Chapter Three

Daphne sat at her dressing table eyeing her formidable brother-in-law in the mirror. “I fully intend to petition the House of Lords and have this particular form of torture outlawed.”

Adam merely shrugged. “Most of them would not comprehend a word you said.”

She smiled in spite of herself. Adam had on more than one occasion denounced the Upper House as “a collection of molded jellies piled atop one another without so much as a thought between them all.”

“I will speak in short, simple sentences,” she said. “That should increase their chances of grasping the issue at hand.”

“Your sister was so eager for a Season she resorted to underhanded schemes and the employment of diversionary tactics.” Adam looked no more happy about that bit of history than he had six years earlier when it had originally played out.

“Circumstances were different for Athena.” Daphne’s gaze drifted back to her own reflection—her plain, short, unexceptional reflection. “For one thing, she was older than I am. Further, she takes great enjoyment in the social whirl. Also, she had Harry.”

“She did not know she had Harry,” Adam countered.

“She did not know she had Harry in the way she had Harry, but she still had him.”

“Splitting hairs will do you no good, Daphne.” Adam came and stood beside her mirror, looking at her directly rather than reflection to reflection. Though she did not think his badly scarred face truly bothered him, she had noticed he seldom looked in mirrors. “Like it or not, you are to have a Season.”

“But I do not wish to have one.” She preferred the quiet of home and the company of those who understood her reticence and accepted her as she was. “I have made my bows. Can we not declare that sufficient pain and suffering and return to Falstone Castle?”

“This is Society. No amount of pain and suffering will ever prove sufficient.”

“How comforting.” She turned in her chair and looked directly at him. “You know I hate these things every bit as much as you do. I am doomed to end my debut in failure.”

“If Society doesn’t take to you, Daphne, it will be no failure on your part. You are well-spoken and intelligent and—”

“When was the last time a gentleman at your club slapped his crony on the shoulder and said ‘Perchance, have you met London’s newest diamond? Every gentleman in Town is clamoring to win her regard because she is so well-spoken and intelligent.’” Daphne ended in a withering tone.

“I doubt 90 percent of the gentlemen in London could spell the word perchance, let alone use it correctly in a sentence.”

She let her disenchantment show. “And these are the gems with whom Persephone wishes me to spend the next few months?”

Adam was clearly not willing to debate. He stood mutely, waiting.

“Why could we not spend the afternoon in our usual way?” Daphne tried a different approach. “Would not an hour spent in your book room discussing the issues of the day or simply reading quietly be a more pleasant use of our time?”

She had begun spending every afternoon with Adam shortly after coming to live with her sister and brother-in-law years earlier. Persephone, however, insisted that Daphne begin making calls and receiving callers as the other ladies of the ton did. Not only was Daphne to be forced into social interactions, something she severely disliked, but she was also to be denied her afternoons with Adam, something she treasured.

“You know better than to expect me to contradict your sister.” He was unwaveringly devoted to his wife.

There would be no avoiding her obligations. She took a fortifying breath—a tactic Adam himself had taught her when she was young and often too shy to leave the house.

“I suppose I must report to the drawing room for Persephone’s at-home.” She stepped toward the door. “Shall I provide you with a detailed recounting afterward?”

“Actually”—he caught up to her and guided her into the corridor—“I will be joining you.”

“You are attending an at-home? Has someone informed the Times? This could be the lead story.” Though she teased him, Adam’s presence at tea was entirely unprecedented.

“One remark like that and I will have you locked inside Almack’s and force you to listen to Lady Jersey prattle for hours on end until you apologize in abject humiliation, you impudent child.”

Daphne smiled inwardly. Adam did have a flare for colorful threats.

Persephone was standing at the center of the drawing room when Daphne and Adam arrived, supervising the setting out of tea and finger foods for the guests who were anticipated.

“Adam, are you joining us this afternoon?” Persephone laughed, obviously convinced her husband had no intention of remaining.

“I am,” he said.

The look of surprise on Persephone’s face was very nearly comical. “What, may I ask, has brought on this unexpected change? I doubt you have suddenly grown fond of Society.”

“I would like nothing better than to see the lot of them fall into the Thames and never be heard from again.”

Persephone’s brow pulled down. “Are you planning to abscond with them, here, this afternoon, and deliver them to their watery graves? Because I warn you, there will be no kidnapping during my at-home, Adam Boyce.”

“I won’t abduct or shoot any of your guests. Beyond that, I make no promises.”

With a grace Daphne had never possessed, Persephone glided to Adam’s side and slipped her hand in his, pulling him to a nearby sofa. She sat close to his side, a smile touching her face. Daphne enjoyed watching the two of them together. To be so loved by another person. She had wanted that all her life.

She’d been but twelve years old when James Tilburn had captured her heart. She always thought of him as James Tilburn, both names together. He, however, likely had no recollection of that meeting or of the timid girl who had been so touched by his kindness. She saw him about Town occasionally but never managed the courage to speak with him beyond the polite greetings customarily exchanged amongst very distant acquaintances.

“I have a feeling you have concocted some sort of plan, Adam,” Persephone said. “You simply must tell me what it is.”

“Not a plan, dear.” He held his wife’s hand in both of his.

“Then why remain? You seldom do.”

“Because today I have”—his gaze flicked briefly to Daphne—“invited a guest.”

A guest?

“And who is this guest?” Persephone’s curiosity had clearly been piqued.

“Do not press for information, as I have no intention of offering any.”

Daphne could see Persephone intended to do just that, and she silently encouraged her sister. Whom could he possibly have invited? Adam could not abide the company of anyone outside their intimate circle of family and close friends.

“Lady Genevieve,” the butler announced from the door of the drawing room.

Persephone shot Adam a questioning look. “Your guest?” she whispered.

“That old bat had better not even be invited to my funeral,” Adam grumbled.

“Behave,” Persephone scolded as she rose to her feet and moved to greet the first arrival of the afternoon.

Adam stood as well, though no one could possibly interpret his expression as one of pleasure. Lady Genevieve appeared appropriately alarmed at his presence and general aura. She quickly found a seat far enough from Adam to apparently feel safe once more. He offered a bow and a mumbled greeting before selecting a chair beneath the tall windows as far as possible from the designated gathering area without actually leaving the room.

Persephone sat at the tea service, as was expected of a hostess. Daphne sat beside her, knowing she would be required to help serve the guests.

Why could Persephone not have left well enough alone? Daphne wanted no part in any of this. A future as an elderly, maidenly aunt appealed far more than being paraded about Town in the hope that somebody of reasonable intelligence, conversation, and hygiene took notice of her.

Lady Genevieve looked her over with an air of blatant curiosity. Daphne doubted she would ever grow accustomed to that. For eighteen years, she had been the Lancaster sister no one ever noticed.

“I understand you mean to attempt a Season, Miss Lancaster. I applaud your determination. You have never struck me as one who could make a splash in London society.”

From his distant seat, Adam cleared his throat far too loudly for the act to have been unintentional. Lady Genevieve, obviously startled, glanced in his direction. Adam’s piercing glare did not waver from their guest.

Lady Genevieve looked decidedly uncomfortable for a moment. “That is to say . . . I am so pleased you will be gracing Society with your presence.”

Adam’s lips silently formed the words old bat as his eyes drifted to the window. His offense on Daphne’s behalf was touching, if unnecessary. Daphne knew all of London was not only shocked at her come-out but was also fully expecting her to fail rather spectacularly.

The presence of the Dangerous Duke had the happy effect of cutting short Lady Genevieve’s visit. She stayed not a minute longer than the quarter-hour expected of her and spent the entirety of the call glancing uneasily in the direction of her host.

Looks ranging from apprehension to full-bodied fear seemed the order of the day. A great many guests paraded through the drawing room. Every single one stopped short upon spying Adam; a few even turned around and darted back out. Persephone barely concealed her amusement, letting her annoyance show more often. For her part, Daphne rather preferred the shorter visits.

Nearly the entire two-hour allotment passed without her brother-in-law giving the slightest indication that his expected guest had arrived. Each time someone new arrived, Daphne looked quickly in Adam’s direction, wondering if his mystery acquaintance had at last come. Each time, he appeared no more pleased than before.

The ormolu clock chimed the half hour to an empty room. Daphne had nearly met her social obligation for the day.

“It seems your guest has chosen not to attend,” Persephone said.

A bit of the tension Daphne felt eased at the possibility. Two hours of conversation and polite interaction had proven exhausting. She far preferred quiet solitude.

“He will come.” Adam spoke without the least doubt.

“For heaven’s sake, Adam, whom have you invited?” Persephone’s eyes shone brightly. She obviously enjoyed the mystery.

Daphne sorely disliked surprises, especially those involving people with whom she was expected to interact.

“A gentleman,” Adam said. “One whom I find, surprisingly, is not an idiot.” For the infamous Duke of Kielder, that counted as a compliment.

Persephone nibbled at a watercress finger sandwich. “He sounds remarkable.”

Daphne heard the distinct sound of a knock at the front door. She braced herself. Was this the gentleman Adam had invited? All of the guests that day had been female, married, and many years Daphne’s senior. No other young ladies making their debuts had come, certainly no gentlemen. The house had been crawling with eager, unmarried suitors from the very first moment of Athena’s come-out.

Adam turned toward the drawing room doors. “That, I believe, is he.”

Daphne held her breath. Adam’s guest had arrived, a gentleman, apparently, and one likely to be a stranger. Her heart pounded high in her throat at the thought. How she wished she had her sisters’ courage. Even more than that, she wished she were not in London in the first place.

Footsteps sounded down the corridor. Daphne rose and turned toward the slightly ajar doors. She told herself repeatedly that she could face another caller. If an hour and a half of socializing had not done her in, another thirty minutes certainly would not.

The door slowly opened. The butler addressed Persephone, as was proper. “Lord Tilburn, Your Grace.”

Daphne’s mind emptied of all thoughts beyond that name. Lord Tilburn, James Tilburn’s courtesy title. James Tilburn was at Falstone House. Six years of reading about him in the papers, of listening raptly whenever his name came up in conversation, of learning all she could of him and his character and, without warning, he was in her house. She had admired him in secret for a third of her life, and there he stood in the doorway of the drawing room.

He always dressed with care but would never be labeled a dandy. His manners were ever impeccable without being pretentious. She liked so much about him but didn’t feel anything but trepidation at his arrival.

Her gaze met Adam’s. I will not survive this, she silently implored, knowing her agitation must have shown in her expression. His mouth drew tight in a line of censure. Only when he looked at her precisely that way did she truly notice his badly scarred face. She’d grown so accustomed to the disfigurement over the years that she seldom actively noted it. But that expression, the one that always meant he expected more bravery from her than she was showing, pulled on his scars in a way that brought them to her attention once more, reminding her that he wasn’t merely her beloved Adam but the Dangerous Duke, whose dictates were ironclad.

Defeat seeped into her. There would be no escape from this unexpected encounter, no opportunity to prepare herself to be in James Tilburn’s company.

Adam drew their guest over to her. “Daphne, may I make known to you Lord Tilburn of Techney Manor in Lancashire.”

She managed to keep her calm long enough to execute a creditable curtsy. Good heavens. James Tilburn. If she’d known he was expected, she might have chosen a prettier gown or had her maid spend a few extra moments on her hair. She knew, though, that had she been privy to Adam’s plan, she likely would have called upon every imaginable excuse to avoid the encounter. Dreaming of his presence was not nearly as unnerving as being with him.

James Tilburn offered a very correct bow. “I believe I may have met Miss Lancaster in your company on a previous occasion or two.”

His words surprised her. Did he in fact remember their meeting at Gunther’s toward the end of the previous Season? Very few words had been exchanged, but he had inquired after her enjoyment of the various diversions London offered and had expressed his pleasure at hearing she had spent an enjoyable few weeks in Town. He had seen her, despite the presence of her graceful older sister and her beautiful younger sister, just as he had on the terrace years earlier.

“Tea, Lord Tilburn?” Persephone asked, smoothly guiding him to a seat near the recently replenished tray of offerings.

Daphne glanced at Adam. He stepped close enough for a whispered exchange. “If you faint, I will publicly and irrevocably disown you.”

“Adam, how could you do this without telling me?” She kept her voice low enough to avoid being overheard.

“And give you a chance to run away?” Adam executed the slightest lift of one eyebrow. “I know you well enough to realize this frightens you. However, I expect you to summon the courage to grasp this opportunity.”

“Opportunity?” Just how much of her feelings did Adam understand? A horrible thought occurred to her. “You didn’t force him to come, did you?”

“No. I simply issued an invitation.” He looked at her, his expression stern but kind. “But I will force you over there. I have endured an hour and a half of worthless prattle waiting for this, all for your benefit, and I do not intend to waste my sacrifice.”

“Did you ‘invite’ him to do more than merely call on us?” Her stomach dropped at the possibility.

“One call, Daphne. One afternoon’s tea. I suggested nothing beyond.”

The relief she felt was quickly mired by an unexpected sense of strain. He had come for this one single visit. If he enjoyed the visit even the smallest bit, perhaps he would return. If not, however, this might very well be her only opportunity to enjoy his company.

“What if I fall apart?” She had not yet calmed from the initial sight of James Tilburn standing in her home.

“I suggest you don’t, as I refuse to piece you back together.”

Had he any idea how close she was in that moment to simply crumbling? “He does not seem the type of gentleman in whose presence I need to feel nervous.” She spoke as much to herself as to Adam.

“I would not have invited the whelp if I’d thought otherwise. Still, I will shoot him dead if he tries anything untoward or ungentlemanly.” With that declaration, Adam returned to his isolated chair.

“You promised Persephone you wouldn’t shoot anyone.”

“I’ll run him through, then. That would be more satisfying anyway.” Adam shooed her away.

Doing her best to appear poised, Daphne retook the seat she had occupied all afternoon.

“Lancashire is a lovely county,” Persephone was saying. “We have passed through many times on our way to Shropshire.”

“I am rather partial to Lancashire myself,” their guest said. “I have lived there my entire life.”

Daphne covertly watched him, remembering once more the first time she’d seen him and how struck she’d been by him. He would not elicit sighs and swoons from all the ladies, perhaps, but no one could honestly say that he was not handsome. And there was a kindness in his face she had always appreciated.

“You must miss home when you are in Town for the Season.” Persephone’s conversational skills far surpassed Daphne’s. She had a knack for putting her guests at ease.

“There is a lot I miss about home.” He smiled fondly.

For the briefest moment, his gaze met Daphne’s. A shiver slid through her at the unexpected connection.

She summoned what courage she could, pulling forth the rote phrases she’d learned to summon when called upon to speak to someone who made her nervous. “How pleased we are to have you call on us.”

His eyes darted about the room a moment, no longer looking at her. “I am afraid I do not make many social calls, something I am trying to be better about.” He spoke in a voice of distraction, looking around once more at the conspicuously empty room.

Was that the reason for his continued discomfort? Her lack of callers? Quite a few people had come and gone during the first part of the at-home. Were she a great beauty or more at ease in Society, the house might have been overflowing with callers for the entire two hours. Heat spread slowly over her face, something he likely couldn’t help but notice.

“I believe a great many gentlemen take quite the opposite approach to yours,” Persephone said, handing him a cup of hot tea. “Rather than decide to make more social calls, they do their utmost to make far fewer.”

“It is a miracle any gentlemen are ever seen socially,” he answered.

Persephone smiled. “Indeed.”

Daphne sat miserably mute in her chair. James Tilburn had come to call only to find an echoing cavern of a drawing room. He must think her the most pathetic of figures. Though Adam had denied as much, she fully suspected he had in some way forced the visit.

Persephone kept their visitor engaged in conversation. Every possible comment that came to mind, Daphne quickly dismissed as inane or unforgivably doltish. The few times she thought of a remark that might have reflected well on her, she spent too long convincing herself to speak and the opportunity passed.

The allotted time for visiting came to an end without her speaking more than a half dozen times, few of those remarks constituting more than a word or two. James Tilburn rose, making the expected farewells.

Daphne’s heart sank to the very soles of her feet. Her one opportunity to make the acquaintance of a gentleman she had admired so long from afar and she’d made a mull of it, just as she likely would her entire debut. Why could she not have been blessed with even an ounce of her sisters’ social graces?

She curtseyed in response to James Tilburn’s bow. “Thank you for calling on us, Lord Tilburn.” Another phrase she’d memorized before embarking on her come-out. Greetings and farewells occurred so frequently that they needed to come from a place of habit rather than thought.

He replied with “A pleasure,” a phrase so common Daphne suspected he too spoke from memory.

She looked over at Adam as James Tilburn made his way to the drawing room door. She was sinking in her own misery. How was it she managed to fail at every single social encounter? Adam gave her his “screw your courage to the sticking place” look.

At the door, James Tilburn turned back. He looked from Adam to Persephone. “I will confess I am not at all certain who is the proper one to ask, but I wondered if I might be permitted to take Miss Lancaster for a drive tomorrow in the park.”

All the blood seemed to drain from her face before rushing back with force. Her heart pounded so hard in her ears she could hardly make out Persephone’s response. Permission was granted and a time arranged.

“Until tomorrow, then, Miss Lancaster.” James Tilburn bowed at the door.

Daphne had never before been invited to take a drive and, not having ever expected to receive such an invitation, hadn’t a ready response. She muttered something even she didn’t understand and managed a creditable curtsy.

A moment or two passed in silence. Likely Adam and Persephone were as shocked as she was. The couple stepped from the room, walking arm in arm. Persephone gave her a broad and happy smile. Adam simply nodded, looking both surprised and intrigued.