Chapter Seven

Daphne remembered with perfect clarity the night Athena had attended her first ball six years earlier. Her sister had overflowed with excitement. Facing her own first foray, Daphne felt nearly certain she was going to be sick.

Persephone, who had been mingling amongst the other guests during the quarter of an hour since their family’s arrival, returned and took a seat beside the one Daphne occupied. “Your worries over being a wallflower appear to be all for naught, dearest. No fewer than a dozen gentlemen told me in no uncertain terms that they are quite anxious to dance with you.”

As that was highly unlikely, Daphne simply offered her sister the doubt-filled look her words deserved.

“I am perfectly serious, I assure you.” Persephone put her arm around Daphne’s shoulders. “I realize your first week of the Season was less than spectacular, but I do believe that was Adam’s fault. He rather frightens people, you realize.”

Adam stood beside and a bit behind her chair. Though he stood in utter silence, Daphne swore she detected a growl.

“Did he have to wear his sword?” she asked her sister in a whisper.

Persephone nodded without hesitation. “He wore it throughout Athena’s Season. And though I love our sister dearly, I readily admit he likes you far better than he does her.” Her grin was unmistakably conspiratorial. “These next few months might prove a bit tense for the residents of London.”

“That doesn’t bode well.” Her success was in question as it was.

“I thought after Adam’s dispatch of Mr. Bartram at the theater a few nights ago that no one would dare so much as offer any of us a good day.” Persephone moved her hands to her lap once more, but her earnest gaze stayed on Daphne’s face. “But then Lord Tilburn arrived like a rescuing knight. If not for his willingness to brave Adam’s wrath, I don’t think a single soul would have stepped inside.”

“Adam glared them all back out as it was,” Daphne reminded her.

“Yes, he did.” Persephone’s eyes slid to Adam, something secretively warm in her expression. Persephone enjoyed that aspect of her husband’s character, Daphne was certain of it. Though she loved Adam dearly, she herself couldn’t imagine being married to someone who tended more toward the frightening than the tender.

“Ah, here comes Mr. Vernon,” Persephone said to Adam. “Please don’t threaten him. He’s only a pup.”

Daphne watched Mr. Vernon’s approach with growing trepidation. She knew how to dance; Persephone had seen to that. But she was not a very good dancer. Hers was not an overly critical evaluation of herself; grace simply wasn’t one of her strengths. She knew that. She accepted it. And until that moment, she hadn’t been the least bit bothered by it.

Mr. Vernon arrived looking almost as ill at ease as Daphne felt. “Good evening, again, Your Grace.” He made a quick bow to Persephone. His eyes grew wide when they fell on Adam. Daphne didn’t dare look at her brother-in-law for fear she would either laugh in amusement or melt into a puddle of embarrassment—both felt entirely likely in that moment.

“Adam,” Persephone said. “Have you made the acquaintance of Mr. Vernon, younger son of the Viscount Dourland?”

“I am aware of his existence,” Adam said.

A bow punctuated by almost violent trembling was all the response Mr. Vernon seemed capable of making.

“How old are you?” Adam demanded, ever the epitome of social graces.

Mr. Vernon cleared his throat. “Nineteen.” The poor man’s voice actually cracked.

“This one isn’t even housebroken, Persephone,” he muttered.

“Would you rather your sister-in-law be escorted to the dance floor by a man of great worldly experience?” Persephone asked. “Because I do believe Lord Byron is expected here this evening.”

“If that impudent mutt comes within a ballroom’s length of Daphne, I will see to it he is never able to hold a quill again. Then we’ll see how many more volumes of his poetic drivel he can foist on an unsuspecting public.”

Mr. Vernon took a step backward.

“There are a great many people who enjoy his drivel,” Persephone said, apparently oblivious to the flight of Daphne’s only prospect of the evening.

“There are also a great many people who think I will stand idly by while presumptuous muttonheads make fools of themselves.”

Mr. Vernon fled entirely.

Adam, however, wasn’t finished. “I believe we have endured enough of Society for one Season.”

“It has been one week, Adam,” Persephone said. “And you agreed to this.”

“I am the Duke of Kielder. It is my prerogative to change my mind.”

Persephone stood slowly, her eyebrow arching in a perfect imitation of Adam’s most famous facial expression. “Well, I am the Duchess of Kielder, and it is my prerogative to change it back.”

“That would require a great deal of convincing,” Adam said.

“Is that a challenge?” Persephone tipped her head saucily.

“Would you like it to be?”

“Do you two never stop flirting?” Daphne muttered.

“Hush, Daphne,” her sister answered. “I will change his opinion yet.”

“You might convince me to remain, but you will never convince me to be happy about it.”

Persephone shrugged one shoulder. “That is good enough for me.”

“You, there.” Adam eyed a gentleman standing surprisingly nearby. “You had better be deaf, for I do not abide eavesdroppers.”

The gentleman turned an unearthly shade of pale, his mouth flapping about. “I—er—I—What was that? I don’t hear well.” The last sentence was muttered too mechanically and too much like a question to have been anything but a desperate attempt to comply with the Dangerous Duke’s command. He ran off quickly.

Adam’s hard glare darted about, catching every person within thirty feet of them. They scurried away faster than rats off a sinking ship.

A sinking ship. That is not quite the way I would like to think of myself.

“Oh, Adam.” Persephone sighed. “Must you frighten everyone away?”

“Only those I find unbearable.”

“But that, dear, is everyone.”

“And that, dear, is not my fault.”

Persephone took Daphne’s hands. “He will not send them all running, Daphne. I will see to it.”

“In all honesty, I’m not certain I don’t prefer that they all run off.” She didn’t want to be a diamond or a failure but something quietly in between.

Persephone shook her head. “That is Adam’s influence. I fear sometimes you have spent too much of the past six years with him. He has rendered you so very reticent.”

Had not even Persephone seen the person she was all her life? “He did not change me. He accepted me just as I am.”

“And somewhere, Daphne, there is another gentleman who will do the same.” Persephone spoke with such confidence. “We simply have to find him.”

While she didn’t intend to spill all of her secrets to her sister, Daphne had been attempting to find a certain very accepting gentleman all night. Her eyes had never stopped searching for James Tilburn. He hadn’t objected to her bashfulness all those years ago. He didn’t seem bothered by it now.

She turned her head in the direction of approaching footsteps only to be disappointed once more. Mr. Handle, who had made an extremely abbreviated appearance at the Kielder theater box, stepped up to where she sat.

“Mr. Handle,” Persephone greeted quite pleasantly. “A pleasure to see you again.”

He made a very proper bow. “The pleasure is entirely mine, Your Grace.”

“That it is,” Adam muttered.

She loved her brother-in-law dearly and agreed with his general opinion of social gatherings, but if she was to be forced into enduring them, Adam might at least give her a chance to be remembered fondly by the other attendees, or at the very least with something other than fear and trembling.

“Your Grace.” Mr. Handle’s voice shook as he addressed Adam. “Might I be permitted to stand up with Miss Lancaster for the next set?”

“No.”

Daphne very nearly smiled at Adam’s gruff and immediate response, as exasperating as it was. Persephone was clearly less amused.

“I give you full credit for bravery,” Adam added. “And I will temporarily consider you more intelligent than most of your contemporaries if you manage to summon the presence of mind to move along before my patience with you inevitably deteriorates.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Mr. Handle made several bows in quick succession as he backed frantically away.

Persephone pushed out a frustrated puff of air even as Daphne breathed a slightly disappointed one. The thought of standing with anyone was a daunting one, but she knew perfectly well that doing so was a crucial measurement of a lady’s social success. She had hoped to stand up with at least one gentleman over the course of the evening so any curious onlookers would have reason to declare her something of a success.

Persephone stood with palpable dignity. “Let us go make our farewells to Lord and Lady Debenham.”

“We are leaving?” Daphne’s stomach dropped.

“If Adam will not permit anyone to stand up with you, there is little point in remaining.” Persephone gave her husband a look of reprimand.

He showed no signs of feeling guilt-ridden.

“But—” Daphne rallied her determination. “But Adam would allow me to stand up with Lord Tilburn if he asked. Surely.”

“Lord Tilburn?” Persephone asked the question in a hinting manner, having apparently found significance in Daphne’s words. Daphne was actually surprised her sister hadn’t already discovered her preference for James. Adam, it seemed, had pieced that secret together ages ago. Why else would he have issued an invitation to call upon her to James and only to James?

“I imagine he would,” Persephone said after a moment. “Perhaps we could stay a bit longer and see for ourselves.”

Adam had already taken a step toward the door, clearly intent on making his usual early exit. “Tilburn isn’t here.”

“He might yet come,” Persephone said.

“I do not stand about in ballrooms waiting for someone to afflict me with their company.” Adam held his arm out for Persephone, clearly confident his declaration would not be met with any objections.

Persephone’s expression softened as she slipped her arm through his. “I believe we have pushed our duke to the edge of his endurance, Daphne. We had best go before he decides to utilize his sword for more than visual intimidation.”

She didn’t argue. She never did. But as they made their way through the pressing crowd, offered farewells to their host and hostess, and finally stepped out of the ballroom, she kept her eyes open, searching for James.

She didn’t know what to make of his absence. He had shown her rather particular attention. Had she been wrong to hope he did so because he enjoyed her company?

Whatever the reason he’d stayed away, she’d missed seeing him there. She did her utmost not to worry that he’d deserted the field after having only barely stepped foot there.