Chapter Nine

Daphne sat in her usual spot in Adam’s book room. He occupied a nearby armchair. Their daily time together had of necessity grown more rare with the start of the Season. She took tremendous comfort in the fact that he had seemed as grateful for her presence that afternoon as she had been for the opportunity to spend time with him again. How often she had pleaded with her father for a small space beside him while he’d worked or for a moment of his attention. For years, he’d turned her away, until she’d eventually stopped asking.

At twelve years old, she had taken trembling steps into this very book room and posed to Adam the same question she had to her father so many times. Years of rejection had echoed painfully in her heart and mind as she’d waited for his answer. He had nodded and motioned her to the same sofa she sat on now. For six years, she had spent time with him nearly every day. He had welcomed her, something for which she would be forever grateful.

“Talk of hostilities with the former colonies grows more specific by the day.” Adam often spoke to her of the matters before Parliament. “A great many in both Lords and Commons feel any difficulties across the ocean would be easily put to rest, as ours is the superior naval power.”

“As I understand it, that was the argument thirty-five years ago, and we all know the outcome of those hostilities,” she said. “And at that time, we weren’t already fighting a war nearer home as we are now. Parliament would do well to proceed with caution.”

He nodded. “If even a fraction of those in a position of influence had your intelligence, this country would be in far better condition.”

A knock echoed off the slightly ajar book room door. Daphne and Adam both turned in that direction. The butler stepped inside, a vase of bright flowers in his hand.

He addressed Adam, as was proper. “This has arrived, Your Grace, for Miss Lancaster.”

Daphne eyed the bouquet in disbelief. Athena had received countless floral tributes during her Season. After hostessing a ball or gathering, guests often sent flowers to Persephone. But Daphne had never received a single flower—not from Adam or Harry or either of her own brothers.

“You are certain they were sent to me?” she asked the butler.

“Quite certain, Miss Lancaster.” He set the vase on the end table directly beside the sofa, then, with a bow, stepped from the room again.

She pulled a small sealed note from amongst the blooms. Did a lady generally wait until she was in the privacy of her own bedchamber to read the accompanying message? Asking Adam would do no good. He wasn’t likely to know how she was meant to act in such a situation.

She attempted to appear quite casual as she eyed the as-yet-unopened note. Who could the flowers be from? Why were they sent? Adam would not have thought to do so, having referred to the offerings from Athena’s many admirers as “ridiculous” on multiple occasions.

“Holding a note and not reading it seems a waste of effort,” Adam said.

“Are you eager to know who sent the flowers?” She tried for a teasing tone, hoping to hide her growing impatience.

“I only want to know if I need to squelch anyone’s presumptuousness.”

“Adam, we talked about this. You promised—”

He sighed, the sound full of exasperated acceptance. “I agreed to be less surly in public. I made no promise about my own book room.”

Daphne’s heart leaped as she slowly, carefully opened the note. Her eyes dropped first to the signature at the bottom of the note. “Ld Tilburn.” The flowers were from James. She kept her expression calm, not wishing to give Adam further reason to find flowers and those who sent and received them as ludicrous.

She eagerly read the note.

Miss Lancaster,

I must abjectly apologize for my absence last evening at the Debenhams’ ball. Though I had hoped to see you again, I was detained. I pray these flowers will serve as an adequate expression of my dismay at being denied your company.

Yours, etc.

Ld Tilburn

It was a far more earnest note than she would have expected. He had always been friendly, but this note felt . . . different from that somehow. It felt like something a gentleman would write to a lady with whom he had a much closer connection than they had. The wording as well as the sentiment felt mismatched to the sender.

“You appear deep in thought.”

When had Persephone come inside the book room? Daphne’s face heated as it always did at the slightest embarrassment. Her sister, however, did not appear disapproving nor censuring. If anything, she looked amused.

Daphne held her treasured note up but offered no spoken explanation.

“Am I to assume, then, this lovely bouquet is for you?”

Daphne nodded.

“Sent by a young gentleman whose absence you mourned last night?”

Daphne eyed Adam. She saw no surge of disapproval or irritation. He seemed legitimately curious. “What did the lordling have to say?”

She ignored the word he chose in reference to James. “He said he was sorry to have missed the ball.”

Persephone joined her on the small sofa. “I am pleased to hear he is being so attentive.”

“Except, it—The tone of the note is odd.”

“Perhaps your cautious nature is forcing you to doubt things you do not need to doubt.”

She held the card out to her sister. “Tell me your impression of it.”

Persephone made a quick perusal of the very brief note. “It does seem a bit more ardent than is usual for Lord Tilburn.”

“Is he being brash?” Adam demanded.

“No, dearest,” Persephone was quick to say. “Nothing in his note is the least bit untoward.” She looked over the note once more. “Perhaps word of your unending grumpiness reached the poor gentleman and he felt the more abject his apology, the more likely he was to not be drawn and quartered.” She tipped her head and caught her husband’s eye once more. “I have warned you about making too grand a show of your disapproval.”

“I am what I am,” Adam said.

Persephone’s gaze turned warm as it so often did when focused on him. “Yes, you are.”

“Besides, my afternoons with Daphne, a rare enough occasion of late, were interrupted by these flowers and that note. I have every right to be grumpy.”

Her father had turned down her company. Adam grew sullen when denied it. Was it any wonder she loved her brother-in-law as much as she did?

“Do you like Lord Tilburn?” Daphne asked them both.

“What I have learned of him these past five days, I like,” Persephone said. “He seems very kind and amiable, and his obvious preference for you certainly raises his worth in my eyes.”

Obvious preference. Another smile broke through her usual reserve as a wistful thought occurred to her. “I wish Harry were here this Season.”

“Harry?” Persephone lightly laughed. “He would tease you mercilessly.”

“True. But he would offer an honest opinion on Lord Tilburn. I should like to have a gentleman’s viewpoint.”

“Is mine not sufficient?” A hint of a smile tugged at Adam’s scars.

“You think everyone ever born is an imbecile,” she reminded him.

Persephone’s expression grew more amused. “Harry is so run ragged by his mischievous children that he might very well be too short on energy to sort all of us out as well as his growing brood.”

A memory of Harry and Athena’s second oldest escaping the nursery wearing not so much as a nappie during their last visit to Falstone Castle drove home the truth of Persephone’s words. “And with Athena so near another confinement, he likely would be distracted by that as well.”

“It is a miracle we get any coherent thoughts out of Harry these days,” Persephone said. “Though he does smile a great deal.”

“When has Harry ever not smiled?” He was the happiest person of Daphne’s acquaintance. “You do not find anything suspicious in Lord Tilburn’s flowers or note?” How she wanted to believe the sincerity of her very first floral offering. “Do you think he meant those ardent words?”

“Do you think he did not?” Persephone watched her pointedly. “I have no reason to doubt that he is being genuine. Have you?”

She couldn’t say that she did. Her experience with suitors and attentions was nonexistent. She simply didn’t know what to think.

* * *

“Lord Techney is an imbecile.” Adam made his entrance into the sitting room the next afternoon with his usual lack of subtlety.

Daphne and Persephone exchanged looks, but both managed not to laugh out loud.

Persephone rose and crossed to where Adam stood and wrapped her arms around him.

“This is a change,” he said. “At the Debenhams’ ball, you did nothing but scold me.”

“At the Debenhams’ ball, you were being difficult.” Persephone sighed as she leaned into him.

Adam held her but with a look of confusion directed toward Daphne. She shrugged, not knowing the reason for the unusually thorough display of affection.

“Are you unwell, Persephone?”

She shook her head.

“Are you certain? No one has upset you or been unkind?”

“No.”

“Insulting? Impertinent? Anything at all?”

Adam’s kind treatment of her sister was the first thing that had endeared him to Daphne.

“I am well.” Persephone kept her arms around him. “You have simply been gone all day, and I have missed you.”

“Unfortunately, the House of Lords is in constant need of adult supervision.” Adam kissed the top of her head—a display to which Artemis would have vehemently and vocally objected. Daphne never felt the discomfort her younger sister did. She found her sister’s happiness reassuring.

“So why is Lord Techney an imbecile?” Persephone led Adam to the sofa facing the one on which Daphne sat.

“There are far too many reasons to list them all.”

“The most pertinent, then.” Persephone sat tucked under Adam’s arm.

Daphne couldn’t look away. She had often imagined herself being held that way, with such tenderness and care.

“He has invited us to have dinner with his family.” Adam could not have looked less pleased if he’d been invited to be the guest of honor at a hanging.

Daphne likely looked almost as horrified but for entirely different reasons. Dinner with James’s family seemed like a much larger step in the direction of courtship than she’d expected. He had sent her flowers along with a very personal note, but she still couldn’t help thinking he acted more like a friendly acquaintance when they were together than he did a suitor.

“When is this dinner party?” Persephone asked.

“Three days, Persephone. The Almighty took seven days to create the world; we have three to prepare for the end of it.”

Persephone shook her head, though whether at his exaggerated objections or Lord Techney’s invitation, Daphne wasn’t sure. “What could have inspired Lord Techney to invite us to a family dinner? Certainly your reputation would be enough to convince him of the inadvisable nature of such a thing.”

“You were apparently not listening when I explained that Lord Techney is an idiot.”

“An imbecile, dear,” Persephone corrected. “A dinner party, though poorly thought through when the invitation is directed toward the Dangerous Duke, isn’t entirely an unreasonable thing. I assume there is some other bit of logic behind your dismissal of poor Lord Techney’s mental acuity.”

“He delivered the invitation to me at Lords, despite having not spent more than a moment there on any given day these past weeks and not often before that.” Adam’s censure was apparent. “We are on the brink of war with the Former Colonies, whilst already deep into war on the continent, and are seeing rioting in the north and in the midlands. A gentleman with any degree of responsibility would have done everything in his power to take up his duties in Lords this session. Techney, however, feels his duty there does not extend beyond irritating people with presumptuous invitations.”

Did Adam intend to refuse the invitation? Daphne could not say how exactly she felt about that possibility.

“And,” Adam continued, “Linus makes port the morning of this dinner and will arrive in London the next day. We cannot very well welcome him back into the bosom of his family”—Adam’s sarcastic tone brought a smile to Persephone’s face and very nearly to Daphne’s as well—“if that family is off prancing about London.”

“I would give a year’s pin money to see you prance, Adam.”

He laughed, something only Persephone had ever managed to make him do.

“This is one invitation, dearest,” Persephone said, “and one to a single dinner being held before Linus can possibly reach Town. You cannot use him as an excuse to avoid it.”

“When have I ever required an excuse to avoid anything I didn’t wish to do?”

Persephone only smiled. “The solution to this difficulty is quite simple. I will accompany Daphne to the dinner party, and you can sulk here at Falstone House.”

“You will be spending much of the Season at balls and musicales whilst I am home, and you wish to add another evening apart to our already ridiculous schedule of them. This is your perfect solution?” He eyed Persephone with patent disapproval.

“Then you shall simply have to come to the dinner with us.”

“How fortunate for me,” he drawled.

“Do you mean to accept the invitation, then?” Daphne asked.

The flash of surprise that crossed both Adam’s and Persephone’s faces clearly indicated they had forgotten her presence in the room. That happened far more often than it ought.

“I believe we should,” Persephone said. “Lord Tilburn has been attentive. His father clearly wishes to deepen the connection. An intimate dinner party would be the best opportunity for us to come to know Lord Tilburn better.”

“That is likely their purpose, after all.” Daphne tried to convince herself that she was living the smallest fulfillment of her hopes where James was concerned. She wanted to believe it. She truly did. She also didn’t want to be disappointed if nothing came of these dreams.

Persephone pulled away from Adam and leaned toward Daphne, her brow pulled with concern. “What is it that has you so worried, dearest?”

“What if—” Personal confessions never had come easily to her. And yet this undertaking was so new and unfamiliar that she needed some guidance. “What if he comes to know me, then decides he doesn’t care for what he has found?”

“Then the whelp is a fool,” Adam declared.

Persephone stopped him with a gentle hand on his leg without ever looking away from Daphne. “You always have been wont to worry. But being courted—and I do believe this is the beginning of exactly that—ought to be a wonderful and enjoyable experience. Please try to simply enjoy it. Allow Adam and me to worry and watch.”

“And I most certainly will be watching him, Daphne,” Adam declared in his very sternest duke voice. “I offered my approval of his first visit to this house, but I made no promise beyond. I will keep a very close eye on Lord Tilburn, make no mistake about that.”