Chapter Twenty-Nine

James could not imagine anything more ludicrous. He was hiding in the shadows of a terrace, peering in windows. Further, he was trespassing on land that belonged to the one man in England guaranteed to shoot an interloper on sight. Once the Dangerous Duke realized the identity of his uninvited guest, he would likely shoot him again just for good measure.

Had James not grown somewhat desperate the last two days, the idea of pretending to be a sneak-thief would never have occurred to him. But how was a gentleman supposed to check on the well-being of the lady he cared for if she never left her highly fortified London home?

The duke’s family had finished their meal and retired to the sitting room. It was from that terrace that he watched them, watched her. She seemed well but not happy. The dimple he’d missed since they’d last met made not a single appearance. She seemed to listen politely to the conversations around her but never joined in. She didn’t pout or sulk, but neither did she smile or laugh.

James couldn’t determine simply by watching what might be the matter. The duke and the lieutenant had made quite clear something was wrong.

“What a pathetic lump you are,” he quietly castigated himself. “Reduced to spying on a lady you no longer have the right to speak to.”

Daphne rose from her seat and moved directly to the french doors. Had she seen him? Surely not. She would have told her brother-in-law or brother, and both men would have forcibly ejected him.

James kept to the dim corner of the terrace as Daphne stepped out. Perhaps she meant only to retreat for a bit of fresh air and would return none the wiser. But her steps rang of purpose. Her eyes searched the darkened terrace. He knew the moment she saw him there. Her posture grew stiff, her expression determined.

“Lord Tilburn,” she said. The lack of feeling in her words spoke volumes of her contempt for him. “I only stepped out to tell you that you would be well-advised to leave.” She turned swiftly toward the door.

In a panic, he grabbed her arm. An uncomfortable feeling flooded over him at that simple touch, not necessarily unpleasant but not soothing either. He had never reacted that way to her before—it was not the awkwardness of their earliest encounters nor the easy friendship of their last few days together but was a deep awareness of her presence there.

For the briefest moment, she seemed almost to relax. But then he felt her stiffen. He released her arm. He had no right to keep her there; he knew that. But he also knew he had only this one chance to say and see what he needed.

“May I have just a moment?” His words proved remarkably insufficient and sounded more than a little presumptuous.

Daphne stepped away from him.

“Please,” he tried again. What would he do if she refused to stay? Infiltrate the kitchen staff? Take up residence beneath her bedchamber window? “Please.”

Daphne paused just shy of the doorway. She did not turn around. He could see little beyond her outline contrasted against the light spilling out of the sitting room windows. She didn’t speak a word but simply stood very still. Was she waiting for him to say his piece? Would she offer him no indication of how or what she was feeling?

He hadn’t expected a warm welcome, by any means, but the chasm that separated them felt so foreign. She had always been easy to talk with and be near. Her presence had always been soothing.

“I—” What could he possibly say? I heard you were ill? I’m sorry? I am an imbecile? “How are you?” James winced, knowing instinctively the moment the words were said that he ought to have chosen something else.

Daphne didn’t move in the slightest. “You have no right to ask me that,” she whispered, more pain than anger in her voice.

He had not imagined he could feel more ashamed of himself than he had the last week. That simple sentence, said as it was in such a heartbreaking tone, proved him wrong. Would he ever manage to truly atone for his inexcusable behavior? She might never forgive him, but he needed to be certain she was well.

Daphne still had not walked away.

“I had heard you were ill,” he said.

“I am fine.” It was not at all convincing, coming in so small a voice.

“You do not sound fine.” He stepped closer, telling himself that he wished only to make certain she was well. If he was being honest, though, he wanted to prolong the moment, to see if she would stay a little longer, perhaps talk with him the way she once had.

“You need not be concerned with my well-being.” Daphne stepped closer to the wall, a little farther into the shadow.

“Not concerned?” He matched her movement, closing a little of the distance between them. “How could I not be? If you are truly—” For the first time since Daphne had stepped onto the terrace, James was able to truly see her. “You’re pale.” It seemed she really was ill.

A ghost of a smile hovered on her lips. “You say that as though being pale isn’t one of my defining characteristics.” Before she even finished speaking, the tiny hint of amusement in her countenance disappeared.

He stood close enough to reach out and touch her, something he found himself overwhelmingly compelled to do. “Daphne.” He brushed his fingers along the top of her arm.

She closed her eyes. No smile touched her lips. The lines of strain on her face did not lessen. If anything, his touch seemed to upset her more. The look of misery on her face hurt more than a full-voiced diatribe would have. James let his hand drop back to his side.

“It was not my intention to impose on you further,” he said. “I was concerned about you and wanted to be certain you were well.”

She looked up at him then. “Adam will kill you if he sees you here, and Linus will happily assist him.” He thought he detected the smallest bit of concern in her otherwise unreadable tone.

“I know.”

She slipped through a separate door at the far end of the terrace.

Several long moments passed. He couldn’t seem to pull himself away. He silently willed her to return, to speak to him again.

He hadn’t truly apologized for what he’d done, hadn’t made any semblance of peace with her. Though Daphne had insisted otherwise, James wasn’t convinced she was truly well.

Far from finding closure, he only missed her more. Regaining her friendship seemed all but impossible. She didn’t want him there—that much was clear. Likely, she wanted absolutely nothing to do with him.

Standing there in the shadows, James felt excruciatingly alone.

* * *

If Daphne knew one thing about gentlemen, it was that they were fundamentally confusing. She had pondered her brief and unusual conversation with James many times over the day and a half since their encounter on the terrace and still could not make heads nor tails of it.

He had been forced to court her, to feign interest in her. Why, then, would he knowingly place his life in peril simply to ascertain the state of her health? Such behavior served as rather convincing proof that women were not, in fact, the less logical of the sexes.

Realizing her thoughts had once again wandered to a subject upon which she had firmly told herself she would not waste further time, Daphne set herself to the task of making another turn about the small green in the shadow of Westminster. In an act of unforeseen underhandedness, Linus had enlisted Adam’s support in all but forcing her to spend the evening out of doors by insisting she and her brother come to Parliament to fetch him at the end of his day there. Daphne would rather have remained at Falstone House with her herbs and books.

She glanced over at Linus hurrying to catch up with her. “You insisted on this turn about the grounds; the least you could do is keep up,” she said.

The severe expression she kept up nearly slipped at his look of exasperation. The infuriating man deserved every ounce of trouble she was giving him.

“I’ve sailed on clippers that did not have your speed.” Linus reached her side, though he seemed to have left his breath a few paces behind.

Daphne offered not the smallest bit of sympathy. “You were the one who suggested I needed a bit of exercise.”

“The idea was Adam’s. He should be the one sprinting after you.”

“Would you like to tell him so?” She raised a questioning eyebrow in what she knew was a perfect mimic of Adam’s well-known expression.

“Not on your life,” Linus answered. “And not because I’m afraid of him, but because he is right. You spend too much time alone, and when you do join the rest of us, you are too quiet and withdrawn. I do not like seeing you this way.”

“I have attempted to spend time with our formidable brother-in-law, but he is too busy. Persephone is quite distracted of late. Artemis never holds still long enough to serve as company to anyone of a more subdued disposition. And you, dearest brother, have been quite preoccupied as well, attempting to sort out your own decisions.” She would rather not hear another recounting of how very unhappy she must be and a moment-by-moment retelling of her “dashed hopes.” Making a show of being in better spirits seemed a wise strategy. “I will admit, however, that I have been a bit dreary of late. If I can find a means of blaming Artemis for my gloominess, I have every intention of doing so. I simply haven’t formulated a believable explanation yet.”

Her show of humor did not appear to impress him. He watched her as though he expected her to dissolve into a puddle of tears at any moment.

“If it will put your mind at ease, I will tell you this much, though if you breathe a word of it to Adam, I’ll skin you alive with a soup spoon.”

Linus laughed out loud. “You have lived under the Dangerous Duke’s roof far too long.”

Daphne found she could smile at that. “He has had an influence on me, I will confess.” They walked a moment in contented silence. “I am enjoying my rare moment outside, as Adam predicted I would.”

“He is almost as intelligent as he is fearsome,” Linus said.

“And he is coming this way.” Daphne motioned toward the figure of their frightening brother-in-law walking in their direction with his usual air of barely concealed bloodthirstiness. “If you have other things needing attending, I am certain he will see to it I complete my day’s exercise.”

A look of relief slid over his features. “Excellent. I will leave you to it, then.” He disappeared down the path before Daphne had a chance to say so much as one more word.

“Why is it that gentlemen can’t seem to abandon me fast enough?” she asked no one in particular.

She had been doing better. Resignation had very nearly given way to something resembling contentment. But then James had made his sudden appearance—a few words, a kindly glance—and she once again found herself in a battle against her own heart. She would wonder for just a moment if perhaps James’s most recent actions were indicative of some tender regard only to swiftly remind herself that she had misinterpreted his attentions in precisely that way before with disastrous results.

Self-pity had become a dangerous tendency of hers lately, one she would do well not to indulge. She rubbed a hand over the very spot on her arm where James had touched her two evenings before. That tiny contact had nearly brought her to tears.

She missed James. She missed the connection she’d thought they’d had, the tenderness she’d imagined in his eyes, the attentions she’d believed were sincere.

Adam arrived at her side in the next instant. “For all his show of being a rough-around-the-edges naval man, when it comes to dealing with the women of his family, Linus Lancaster is a blasted coward.” Adam motioned her ahead. “Now. Two more circuits, if you don’t mind.”

“Are you walking with me?” It was not the same as being granted an afternoon in his book room, but it was better than being left out entirely.

“No one else in this family can win a battle of the minds with you, so I suppose your well-being falls to me.” He motioned her ahead of him, back on the path that wove through the garden.

“Not even Persephone?”

“She could,” Adam answered. “But being the ideal husband I am, I mean to spare her that task.”

“How is she feeling?”

Adam shook his head. “None of your diversionary tactics. Persephone is not the topic at hand.”

They passed a rosebush, its fragrance strong, almost being overpowering.

“I am growing exceptionally weary of discussing my dashed hopes, Adam.”

He was unsympathetic. “I am growing weary of suffering through a daily tragedy of Shakespearean proportions.”

She eyed him sidelong. “You are expecting me to stab myself in the family crypt?”

“I will stab myself in the family crypt if I have to endure your infuriatingly calm resignation one day more.”

For all Daphne loved him, Adam was not always a comfort in one’s time of need. “Resignation? You would rather I weep inconsolably?”

“Yes.”

She smiled at the ridiculousness of that. “You wish me to turn into Artemis?”

Adam kept walking, his gaze decidedly not wandering in her direction. Daphne knew what came next. He always grew uncomfortable with personal conversations.

“You have retreated, Daphne. I find myself confronted once more with the little girl who came to live with me six years ago, who seldom spoke and rarely looked at anyone. I cannot like seeing this change in you.”

The comparison pricked at her. She felt like that little girl again in many ways. The confidence she’d gained in the past half-dozen years had crumbled more than a bit, as had the assurance that her timidity and comparative plainness weren’t the hindrance to happiness she’d once believed them to be. She was working very hard to keep the pain at bay.

A sudden commotion cut off whatever he meant to say next. People were rushing in and out of Westminster, voices raised in obvious panic.

“What the blazes is going on?” Adam muttered. He cupped her elbow with his hand and led her in that direction, eyeing the comings and goings. “Hartley.” He called out to his fellow duke. “What is all this commotion?”

His Grace turned toward them, and Daphne knew on the instant that something truly terrible had happened. “Perceval’s been shot in Commons.”

Merciful heavens.

“Is the Prime Minister dead?” Adam asked.

“No one seems to know for sure.” They were all moving very nearly at a run. “It is chaos. Utter chaos. Who knows how many others might be lying in wait with pistols at the ready.”

Assassins in the halls of Parliament? Daphne forced herself to breathe normally and keep calm.

“We must not allow this government to come to a standstill at the hands of murderers.” Adam twisted the handle of his walking stick a half turn in one direction followed by a full turn in the other and pulled an épée from within its wooden sheath. “Let’s go clear the corridors.”

“There might be any number of assassins inside, Adam.” Daphne’s stomach tied in knots.

“And I mean to see to it that number becomes zero.” He turned to the Duke of Hartley. “Where’s your man Tilburn?”

“Seeking information.” They’d nearly reached the crowd pressing in and out of the entrance to Westminster. “Tilburn!” the duke shouted, waving.

The sudden return of James Tilburn amidst the turmoil of an assassination at Westminster surprisingly didn’t fluster Daphne in the least. She felt more numb than anything else.

“I can’t seem to get a consistent answer to anything, Your Grace.” James addressed his employer. “All anyone can agree on is that Perceval was shot at close range.”

“Tilburn, take Daphne home.” Adam’s words emerged clipped and quick. “Directly to Falstone House. No stops along the way.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

“And remain there until I arrive,” Adam added. “No matter the protests that house full of stubborn women will no doubt make, you stay there. Abandon them and I will scoop your brains from your skull with a ladle.”

“I’ll chain myself to the bannister if need be.” That earned James a brief smile from the Duke of Hartley but no notable reaction from Adam.

“Daphne, show Tilburn where the carriage is and return home posthaste.”

She nodded her agreement.

“And, James,” the Duke of Hartley jumped in quickly, “have one of the Falstone House footmen send word to my wife that I am well but will not be home until the mess here is sorted.”

“I will, Your Grace.”

“Be safe, Adam,” Daphne said.

“I always am.”

The two dukes strode into the crowd. Daphne summoned the cool head Adam had long ago taught her to maintain and led the way toward the Kielder carriage. “To Falstone House,” she instructed the coachman as James handed her inside.

Adam never employed anyone who wasn’t the absolute best at what he or she did. His coachman was no exception. The crush of traffic on the London streets and the added chaos associated with the news spreading out of Westminster proved not the slightest hindrance. The coach wound at a quick pace down road after road on its way home.

“Your sister does not seem the type to give in to hysterics,” James said, “but do you feel we ought to send for a physician?”

She shook her head. “Persephone is made of stronger stuff than that. We all are.”

Another moment passed in silence. “I truly had not intended to force my company upon you again, Miss Lancaster. If you would prefer, I will keep to the corridor or entryway at Falstone House.”

“As I said, Lord Tilburn, we are made of stronger stuff than that.” Her calm came easily now, as if the well of her emotions had finally run dry. “I won’t be bothered one way or the other.”