Chapter Thirty-Four

Daphne could not make heads nor tails of James Tilburn. He had become surprisingly attentive. They had regained something of their previous affinity, but questions lurked in her mind.

Why had he suddenly renewed his interest? What were his intentions? Did his tender treatment of her indicate deeper feelings, or did he merely feel sorry for her or guilty about his previous behavior?

“I confess I had no idea Africa had been so intricately divided,” James said, holding up a particularly odd-shaped puzzle piece.

“The continent rather begged to be made into a jigsaw puzzle, did it not?” Daphne stringently kept to the most neutral of topics. She enjoyed conversations with him but felt far too vulnerable to delve into anything of a personal nature.

“We had a puzzle very like this as children.” James tried to fit his piece in, but it wouldn’t go. “It was of Europe, however, and not nearly so difficult. Your geography lessons must have been brutal.”

She couldn’t hold back a smile at his exaggerated tone. “Artemis was the only one of us subjected to this puzzle during her lessons. Linus brought it home with him during a visit.”

A brief moment passed as they continued unhurriedly working at the complicated pieces. Persephone sat nearer the sitting room windows, applying herself to a bit of embroidery. Artemis had taken full possession of the room’s fainting sofa in order to practice death scenes, having declared her previous efforts “sadly lacking in elegance.”

“Has your brother decided whether he means to leave the navy or continue on?”

The inquiry was a natural one but pricked her heart just the same. “He announced this morning that he had made his choice.”

James’s eyes immediately flew to hers. The briefest of seconds passed. “Oh, Daphne.” Those two words were saturated in compassionate understanding. “How soon does he return to his ship?”

Without a single word of explanation from her, he knew what had happened and precisely how she felt. No other person she’d known had ever been able to do that. His kindness coupled with her own shaky emotions nearly undid her. “He will be here less than one more week.” The words did not emerge entirely steady. “The Triumphant is due to sail in six days.”

“This must have come as a blow.”

She nodded. “Part of me clung to the hope that he would choose to resign his post, but he is a man of conviction, and we are, after all, a country at war. By all accounts, that war will spread to two fronts in the weeks ahead, the situation with the former colonies being what it is. I think I suspected all along he would return to fight.”

James turned the puzzle piece about in his hand, but his eyes never left her face. “If his principles dictate he return, then certainly he must. But I know how much you worry about him.”

Those were precisely her feelings. “I cannot fault him for his decision, but I am—”

“Concerned.” He smiled kindly. “I have ever admired your compassionate nature. In my experience, that is a far too rare quality.”

Heat stained her cheeks. Admired was a decidedly pleasant word coming from him—perhaps not the exact word she wished most to hear but encouraging, just the same. She felt rather like a fledgling chick inching closer to the edge of the nest, uncertain of what came next but not yet ready to brave the possibilities.

“My tendency to fret over people is nothing worthy of such praise.”

His brow furrowed. “Do you really think the compliment insincere?”

“Not insincere, merely . . . exaggerated.” She judiciously applied herself to the puzzle, finding this new topic as disquieting as their previous. Why could they not go back to discussing the continents or the weather? Her footing was much surer in those arenas.

James apparently did not intend to let the matter rest. “And if I were to tell you that in addition to your kind heart, you have a remarkable wit?”

She shook her head, keeping her gaze firmly fixed on the puzzle in which she had long since lost interest. “I am no comedienne, sir.”

“I suppose you also discount your admirable intelligence.”

“As my company is very seldom required by anyone, I have always had ample time for reading. It is not intelligence so much as years’ worth of lonely hours in need of filling with something. Anything.” She shrugged a little. “What good have my stores of trivial knowledge truly done me, after all?”

He offered no rebuttal, no further inquiries after her nonexistent charms. When the silence grew overly long, she hazarded a glance at him, half expecting a look of dismissal or an eagerness to be about his business. But his gaze appeared riveted on her face.

“Good gracious, you actually believe that.” He sounded entirely shocked.

The blush she’d felt begin moments before intensified. “I know what I am,” she said quietly. “And I have long since accepted the truth.”

James stood abruptly. “Miss Lancaster. Would you be so good as to take a short excursion with me?”

She didn’t immediately comply, trying to ascertain his intentions.

“Please?” he added, his voice quiet but firm.

Reminding herself that she had decided to be brave, she rose. He did not offer his arm as she had expected him to but instead took hold of her hand, entwining their fingers, then led her directly to the drawing room doors and out into the corridor. She had not at all sorted out his reasons for their sudden ‘excursion’ but was too lost in the wonderful feel of her hand in his to think overly much about it—until they reached their destination: the large gilded mirror hanging near the entryway.

James released her hand and turned her to face the looking glass hanging at a level just right for viewing nearly all of oneself. He stood directly behind her, ever so slightly to the left. Their eyes met in the mirror.

“Tell me what you see,” he said.

An odd request, to be sure. “You and I and the corridor.”

“No. I mean, when you look at yourself, tell me what you see.”

She dropped her gaze to the floor, mortification sweeping over her. How could he ask such a thing?

No sooner had her head lowered than she felt his fingers lightly press her chin upward once more.

“Tell me what you see.” He made the request once more, speaking with greater emphasis.

She stood very still. What did she see? A person should never be made to admit such a thing. “I am not very tall,” she answered tentatively, picking her most innocuous feature. “I know I am a bit plain, but that is preferable to being homely, I suppose.” Tears stung the backs of her eyes. She blinked several times to keep them at bay. She took a wavering breath but pressed on. “I do like to read, so I would consider myself well informed. I did not particularly take this Season, but I am welcomed by all the ton’s matrons, which is something of an accomplishment, I suppose.”

James watched her, his expression unreadable.

She diverted her gaze and lowered her voice to a level just hovering above a whisper. “That was likely not what you meant. One cannot ‘see’ those things.”

James laid his hands on her upper arms, moving close enough that she heard his very quiet words. “Would you like to know what I see?”

Would she? Surely he would not make the offer if his impressions were unflattering. Calling once more on her determination to be courageous, Daphne nodded, though she could not bring herself to look at him.

“You have the thickest hair I think I have ever seen on a lady and of such a pure shade of brown. I am certain that many of the ladies in Society are secretly quite envious of it. Likewise, not a soul who is privileged enough to see it could fail to notice your lovely smile, though I truly hope I am the only one who finds that one lone dimple so distractingly fascinating.”

Daphne looked up at the mirror. He stood very close, his eyes fixed on her reflection.

“But it is your eyes, Daphne, that draw one in. They glow with unmistakable intelligence, especially when you speak of your herbs, and you have the remarkable ability to see the world for what it truly is, even if you do not see yourself quite so clearly.”

He moved closer still, his breath rustling her hair as he spoke. Never in the course of their acquaintance had he stood so near. She dared not look up at him lest he see more in her eyes than she was yet ready for him to know. That she still loved him, she could no longer deny. Trusting him, however, was coming by inches, and slowly at that. A part of her knew that were he to stand so breathtakingly close to her on a regular basis, she would forgive him almost anything.

“Society is rife with empty-headed misses,” he said. “A gentleman with any sense whatsoever wishes for so much more than that. He wants that rare combination of goodness and intelligence. He counts himself most fortunate if those essential qualities accompany a pretty face. That, my dear,” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “is what I see.”

Only when he brushed moisture from her cheek with the pad of his thumb did she realize a tear had escaped her eyes. He tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear.

“Why don’t you see that, Daphne?”

She closed her eyes against the pain of that question. “Because that isn’t me. I am just Daphne, the plain, unnecessary sister. The nymph among the goddesses. The one who is forgotten in a heartbeat.”

“I assure you, that is not true in the least, for I tried valiantly. A great many heartbeats passed after the disastrous picnic, and I found myself entirely unable to forget you.”

Daphne opened her eyes, though she did not look up at him nor at his reflection before her. “You forgot me within moments of our first meeting. Given time, you would easily do so again.”

“Would I have returned after that first tea if I had immediately forgotten you?”

“Of course you would have,” she said, pain piercing her anew. “You were required to return. You were forced to remember me.”

“Things may have begun that way,” he said, “but as I came to know you better, I continued my courtship, not because I was required to but because I wished to. I returned eagerly, willingly.”

“But not honestly.” She was not certain he was being entirely honest with her now.

“I can make no justification for my lack of integrity,” he said, “nor will I try. I might have been cajoled into that first meeting, but I was not coerced into all of them.”

Into all of them. That was not at all comforting; neither was the realization that he had no recollection of a moment that had altered her life. “The call you paid at our at-home all those weeks ago was not our first meeting.” She saw confusion in his eyes. Confession seemed the best course of action. “We first met six years ago,” she told him. “I was hiding on the terrace during my sister’s come-out ball, spying on the festivities through the windows. You caught me there but kept my secret. Your kindness to a terribly timid little girl stayed with me long after that night. But on the few occasions afterward when our paths crossed, the complete lack of recognition in your expression told me as nothing else could that you had utterly forgotten me, just as everyone else does. Just as everyone always does.”

What had possessed her to confess so much to him? Daphne had told no one of her encounter with James Tilburn on the Falstone House terrace. If James did not already think her entirely pathetic, he most certainly would after hearing her history.

It was not pity, however, that she saw enter his eyes. His gaze as it reflected back at her from the mirror appeared very nearly amazed. “Your hair hung in two long braids, and you wore the frilliest nightdress I could possibly have imagined.”

Daphne’s breathing came to a sudden halt. Did he actually remember?

“You were a study in contradictions.” James watched her intently. “You were so tiny, no larger, I thought at the time, than a girl of eight or nine, yet you acted older despite your timidity. You seemed terrified to so much as speak, yet you were defying the Dangerous Duke’s demands in order to snatch a peek at the ball.”

Good heavens, he did remember.

“I never could be entirely sure of your age, which is likely one reason I did not recognize you in the light of day, but I assure you I recall that meeting. I told my brother about you, and I thought of that little girl often over the years.”

“You did?” Her amazement rendered the question almost breathless.

He nodded. “I never learned your name or your exact connection to His Grace. None of the duchess’s sisters appeared to be the right age. I assumed that little girl was a distant cousin and never did inquire further.” The confession brought a crease of worry to his brow. “The only excuse I can make for myself is that I was young and still a little too flighty and preoccupied with my own worries. But I told Ben of a little girl who reminded me of a determined little sparrow who sought her freedom even in the face of oppression.”

Daphne’s breath caught in her lungs. Little Sparrow. How she had longed to hear him say that again.

He shifted beside her. Daphne’s gaze remained glued to him. Was he leaving?

James stepped in front of her and brushed his hand along her cheek. Daphne very nearly held her breath, the touch unexpected and pleasantly unsettling.

“All these years,” James said, still standing near her but no longer touching her face. “I’ve wondered what happened to that little girl. I ought to have realized. You have the same brown eyes. More to the point, you have the same bravery—something both my brother and I envied in that quiet child.”

“I have never been very brave,” Daphne said. Had not Adam told her himself she had acted unforgivably fainthearted?

James took her face in his hands. “You taught me how to be courageous, both then and now.” A curious trembling began in her middle at the feel of his hands on her face. His words somehow penetrated her increasingly fuzzy thoughts. “And you have shown me how to be kind, how to care for my family without being taken advantage of. You have shown me what it means to be good and worthy. Though I most certainly do not deserve your regard, I intend to try to win it.”

“You did not actually want my regard but were forced into pursuing it.” It pained her to bring the topic up once more, but she was so confused. She had no idea what to think or believe.

“As I was reminded recently, Apollo was a thick-witted buffoon.” His hands slipped from her face to her shoulders, though his eyes didn’t leave hers. “His Daphne never did know the sincerity of his regard, but I am determined that my Daphne will.”

Her breath caught, the unexpelled air pulsing in rhythm with her pounding heart. “Your Daphne?”

“The duke would likely chain me up in the attics for being so presumptuous.” He made as if to pull away.

Daphne took hold of the sleeve of his frock coat. “Your Daphne?”

He stepped in close once more, his voice low and intimate. “I mean to do all I can, dearest Daphne, to prove myself worthy of being yours and of calling you mine.”

Fear warred with hope. “You are asking a lot of me, James,” she whispered.

A sigh of relief escaped his lips. “You called me James.”

She bit down a smile. “Have you missed that?”

“I have missed you.”

“I am here now,” she said.

She heard his thick swallow, then his shaky breath. “Daphne.” Her name was a plea on his lips. “Tell me I am to have another chance.”

“I do not trust easily,” she warned.

He nodded. “And you have ample reason to doubt me.” He looked so worried, so heartbroken.

She reached out and touched his forlorn face. “But you are also giving me reason to believe, however tentatively.”

He closed his eyes. His shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath. “I will not squander this opportunity,” he vowed.

“Neither will I.” An unexpected surge of bravery overtook her. She rose on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. His arms wrapped around her on the instant. His hands splayed on her back, holding her close to him. She turned her head the tiniest bit, facing him directly. A scant breath separated them.

He bent slowly toward her. All thoughts fled but one: James Tilburn was going to kiss her.

The lightest touch of his lips on hers sent her pulse racing. She clung to him, not wanting the moment to end.

But she heard the front door open just out of sight of where they stood. James must have noticed the sound as well. He stepped away from her a bit.

Very purposeful footfalls preceded the arrival of both Adam and Linus, neither looking particularly pleased.

Adam’s gaze settled on James. “Tilburn.”

“Your Grace,” James acknowledged, the smallest bit of worry in his tone.

“We”—Adam indicated Linus with a slight lift of his head—“have just had a most interesting conversation.”

Adam did tend toward cryptic explanations in favor of useful ones, especially when he was displeased. Daphne turned to Linus, hoping for more information.

He did not disappoint. To James he said, “Your father is a parasite.”