Never to Part (3 page)

Her brother could not know what had happened between Richard and her. She had told no one. She had not even told Saddie about Lady Laurissa’s letter in which the dowager had apologized to Daphne and asked her to forgive a caring son’s over-reaction. That has eased her mind a bit but had not changed what she had done. Daphne raised her chin. “He would never have offered for my hand, Geof.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard,” her brother snapped. He pushed a hand through his untidy hair. “He said you had the baron turned up sweet.”

Daphne stilled. “Who said that?” she asked tightly. “The man you go out with every night?”

“Doesn’t matter who said it,” he snarled. “You—”

“
Monsieurs
Masters and Rose called on me,” Daphne sharply cut him off.

A new anger heightened Geoffrey’s already high colour. “Damme the bastards,” he swore.

Her hands clenched in the folds of her skirts, Daphne steeled herself to broach the matter fully. “When were you going to tell me you had stopped paying their bills? Or did they err in that?”

“They weren’t to call at my home,” he snapped. “’It isn’t the thing.”

“Then they must be desperate,” Daphne said. She swallowed hard, stamped to the desk, and picked up several stacks of neatly tied pieces of parchment. She fanned the bundles of duns out in her hands as she turned back to him. “Are all of these merchants going to call to demand payment?”

Geoffrey surged to his feet. He lurched to her and batted the bundles out of her hands. “You had no right to go through my papers,” he yelled. He tottered backwards and then collapsed into the chair. Geoffrey rubbed his forehead. “I have an abominable headache,” he mumbled.

“If only you hadn’t botched your chance with Dremore,” he swore sourly.

Her brother’s guilt in their plight goaded Daphne. She had played the scapegoat long enough. “Where were you last night? Gambling again? With whom?”

“You grow plaguesome, Daph. ‘Haps you’re right. ‘Haps Dremore wouldn’t have had you.”

Daphne forced herself to ignore the pain his words caused. “Having to let servants go and not being able to pay the butcher is plaguesome,” she retorted. “You promised you would not gamble again.”

Geoffrey kneaded his forehead. “My luck’s bound to change.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it.” Daphne sank to her knees in front of him. “You shall ruin us if you do not stop. Please, Geof, let us go back home to Trotter House at Ashley Green.”

Her brother lowered his hands but refused to look at her. A deep chill ran through Daphne. She sat back on her heels. “Trotter House has been in our family for generations. Tell me you have not lost it,” she demanded faintly.

“Course not,” choked her brother. He flicked his gaze at Daphne but shied away from meeting hers. “Still mine.”

Cautious relief coursed through her. “Then let us go home. We could retrench and—”

“It’s been let,” Geoffrey blurted.

“Leased? But when? To whom?” She rose to her feet and took an agitated turn about the library. Halting in front of him, she unclenched her teeth. “That was why you insisted we stay in Town. When was it let? How many months were paid in advance?”

She saw guilt flash through Geoffrey’s eyes before he heaved to his feet.

“I’ll not tolerate you prattling like a fish monger’s wife,” he verbally slapped her. “Take care,” he threatened with an upraised fist and then slowly lowered it. “See I’m not disturbed,” Geoffrey snarled and stumbled toward the open door.

Prevented his grand exit by Miss McRae’s entry Geoffrey swatted aside the tray she carried. The tea pot and cups clattered onto the floor in a splatter of hot liquid and a spray of porcelain chips.

Saddie knelt and began to pick up the pieces. “He didn’t mean any harm,” she said.

With an abrupt shake of her head Daphne crouched to help her.

As they cleaned up the mess, Saddie tried again. “You should tell him what really happened that night, Miss Daphne. ‘Tis wrong that he blames you.”

Daphne swallowed. Tears threatened. “Don’t, Saddie.”

The lady’s maid bit her lip as she pushed a stray strand of hair back beneath her cap. “It wasn’t your doing,” she dared with the familiarity of one who has been with her charge since the young woman had been in leading strings.

“But it was,” Daphne said abjectly. Even Lady Laurissa’s forgiveness had not eased her conscience. She began to gather up the duns as Saddie put the last pieces of broken china on the tray. Daphne stood up and helped her lady’s maid to her feet.

“I need some fresh air. Do you think you could walk to the lending library with me? I have a book to return.”

Saddie bit back further argument. “Course, Miss Daphne. I’ll be but a short bit to take this to the kitchen. Then I’ll fetch your shawl and bonnet.”

When she was certain that Saddie had left, Daphne clasped a hand to her mouth to stifle a cry and the almost overwhelming desire to give way to tears. Closing her eyes she saw Richard in the Rose Salon, his handsome features rigid with anger.
How cruel I must have appeared to him
. Daphne lowered her hand and dejectedly sank into the worn leather chair.

“I wish I had never accepted the invitation.” Even as she said it Daphne knew that was not true. She treasured the memories of Richard’s beautiful country estate, of Lady Dremore’s kindness, and of the time spent with the baron before the horror of that evening. Nightmares still plagued her but she would not fault Richard for his abrupt rejection.

Why, oh why, did I listen to those girls? Why did I do it?
She sighed heavily and sank back in the chair. A happier memory sharpened her regret but she savoured it once again.

“Miss Stratton, the day is far too pleasant for you to spend inside,” Baron Dremore said easily when he spied Daphne reading in the library. “Walk with me in the garden? I have not had time to saunter there as yet this morn. Mother tells me much of it is in bloom.”

“Your mother seems very fond of it. She told me about a new ground cover she had the gardeners plant by—-I think she said—by the broken wall?”

Richard grinned.

Her heart turned over at the change this wrought in his appearance. He was tall and well formed. His chiselled features lent coldness to his face but that was now erased by a wide smile. As usual his blond hair curled at his neck and forehead temping her to reach out and finger it.

This man is a danger to your heart, Reason whispered.

“Then I must show you the wall. Mother will expect me to,” he laughed. “Come?”

Bright sunshine splashed through the window with an impossible-to-resist invitation. Daphne blithely dismissed Reason’s unwelcome warning. She rose and took the baron’s proffered arm.

Once in the garden they meandered down various paths. They discussed flowers and herbs. Daphne, well-schooled by her mother, spoke of the remedies made with each.

“That,” she motioned to a tall stalk of purple flowers, “is fox glove. Very useful for ailments of the heart but one has to use it with care.

“I would think so,” Richard said, his features turned serious. “One cannot be too careful of the heart.”

Her lungs refused to contract beneath his gaze. “I oft think it odd that a fox should be a pugilist,” Daphne blurted.

A startled look crossed Richard’s face, then he burst into laughter. “I can see it now.” Richard dropped a light kiss on the back of her hand. “The briar fox with fists raised to Molineaux but members of the Quorn leap the ropes to bag him,” he chuckled, thinking of the great hunt club so disposed.

“There would be a dreadful mêlée,” Daphne smiled.

Their gazes met and held. The same frisson that had risen at their introduction thrilled Daphne again. When the baron shifted closer she leaned toward him without thinking. Hope and fear warred inside her breast.

Richard raised her hands to his lips.

Beneath the caress of his warm breath and then his lips, Daphne trembled, her heart began to hammer. She lifted her gaze to his and warmth spiralled upward from deep inside her.

“Miss Stratton,” the baron said softly, retaining his hold on her hands. “You are perfection.” He leaned closer still, brushed her lips with overwhelming gentleness with his.

A loud twitter of laughter from an approaching couple broke the spell. Daphne started, glanced back and saw the baron’s cousin with a young woman on his arm. His aura flared dark and ominous even as he smiled at her.

When Daphne managed to take a breath she became aware of Richard’s tenseness. Taking it for unspoken regret at being seen in so intimate a pose with her, heat rushed to her cheeks, reddened them. When he urged her forward to resume their stroll her heart thudded. “You need not fear that I shall—”

“The broken wall is to the left,” the baron interrupted. “Did mother tell you its part in our family legend? Did she tell you about the ‘entwined’ hearts?”

Daphne trembled and hugged herself. It had all gone so wrong. Everything had gone awry since that episode in the Rose Salon later that same night. Even the auras that she sensed and often saw about most people since her teen years had not helped her then. The drink she had taken believing it to be innocent punch had numbed her perception; had jumbled everyone’s auras into a confusion of many mingled colours. Even clear minded she sometimes had difficulty in distinguishing between fact and fiction when auras were tightly woven. In her inebriated state her gift had become a nightmare.

Who put what in that drink?
Daphne wondered.
The dowager wrote that her servants had confirmed the punch was far from innocent but had no idea who had added the spirits. Could it have been the same person who lures Geoff ever deeper into debt? But why harm either of us?

She thought of the unsigned note that had been delivered a week past but could not believe what it contained. It could not be Richard who led Geoffrey into dun territory.

But these excesses since Heart Haven—might they have been orchestrated for revenge
, Reason declared.

No, Richard’s aura showed goodwill when I met him. If I could see it again I would know,
Daphne thought miserably.

The inability to do so when confronted by him on that night puzzled her deeply. It had never before troubled her that she could see some people’s auras but not others. Her father had forbidden any discussion about it, even advised she tell no one of her
gift
. On her own, it had taken some time for Daphne to sort out the meaning of various hues. Interpretations were still sometimes guesswork. She had long ago begun to think of this gift as part of her intuition and nothing more.

Daphne shook away the useless mental perambulations. Circumstances no longer permitted fruitless pining. Meals, while meagre, were not impossible yet, but how could she keep up the smallest scrape of a decent establishment without servants?

Saddie and one of the three servants still with them were long-time retainers from Trotter House. They would stay until she forcibly pushed them out the door. The others had left quickly enough. Daphne could not blame them. Lord only knew when they would be evicted from the rather shabby house Geoffrey had leased.

Getting up listlessly, Daphne sighed. Pray
God he paid the rent in whole while he still had money in hand.
She trod dejectedly to the sitting room and picked up the copy of Ann Radcliffe’s
Romance of the Forest
beside her sewing basket. The subscription to the lending library was also overdue. Sadly she could not spare funds to renew it.

Her possible humiliation if the clerk demanded payment; of acquaintances overhearing should any be in the library, thus learning how low their resources had sunk, gave Daphne pause.
Perhaps I should send my book back with Saddie
. With a fierce shake of her head she resolutely put aside the cowardly idea.

Her guilt and humiliation at having ridiculed another person with mimicry, even under the influence of strong spirits and urged on by others, haunted Daphne. It demonstrated a weakness of character that she despised. She had vowed to never again cause anyone the slightest embarrassment.

Daphne contemplated the duns on the desk. Four other souls, five counting her brother, depended upon her for food and shelter. Fear of her brother’s debts tightened its grip about her heart.

“The walk will clear my head. Some solution will yet come to mind,” she murmured as a prayer.

 * * * *

Half an hour later Daphne halted several yards from the lending library. She reinforced her resolve; stiffened her spine. “Wait here, Saddie. There is no reason for you to—-”

“I won’t stay behind, Miss Daphne,” Miss McRae snapped. “The clerk will think better than to snipe at a young lady escorted by her companion. Meet them head on, I say.”

Daphne smiled ruefully. If she could see Saddie’s aura she was sure it would be brave and strong. “If you are certain?” At Miss McRae’s grim smile she nodded and strode forward.

“Miss Stratton,” a deep voice halted her at the lending library’s door.

Daphne looked back; met the tall man’s gaze.
Richard
. Her knees threatened to buckle. Heat flared to her cheeks.

“I did not mean to alarm you, Miss Stratton.”

On a blink Richard’s visage morphed into his cousin’s. Eldridge Blanchard’s aura flashed, a swirl of orange and white—lies and truth. Daphne nodded at him and turned back to the door.

Eldridge laid a hand on her upper arm.

Daphne stiffened, glanced sharply at him.

He pulled his hand back. “Please permit me to walk with you a space, Miss Stratton?” he asked solicitously.

Daphne opened her mouth, intent upon refusing.

Before she could speak he said hurriedly, “After you are finished here, and only if you wish.”

Daphne felt her colour rise. Then something in the man’s gaze turned her cold as ice. She paled.