And the Miss Ran Away With the Rake (18 page)

Something about the pinched notes gave Henry pause, and so instead of returning to the room, or getting caught lolling about the door, as if he’d been eavesdropping, he slipped into the butler’s pantry to the side.

The footman standing near the slightly opened door gave a bit of a start. Apparently Henry wasn’t the only one intrigued by the conversation inside.

Instead of chiding the man for listening in—how could he when he had every intention of doing the very same thing?—he whispered to the fellow, “Will you go see if cook has some more scones baked?”

Thus dismissed, the footman yielded the prime spot at the door, and Henry stepped up to where he could hear Miss Nashe saying in a smug, loud voice, “A girl in your situation and a man of his wealth and lands, why wouldn’t you set your cap so far above your station?”

Henry bristled with annoyance. How dare this mushroom accuse Miss Dale of such toady behavior, when clearly it was Miss Nashe who was scraping and clawing her way above her lot in life.

Miss Dale was, after all, a Dale, something Henry could appreciate.

For while the Seldons and the Dales might disdain each other, never once when England had been threatened had the two families ever shirked their duties. They’d stood shoulder to shoulder at Agincourt, in the fields of Flodden, and at Bosworth and Blenheim.

Something the Nashes couldn’t claim.

Miss Dale had the blood of heroes in her veins. So who was this Miss Nashe to snub her? Who was this dressed-up
cit
who had Society all a-dither? Quite frankly, he’d rather kiss a Dale.

Henry paused. Oh, bother. He already had.

And it seemed the puffed-up heiress wasn’t done.

“Miss Dale, you seem quite intelligent despite your lack of finish and must know the only reason you are here, in this company, is because of Miss Timmons’s dear and simple affection for her former friends.”

Once again, Henry held back from bursting into the room, for he was quite certain, nay he was completely positive, Miss Dale would give this chit the set-down she deserved.

He stole a peek in the room, listening to Miss Nashe’s haughty opinions, and never once did Miss Dale bat an eye or give way to the dark emotions that were certainly bubbling up in Henry’s chest.

No, she sat there, serene and calm. Hands folded in her lap, her expression bland.

Then he remembered something his mother had told Hen on more than one occasion, especially when faced with the censure that often came of being a Seldon:
A true lady never lowers herself to argue with her lessers. A well-bred lady always rises above the rabble.

And apparently it was a dictum that Miss Daphne Dale held as well. But of course she would. She was a lady.

Just then, Miss Nashe gathered up her belongings and went marching from the room, as if she held the higher ground.

He was about to push the door open and congratulate Miss Dale on her noble composure when he heard her sputter, “As if I’m chasing Lord Henry!” There was once again the indignant rattle of china. “Nor am I lingering after the man.”

Henry felt a bit chagrined. She needn’t sound adamant. And bother it all, who the devil was she talking to?

Taking a peek, he found her ruffling Mr. Muggin’s bristled head, confessing her secrets to the mutt.

Go in there,
a very Seldon voice inside him urged.

“And say what?” he whispered back. Because if he went in there now, he knew what he’d find out.

For hadn’t his list of possible suspects gone down to a single name?

A name he dared not say aloud for fear his heart would hear it and refuse to let go.

Chapter 9

I’m ever so glad. I try to be above such things, but I will confess a longing for silk gowns and a handsome partner in life.

Found in a letter from Miss Spooner to Mr. Dishforth

S
omewhere in Owle Park, someone was playing a piano. Not the distinct tinkling of a lady at the pianoforte, but a grand piano being played with passion. The music—full of longing and desire—lured Daphne from her determined course to find a copy of
Debrett’s
.

Whoever could play with such fire?

She wandered through the maze of halls and wings with Mr. Muggins at her heels. The terrier cast more than one glance at her that said very clearly that she was going in the wrong direction for sausages.

When eventually the notes grew louder, Daphne found herself filled with both the exhilaration of the music and the thrill of discovery as she approached an open doorway. Since she didn’t want the music to end, she stopped just short of entering and instead took a furtive peek inside. Immediately she reeled back.

She gaped down at Mr. Muggins, who had planted himself at her feet.

No! It couldn’t be.

Taking a deep breath and realizing she didn’t trust her eyes, she took another longer look, and there it was, Lord Henry sitting alongside his ancient relation, Lady Zillah, at a grand piano.

He stopped abruptly and turned to his great-aunt. “That is how it is played,” he said to her.

“You still have a knack, Henry,” Lady Zillah replied.

“I should,” he laughed. “It was you who taught me my first notes. So I don’t mind helping you with this piece.”

“I find it keeps my mind sharp,” the lady said, nudging him aside a bit and taking up the keys herself. “But this one has been bedeviling me for months.” As she played—with surprising skill—Lord Henry turned the pages for her.

Daphne knew she should leave them to their practice, but the music was so lovely, and the scene so curious and intimate. It was as if she was seeing not only Lord Henry but also the entire Seldon family for the first time.

The music didn’t stop Lady Zillah from nattering on. Loudly. “Henry, you could be out shooting or riding, whatever are you doing hanging about with an old lady like me?”

He smiled at her. “I was lured from my duties when I heard you playing. You don’t play all that often anymore, so it is a treat to hear you.”

Daphne thought the real treat was hearing Lord Henry play. Zillah was good, but Lord Henry played with such a hidden passion.

Rather like the way he kissed.

“My goodness, I never knew you’d inherited your father’s flair for flattery,” Lady Zillah teased back. “Always thought you more an Oscroft than a Seldon.”

“Thank you, Cousin Zillah,” he replied. “My mother despaired that neither of her children appeared to hold any of her family’s traits.”

“I hardly meant it as a compliment,” she shot back. “You are too nice by half. Respectable and kindhearted; look how you’ve managed Preston’s estates all these years, kept the entire family afloat—and nary a scandal to your name. I was starting to doubt you were truly a Seldon.” Lady Zillah’s pronouncement came out in a scolding voice, but there was a spark of pride to the lady’s eyes as she glanced at him.

“Nary a scandal to his name?” Daphne mouthed to Mr. Muggins.

Told you,
Mr. Muggins’s large brown eyes seemed to say.

No, the lady must be wrong. As was this mangy terrier, whose opinion of Lord Henry had been formed in the breakfast room. Over a purloined sausage.

No, they were both wrong. Lord Henry was the most scandalous man Daphne had ever met.

And how many gentlemen have you met, Daphne Dale?
Mr. Muggins seemed to be asking.

Well, if she was being honest, she’d really never met any until she’d come to London with Tabitha—for certainly her Dale relations didn’t count.

Inside the room, Lady Zillah wasn’t done with her assessment of Lord Henry’s character. “I had lost hope of you, my dear boy, at least until this house party.”

Daphne turned toward the door again. Oh, she knew she shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but she couldn’t help herself. What else had Lord Henry done?

Besides kiss her.

“Whatever were you doing last night?” Lady Zillah was saying, even as she nodded toward the music sheets.

Lord Henry leaned forward and flipped the page. “Not that again.”

“Yes, that again. And this time I will have a straight answer from you.”

He heaved a sigh. “Aunt Zillah, do I need to remind you this is a house party? Occasionally one loses one’s head. I do believe it is expected.”

“Oh, of course it is. But not with one of
them
.”

One of them.
Oh, Daphne could well imagine who Lady Zillah meant. Because while she might call Lord Henry barely a Seldon, Lady Zillah was a Seldon through and through.

Then the old girl confirmed her suspicions. “If only I’d been consulted about the invitation list beforehand,” she complained. “Dales! Here in Owle Park! Why, it is unforgivable.”

“Yet you stay on,” he teased. “And it is only one Dale.”

“Mark my words, they are like squirrels. Feed one and you will be feeding the lot before a week is out.”

Daphne pressed her lips together. Oh, he was a devilish rake to bait the old girl so, and at the same time, her heart beat a little faster to hear him do so.

It was almost as if he was defending her right to be here.

Almost
.

“What was your sister thinking?” Zillah demanded.

“Hen?” he asked, feigning innocence.

Daphne had seen him do the same thing, acting as if he hadn’t a clue what one meant, but he didn’t fool her any more than he was deceiving his elderly aunt.

“Of course, Hen. What other sister do you have?” she snapped, then reached over to flip the music sheet herself, glaring up at him as she did. “I would expect better of Henrietta. She’s a rare woman with refined taste, and I daresay this invitation to a Dale was not to her liking.” She cocked a brow at him, as if to dare him to naysay her.

Instead, Lord Henry remained his usual composed self. “Miss Dale is Tabitha’s dearest friend, and Preston speaks quite highly of the chit.”

Daphne waited for him to add his vote for her, but there was none forthcoming.

Not that she had expected as much. Not really.

Well, perhaps a little.

Meanwhile, Lady Zillah was off and running at such a challenge. “
Bah
! Preston’s opinion, indeed! Not that I give much countenance to what he thinks—he’s spent the last five years dallying about like a second son.”

“If you recall, Cousin Zillah, I’m a second son, and I don’t see you giving me such short shrift—in fact, weren’t you just singing my praises a moment or two ago?”

“I
was,
” she warned him. “That is until I saw you return from that carriage ride with that girl looking quite tumbled—”

“She was drenched from the rain,” he protested. “As was I, something no one seems to have noticed.”

I did,
Daphne would have told him.
I noticed
. His shirt plastered to his chest, his breeches tight against his . . .

Inside the music room, Aunt Zillah remained unimpressed. “If I say she looked tumbled, then she looked tumbled, Henry Seldon! And don’t tell me what I did or didn’t see, because I know what I saw! Just as I did last night.”

“Oh, why can’t she leave off on last night,” Daphne whispered to Mr. Muggins, who had given up hope that they would continue on to the kitchens and now lay on the carpet with his head atop his paws.

“Rather than berate my luck at having to partner with Miss Dale for the scavenger hunt, you might try being civil to the gel and get to know her.”

Lady Zillah’s fingers stopped, sending a discordant note jarring through the room. “Be civil to a Dale? You are mad.” She shook her head, turned her attention back to her music and played a few bars before stopping again.

Lord Henry wasn’t done. “I think you would find you have much in common.”

“With a Dale?” Lady Zillah squawked.

“With her?” Daphne whispered furiously.

“Never!” they both said in varying tones.

“I disagree,” Lord Henry said, picking out a few notes. “Miss Dale is an opinionated and spirited lady. Rather like you, my dear aunt.”

“Bah! She is nothing like me,” Lady Zillah replied, but this time she didn’t sound as offended.

Lord Henry continued. “She’s also loyal to Tabitha. Helped Preston win her hand. And has risked much to come here for their wedding. As a Seldon, you should be able to respect such loyalty.”

Lady Zillah pushed his hands aside and began to play again, as if thinking over the matter.

Daphne considered his words as well. “He thinks I am spirited and loyal,” she told Mr. Muggins.

Don’t forget opinionated.

The music stopped again. “I don’t care if she cured the king of his madness, I cannot be civil to a Dale. Not after the way Dahlia Dale behaved at my debut ball!”

“Good heavens, Zillah, that was how many years ago?”

“Don’t you be impudent with me! Why, I remember it like it was yesterday! I was nearly betrothed to . . . nearly betrothed to . . .” Lady Zillah’s fingers pounded down on the keys. “Botheration, what was his name?”

“Lord Monnery,” Lord Henry supplied. “And here—this is how you do the bridge. I’ll make a note here on the sheet.”

Daphne glanced inside to spy him writing notes on the sheets.

“Yes, yes, Monnery,” Lady Zillah said, glancing over at the notes and nodding her thanks. She played through the portion, this time perfectly, before she stopped again. “
Harrumph.
Nearly engaged I was, until that toothy bit of muslin Dahlia Dale came along and quite stole him away.”

“I hardly think it was as you say,” Lord Henry remarked as he turned a page and pointed to the place for her to continue.

“I haven’t forgotten any of it,” Zillah told him.

Save the man’s name, Daphne would point out.

“That gel ensnared my nearly betrothed with her Dale wiles. Quite ruined him, because a fortnight later she threw him over. Fickle, scandalous creature that she was. Just as that bit of Dale muslin here will ruin you.”

Daphne blew out an exasperated breath. Seldons! What an overly dramatic lot. And whoever was Dahlia Dale?

She ran through her family tree, searching all the branches, and then came to a stop.

Oh! That Dahlia Dale. The one Great-Aunt Damaris kept a portrait of—displayed in a dark corner in one of the back hallways.

The one Cousin Phi had remarked upon before a crowded room of Dales by saying in all innocence, “Daphne rather takes after Cousin Dahlia, don’t you all think so?”

And had been met with stone-faced, horrified shock.

Oh, yes, that Dahlia Dale.

Inside the music room, the debate continued. “Aunt Zillah, if I recall the story correctly, you didn’t want to marry Monnery—”

“Of course I didn’t want to marry Monnery. He was a nincompoop.”

“So you might consider that this Dahlia Dale did you a favor,” Lord Henry suggested.

“Stealing my nearly betrothed from me at my debut ball? Hardly!” Lady Zillah shook her head furiously, the keys of the piano taking the brunt of her indignation. “Bad form runs through their blood like scandal does ours,” she declared, as if one trait was better than the other.

And Daphne knew exactly which trait Lady Zillah found superior.

“What concerns me most is how you were dangling after her last night,” Zillah continued. “I won’t have you beguiled and entangled by that minx!”

“Zillah!” Lord Henry protested.

“No, hear me out! You are far too innocent in these matters—”

It took every bit of Daphne’s restraint not to snort. Lord Henry? Innocent?

Obviously the name of the old lady’s lost love wasn’t the only thing she was a bit addled about.

“—I fear that girl has you in her crosshairs. She’s using you, if only to appear more eligible than she actually is. That’s how they do it.”

“Zillah—” Lord Henry’s voice held a warning tone.

“And she will only ruin your hopes of making an advantageous match. Who is this Daphne Dale? She’s not even one of the better Dales.”

“There are better ones?” he teased.

“You know exactly what I mean. I’m surprised she hasn’t been fawned off on that old warhorse, Damaris, as a companion. That’s what they do with the ones who have no hope of a match or have
fallen,
” Zillah told him, wagging a finger in warning. “Mark my words, that gel wants to see you entangled.”

Daphne couldn’t breathe. For even as the lady said the word—
entangled
—all she could imagine was being in Lord Henry’s arms again.

Entangled. Enticed. Enthralled.

But not for long.

“You needn’t fear for my sake,” Lord Henry was saying. “I have it on good authority that Miss Dale is all but betrothed.”

“What’s this?” Lady Zillah said in that loud, impertinent voice of hers.

Daphne didn’t think the lady was hard of hearing, rather she just liked making people repeat themselves.

“Daphne Dale will not be a Dale for long,” Henry said.

“Once a Dale—”

—always a Seldon,
Daphne mused.

Henry struck a balance between the two of them. “Yes, yes, I know.”

“So if this gel has someone else on the hook, whyever are you dangling after her?”

“I’m not.”

Daphne huffed a bit. Well, he needn’t sound so adamant. Or so put out.

“Good,” Lady Zillah said. After a few moments, she spoke up again. “There is that lovely Miss Nashe—”

Daphne discovered there was adamant and then there was
adamant
.

“Good God, no!” he burst out.

So Lord Henry hadn’t been taken in by Miss Nashe’s winsome smiles and precise manners. Daphne pressed her lips together to keep from smiling smugly.

If only she could be the one to tell Miss Nashe. . . .

“Oh, she’s an ill-bred mushroom, I’ll give you that,” Lady Zillah conceded.