The Lucky One (Brethren Of The Coast #6) (17 page)

“Yet you ultimately gained the title.” And Dalton envied Everett, though he would never declare it. “Your suffering has ended.”

“You might think so, but you are wrong.” Everett scooted to the edge of his seat and reclined against the armrest. “That particular noose brings with it a whole host of new problems I had never foreseen. And in some ways, I remain invisible, as no one is interested in forming an acquaintance with Lord Everett Markham. Rather, they wish to know the earl of Woverton. Likewise, the title has brought my countess unwanted overtures Sabrina Markham never would have confronted. Do you recall the contretemps with Lord Belford, last fall, during the Little Season?”

“When Sabrina trounced the rake’s foot and broke his big toe, during a waltz at the Richmond’s gala?” Trevor guffawed. “Smarmy bastard got his comeuppance.”

“Is my bride not magnificent?” Everett slapped his thigh. “Gifted her a parure of sapphires and diamonds, as I was so proud of her for that, and how I love my Brie.”

“No, no, no.” Wrinkling his nose, Blake rose from his chair. “While I sympathize with Dalton, regarding his travails, I draw the line at such sappy emotional expressions. This conversation has turned too maudlin for my tastes, and I would take my leave.”

“I concur.” Standing, Damian winced. “While there will, no doubt, come a day when we require your assistance in such mawkish endeavors, now is not the time. Until then, you may find me plowing the fields.”

“But I would caution you to remember something.” Blake met Dalton’s stare. “Not many second sons have two dukes, at the ready, to do his bidding. And you are a better man than you realize, even if you are a bit droopy about the ears. This business with the Moreton wench and Sheldon will pass, and you will not ride the storm on your own, as we are with you, come what may. And therein lies the beauty of societal dictates, as no one can ignore us.”

“Thank you, brothers.” Dalton dipped his chin, and the ducal duo departed.

“So what do you intend where the charming Miss Harcourt is concerned?” Lance queried. “Have you composed a proposal?”

“Now there is where I require your expertise, as Dirk has assured me courtship is a far cry from seduction.” And in that moment, Dalton made his decision. “But I will marry her, if she will have me.”

“Really?” Everett blinked. “How marvelous for you. Then I suppose you should—”

“Heed our counsel.” Trevor elbowed Everett. “As we are past masters in the game of hearts. For example, while courtesans favor monetary expressions of interest, wives savor romance. Trust me, you do not want to disillusion the poor girl.”

“So I should wait?” But now that Dalton’s course was set, he was anxious to secure Daphne’s hand. “For how long would you suggest?”

“A fortnight, at least.” Scratching his cheek, Jason glanced at Lance, who nodded. “That should permit us—I mean, you to gain sufficient ground.”

“Oh, I say, Collingwood is correct.” Everett cleared his throat. “Got ahead of myself, you know. Now, you must schedule regular deliveries from the hothouse. Is she partial to a particular bloom?”

“And what of chocolates?” Lance winked. “Cara loves truffles, and she conveys her gratitude with profuse enthusiasm. And do not forget monogrammed handkerchiefs. My sugar kisses treasures them.”

For some strange reason, Dirk scowled. “Brothers—”

“Are we or are we not offering wise guidance, as not every man is fortunate enough to have his bride-to-be seduce him?” Trevor snorted. “And do not forget useless knickknacks. Does she stockpile a particular dust collector, such as paperweights?”

“Very funny.” Dirk folded his arms. “And I would have you know Rebecca adores her paperweights.”

“My friends, I owe you a debt I can never repay, as I could never manage without your sage advice.” For the first time in a long time, Dalton hoped. “Else I would kneel before Daphne, at the next opportunity, pledge my troth, and bungle it. How can I ever thank you?”

“To quote my darling Alex, stuff and nonsense.” Jason grinned. “As your future happiness is our just reward, and we shall satisfy ourselves with that.”

The roses arrived
just after noon, the beautiful box of lace-edged monogrammed handkerchiefs appeared around two, and a liveried messenger delivered the tin of delicious chocolates at three. Sitting in her chamber at Randolph House, surrounded by her treasure, Daphne read and reread the accompanying cards, stark but resplendent in their simplicity. The sender, alone, would have sparked excitement, but it was the singular salutation with which he had signed each missive that captured her attention and rendered her lightheaded with dizzying euphoria.

Love,

Dalton

Were there two more glorious words in the entire world? Hugging herself, she bubbled over with nervous laughter, and gooseflesh covered her from top to toe, so she scarcely heard the knock at the door.

“Come.” Daphne stood and smoothed the skirts of her lavender gown, as her gracious hostess entered the room.

“Are you ready for the Promenade?” Bedecked in her signature shade of burgundy, which she declared Dirk’s favorite, Rebecca beamed with inexpressible joy. “My dear, you look so sophisticated in your new finery. And Dalton is downstairs.”

“Dirk told me Dalton has always avoided the spectacle, like the plague.” A shiver of delight traipsed her spine, as Daphne pondered the abrupt about face of her extraordinary suitor. “Oh, Becca, is it too soon to covet hope? Am I counting my eggs before they are in the pudding? Do you believe Dalton intends to propose?”

“I think our men did their part, as they gathered last night, at White’s.” The glamorous viscountess lifted her chin and narrowed her stare. “And I shall thank my husband, into the wee hours, for his unfailing support of our cause.”

“May I ask a personal question?” Daphne accepted Becca’s haphazard escort.

“Of course.” Rebecca nodded once. “What do you wish to know?”

“Were you always so confident, in matters involving…that is to say…what I wonder is…where did you gain such information regarding the connubial bed?” Daphne’s cheeks burned with embarrassment, and she cursed the ever-increasing blushes. “I would never dream of impinging upon our fledgling friendship, but I am curious, and you seem so comfortable discussing what I had thought a taboo topic. You, along with the Brethren wives, make marital relations sound so natural and, to my amazement, enjoyable.”

“Well, indeed, marital relations constitute an integral and indispensible aspect of wedded bliss.” Rebecca halted on the landing, and Daphne almost tripped. “My dear, what happens between a husband and a wife is quite natural and enjoyable, especially when they are in love, as are Dirk and I. And as for my knowledge, some I learned in service to His Majesty, but I acquired most of my experience in my devoted Dirk’s ardent embrace and gentle tutelage.”

“Might you be willing to share some of your instruction with me?” Daphne inhaled a shaky breath. “As I must confess the prospect of my honeymoon terrifies me.”

“Then we shall do something about that, at another luncheon with our sisters.” Rebecca drew Daphne downstairs. “And now I deliver you to your endearing companion, and Dirk and I will chaperone.”

“Ah, here are our ladies.” Dirk came forward and claimed Rebecca. “Darling, you wear another splendid creation in my favorite color.”

“Hello, Dalton.” Daphne had prepared a short speech to convey—something. But when her true knight grasped her gloved hand, twirled her once, and then brought her knuckles to his lips, every single coherent thought fled her.

“Hello, Daphne.” The devilishly handsome man had the nerve to wink. Garbed in an evergreen coat, with a tan waistcoat, which highlighted his crisp cravat, black wool breeches, and polished Hessians, Dalton would have made many a fair Portsea maiden swoon. “Shall we depart?”

After gathering pelisses and coats, the foursome journeyed by coach to the park, where a huge crowd made the rotations. Near a tall hedge, the odd extended family waited. As they approached the well-matched couples, it dawned on Daphne that if she married Dalton, that would be her life. She would subsist in a magical world of fashionable ladies and powerful men, confined by a tangle of unwritten and unspoken rules, and spend her days in a never-ending repetition of tea parties, galas, and requisite outings. Taken care of by a gentleman of considerable fortune, she would want for nothing. Yet she longed for the backwater and her charities.

“You are awfully quiet.” Dalton settled her securely at his side, as they strolled, with the married compliment in their wake. “Did my offerings to your incomparable beauty not please you?”

“Oh, no. I mean—yes.” Daphne clamped shut her mouth and counted to three. “What I intended to say is I love everything. The roses, the handkerchiefs, and the chocolates are wonderful, and I thank you. But why did you send them?”

“I thought it obvious.” He favored her with a shy smile, and how she adored him. “I am courting you.”

“What?” Her ears rang, her heart skipped a beat, and she stumbled.

“Are you all right?” Dalton slowed his pace. “Daphne, look at me. You are as white as a sheet.”

“Sorry.” She peered over her shoulder and discovered their legion of chaperones attempting to appear invested in conversation, as everyone avoided glancing in her direction. “But you gave me no warning, and given your behavior, which has confounded me, I fretted you marked me for another, because you stated as much.”

He opened and then closed his mouth, as he shuffled his feet.

“Dalton. Daphne.” Lady Elaine waved, with Lady Celia, Lady Amanda, and Admiral Douglas, in tow. “We hoped we would see you.”

“Why did you not come with Lance and Cara?” Daphne discovered Dalton had retreated to speak with Dirk, and although her prospective suitor whispered, he gestured wildly and shifted his weight. Had she offended him? “And hello, Celia.”

“Oh, we will never attract a beau with our brothers about, as they are veritable terrors.” Elaine rolled her eyes. “So the admiral and Amanda act as minders.”

“Miss Daphne.” Exuding strength and dominance in his regimentals, Admiral Douglas bowed. “How do you find the city?”

“A bit overwhelming, sir.” Addled by Dalton’s declaration, Daphne rallied her wits and seized the moment. “Lady Amanda, I wonder if I might call on you about an urgent matter?”

“Certainly, Miss Daphne.” Wearing a navy coat festooned with insignia identical to that of her husband’s uniform, the matriarch of the family inclined her head and studied Daphne. “How very mysterious. What about Tuesday, next, at four? You can join me for afternoon tea.”

“I would like that very much.” And perhaps Lady Amanda could ease some of Daphne’s qualms. “And I am in desperate need of counsel, so I will be prompt.”

“My Amanda, shall we continue our walk?” The admiral pointed with discretion. “Elaine has located Sir Ross, and she is anxious to greet him.”

“Should we allow it?” Lady Amanda frowned. “Lance does not want us to encourage her, as he does not consider Sir Ross a viable swain.”

“Do you honestly believe we can stop her, if she is so fixed?” the admiral asked, with a chuckle. “Our younger generation is a stubborn sort.”

“Hmm.” Lady Amanda sidled close to her husband. “As were we, my dashing sailor, despite my father’s conditions, so I sympathize with her predicament. Regardless of potential resistance, you know Elaine must follow her heart.”

“Then let us do our duty, as I would not have her compromised into a union.” The admiral tipped his hat. “Miss Daphne, we bid you
adieu
.”

Just then, Dirk shoved Dalton forward and hissed. “Now get in there.”

An endearing red hue spread from his collar to his face, and Daphne tried but failed to stifle a giggle. “Is anything amiss?”

“What was that all about?” Dalton inquired, ignoring her question.

“Apparently, Elaine fancies someone named Sir Ross.” Given the openness of his family, Daphne saw no reason to temper her words. But as she settled her hand in the crook of his arm, she checked her enthusiasm when his muscles tensed beneath her palm. “Is there a problem with her choice?”

“There could be, but I wager Lance will fight that battle, should it become necessary.” Dalton acknowledged a passing gentleman. “Now, let us turn our attention back to the discourse we began before we were interrupted.”

“But I prefer to remain on focus.” Daphne lowered her voice, as they merged into the crush. “Why would Lance object to Sir Ross?”

“Right now, I do not want to talk about Sir Ross and Elaine.” Dalton steered her to the left, along a pebbled path. “My dearest Daphne, I apologize for my insolent manner, and I would never take you for granted, so I would make my plans clear and avoid any confusion. Consider this my formal proclamation of courtship. I propose we make the rounds, for a fortnight, and then we announce our engagement, if you are amenable. My mother and brother would arrange for a ceremony and a license, so we could take our vows in the first week of June, just prior to Parliament’s summer recess and the end of the Season.”

“Wait a minute.” As Daphne and Dalton halted in a small garden surrounded by tall hedges, the Brethren compliment stood guard at the entrance. When Dalton took her hands in his, and brought her to face him, she squared her shoulders. “Am I to understand you wish to marry me? Because I asked you that in Portsea, and you indicated otherwise.”

“Can I plead momentary insanity, kindest and loveliest Daphne?” How could anyone refuse his dimpled grin? “What say you, darling? Will you have me?”

“I know not how to answer, as you quite take my breath away.” Bolstered by memories of a difficult childhood, due to her father’s infidelities and her mother’s disappointments, she would not be cajoled into making the most important commitment of her life. “Do you love me?”

“I beg your pardon?” Was it her imagination, or had he paled?