herself that she’d overheard. Mrs. Hammond in the neighborhood where she’d grown up had always included in any reference to Daphne the phrase “the short, plain one.” Mrs. Cole, from whom she’d collected the sewing they had taken in, had seemed particularly fond of the word unpromising.

“Daphne?” James’s voice captured her attention once more. “Have I upset you?”

“Not at all. And the picnic truly is perfect, regardless of what my sister says of my complacent nature.”

“I had not meant to imply that you are complacent,” Persephone said. “You are certainly not that. You are sweet natured, a trait that is decidedly a good one.”

“Hear, hear.” James nodded firmly.

“The two of you will have me blushing furiously,” Daphne warned. “And that would ruin this lovely picnic.”

James’s eyes focused off in the distance. “I fear it may soon be ruined anyway.” A look of amused resignation crossed his face.

Daphne followed his gaze. Scamp darted about the gathered picnickers, most likely in search of a morsel or two. Several maids attempted to shoo him away from the table of food whilst guests did their best to avoid a confrontation with the enthusiastic mongrel.

“Perhaps I should rescue them,” James said.

“Or rescue him—poor Scamp is outnumbered, after all.”

“‘Poor Scamp,’ is it? I see he has managed to secure your sympathies.” James’s gaze shifted in the direction of his mother. “I do need to rein him in before he upsets too many people.” By which he, of course, meant his mother.

He let out a whistle, then looked a bit chagrined as he apologized for not having warned Daphne and her sister. A moment later, Scamp trotted up next to his master looking as innocent as a lamb. James scratched him behind his ears, earning a very thorough licking of his hand.

“I can see who is in charge in this relationship,” Daphne said.

“The mongrel is,” James acknowledged. “I don’t suppose the Falstone wolf pack has His Grace wrapped around their fingers, or paws, as it were.”

“Hardly.” Daphne stroked the soft fur on Scamp’s back. “The wolves are afraid of Adam just like everyone else.”

Scamp spun about, applying himself to offering Daphne the same affection he’d just bestowed upon his master. When she too scratched behind his ears, the pup leapt enthusiastically onto her lap.

James attempted to scoop up the puppy, but it scrambled from his grasp and went directly back to Daphne. “This scoundrel has absolutely no manners,” he said.

Daphne allowed Scamp to set to work once more licking her hand from every imaginable angle. “But he likes me.”

James smiled at her. “That is decidedly a point in his favor.”

“Are you certain that doesn’t make him dim-witted as well as badly behaved?”

“Not dim-witted at all.”

He kissed her fingers—those on the hand not being accosted by Scamp—just as he had the day before. Perhaps someday that token of affection might give way to an actual kiss. Daphne had often dreamed of kissing James Tilburn. More frequently of late, in fact.

Scamp apparently found the loss of their mutual attention insupportable. He dashed off, weaving in and around clumps of people, yelping and jumping and generally causing increasing levels of chaos.

James sighed ruefully. “I’d best go gather him up.”

“I think your guests would appreciate that.”

He rose, assuring Daphne he would return shortly, and hurried off after his misbehaving pet.

“Yes,” Persephone said into the silence he left behind. “I believe Adam would entirely approve of your Lord Tilburn.”

“My Lord Tilburn,” she repeated quietly, watching as James tried to catch up with his recalcitrant puppy. “He is wonderful.”

“So I have noticed.” An amused laugh touched Persephone’s voice. “And he seems to think highly of you as well.”

“Do you think he might love me?” Daphne asked, hoping Persephone would give the same answer she had given herself.

“I believe he is beginning to.”

“So do I,” Daphne whispered, her heart flipping over at the thought.

“I am so very happy for you, Daphne. I truly am.”

Scamp returned in the next moment, sans James. Daphne scanned the gathered guests but did not spot him. Was he still trying to find the little mongrel? Several minutes passed without a sign of him.

“Shall I track down your master?” She rubbed the puppy’s head. James would no doubt appreciate knowing his search for Scamp had been rendered futile. She rose, Scamp following on her heels as she walked amongst the guests. James was not among them.

Scamp abandoned her a moment later, running headlong into a cluster of trees not too far distant.

“Scamp!” Daphne followed its path. How absurd if she were to find James only after losing his dog. He no doubt would simply smile at her as he always did.

The puppy, as it turned out, was very fast. Daphne stepped into the trees, but Scamp was nowhere to be seen. Where had he gone?

“I am doing my very best.”

Daphne stopped at the unexpected sound of James’s voice. He too had come into the clump of trees. Perhaps the pup ran in sensing his master was there. If not, they could certainly find the mongrel easier if they worked together.

Together. Daphne silently sighed at the joy of that single word. She had so often battled with feelings of loneliness. Only in moments of hopeful daydreaming had she imagined that changing so entirely.

She moved in the direction of James’s voice, spotting him just on the other side of a close cluster of narrow-trunked trees. He was not alone, which made sense when she thought about it—he obviously had been speaking to someone. That someone, it turned out, was his father. Their conversation appeared to be of a very serious nature.

Neither had noticed her arrival. She stepped back a little, hoping to get away before being caught eavesdropping, however unintentional.

“I give you full credit, son, for making a good show,” Lord Techney said. “But there is something lacking in your efforts. Others have noticed that you do not seem appropriately eager.”

“On the contrary,” James said. “I have heard any number of onlookers make quite the opposite observation.”

It was a decidedly odd conversation. Eager about what? A good show of what?

“Do not think I will sit idly by while you make halfhearted efforts to fulfill your end of this bargain,” Lord Techney said. “You know well the consequences of refusing to follow through with this.”

James’s father had done something. Daphne thought back on the past few days, on the time she’d spent with James. He’d never mentioned any looming crisis. He would have told her. They had grown close, confiding in each other, to a degree, at least.

“I have not withdrawn from our bargain,” James said. “I am fulfilling it. I expect you to do so as well.”

She should not have kept listening but couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever James and his father were discussing was of utmost importance.

“Do not assume, Tilburn, that I have not pieced together your counterstrategy. If Miss Lancaster rejects your suit, you intend to argue that you still kept your part of our bargain, that you had undertaken the courtship as agreed but can’t be held accountable for her rejection.”

Daphne’s lungs tightened to the point of pain. Counterstrategy? One that involved his expectations of a rejected suit? His apparent hope for a rejection. From her.

She slowly shook her head, attempting to dislodge the unease that saturated her every thought. His attentions had been too pointed to have been anything other than an effort at courting her. All of Society knew his intentions and the happiness with which she had accepted them.

“The outcome of all this does not rest on my shoulders alone,” he said. “You may have the power to threaten Mother and Ben and even me, but you cannot threaten her. You cannot force her hand as you have forced mine.”

Forced his hand? No. He could not have meant that.

“I am not interested in her choices, James. Only in the outcome of yours.” Lord Techney spoke with every bit as much firmness as James had a moment earlier. “This family needs the connection, needs the boost to our status. Your efforts here are meant to secure that. You will not fail me in this.”

Say he is wrong, Daphne silently begged James. You are courting me because you like me. Tell him. Tell him you are beginning to love me.

But no correction was forthcoming.

Daphne’s surroundings lost focus, her eyes refusing to sharpen the painful scene playing out before her. She leaned heavily against the tree, her breaths coming in near-silent gasps. James was being forced to court her.

She could make out their silhouettes and hear the vague sound of their voices still in quiet conversation, but nothing made sense in her spinning mind. Each breath she took required more effort than the last. Her throat seemed to be closing off as she looked away.

He was courting her to obtain social status for his family, to fulfill an agreement he’d made with his father. He did not pay her these attentions out of adoration or tenderness or any of the other reasons she, in her foolishness, had imagined. The gentleman she’d silently adored for six years had courted her just as she’d hoped but hadn’t meant a moment of it.

And that meant he didn’t love her.

Hot tears stung Daphne’s eyes. She had believed him. She had naively embraced his lies.

She heard Scamp bark but did not look about for him. If anything, her surroundings had grown more indiscernible. A nauseating weakness overtook her. Daphne had never swooned in the course of her entire life yet felt dangerously close to sinking to the ground.

Long-past memories she’d forced herself not to think about rushed headlong to the surface. “Such a lovely looking family, the Lancasters. Except for that little Daphne. A little mouse of a thing. Has not a bit of her mother’s beauty. She’ll not amount to much.” “Go, Daphne”—her father’s voice—“I would far rather be alone.”

The deep, pulsating wounds those comments and dozens like them had inflicted over the years ripped through her anew. She closed her eyes, pressing her hand to her chest the way she’d done since childhood. She’d always managed to push back the pain, ignore the sting of ridicule and rejection until time lessened its impact. But as she stood there alone in the small cluster of trees, the anguish refused to be silenced. For the first time, she could not discount those caustic evaluations. She had only ever warranted the notice of one gentleman, and he had fabricated it all.

“Daphne?”

She recognized James’s voice but didn’t open her eyes.

“What’s happened?” he asked. “Are you unwell?”

Unwell? A less-apt word had likely never been spoken. Daphne forced herself to look at him, allowing herself the tiniest morsel of hope that she would see in his eyes something to refute the bitter truth she had stumbled upon.

His expression was precisely the same one she’d seen repeatedly over the weeks: concern, sympathy. A quarter of an hour earlier, that look would have melted her. Now she felt only cold.

She had wept for days after Evander’s death. She had probably cried when her mother had died, though she’d been too young at the time to remember. Outside of those two moments, she had met the slightest threat of tears with fierce resistance. Standing there so entirely alone, forced to face the horridness of her situation, she did not hold back the rush of emotion.

“Good heavens, Daphne. You’re crying.”

She flinched at the soft brush of his fingers along her cheek. His hand stilled immediately.

“What has happened? Why are—” He laid his hands on her arms. She pulled back. “How long have you been standing here?”

“Please leave me be,” Daphne whispered.

“You may have misunderstood something you heard. I—”

She pushed away from the tree, distancing herself from him. “Just leave me alone.”

The panic-stricken look on his face told her what would come next. He would attempt to explain it all, to justify a month’s worth of lies. She could not bear it. No one should be made to endure so much deceit.

Daphne turned and walked swiftly in the direction of the house, though avoiding the gathered guests at the picnic. She did not slow as she crossed back to the house.

She dropped onto the small bench set near the door, pressing her hand to her wounded heart. She could not stay—not now. Certainly Persephone would agree to leave forthwith. She likely would not even press Daphne for an explanation.

She only sank further at the thought of facing Adam. How certain she’d been that time would prove his doubts unfounded. How assured she’d felt of James’s regard. But she’d been wrong. So very wrong.

Her fairy-tale courtship was nothing but a lie.