Chapter Thirty

As Daphne had predicted, the duchess remained remarkably calm, though concern did touch her features as the evening wore on. Miss Artemis paced about, waving her hands dramatically and, no doubt, making silent predictions of doom. Daphne showed no emotions whatsoever. James didn’t like it. The neutrality of her expression didn’t fit her in the least.

She sat near the front windows, though she kept her gaze on her sewing. James leaned against the window frame. Daphne did not outwardly acknowledge his presence, though she must have noticed him there.

He had no idea where to begin, how to break through the barrier between them. Something had to be said, however mundane and idiotic it might sound. “The tonic you had made for Mother worked wonders,” he said. “She was a vast deal more comfortable when she left for Lancashire.”

“I am pleased to hear it.” Still she kept her gaze elsewhere.

He inched closer. “Ben traveled to Northumberland. He is spending some time with your brother-in-law.”

“Harry told us about your brother’s visit in his last letter. He was quite looking forward to sharing all he has learned.” She spoke with very little animation, her voice quiet, her tone politely conversational and nothing more.

James had no intention of giving up. He pressed on with the topic, all the while searching his mind for subject matter that might draw her from her seclusion. “Mr. Windover will have an eager student in Ben.”

“I hope his time there will prove beneficial.” She actually looked at him. James worked to keep his expression neutral. Instinct told him Daphne was far more jumpy than she let on. He feared any overt show of enthusiasm would only push her further away.

“I know your brother has been very concerned about his estate,” she said.

“That concern has transformed into excitement since Mr. Windover’s invitation arrived. I have been acutely relieved to see it.”

She nodded slowly and without enthusiasm. The lady with whom he had shared his thoughts and worries had disappeared behind a stoic and impenetrable mask. He made no further attempts at conversation as the evening wore on. She clearly would not allow it.

Sounds of voices floated up from the entryway below not long after the ormolu clock on the mantel struck seven. The duchess was on her feet on the instant, her eyes glued to the door. Miss Artemis pressed her hand to her heart, watching the door as well. Daphne was clearly aware of the inevitability of someone’s entrance but didn’t seem anxious one way or the other. He was certain she was, but she didn’t permit it to show.

The door flew open, and the Duke of Kielder swept inside, his formidable gaze ranging the expanse of the room. “Is everyone here in one piece?” He eyed them all and, apparently satisfied with what he saw, gave a firm nod. “Good. I’ll be in my book room until dinner is ready.”

“Adam,” Her Grace said, stopping her husband in the instant before he turned back toward the still-open door.

He watched her in somewhat impatient anticipation. “I have to—”

“Adam Richard Boyce. You come over here this instant and assure me you are well and whole.”

Something of her concern must have penetrated his obviously distracted mind. He crossed to her. “You aren’t going to faint, are you?”

She took an audible breath and leaned in to him, wrapping her arms around him. He followed suit, holding his wife in a gentle embrace. James had never in all his life seen such a thing. His parents did their utmost to avoid each other’s company.

“Do you know, Persephone,” the duke said, “even after seven years of marriage, I am still shocked to realize you worry about me. No one else has ever bothered.”

“I wasn’t worried,” she whispered, though the quiver in her voice belied her words. “You have set our dinner back, and I am hungry, that’s all.”

The duke did something James could never have imagined. He smiled. Not a broad, eye-twinkling smile, not even enough of a smile to turn up both sides of his mouth, but the tiniest twitch of his lips.

“Never let it be said that the Dangerous Duke allowed his duchess to go hungry.” He pulled a little free of his wife’s embrace and slid his hands to her face. “Have dinner set out. I’ll join you and the girls just as soon as I’ve spoken with Tilburn.” He pressed a kiss to his wife’s forehead. “Will that wriggle me out of your black books?”

“For now,” she answered, lightness returning to her voice.

The duke nodded his approval, then turned toward James. “You. My book room. Now.”

James followed His Grace out of the sitting room and back to the very book room in which a selection of the Kielder armory had been laid out the last time he’d entered. The desktop on which it had lain was blessedly empty.

“Sit.”

James sat in the seat facing him only to immediately discover how very uncomfortable and low to the ground the seat he had been offered truly was. His head only barely sat higher than the desktop.

The duke’s expression remained stern. “Let me begin by saying that pressing you into service this evening is not to be taken as an indication of any level of approval on my part. Daphne needed to return home, and you were the most convenient means of accomplishing that.”

What could he do but nod? He was absolutely certain a vocal response would be dangerously unwelcome. The duke didn’t speak, neither did he look away. He simply watched James, eyes narrowed, mouth turned down.

The silence dragged on. Perhaps this was what was meant by the calm before the storm.

“Ah, Linus,” the duke said without looking away from him. “Come in.”

James watched the lieutenant’s ominous approach.

“You were warned not to return.” Lieutenant Lancaster spoke from a menacingly close distance, his eyes snapping with anger. “Onboard ship, we keelhaul men for ignoring orders.”

“Stand down, Linus,” the duke said, his voice as even as though he were attending to the well-being of a not particularly valuable horse. “You cannot keelhaul a man on dry land, and I will not tolerate idle threats.”

The lieutenant did not back away in the slightest. Though the duke had the more apocalyptic reputation, the navy man’s glare proved every bit as disconcerting. “It was not idle. I know a jaunty who’d be more than happy to oblige me.”

“Save that favor for another time,” the duke said. “I have asked Tilburn to be here. It is time, Linus, we did something about Daphne.”

James looked from one of them to the other and back. He was worried about how withdrawn she’d become. Was there more the matter with Daphne than that?

“Are you certain about this, Adam?” Lieutenant Lancaster asked.

The duke nodded. “You can keelhaul him later if this proves a poor strategy.”

“Do you promise?”

A ducal nod seemed to secure the lieutenant’s faith in the plan. “How familiar are you, Lord Tilburn, with the story of Daphne from Greek mythology?” A decidedly odd question for the lieutenant to pose without preamble.

“Not very,” James admitted. “Daphne was a nymph, and I believe someone turned her into a tree.”

The lieutenant nodded. He lowered himself into a chair near the duke. “That is generally all anyone remembers. My father was a scholar of all things Greek. He once said Daphne’s tale was the most tragic in all of mythology.”

“Even more tragic than Perseph—?” A quick glance at the duke silenced James’s question. His Grace would take any negative view of Persephone of old as a slight on his wife and likely himself. James reminded himself to keep his mouth shut.

Lieutenant Lancaster wove his fingers together, resting them in his lap. “My father believed Daphne’s suffering was entirely self-imposed. Knowing cupid’s arrow instigated Apollo’s pursuit of her and not the natural dictates of his heart, Daphne did not trust Apollo’s feelings for her.”

Snippets of his education came back. “But I seem to remember that cupid’s arrows created a permanent change,” James said. “Though the beginning may have been forced, the outcome was not temporary.” James could honestly say he’d never before discussed Greek philosophy outside of university.

The lieutenant nodded. “But history was decidedly against Apollo. Nymphs were beautiful and desirable, but demigods did not pursue them with long-term intentions. They were generally viewed as expendable and inherently unimportant. A nymph, after all, is not a goddess.”

He watched the two men, uncertain of the exact purpose of this discussion, knowing only that it had to do with Daphne.

“So Daphne of myth ran from Apollo, not because she despised him but because she anticipated his eventual defection,” Lieutenant Lancaster said. “She felt certain he would hurt her, would wound her heart with his false declarations of love. She begged the river god to save her from what she feared most. In general, people view the river god’s solution as unnecessarily cruel.”

“He turned her into a tree,” James said. “That does seem rather drastic.”

“He gave her precisely what she wanted,” the lieutenant countered. “Daphne pleaded to be saved from pain and heartache. But suffering is part of being human. She could only truly escape it by feeling nothing at all.” Lieutenant Lancaster’s voice took on a pointed quality as undeniable as his glare. “As my father said, hers was tragic, self-imposed suffering. What might have happened, he used to muse, if, instead of running, instead of cutting herself off so entirely, she had turned around and allowed the possibility of love to give her courage as she faced her fears?”

“Or,” the duke spoke for the first time since his brother-in-law had taken up the unexpected tale, his tone strangely accusatory, “if Apollo hadn’t been so blasted bacon-brained in the first place.”

“In the Lancaster family,” the lieutenant continued, “our lives have the uncanny tendency to resemble those of our ancient counterparts. I, for one, am hoping to not be strangled with my own lyre. If I possessed the smallest degree of intelligence, I would have chosen a different instrument, though at thirteen, it had seemed rather too comical a choice to turn down.” He shrugged, something of a mischievous smile hovering on his lips. Did all the Lancasters know how to produce just such a look? James had even seen Daphne’s face light with mischief on occasion.

The lieutenant continued. “How likely is it, do you think, Lord Tilburn, that our Daphne will find herself transformed into a tree?”

“A tree?” Was the man in earnest? “Not likely, I would venture.”

“On that, sir, I must beg to differ.” The lieutenant offered no further explanation.

“I place the blame entirely on Apollo,” the duke said. “If he’d been a man of purpose and determination, he not only would have wooed her with some degree of capability but would also have caught up with the stubborn girl before things got so blasted out of hand.”

James knew something about unsuccessful courtships and felt more than a bit of sympathy for Apollo. “Perhaps he realized too late what he would lose if he did not redouble his efforts. Perhaps he never was given the second chance he needed.”

“Perhaps,” the duke ventured, “he was a thick-witted buffoon.”

“But the river god might have given Apollo an opportunity to make things right before turning the poor girl into a tree,” James insisted.

Of a sudden, both men were looking directly at him, their expressions quite serious. The duke spoke, though obviously on both their behalves. “Had he—reluctantly, mind you—postponed the transformation long enough for Apollo to try his hand under very, very close scrutiny—”

“Armed scrutiny,” the lieutenant amended.

“—and only out of love for the nymph, not any degree of empathy for the bird-brained Apollo, would the addlepated man have made a mull of it, do you think? Would he have only made things worse? Made more promises only to break them?”

James understood now the reason for the story. He was cast in the role of Apollo to his modern-day Daphne. “If given the opportunity, he would have tried again. And again and again if need be.”

“The river god might still have whisked Daphne away, feeling Apollo was not good for her or good enough for her,” the duke warned.

“At least they could have discovered as much.” James’s pulse pounded in his neck. They were going to give him a chance. Daphne might still reject him, might want nothing to do with him, but he had a chance. “If nothing else, she might not have hidden herself away. Her loss of vibrancy was the true tragedy, not Apollo’s lost opportunity. She deserved better. She still does.”

“That,” the duke said, rising to his feet, “is exactly what I needed to hear.”

James rose as well. His Grace and the lieutenant walked away from the desk, pausing a few steps from the doorway. He looked back at James. “Come on, then. Time for dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“You do eat, do you not?”

“I do.” What was the duke getting at?

“You’ll be taking your evening meal here tonight.” His Grace pushed open the doors.

James took several quick steps in order to catch up with his apparent host for the evening. “I doubt I will be welcomed by the rest of your family. They were hardly happy to see me this evening whilst waiting for your return.”

“That is also not required.” His Grace motioned James into the drawing room. “If they wish to carve you alongside the braised beef, so be it. But if your presence here will help Daphne come back to us, then it is worth trying.”

“I will do whatever I can,” he promised. “I hate seeing her so withdrawn.”

“In case you are wondering,” the duke said, “you will be permitted to speak to her, look at her, be in the same room as she, but”—His Grace moved closer, eyes boring into James’s, his expression growing more ominous—“under no circumstances will you be permitted to touch her. One finger, Tilburn—you lay one finger on her, and I will break that finger and all its companions one at a time with a hot fire poker.”

“And I will drop you in the Thames with an anchor tied to your neck,” the lieutenant added.

“I understand.” James accepted the limits placed on him. He hadn’t expected to be permitted anything.

The Lancaster sisters were all in the sitting room when James and his would-be torturers stepped inside.

“Is Lord Tilburn staying for dinner?” Her Grace asked, clearly not too pleased by the prospect. “I hadn’t expected a guest.”

“Lord Tilburn is here as my prisoner,” the duke explained.

“Oh, how wonderfully horrid!” Miss Artemis sounded delighted. “I just knew you could be a dastardly, bloodthirsty guardian, Adam, if only you would put your mind to it. Prisoners! How wonderful!”

James’s attention was on Daphne. Physically, she appeared whole. But her eyes were different. The spark had disappeared. The look of forced serenity on her face slipped momentarily into surprise when her eyes fell on James. She stood stiffly, brows drawn together, lips turned downward. James stepped forward, alarmed, as the color in her face drained by degrees.

She held up her hand. He stopped a few steps from her, knowing what the gesture meant. Daphne’s eyes darted in the duke’s direction, then returned to James’s face almost immediately. She did not look at all happy to see him.

“Why have you remained?” she asked in an urgent whisper.

“Your brother-in-law invited me to take my evening meal here.”

Daphne shook her head. “The Dangerous Duke does not issue invitations. He threatened you.”

“I wanted to stay, and he is allowing me to.” It was something of a twist to the actual facts but true, just the same.

She only looked more confused. The life still hadn’t reentered her eyes, but at least there was a hint of animation in her face. “Well, then, welcome, Lord Tilburn.”

So formal. So impersonal. He bowed in response. “A pleasure, Miss Lancaster.”

She was not particularly talkative with her family, he noticed as the evening wore on. Aside from the occasional nod or quietly offered response, Daphne kept to herself throughout the meal. James had seen her with her family before and did not remember her ever being so distanced from them.

After dinner, Daphne took a seat near the window while the rest of her family sat in a more intimate grouping around the empty fireplace. No one seemed surprised by the distance she placed between herself and her family members. How commonplace had this become?

He had hoped in time to achieve some degree of absolution from the lady he’d harmed. But his goal changed entirely over the course of that single evening. He swore to himself he would do whatever he must to see her happy again, whether or not she ever forgave him. His Daphne would not meet the same fate as her namesake.