Patrica Rice (17 page)

Gordon stiffened. “I have not been so rude as to inquire into the family’s weaknesses. The mother’s fault is not the daughter’s. Daphne is far from being a poor creature. You cannot know the courage and compassion she has revealed to me. A few earls with a backbone like Daphne’s would serve this family well.”

Shelce grunted at this revelation. “Very well. Then you will not mind if I stay a while to get to know her better. You have had the pick of all of London’s finest, and you have chosen an unremarkable nobody who cannot stand still without jumping at every little sound. I wish to learn what it is that she possesses that the other ladies did not.”

Gordon ground his teeth and wished he had not agreed to any of this. He had never believed his grandfather would stir himself to travel to Devon because he mentioned he was considering marrying. He was eight and twenty and quite capable of choosing a wife without anyone’s help. He had thought the earl knew him well enough to accept that.

No, there was something else bothering his grandfather besides the impending betrothal. He watched the earl’s irritable pacing of the room and resigned himself. Sooner or later it would all come out. He would just much rather it be later.

“Daphne and Melanie have made plans to travel to Bath, sir. Perhaps you ought to accompany them.”

The earl sent his heir a shrewd look and finally accepted the decanter offered. He refilled his glass and, smiling wickedly, asked, “And just where does Evan fit into these arrangements?”

Chapter Thirteen

Daphne sent the overcast skies a despairing look, then opened the formal note from Gordon. It had been addressed officially to herself and her aunt, so she could not expect it to say all she wished to hear, but even a stiff message was better than none.

When the note was read, her vexation did not ease. Delaying another day so the earl could rest before traveling with them did not sit kindly on her already frayed nerves. Undoubtedly the earl’s luxurious barouche would be more comfortable, but the company of that irascible old man would not ease her mood. She just might blurt out the whole story to keep him from testing her like a prize mare, and then they would be in the basket for certain.

She wanted to talk to Evan. He would be as furious and irritable as she over this delay. But the note contained more of an order than an invitation for tea, and Daphne dared not ignore it. Perhaps if the rain held off, she would be able to make a quick trip into the village afterward. The clouds made evening seem to come earlier, but there would be sufficient light for some hours.

The earl presented a certain gruff charm over tea, but Daphne felt as if she were present under false pretenses and said little. Gordon’s attentions were so pointed that even Melanie and Aunt Agatha noticed, making Daphne even more ill at ease.

She liked Gordon very well. He was everything that she had ever thought a gentleman should be: kind, thoughtful, undeterred by her flaws, intelligent, considerate, attentive... The list could go on into infinity without even adding attractive and wealthy. Why, then, wasn’t her heart pounding with expectation whenever Gordon touched her hand or looked upon her? She had wanted a flirtation to remember. She had wanted to experience love even if unrequited. Why, then, couldn’t she take advantage of this once in a lifetime opportunity to play the part that Gordon offered her?

She tried. She smiled into his eyes when he sat beside her as he sipped his tea. She was quite certain he was a very exciting and handsome man and that women had swooned over him for years. She let him offer her a plate of cakes, and when their fingers touched, she was quite positive she felt a small shiver of something interesting.

She walked with him about the perimeter of the room as the others conversed in the center, and their conversation covered dozens of appealing topics. She really did enjoy Gordon’s company and his ability to make her feel like someone important, but her thoughts kept straying disobediently to the injured man at the inn and the visit she planned to make as soon as this was over.

“Your thoughts are a million miles away,’’ Gordon whispered as they reached the far end of the long drawing room where they would not be heard so easily. “Has the delay made you as nervous as I? I thought nothing weakened your courage.”

He wasn’t wearing blue today but a forest-green cutaway over buff kerseymere pantaloons that fitted neatly to his long, powerful legs. Even Daphne could see he was a fine figure of a man, and her heart pounded a little stronger.

“I am worried about having both your sister and the earl here. If Evan isn’t indulging in flights of fancy, that could be very dangerous. Do you think we will be able to leave on the morrow?”

“I’m certain. It has all been arranged. Do you object too strongly to traveling with grandfather?”

“No, of course not. It is only the delay I mislike. Did you really have to give him the impression we are to marry? I feel so deceitful.”

Gordon’s grasp tightened on her hand where it rested on his arm. “Then agree in truth and there will be no deceit.”

Daphne sent him a startled glance but they had once more strolled within speaking distance of the others, and a question from her aunt diverted the subject back to the general.

She was quite certain that Gordon knew of her lameness, if not her mother’s crime, Daphne decided as they rode back to her aunt’s afterward. How, then, could he possibly carry his flirtation so far as to actually sound as if he wished to marry her? His wife would be a countess someday. A lame countess didn’t sound quite the thing. Surely he realized that. No wonder his grandfather was scrutinizing her so closely.

“You are terribly quiet, my dear.” Agatha interrupted her reverie. “Are you worried that Gordon has been too precipitous in his addresses? He is, of course, but once a man of his age finally makes up his mind, he becomes quite impatient. I am not at all certain that going to Bath now is the wisest idea. Perhaps you ought to wait and give him time to press his suit.”

Alarmed, Daphne shook her head and refused to meet her aunt’s eye. “I do not know what has come over him. Perhaps if I go away a little while he will return to his senses and look among more suitable ladies. I am conscious of the honor he does me, but I cannot believe I am all that I must be to be a proper wife.”

Agatha looked amused as she watched the emotions on her niece’s lovely face. It was a pity the child could not see her own charms, but Gordon was scarcely blind to them. His gaze had seldom left Daphne all afternoon, and for good reason. Her niece was all that was fine in a woman: charming, demure, attractive, and intelligent. She would make an excellent countess.

That slight streak of rebelliousness and stubbornness would add to her authority some day. They would make a lovely couple, although she expected Daphne might just give the staid viscount a real run for his money upon occasion.

“You do yourself no favor to speak like that,” she admonished. “And you do Gordon a grave injustice. Are you certain it is not missishness that makes you think this way? A woman should be proud and honored to accept the suit of so fine a gentleman.”

Missishness? Ordinarily, Daphne would have laughed at the thought. She had always thought of herself as forthright and above the vaporish whims of ordinary females. But perhaps Aunt Agatha was right. She had never seriously received a gentleman’s attentions before. It had been quite easy to laugh off the inanities of those few gentlemen who had politely kept her company. Gordon wasn’t so easily dismissed.

That called to question all of her behavior. Had the proposal in London frightened her into retiring to the country where she would never have to face such a predicament again? Did the prospect of marriage and all that it entailed so terrify her that she had resolved to be a spinster? Perhaps all her actions in London had been such as to deliberately frighten away suitors, and only when she thought herself not pursued did she find someone to see her as she really was.

Daphne didn’t think she was frightened of marriage, but she really had not given it much thought. Girls grew up to be married. That was what she had assumed when she went to London. Now she knew differently, but she still had a secret longing to be loved and cherished. And she wasn’t at all certain that a platonic friendship would suit.

Remembering the heat of Evan’s kiss, Daphne blushed and looked out the window. Would Gordon kiss her like that if they were married?

* * * *

Rather than sink in these disturbing thoughts, Daphne ordered out her pony cart as soon as she had changed her clothes. She needed some kind of exertion to divert her thoughts away from herself. The sky had been overcast all day without rain. It would very likely wait a little longer.

Going out without a maid was a little more difficult. Tillie had the sniffles and couldn’t come out in the damp weather, but Marie looked disappointed not to be asked. It didn’t matter. What she was about to do didn’t need witnesses.

Agatha had retired to her room for a rest before dinner, so, there was no one about to protest when Daphne donned a pelisse over her walking dress and called for the cart. The groom offered to accompany her, but she politely declined.

She felt a drop or two fall as she rattled over the bridge to the village, but she was too close now to turn back. If it rained too hard, she could always stop a while with the Dalrymples until it was over. Jane would enjoy a good coze to discuss the earl’s arrival.

The main problem was being inconspicuous. That wasn’t a problem; it was an impossibility. The whole village would know she was there just from the sight of the pony cart in the street. Drastic measures were called for.

Before reaching the village proper, Daphne turned the pony down a hedge-lined lane. Evan had to be able
to come and go from the inn without being seen, and she rather imagined the river running parallel to the village street had much to do with it.

In triumph, she discovered a path along the riverbank. She daren’t risk her pony and cart in the narrow terrain, but they would be safe enough tethered to a tree out of the way. If someone saw them later, they might think her maid had borrowed them for an errand. She tied the reins and set out to maneuver her way between hedge and river in the direction of the inn. Evan would no doubt ride his horse back and forth through here to the stables. How would he enter the inn without being seen from there?

She would cross that path when she came to it. If nothing else, she would use the same ploy as earlier and pretend she was faint and in need of water. Female vagaries were always overlooked and forgiven.

As it was, she found the garden empty as before and entered it through the kitchen gate. If anyone saw her browsing through the flowers, they would think her eccentric and nothing more.

Before Daphne could devise a plan for entering the inn to search for Evan, she caught the flash of a red coat over the fence in the side street, and she stepped behind a large mulberry bush. The sound of steps did not go directly to the inn but seemed to amble down the alley toward the stables.

“What’s our chances of catching a highwayman on a night like this?” a voice asked scornfully.

“Not much of a highwayman if you ask me. More like a bloody Robin Hood. Did you see that widow weep when she found the bolt of cloth on her doorstep? Fair makes a fellow shiver to think how the rogue got it there without none of us seeing it.”

“Well, if the captain’s right, we’ll find how he does it tonight. But I still don’t think he’s fool enough to come near the only inn in town. We might as well find ourselves a dry spot and wait it out.”

The voices traveled on until Daphne couldn’t hear them anymore. She was momentarily frozen to the spot, but her fear couldn’t allow her to linger. Evan had to be warned. If only she knew more of their plans.

She hesitated, wondering if she ought to take a chance and find Captain Rollings first or just hurry to warn Evan. She feared the likelihood of going from the soldier to Evan safely was small. It would be better to do it the other way around and make some arrangement to send the information back to him.

With that plan in mind, Daphne waited until she sensed there was no one about, then cautiously crossed the garden to the side door of the inn. The sound of the captain’s voice coming from the back room where she had once met Evan sent a ripple of fear coursing through her. She had hoped to find Evan there as before. That had been an idiotic notion. Now that it was dashed, she was at a loss.

Hugging her pelisse closer, Daphne slipped into the side hall and listened to the sounds around her, searching for any indication of Evan’s presence. A public inn seemed a foolish hiding place for a known criminal, particularly one who was so identifiable. His resemblance to Gordon would cause marked suspicion in strangers. The villagers would know instantly that a hoax had been perpetrated.

The sound of heavy boots leaving the parlor sent Daphne’s heart into a racing panic. Without thought, she dodged into the shadows of the back stairs. When she realized where she was, she caught her breath, looked for any sign of movement, then lightly hurried to the upper story.

The uneven floor boards made walking tricky. The lack of any source of light but a dirty window at either end of the narrow, low-ceilinged hall gave her pause, but she had come here for a purpose. She would not forget it now.

Daphne sought the room that might conceal an injured Robin Hood. Few strangers ventured through these parts. The rooms were seldom taken except by travelers caught by darkness or the weather, or an occasional drunken farmer unable to make it home after a long night of ale-swigging. The two open doors near the top of the stairs would not conceal what she sought. Daphne eased down the hall, ever alert for approaching voices or feet.

When she found the closed door to one of the front rooms, she hesitated. Her sense of the impropriety of what she was doing had fled long ago under her fear of the soldiers surrounding and filling this place. She had gone well beyond propriety the night the dratted man had appeared in her bedroom. She could only repay the favor in kind.