Romancing Daphne Page 2

  James and His Grace had spoken on several occasions regarding matters of government and international upheaval. Their political leanings were similar, if not truly identical. He wouldn’t call them friends by any stretch of the imagination, but neither were they complete strangers. If Father had failed to make any kind of impression on the duke, that was not James’s fault.

  “It is unfortunate your ambitions have not proven fruitful, Father. I am further sorry the girl is beginning her debut under such a cloud of low expectations, but I do not wish to take up the task laid out for me. That is a role far too fraught with pitfalls for my taste.” James rose to his feet.

  Father remained calm, collected. “Kielder is expecting you to make an appearance at tea tomorrow during Her Grace’s first at-home of the Season.”

  “You shall simply have to inform His Grace that you were presumptive in your assurances.” James offered a dip of his head before moving toward the door.

  “You would truly turn your back on this opportunity?” Father’s shock could scarcely have been more apparent in his tone. “Why on earth would you do such a harebrained thing?”

  James kept his place a few paces from the doorway but turned to face his sire. “You are asking me to lie. That is something I refuse to do, even for you.”

  “I asked nothing of the sort.”

  “You did, in fact.” The precise word may not have been spoken, but a lie it would be. “You’ve asked me to call on this young lady, whom I’ve never met and can’t even picture in my mind, and pretend she has captured my attention. Every moment I spent with her would be based on an untruth.”

  Father released a short, annoyed sigh. “Well, certainly, if you showed up on her doorstep professing an undying love for her, that she was the answer to all your most earnest prayers.” Father rose as he spoke and crossed nearly to where James stood. “I am not asking you to do that. Call on her, Tilburn. Make her acquaintance. Treat her to a ride in the park, or tip your hat to her if you see her out shopping or taking ices. These are not lies; these are social niceties.”

  While Father had a point, the undertaking still felt less than honest. “Those are niceties I would never have presumed to undertake nor so much as think of.” How could he articulate his discomfort when he himself couldn’t quite put his finger on it? “We are not connected to that family. They are astonishingly above our touch.”

  “And yet the duke has seen fit to close that gap. He has gone so far as to open the door for you to not merely join his circle but, should you seize his invitation, join his family.”

  He leaned against the wall near the door, Father standing but a few feet from him. “I cannot like this.”

  “I am not insisting you marry Kielder’s sister-in-law; he isn’t truly insisting upon it either. He has created the possibility. Even the very smallest fulfillment of his request would be little more than being a friend to someone who is sorely in need of one. That is a fine thing to do, is it not?”

  It was an unusually thoughtful sentiment from Father, who generally overlooked those he felt deserved to be neglected.

  “Surely you are enough of a gentleman that you would not turn your back on a lady in distress.”

  How could he argue with that? And yet he wavered. “Something about this still feels wrong.”

  Father crossed to the sideboard, unstopping a decanter of sherry. “What the Duke of Kielder has declared right is not for us to deem wrong.”

  “Are you certain you are not confusing His Grace with the Almighty?”

  “I do know the difference, Tilburn. One possesses endless power, holds the fate of nations in his hand, and is universally feared by saint and sinner alike. The other is—”

  “The Almighty,” James drawled. He knew the quip well, having heard similar versions for years. “You and the duke may not have qualms about this arrangement, but what about Miss Lancaster? Does she not deserve some say in the scheme?”

  Father poured himself a bit of the amber-colored liquor. “She cannot be ignorant of how Society works and must realize how ill-suited she is to the task at hand. Her brother-in-law has, no doubt, enlisted the aid of many young people to act as friend to her. His rallying of the troops will not be done without her knowledge.”

  “You make her sound coldheartedly calculating.” James didn’t at all like the picture his father painted.

  “Who on Society’s upper rungs isn’t?” Father shrugged as he took a drink. “We may or may not like it, but this is the way of things. If we wish to walk in exalted circles, we must know how the game is played.”

  James shook his head. “I don’t care to play that game.”

  Father walked to the tall window, his glass yet in his hand. “I don’t care for it myself.” James had never heard his father express such a sentiment. “But you cannot comprehend the difficulties I have passed through because our family lacks standing. Some things, important things, can only be accomplished with the right connections. Those in a position of wealth and influence can open locked doors.”

  “What doors of any importance have truly been closed to us, Father?” This was an old complaint, one James had heard throughout his childhood. He’d actually fully believed it until coming to Town and seeing the truth of things for himself. “We may not be regularly called to attend the Queen’s drawing rooms nor invited to the most exclusive balls and entertainments, but we have not been denied membership at our club. We receive more invitations during the Season than we can possibly accept. With a seat in Lords, our family has the opportunity to have a say in the future of the kingdom.” Of course, Father very seldom attended Lords, the very reason James felt the necessity of making the acquaintance of party leaders and policy makers. Someday the neglected Techney seat would be his own. “These are not insignificant, Father.”

  But his father had already begun shaking his head. “You are not here often enough nor were you old enough to remember the very real limitations of our position.”

  “We are not royalty,” James reminded him. “Of course our standing has limits.”

  “Your mother comes from the gentry,” Father said.

  “Yes, I know. A very respectable family.”

  Father took another drink. “Respectable, yes, but in the eyes of the ton, nearly irrelevant. She was not raised in Society. She has no connections there. Her first two Seasons in Town came after our marriage. She hadn’t so much as a friend among any of the ladies in the upper crust. She held at-homes that no one attended. She never received vouchers for Almack’s. Though I was heir apparent to an earl, I hadn’t the standing to ease her way.”

  James’s heart ached at the thought of his quiet, sensitive mother enduring such humiliation. She took difficulties very much to heart, easily wounded and hurt.

  Father drained the contents of his cup. “She avoids London as though the plague yet raged here.” He shook his head. “I’ve never been able to convince her to return, though I cannot blame her. Society’s proverbial door is closed to her, and neither you nor I have the ability to open it.”

  “Mother has not been to Town since before I began coming, and that’s been six years.” James had always assumed she simply didn’t care to leave home.

  “She has not been to Town in twenty years, Tilburn. The very suggestion brings her to tears.” Father set his empty cup on the windowsill, his gaze on the cobblestone street below.

  “I always assumed she did not come because her health is so often poor.”

  “Do not be a simpleton,” Father said. “Her unreliable health ought to have propelled her to town. Here, she would have access to the best physicians, the best care, and yet she stays away. Why do you suppose that is, Tilburn?”

  James had long ago learned to recognize when his father was posing a rhetorical question. He no longer wasted his breath attempting to answer.

  “She cannot bear the rejection
or the loneliness. I have attempted to convince her to come. What have you, her oldest son, done to ease her way?”

  “What could I have done? I didn’t know any of this.”

  Father held him with a steely gaze. “And now that you do know? To have the right friend, even one friend of influence, would make all the difference in the world.”

  James paced away, his mind full of revelations and possibilities and questions. “The duke would smooth the way for her?” No. That didn’t sound right. Everyone knew the duke rather despised people.

  “Not the duke, but the duchess. She herself comes from humble origins but made a name for herself among the ton. She would be unlikely to look down on your mother for having married above herself. Her Grace could whisper a word or two in the right ears, and your mother would have the allies she needs.”

  James leaned against the tall back of the chair he’d sat in earlier. He’d not given a second thought to his mother’s isolation in the country. She’d always insisted that she had no desire to go to Town, and he’d taken her at her word. Had she really avoided it all these years out of humiliation, for want of friends? She must have longed to join him when he’d made his annual trip to London. She had needed competent physicians. If only he’d known, he might have done something.

  But what could he have done? His connections were not only mostly political but mostly male, though he did receive invitations to a good number of balls and soirees, being an unmarried heir to a title with a small but respectable fortune awaiting him. Enough of the matchmaking mamas in Town viewed him as a relatively good prospect for their daughters, provided someone of greater significance didn’t come around. But he didn’t think he was enough in demand to warrant invitations being extended to his mother for teas and ladies’ entertainments.

  You haven’t the ability to unlock those doors.

  “The duke has given you the opportunity to help your mother, to give her a taste of Society, a friend or two. In London, she could receive a doctor’s care. You might improve her entire life, and yet you refuse because it would be uncomfortable.” Father’s reprimand hit its mark. “Are you truly so unfeeling?”

  With something of a sinking feeling, James realized his father was more right than he’d thought. Here was an opportunity to do something for his family, and he was refusing. Surely he could undertake something so simple as being a friend to a young lady. The duke had suggested a courtship but did not appear to be actually requiring one.

  “Must I pretend I am calling of my own volition?” The hint of dishonesty was the only part of the arrangement that truly bothered him. He would be very circumspect in his attentions so no one seeing him would believe him truly courting her. But to feign a connection between them when none existed was not precisely aboveboard.

  “You cannot arrive at their home declaring you have come only because the duke forced you to do so.” Father shook his head, a scold clear in the gesture. “While that may be the truth, it is hardly a gentlemanly sentiment to throw at a young lady.”

  James allowed a smile. Though the conversation hadn’t truly been a friendly one—they never were—it had been an improvement over most. “I don’t know that I would have explained things in quite those words.”

  “I should hope not.” Father absentmindedly tipped his empty glass back and forth. “You needn’t pretend the two of you are the very closest of friends. Find a happy compromise.”

  For a moment, his determination wavered. But then he thought of Mother, alone in Lancashire. Not even Bennett, James’s younger brother, remained at home to keep her company, having his own admittedly dilapidated estate. With the right connections, Mother might one day come to Town rather than remain behind on her own. She might at last regain her health.

  “If I am careful, I could likely manage to walk that line,” James said.

  Father began spinning his signet ring once more. He dropped a firm hand on James’s shoulder. “A wise course, Tilburn. Kielder’s sister-in-law will benefit from your assistance. You’ll have a fine set of new acquaintances. Your mother may even, in time, benefit from these efforts you are making.”

  James nodded. Spending a little time with someone he hardly knew wasn’t much to ask, really. And if the duke and his sister-in-law both knew the reason for James’s attention, then he wasn’t deceiving them.

  This will work out fine. Just fine.

  He hoped.

  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 t
han 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.”