Just One Kiss (2 page)

“Blevins can do that,” Daphne said, waving dismissively at one of the maids. “I think I’d like to ride out with you.”

“You
would?”
Anthony frowned again. His eyes skimmed over his sister, noticing for the first time that she was clad in her riding habit. “I don’t have time to play groom this morning, Daff!”

“You won’t have to!” she assured him quickly. “Mother’s always nagging me to take some air,” she chattered on before her brother had a chance to object again, “and it will be too hot if
I wait until later in the day.
I’ll only go as far as the ridge before Packwood and then turn round. I won’t be any bother.”  She held her breath as she waited for his reply, but her heart swelled when Anthony shrugged his approval.

Daphne knew that she couldn’t go all the way to Packwood, and she would be sore later from riding, and there was a chance that she wouldn’t see Edward at all -- but there was also a hope that she would, a hope that was rewarded even before they had left the stables.

“Hullo there,
Hargreaves
!”

The deep, husky purr of Edward’s voice was exactly as Daphne remembered.  She looked up, catching sight of him just as he appeared from behind the stone wall that enclosed the paddock.

“Everton!” Anthony answered, passing the reins of his horse to his groom and striding forward. For the time being, Daphne remained where she was, half-hidden behind a mounting block as her eyes drank
up
the sight of the man before her. Her daydreams had failed to do him justice.

Edward looked, quite simply, stunning.  The years had been very kind.  His lanky, boyish frame had filled, giving him a tall and powerful physique, and his handsome face was thinner and slightly (unfashionably) tanned.  His eyes, however, were just as she remembered: a happy, cheeky green.  She was transfixed by the sight, so much so that she didn’t notice at first when Anthony spoke her name.

“And you remember my sister, Daphne? Er- Daphne?”

Daphne didn’t answer.  Her senses were recovering from a second shock, the sudden heat of his gaze upon her.

“I say, Miss
Hargreaves
! Is this any way to greet an old friend?” Edward chided, his easy smile turning her legs to pudding.

Daphne willed her lips to form the syllables of some witty remark, but she remained dumb and silent as Edward swooped forward and captured her small hand in both of his own.

It wasn’t really a kiss -- merely the brush of his lips against her knuckles -- but Daphne feared that
she would swoon.
She felt a rush of heat and the low throb of something wakening deep inside her body.

A tiresome ride through the park, led by a grumpy groom and the sore muscles that quickly followed seemed a small price to pay for the moment. Daphne quickly forgot her discomfort when Edward returned for dinner that night, and was practically giddy the next morning when he called again and then on Sunday when he sat with her family in church.

Edward and Anthony quickly resumed their old friendship. It was, in many ways, like old times. Daphne contrived every excuse she could think of to resume her position as their adoring shadow. If Anthony noticed, he had the tact not to mention it, and she was certain that she wasn’t imagining the lingering glances and hot smiles that Edward occasionally threw her way.

As the summer months slipped away, Daphne grew ever bolder, and more certain of success. It was true that Edward had never
expressly
declared his affections -- but they were never alone! He made a point to claim a waltz at all the country dances. He rode next to her in the park. He had even brought her flowers once (it was only a little posy of wildflowers picked in the meadow at Packwood and he
had
handed them to her mother, but
she counted them anyway
). She expected a wedding by Christmas -- Easter at the latest -- and so she was not distressed in the slightest when she and her mother were summoned to Packwood for dinner to meet a pair of ladies who had arrived from town.

..ooOOoo..

“And this is Edward’s Miss Winston,” Lady Coventry said, tipping her fan toward the slight, straw-haired girl that stood to her right. 

Daphne’s heart froze in her chest. 
Edward’s
Miss Winston? Surely there had been a mistake. Surely Lady Coventry had meant William, her eldest son!

A shadow settled over Daphne’s heart
when she noticed Edward at
Miss Winston’s side. 

“This is our little
neighbor
, Daphne,” Edward’s mother continued to prattle on. Daphne was too numb to hear the words. Her eyes went to Edward’s face, searching for some sign that this was all a terrible mistake.  Surely he could see how much she wanted him?  Surely he could feel it? 

If he did, he didn’t show it.  Edward stood silent as his mother announced that Daphne and Miss Winston must become the best of friends, that she was overwhelmed with pleasure that her younger son was settling down, that they
must
hold a ball to celebrate the engagement -- and then he slipped away as quickly as possible. He tossed her the same friendly smile he had offered when they were children, respectfully bowed his head, and then intercepted her brother, leading him off to a quiet corner where they could speak alone.

Over the course of the dinner, details emerged.  Edward had become acquainted with Miss Winston at Oxford, where she was living with her aunt. She had inherited a sizable fortune from her mother’s estate.

“Twenty thousand pounds!” Anthony enthused while they rode home that night in the carriage.  “Isn’t it splendid? He won’t have to practice law after all.”

Daphne did
not
think it was splendid. She thought it was perfectly wretched that Edward -- dear, sweet Edward! -- should have to marry for money.  She could not fathom that Edward and Miss Winston might be in
love.
The
woman herself was nothing remarkable. To Daphne’s eyes she was skinny and pale. She supposed that the girl’s gown had been stylish -- she was
rich
, after all! -- but there was nothing else to admire. The chit had barely uttered two words for the entire meal!

Daphne didn’t sleep that night, or the next.  She laid awake, replaying the dinner party again and again in her mind, hearing Lady Coventry’s voice like the scratching of nails against slate: “
And this is Edward’s Miss Winston.”

Edward should
not
have a Miss Winston!  He had a Miss
Hargreaves
… perhaps he did not know that?

Daphne considered this notion, ultimately determining that it was very likely indeed.  While she had been at Dunnely House waiting for his return, Edward had led a far more active life.  It was very likely that he had no idea that her feelings for him had blossomed through the years and, though it pained her, Daphne admitted to herself that it was likely he had not thought of her at all.

Perhaps Daphne had been too guarded in her display of regard? After all, she had never told Edward that she loved him. Perhaps men needed to hear these things?

Daphne walked to Packwood House the following morning, under the pretence of having left her reticule when they went to dine.  Of course, the servant offered to search, but she declined assistance and, being such a long-standing and well-recognized visitor to the house, she was not prevented from dashing up the stairs and into the family portion of the house.

She had to guess which room belonged to Edward.  She remembered the path to the nursery, of course, and the Master and Mistress’s chamber had been pointed out, but it was a lucky guess that sealed her fate.  She grasped the handle of the room that had once belonged to Edward’s brother, tugged sharply, and then emitted a little squeal at the sight that met her eyes.

Daphne had discovered Edward’s room.  More to the point, she had discovered Edward, though he was not entirely dressed and more than a little astonished by her sudden appearance.  He was sitting on the edge of his bed, tugging on his boots.  The neck of his shirt was still gaping, and exposing an intoxicating expanse of skin.

“Miss
Hargreaves
!”  He said, when the power of speech was restored to him.  “I- to what do I- what are you-
Daphne
?” 

The words were spoken in a rush of confusion.  If he hadn’t spoken her Christian name then she might have lost her nerve and darted back into the hall.  He did speak it, however.  The soft drawl of his voice caressing the familiar consonants buoyed her courage just far enough to follow through.

“I love you!” She blurted, sweeping into the room and shutting the door.  She crossed the floor to his bedside in three swift strides. “I’ve always loved you.”

“I…” The shock on his features was muting into alarm. “Miss
Hargreaves
!”

“Daphne,” she corrected, tears began to brim in her eyes. 

She began to sense that he was not reacting as he ought to be.  Surprise was well and good, but shouldn’t he have swept her into his arms by now?  It was panic that drove Daphne to her final act of desperation. There was no other way to account for her behaviour.  It was certainly not attributable to habit or design.  However, quite suddenly kissing him was an absolute imperative.

She had always thought that a first kiss was meant to be perfect: a singular, magical moment that would impress love from one person to another like a seal in wax, and that was how she felt as her lips melted into his. She barely noticed how his body had gone rigid, or how his hands were twisting anxiously at his side. The only thing that mattered was his mouth on hers, soft and inviting, filling up her entire consciousness. She never wanted it to end, but it did -- and in the worst possible way!

Chapter 2

What Daphne didn’t know, as she sat in her
parlor
remembering that fateful moment six years previously, was that a man in a carriage, not a mile from her house, was following his thoughts along a very similar line.

Edward Everton was the second son of an Earl.  He was lucky that his family was so wealthy.  It ensured that he had connections, and wouldn’t be destitute, at least, but it did carry certain restrictions.  From the time of his birth, expectations had been made.  Plans were
put
into motion to decide how he would spend the rest of his life: where he would go to school, what he would study, where he would live.  The only choice it seemed he was allowed to make himself was who to marry -- within reason, of course. The lady had to be rich if he ever hoped to hold a proper estate rather than merely practicing law and she had to be from a respectable family. Apart from those few qualifications, the decision was his own -- until Daphne
Hargreaves
had taken even that one choice away.

Sometimes Edward wondered  if Daphne really had been just a foolish girl.  She had only been sixteen, after all.  High spirited and indulged, Daphne had not learned, as Edward had, the necessities of self-restraint.  She was cosseted and spoilt with very few checks on her
behavior
. Perhaps she failed to understand the risks? Perhaps he too was at fault. Edward dismissed the latter possibility. He refused to accept a share of blame for what had transpired.

Yes, he had flirted with Daphne. He was a man, after all, and she had been dazzling. He could never forget his first glimpse of his erstwhile playmate when he returned from Oxford the very last time.

He had come to ask his brother’s blessing on his choice of bride, Miss Jane Winston.  Miss Winston had been introduced at an informal gathering at the home of one of his professors of law.  She was not particularly beautiful or aristocratic, but she was very well funded and unattached.  He enjoyed her company.  All things considered, Edward thought he ought as well to marry her as not.

Happily, William agreed. Miss Winston and her companion were summoned from London to meet the family and announce the engagement. Edward was content to pass the days before her arrival engaged in sport with his old friend Anthony
Hargreaves
. Then he met Daphne again.