The Duke's Obsession (Entangled Scandalous) (17 page)

Chapter Seventeen

Daphne’s eyes roved over the hull of the Mary Frances, the barnacle encrusted boards of the ship dipping in and out of the murky waters of the Thames. She turned away from the wharf and toward her brother, who upon seeing her approach, dodged behind a very wide and heavy set sailor.

“Thomas,” she shouted, weaving around a crate and three more sailors with heavy loads weighing down their arms. “I need to speak with you.”

“And I,” a distinct and familiar female voice interrupted, “need to speak with you.”

Daphne spun on her heels, her lilac-colored gown swirling around her legs as she stared into the face of the last person she expected to see on the noisy London pier. “Your Grace?”

What was the woman doing here? Here amongst the dregs of society, in a filthy, derelict, poverty-stricken area of London that even Daphne would not frequent were it not where the Mary Frances was docked.

Edward’s mother held a thin handkerchief to her nose. “Regrettably, yes. It is where you are to be found, Miss Farrington.”

“Me? You wish to see me?”

“As it is you who holds my son responsible for a death he did not commit, then yes, it is you whom I wish to see.”

Daphne’s eyes darted over the busy boardwalk, somehow expecting Edward’s tall frame to appear above the crowds. Sighting no one of his stature, Daphne lowered her voice and replied, “I believe your efforts to seek me out may have been in vain, Your Grace. I am aware of evidence that suggests the contrary.”

Her dark brow rose in response. “Were you to actually have read the evidence, Miss Farrington, you would have had your assumptions proven wrong.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The ledger to which you are referring. It is obvious you have not read its contents, for if you had, you would have noticed that the account was not under the Duke of Waverly, but the duchess.”

Daphne’s eyes narrowed. Did the woman honestly believe Daphne would fall for such cowardly measures, or worse, did Edward?

“Please, Your Grace, I must seek out my brother. We are due to depart shortly and I know how much he hates to be kept waiting.”

The duchess’s gloved hand wrapped around Daphne’s wrist. “As do I, my dear. Let us walk while I regale you with a story, shall we?”

As the woman’s grip was surprisingly strong, and Thomas had disappeared from view, walking alongside the duchess seemed the most logical, albeit uncomfortable and awkward course to follow.

“Now then, I shall explain my involvement with the Seraphina on the condition that you tell no one of our conversation. Shall any of this be repeated beyond this moment, I will deny the allegations and go to great lengths to make certain you are no longer accepted in any respectable house in England. Do we have an accord?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“We always have choices. Some are simply wiser than others.” She pulled Daphne along the thoroughfare, and through the bustle of the pier.

“I am due to depart England shortly, and do not intend to revisit. I believe your secret is safe with me.”

The duchess gave a thin smile. “I would not impart this information were it not for the consideration I hold for my son.”

Daphne clutched at her chest, her hammering heart near bursting through her flesh. “He sent you to find me.” She knew it. Though why the duchess would agree to his wishes when her disdain for Daphne was apparent, made little sense.

“He knows nothing of my attendance. I came of my own volition.”

“But why?”

“For reasons beyond my understanding, my son has decided to break with both reason and tradition, to follow his heart.”

“His heart?” Daphne repeated, her voice barely audible over the din of the docks.

“Yes,” the duchess agreed rather reluctantly. “Which is why I am here and I had him detained.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Please note that I am attempting to appease Edward. You mean far more to him than I believed. As he has been rather upset by your stubbornness, ignorance, and dare I say, general lack of respect for his regard, I have come to reveal the truth behind his involvement with the Seraphina despite my belief that he would be better off seeking more suitable prospects.”

“And what truth is that, madam?” Daphne counted toward ten as she ignored the duchess’s barbs.

The duchess glanced around at the sailors busy loading the ships. “I tried my hand at trade.”

“You?” Daphne asked. “Forgive me if I find your admission hard to believe.”

“My late husband enjoyed drink, women, and cards. In order to cover his transgressions and fill the accounts he emptied, I took it upon myself to invest in a ship guaranteeing a large profit return.”

“The Seraphina.”

The duchess gave a curt nod. “I assumed his cargo was legitimate and legal. It was not until Edward investigated the ship that he discovered the captain was smuggling rum into England.”

“You were the one tied to the ship. Not His Grace?” Was it possible? Had her misconceptions prevented her from seeing the truth?

“Edward assumed responsibility for my errors and I returned my interests toward those more suited to a duchess.”

“You just dismissed everything, all the lives that were affected by your investment, the guilt, the shame…as though they were nothing more than last season’s fashions, not fit to wear to the latest ball?”

The duchess stared at the hull of the Mary Frances. “Justice was brought. Edward made certain Captain Geoffries paid for his cruelty and deceit.”

It was as though a tidal wave had swept over the pier, a large, murky, polluted and stench-filled swell that swept over the warped boards and bustling sailors, discoloring the stark whites and blacks and making everything gray. Nothing made sense, and yet, everything fit perfectly together. The accounts of Thornhaven’s tenants, the duke’s gallantry, his intense pride and reluctance to reveal his mother’s involvement, it all made horrible, clarifying sense.

She was a complete fool—and one paying for her stupidity.

The shouts of the Mary Frances’s first mate rang in her ears.

“I—I don’t know what to say,” Daphne responded, staring up at the ship and the bevy of crewmen making their way up the gangway. She needed more time to piece things together, to dissect both her anger and the relief at the prospect of Edward’s innocence.

“Excuse me, Your Grace. I must speak with my brother. It seems we have a ship to delay.”

…

Edward sat in the rattling carriage, the well-sprung wheels doing little to temper the divots and upturned cobblestones of London’s East End. He flipped open the lid of his silver pocket watch, the face of the instrument and its damning numbers reminding him of the few precious moments he had left to tell the woman of his dreams that she ought to be his wife.

Edward blinked. That was strange. While only one minute had passed since he had last implored its numbers, the watch confirmed that more than the usual half-hour had passed to reach his destination, even with extra time allotted to navigate through London’s congested streets. He was riding at a good pace—so why the devil was he not yet at the docks?

Snapping open the shade the driver had insisted remained shut, Edward peered out of the glass.

And cursed to all that was holy.

It was not the dilapidated tenement buildings and dingy docks of the East End that met his gaze, but the tree-lined, ornamentally-trimmed pleasure gardens of Vauxhall that flitted by the window.

Given that his driver knew precisely where it was that Edward was to be taken, he could only deduce that he was once again the victim of his mother’s hand.

“Driver,” Edward roared, thumping the ceiling with his fist. “If you do not bring me to the docks immediately, it will be your head gracing my table this evening, and not the bloody pig’s.”

With a jerk, the carriage turned, near tipping in its eagerness to fulfill his command. Now, if only he arrived at the docks before the Mary Frances set sail.

…

Daphne nibbled on the tips of her gloves. She had to push her way through the crowd and back to the stern of the Mary Frances. She needed more time to think, to take in all the duchess had revealed with her unexpected visit. It was essential that she stalled its departure.

That, however, seemed an impossibility. Throngs of people prevented her determined progress toward the ship, and with the booming cry of the Mary Frances’s first mate renting the air, she was overwhelmed with despair. The ship couldn’t possibly leave without her on board, could it? Surely they would wait for her. She was the owner’s daughter, for heaven’s sake. That had to be worth something. Now, if only she could pass through the ever increasing number of people milling about the docks, she could relay her wish for a few moments detainment to the ship’s crew.

Wedging her way between an overly plump woman and a fishy-smelling man, Daphne prayed she wasn’t too late.

…

Edward tore through the dense crowd of people who had gathered on the docks. He had to see her. She needed to know, to hear, to see the truth.

“Say! Watch wer yer goin’,” a woman cried.

“My apologies, madam,” Edward said, raising his voice above the din of the crowd. I’m attempting to find the Mary Frances. Do you know where it is berthed?”

Her weathered forehead crinkled into a frown. “You mean the one wif the Yankee flag?”

God, was it possible? Was it still here? Had he not botched his opportunity to declare his love before it was too late?

“Yes,” he shouted, the cry of the fishmongers ringing in his ears.

“Over there,” she said, pointing one bony finger toward the ship just past the carts. “Best be off with ya. They called to board not fifteen minutes ago.”

Christ.

Edward said a quick thank-you before once again jostling his way through the crowd. If he could just get past the bustle, then perhaps he could see the taffrail on which Daphne might be leaning, he might be able to wave…

He peered up at the weathered hull that suddenly loomed before him, the smart painted letters declaring that this was, indeed, the vessel he had sought. A flood of relief washed over him.

The ship was still here. He might still have a chance.

And that was when he saw her. A lone woman on the gangway, her arms crossed over her chest, as she prevented two men from passing.

She was positively lovely.

“Daphne,” he called, doing his best to be heard above the sailors’ laughter.

Her head lifted, her eyes widened, then she pushed past the men and made her way toward him.

“Edward,” she cried.

He wrapped his arms around her, not caring what anyone thought of their intimate embrace. “Daphne, I cannot let you return to Boston without first telling you the truth.”

“There is no need,” she breathed, her eyes moist. I already know of how you took responsibility for your mother’s indiscretions. And I know that you brought the captain to rights, Edward.”

“But how?” Had her brother revoked his promise to remain silent?

“The duchess. She came and told me everything.”

A smile tugged at his lips. Was it possible? Had his mother actually detained him for the better good? “While I must confess a deep profusion of gratitude toward my mother for relieving me of that task, that is not the truth I came to reveal.”

He pulled his leather gloves from his fingers, and placed them in the beaver top hat he lifted off the crown of his head. After setting the hat in the crook of his arm, Edward slipped his cool hands under the sides of her bonnet. His bare skin rubbed against her flesh, his thumb gently tracing the curves of her cheeks.

“I came to tell you that I am in love with you, Daphne.”

It was, perhaps, both the easiest and most profound truth he ever had to acknowledge.

Her silence at his declaration was deafening. “Edward.” Daphne reached up her gloved hand and placed it over his, her eyes closing as she leaned into his palm, her eyelashes brushing against his fingers.

What if she didn’t want him? What if, despite his mother’s revelations, she still held him responsible for the ghosts of her past?

The booming cry of the officer’s call to board tore her face from his hand, her eyes flitting toward the weathered hull of the Mary Frances.

“Please do me the honor of being my wife,” Edward said, his hand on her arm, the breeze from the brackish water of the river stirring the tiny ringlets that had slipped out from beneath her bonnet.

“You wish to marry me?” she asked, her gaze returning to his.

Wish did not describe the hunger, the want, the need that drove him to secure her hand.

“Very much so.”

Her lips lifted into a smile before falling into a prim line. “If your offer is motivated by Lord Westbrook and any threats issued in reference to my reputation—”

“I offer because I wish to take you as my wife,” ‘Edward interrupted, sliding his hand down to meet hers. “The devil take Westbrook.”

“But what of your title? You are a duke. I am a daughter of a tradesman, and an American one at that.”

“I am quite willing to leave my mother, my title, my wealth, and my country, to be with you.”

Daphne’s eyes widened, her voice catching in her throat. “You can’t be serious. You have a responsibility to your land, to your tenants—”

“All of which I leave in the capable hands of my mother and stewards.”

“Daphne!” Farrington appeared through the dispersing crowd, his eyes frantic as he came upon her. “Where have you been? The captain is ready to depart. We must board.”

Her eyes darted frantically between Edward and her brother. “His Grace, he didn’t have a part in Samuel’s death.”

Farrington glanced up at Edward, noticing him for the first time. “Your Grace. I must admit I did not think you would wait to tell her until moments before we were due to depart.”

“You knew?” Daphne gasped. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you wouldn’t listen,” her brother replied matter-of-factly. He tipped his hat to Edward and gave a wink. “I’m afraid, however, your revelation has come a little late. Daphne is all packed and ready to leave, are you not?” he asked, returning his attention to his sister.