Love and Larceny (10 page)

That would hardly help matters. Mr. Sheridan
might find her odd. Wynn had ever been the only fellow who
understood her.

Still, Mr. Sheridan had possibilities. He
tended to talk more than Wynn did, and with less substance, but
surely that was only because they hadn’t known each other long. And
he was certainly the master of every situation, where Wynn tended
to follow her lead or defer to her wishes.

Did Mr. Sheridan own a phaeton? Would he let
her drive it? Where would they live as husband and wife? It was too
much to suppose he had an estate somewhere, but perhaps a
townhouse? With its own mews. She simply could not be parted from
Hortensia for any length of time. Already she was wishing she had
brought her horse with her to Brentfield.

“Have you decided to drive Mr. Sheridan to
the ends of the earth instead of making him walk?” Wynn asked.

Daphne blinked. She’d been so deep in thought
she’d merely kept driving. Now she gazed about. A hedgerow crowded
against one side, trees poking up out of the brambles here and
there, while on the other side, a field stretched away to a cottage
where a farmwife was hanging clothes on the line.

“Where are we?” she asked, reining in.

“A mile or so beyond the village,” Wynn
replied. “At least, that’s my estimate based on speed and time. In
fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if we weren’t near the sea.”

It did seem to her that she could smell brine
on the breeze, hear the faint sound of waves against the shore. A
tingle shot through her. “Let’s go see!”

Wynn grinned, but Mr. Sheridan spoke up.
“Excellent idea, my dear, but perhaps another day would be more
advisable. We wouldn’t want to worry your host or your mother.”

There was that. But her mother would likely
be upset no matter what she did. She glanced at Wynn. “Do you think
going further would tire the horses?”

Wynn shook his head. The whipping of the air
had put a ruddy glow into his cheeks, and his eyes were bright with
interest. “Not these goers. And if we let them rest a bit while we
poke about, so much the better.”

Daphne shared his grin, gathering up the
reins once more. Mr. Sheridan put his head between them. “Forgive
me, but I sadly must insist we return. I promised your sister I
would partner her at whist. I would hate to distress anyone in the
charming family with which I hope to become much better
acquainted.”

“Well,” Daphne said, spirits lowering, “I do
think Ariadne would forgive you.”

He lay a hand on his heart. “But would I ever
forgive myself for hurting your dear sister?”

Daphne sighed. “Very well. I’ll find a place
to turn, and we can head back.” She clucked to the horses, setting
them forward at a trot until she spotted a crossroads.

“Perhaps if you mentioned your interest in
the sea to Lord Brentfield,” Wynn murmured as she started the team
back toward the estate, “he could arrange for us all to go.”

Mr. Sheridan must have heard him, for he
laughed. “I don’t know about you, Fairfax, but I cannot see my dear
Miss Courdebas’s mother enjoying a stroll along the shore. Can’t
you just hear her complaining of the sand in her shoes?”

Daphne could. “He’s right,” she told Wynn.
“We should probably stay close to Brentfield.”

Even if that meant sitting still for the next
few days.

*

By the time they had returned to Brentfield,
Wynn had had enough of Brooks Sheridan. First the fellow fawned all
over Daphne, going so far as to imply that marriage might be in
their future. Then he had the gall to douse her enthusiasm by
refusing to look at the sea. If she married the dastard, she’d end
up as prim and proper and utterly lifeless as many of the young
ladies on the
ton
.

He tried to keep that thought in mind as they
rejoined the others for the afternoon. Lady Emily and Sir James
seemed to have finished their interviews with the staff, for they
spent part of the time in the library with Lord Brentfield, no
doubt making their report. When they came out, Daphne’s friend
immediately took the ladies apart.

“What’s that all about?” Sheridan asked Wynn
as they stood beside the hearth in the Blue Salon.

He was not about to share anything more about
Daphne with the Corinthian. “Miss Courdebas frequently spends long
periods with her dearest friends. I would get used to it if I were
you.”

By the way Sheridan’s visage darkened, he did
not like Daphne’s attention focused on anyone but him, another
reason he would never be worthy of her.

Daphne sought Wynn out as soon as their
conference was over.

“Emily learned nothing else of interest,” she
whispered to Wynn as the other ladies surrounded Sheridan as if to
keep him occupied. “But she says we must focus our investigation on
the west wing, for that is where all the noises apparently
originated.”

“What does she plan?” Wynn whispered
back.

“Miss Courdebas,” Sheridan called, holding
out his hand beseechingly. “You must come to my aid or I shall be
overwhelmed.”

“Coming,” Daphne cried, hurrying to his
side.

Wynn could merely follow with a smile, for
all his face hurt with the effort.

Once more Sheridan was in his element,
charming all the ladies with his witty repartee until even Lady
Emily was forced to smile at him. He was in rare form at dinner as
well, making the entire company except Wynn laugh. Even Lady
Rollings looked on him with apparent favor. Mr. Harrop was the only
one to look at him darkly, but it may have been because of the
amount of food the Corinthian consumed.

Worst of all, Sheridan requested that Lady
Brentfield allow them to waltz after dinner, a request that was met
with excitement by the betrothed couples. Lady Rollings seemed to
take particular pleasure in playing the piano as Daphne accepted
Sheridan’s hand to dance.

Lady Minerva settled herself next to Wynn
along the silk-draped wall.

“Scandalous dance,” she complained as the
couples glided about the room to the strains of Haydn. “Look
there—I don’t believe light would pass between our hosts.”

Lord Brentfield did indeed cradle his wife
close, smile playing about his lips as he gazed down at her. Her
gaze never left his as they twirled past.

“And Miss Courdebas,” Lady Minerva said with
a tsk. “I must say, I never thought she had it in her.”

Though Daphne and Sheridan were a good ten
inches apart, it was still ten inches too close for Wynn. She
looked undeniably happy as the fellow spun her about, her skirts
brushing his stockings below his breeches. Wynn should be happy for
her. She deserved a fellow who could match her, whatever she
did.

“He must be a scoundrel,” Lady Minerva
said.

Wynn blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“He must be a scoundrel,” she repeated, a
little louder, as if she thought Wynn must be hard of hearing. She
waved a hand at the pair. “Look at him. Good head of hair, broad
shoulders, witty, charming, graceful. No one is that blessed. My
niece would tell you there must be something wrong with him.”

And wouldn’t that be nice? Unfortunately, he
had no reason to suspect that Sheridan was anything less than what
he seemed. Even his sudden appearance at the house party was easily
explained. He had said he’d been staying with friends. While out
riding, he had seen an opportunity to further himself in Society
and taken it. Others had done as much.

“I could look into him if you like,” Lady
Minerva said. She smacked her lips as if tasting the juicy morsels
of gossip even now. “For a consideration.”

Was she asking for a bribe? Would she
fabricate some salacious story to earn it? Much as he would have
liked to see the last of Brooks Sheridan, he could not find it in
himself to agree.

“Thank you for the suggestion, your
ladyship,” he said. “But I’m certain Miss Courdebas will take his
true measure soon.”

She snorted. “She’s not that smart, you
know.” Rising and shaking out her black skirts, she went in search
of easier prey. He was only glad Lord Brentfield suggested everyone
change partners then, so he did not have to keep watching Sheridan
hold Daphne.

Unfortunately, a short while later, when they
all gathered for whist, Sheridan somehow ended up partnering
Daphne, leaving Wynn to partner Lady Rollings if he wished to even
sit at the same table. Though he and Daphne’s mother took most of
the tricks, she never so much as smiled at him.

As she tallied the final points, she shook
her head. “Disappointing, Mr. Fairfax. Perhaps cards are not your
forte either.”

By the time he retired for the night, he was
a boiling mess. He tried not to dwell on his infirmity—what was,
was, and no amount of wishing or complaining would make it
otherwise. But it seemed to him his courage had shriveled just as
his muscle had for a time following the accident. He ought to tell
Daphne how he felt, explain that he’d do more than walk to the ends
of the earth for her. He would love her, cherish her, cheer her,
and support her all the days of his life.

But if he offered her his heart, she might
refuse it. He hadn’t been willing to take that risk. He kept
thinking a few more days, a few more hours, and she could come to
see his love, appreciate what he wished to offer.

Now, fire burned inside him, and
determination fueled each step. He took to the secret passages and
crossed the manor to her room. His heart was thundering in his ears
as he rapped on the panel.

She opened the door immediately. She hadn’t
changed for bed. Her hair was still up in the bun behind her head
with tendrils framing her face. Her blue eyes positively glowed in
the candlelight.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked, hurrying on
before he could even answer. “Me either. Let’s go exploring.”

What a night! Daphne’s nerves were still
jingling like bells on a sleigh. First she and the others had had
to determine their next steps in the investigation. Ariadne had
been all for trying the secret passages, and Daphne had been about
to tell her what she and Wynn had discovered the night before, but
Priscilla had been adamant.

“They are dangerous. Remember what happened
last time anyone went into them.”

Daphne knew she meant the time her aunt had
fled through the passages to escape capture for her crimes, only to
fall through the ceiling. But Daphne and Wynn knew what they were
doing. They wouldn’t be so foolhardy as to dash through the dark
and step off the beam.

“What I want to know is why the west wing is
so important,” Emily said, finger rubbing at her pointed chin. “You
stayed in that wing before, Pris. Is there anything special about
it?”

Priscilla gave an elegant shrug. “As far as I
can see, it is merely a duplicate of the east wing.”

“So why it should be subject to hammering and
oaths?” Ariadne had asked. “And who is uttering them? I’m still of
a mind to consider a haunting.”

“No haunting,” Emily had insisted. “Ghosts do
not make off with art treasures. Let’s talk to Lord Brentfield in
the morning and see if he’ll let us poke around a bit more.”

Their plan agreed to, Daphne had felt free to
rejoin Wynn and Mr. Sheridan. And then, after dinner, her guest had
asked her leave to call her Daphne and given her permission to call
him Brooks. Swirling around the room in his arms had been magical.
Though she’d found it hard to attend to the complicated
calculations required to win at whist, he had been charming about
her gaffs.

“You know what they say about being unlucky
at cards,” he’d murmured as he’d bid her good night.

She wasn’t sure, but she knew who to ask. She
cornered Ariadne before her sister could retire.

“Is there some saying about being bad at
cards?” she demanded.

Ariadne frowned. “Not that I’ve heard. The
closest saying might be ‘lucky at cards, unlucky at love,’ so I
suppose the opposite might be true.”

Daphne frowned. “So if I’m bad at cards, I
must be good at love?”

Ariadne smiled. “That’s the idea.”

She had seemed surprised when Daphne had
hugged her before dashing off for her own room.

Given that revelation, sleep was unthinkable.
She’d refused her maid’s help, paced the room, rearranged the gowns
in the clothes press, straightened the pictures on the wall, and
evened out the pleats on the velvet curtains before she’d heard the
tap on the wall.

Now she climbed into the passage beside Wynn.
“Which way tonight?”

He seemed surprised to see her, which was
silly given the fact that he had come to find her. Who else did he
think would answer his knock?

“Daphne,” he said, tone somber, “I didn’t
come to explore. I have something I must say to you.”

“Can you say it while we walk?” she asked,
pushing past him. “I have a terrible urge to move.” She lifted her
skirts to clamber up the steps to the main passage.

Immediately, the darkness closed around her,
and she realized Wynn and his candle had remained behind. Glancing
back at the glow below, she called, “Wynn? Is something wrong?”

“No.” She could hear the sigh in his voice.
The space brightened as he climbed up to join her.

“I can refuse you nothing,” he said, and for
once he didn’t sound all that pleased about the matter.

“That’s because you’re a good friend,” she
assured him, reaching out to take the candle from his grip.
“Perhaps we should remain here in the west wing, as that is where
Emily is concentrating her efforts.”

“Indeed,” he said, still with that defeated
tone. “Lead the way. You can count on me to follow. That seems to
be my role.”

Daphne frowned at him, then held out the
candle. “Do you want to go first? You can have the light.”

“No,” he said. “I need to find the light
inside me.”