When Only a Rake Will Do Page 5

  “Daphne, are you in here?” she heard, just before her sister’s angelic face appeared within the doorway.

  “Good morning, dearest,” she said, dropping the invitation onto the desktop and rising from the chair. “I didn’t realize that you were up,” she continued, moving around the side of the desk.

  “Umm hmm,” Charlotte replied, bobbing her head as she walked into the room. “Whiskers was scratching at the door and woke me.”

  Whiskers was Charlotte’s cat; and the grey, short-haired tabby’s favorite spot in the house was in the center of her sister’s bed.

  “Have you been out riding?” Charlotte asked, eyeing Daphne’s velvet habit.

  “Yes, I awoke early this morning and rode through the park.”

  “Will you take me with you next time?” Charlotte asked, her wide-eyed expression hopeful.

  “Well, perhaps not the very next time,” Daphne replied. “You’ll need a few more lessons with Mr. Dickens before we can take your pony to the park, I think.”

  Although Charlotte looked disappointed, she knew better than to argue. She had only just begun her lessons after all.

  “Very well. I suppose that is the sensible thing to do,” she said in a surprisingly grown up tone.

  Daphne nodded as she placed her arm around Charlotte’s shoulders. “Are you hungry?” she asked, purposefully redirecting her sister’s thoughts as she guided her toward the door.

  At the mention of food, Charlotte’s expression brightened considerably, causing Daphne to grin. Despite her small size, her sister had a remarkably healthy appetite.

  “Do you think Cook has made raspberry tarts for breakfast this morning?”

  Cook’s raspberry tarts were Charlotte’s favorite, and the scrumptious pastries were a favorite of hers as well. “I don’t know. We will simply have to wait and see, I suppose,” Daphne replied as they walked out into the hall. “But first I shall have to change out of these clothes. Would you like to come upstairs with me while I do?”

  Charlotte nodded eagerly, allowing Daphne to take her hand and pull her along toward the staircase.

  Later that afternoon, as Charlotte was busy with her art lesson, Daphne was once again seated behind her brother’s desk, attending to the daily correspondence. Having just penned a note of acceptance to the Duke and Duchess of Sethe’s invitation, she reached for the next envelope from atop the neatly stacked pile. As Thomas had little patience for such tasks, the job of sorting through and responding to the numerous missives was now her responsibility.

  She’d just opened an invitation to a musical performance hosted by the Viscountess of Hawthorne when a soft knock sounded at the door. “Come in,” she called, looking up.

  It was Hughes.

  “Yes?”

  “You have a visitor, my lady.”

  “A visitor? For me?” It was long past the time of day for social calls and she certainly wasn’t expecting anyone.

  “Yes, my lady, the Earl of Blackburn is here to see you.”

  Daphne frowned. “Did you inform him that my brother isn’t at home?”

  “I did, my lady. However, his lordship is insistent upon speaking with you,” he replied with a slight frown and a distinctly disapproving tone.

  “I see,” she said, rising from her chair. Drat, the last thing she wanted was to spend a single moment alone in the earl’s company, but she dare not send him away. She had to think fast. “Is my sister still in the garden with Miss Felton?” she asked. Miss Felton was Charlotte’s art instructor and the two often spent their time together in the rear garden sketching and painting the various flora and fauna.

  “She is,” Hughes affirmed.

  “Alright then, if you would have Lord Blackburn shown to the rear terrace I shall be along momentarily.”

  Looking discernibly relieved at her choice of venue, Hughes promptly left the room to do her bidding.

  Drawing a long, deep breath, Daphne steeled herself to face to the earl.

  When she stepped out onto the terrace a few minutes later, she found Lord Blackburn seated at one of the small wrought iron tables scattered about, a cup of tea and a small platter of Cook’s appetizing confections before him. Clearly he’d been offered refreshments, and noting the half-empty plate she could see that he had already ingested a goodly portion of the delectable sweets.

  “Good afternoon, my lord. Hughes informed me that you wished to speak with me,” Daphne said as she approached the table. Thankfully Charlotte and Miss Felton were still seated upon a lawn blanket not too far away, clearly visible from the terrace as they continued with their drawings.

  “Ah yes. Come, my dear, and join me,” the earl said as he pushed himself away from the table, brushing a few wayward crumbs from his jacket as he rose to greet her.

  Struggling to keep her aversion from showing on her face, Daphne waited as Blackburn moved around the small table to pull out her chair.

  “Here you are,” he said, allowing his meaty fingers to brush along the exposed portion of her upper arm as she settled onto the chair.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, suppressing the shudder of revulsion she felt at his touch.

  With a self-satisfied smile, Blackburn pulled back his hand and then moved around to the opposite side of the table and resumed his seat.

  “Tea?” he asked, motioning to the porcelain teapot and the empty cup and saucer that sat on the table between them.

  “No, thank you.” What on earth did he want? she wondered apprehensively.

  Sitting back, Blackburn regarded her beneath hooded lids. “You seem nervous, my dear. Is something troubling you?”

  “Do I?” Though Daphne made an effort to appear composed, the sinking feeling she felt in the pit of her belly made it difficult. “Perhaps it is simply that I wasn’t expecting you, my lord. Thus I wasn’t able to make myself as presentable as I would have liked,” she lied, appealing intuitively to the earl’s ego as she touched her hand lightly to her hair in a deliberately self-conscious gesture.

  The earl’s expression brightened at once. “Nonsense, you look fetching as always, my dear,” he proclaimed, eyeing her covetously as he studied her appearance.

  “You’re too kind, my lord,” Daphne replied, forcing a demure smile to her lips. “So, was there something in particular you wished to speak with me about?”

  “Indeed,” he said. Reaching forward he grabbed another iced petit four from the tray and placed it onto his plate. “With the initial success you’ve had, I have been thinking that perhaps we needn’t wait until the end of the Season to announce our engagement after all.” Smiling, he lifted the tiny cake from his plate and popped it into his mouth.

  No, no, please no! Daphne swallowed, fighting against the sudden tightening of her throat. “I see,” she managed.

  Blackburn’s eyes narrowed as he studied her expression. “That meets with your approval, I trust?”

  No, it most certainly did not meet with her approval! She wasn’t ready. She was supposed to have until the end of the Season. “Yes, of course, my lord. Whatever you think is best,” she replied in a surprisingly even tone.

  “Precisely,” he replied smugly, an arrogant expression upon his ruddy face, “though I have yet to make a definitive decision.”

  Was he serious or was he merely toying with her, she wondered? He knew she didn’t want to marry him; that she never would have agreed to the match if she’d had any other option, he wasn’t a fool. Nonetheless, if he was serious she needed to convince him to wait. And that is was his decision, and not hers. But how? Think Daphne, think. Intuitively, she understood that the earl was motivated by more than the simple desire to inflate his own sense of self-importance by besting her would-be suitors. No, it was more than that, for despite his title and wealth, she knew that Edward Duntton, along with his first wife, a meek, unassuming woman, had never been well-received within the ton’s inner circles. And if she didn’t miss her guess, the earl desperately wanted to be fully accepted into t
he aristocracy’s midst and was counting on the success of her debut to help get him there. That is what she needed to turn his focus toward.

  “I must admit that my debut has been far more successful than I would have ever imagined,” Daphne began, her expression self-deprecating. “However, I can only hope that these past weeks have been enough to sustain that initial success. For as we both know, the ton is often quick to turn its attentions elsewhere once an individual’s novelty has worn off,” she said apprehensively, her brow wrinkling in concern. “Thus, I suppose it is most fortunate that I received my invitation from the Duke and Duchess of Sethe when I did,” she continued, biting down nervously upon her lower lip, “for it is entirely possible that the offer would not have been extended if I was not at the height of my newfound popularity.”

  Blackburn wasn’t stupid, but as she’d hoped the mention of the Duke and Duchess of Sethe was more than enough to give him pause. “You received an invitation from the Leightons?” he asked, his expression incredulous.

  She nodded. “Thomas and I have been invited to attend a dinner party at their London residence.”

  “A dinner party.” The earl’s eyes went wide. “By God,” he uttered, “that’s extraordinary!”

  Daphne schooled her features into an unreadable mask. “Yes, well, in lieu of your decision regarding the announcement of our engagement, the timing is rather fortuitous.”

  If he wanted to achieve the status he so desperately craved, they both knew that it was up to her to not only garner the ton’s favor, but more importantly, to secure lasting connections with those who moved within its highest ranks. An invitation from the Leighton’s was a significant accomplishment, but it certainly didn’t guarantee her long-term success.

  Watching him from across the table she could tell that Blackburn’s thoughts were suddenly spinning, just as she hoped. In any event, she’d done her best. Now all she could do was to wait and see if it was enough.

  As soon as the earl had taken his leave Daphne escaped to her bedchamber, locking the door behind her. Then, walking over to her bed she dropped down onto the velvet coverlet with a heavy sigh. “Bloody hell,” she muttered aloud, voicing the obscenity she’d heard her brother use on more than one occasion, most often when he was into his cups. What was she going to do now? What could she do? She’d given the earl something to think about, but what if she hadn’t fully convinced him that it was in his best interest to wait to announce their engagement until the end of the Season, as he had initially proposed? If not, if he chose to move ahead, he could make the announcement, have the banns posted and the ceremony scheduled to take place all within a matter of weeks, she thought morosely.

  Even knowing that to wait would merely be postponing the inevitable, she didn’t care; she wasn’t ready. She needed more time, she wanted more time; she wanted every last second. But what else could she possibly do? Woefully she realized that there was little else she could do. Thanks to her brother’s actions, she had absolutely no control over her own future. It was in Blackburn’s hands now. The reality of it was both demoralizing and infuriating at the same time.

  Closing her eyes she recalled with sickening clarity the feel of the earl’s fingers as they’d trailed along her arm, cringing at the memory, for even that brief contact had nearly caused her to cast up her accounts. How would she ever bear being forced to lie beneath his cumbrous bulk night after night as he exercised his husbandly rights upon her body? Dear God, it was almost too horrible to contemplate.

  No more! Think of something else, she ordered herself, anything else. Think of something pleasant. With her eyes still closed, she scooted backwards until she lay flat across the bed, unmindful that she was wrinkling her gown or mussing her hair. Something pleasant, something pleasant, she repeated silently, and then there it was. Brendon Leighton’s handsome visage appeared behind her eyes like a saving grace. Oh yes, that was definitely pleasant she thought as she forcibly cast the earl from her mind’s eye. And suddenly, despite the utter imprudence of it, she couldn’t help wondering what her reaction might have been if it had been Brendon’s fingers that had caressed her arm, rather than the earl’s.

  As the mere thought of it caused a delicious tingle to race along her spine there was little question as to what her answer would be; she would have welcomed his touch, that and so much more. But even as she scolded herself for thinking such wanton thoughts, a part of her rebelled. For years she had dreamt of falling in love, of spending her life with a man whose touch she would long for, a man who would ignite her hidden desires and teach her the true meaning of passion, a man like Brendon Leighton, the man who continued to haunt her dreams night after night. And though she knew that those dreams would never come true, it wasn’t easy to cast them aside, for her heart still yearned for a romantic tale of her own, a tale that would rival those epic love stories of times gone by. But alas she needed to let them go she told herself for the hundredth time, she had to let them go.

  Or did she?

  Even as the ill-considered idea began to unfurl within her mind, she scrunched her eyes more tightly shut, struggling to disregard the wayward thought.

  But what if…

  No, it was absurd, it was outrageous; it was downright scandalous and completely immoral to even think such a thing. Opening her eyes she sat upright and raising her hands pressed them to her cheeks. Surely she must be mad to even contemplate such folly. But of course she wasn’t mad, not truly. So why then couldn’t she seem to get the preposterous notion out of her head? Yet even as she asked the question, she feared that she already knew the answer. It was because, despite the reality in which she lived, she still wanted the fairytale, or a goodly portion of it at the very least.

  But did she dare? Did she have the courage to take control of her future, if only a small piece of it?

  Chapter 4

  Nearly a week had passed since the Earl of Blackburn’s unexpected visit and Daphne remained on pins and needles wondering if he would go through with his plan to announce their engagement prior to the Season’s end. Having heard nothing from him since that disquieting afternoon, she could only hope that he had reconsidered. But regardless of his decision, she had made a decision of her own. Now, she had only to act upon it. And tonight, granted the opportunity presented itself, she intended to do just that.

  “There we are, my lady, all finished,” Sarah, her lady’s maid, said as she tucked the final pin into Daphne’s stylish coiffure.

  Pulled from her musings, Daphne blinked and refocused her gaze upon the mirror in front of her, dutifully surveying the young maid’s handiwork. “You’ve done a beautiful job, Sarah, thank you,” she said, smiling graciously as she admired the elaborate profusion of blonde curls piled artfully atop her head and the few loose tendrils spilling down to the back of her neck.

  Sarah beamed at the compliment.

  “Now, what do you think?” Daphne asked, studying her reflection and the off the shoulder cut of her ivory-colored, watered silk gown. “Should I wear the emerald brooch at my shoulder or would the pearl choker look best?”

  “Hmm,” Sarah considered, cocking her head to the side as she surveyed Daphne’s appearance. “Either would be lovely, my lady, but I think perhaps the brooch,” she decided.

  “Yes, I think you’re right,” Daphne agreed with a smile. “Would you fetch it for me, please?”

  Sarah nodded and quickly made her way to the armoire and the jewelry case that rested inside. Opening the case’s wooden lid, Sarah searched the contents and then turned to Daphne with a look of uncertainty. “My lady, the brooch…it isn’t here.”

  Her brows drawing together in confusion, Daphne rose and crossed the room to where Sarah stood. Looking into the beautifully carved cherry-inlaid jewelry box that she had inherited from her mother, she quickly scanned the pieces that lay within, all neatly arranged atop the red velvet lining. Sarah was right. The diamond and emerald brooch, one of her mother’s and now one of her most-prized possess
ions, was missing.

  “Wherever could it be?” she mouthed quietly. But almost as soon as the words had left her mouth, a terrible suspicion entered her thoughts.

  “Shall I inform Mr. Hughes and Mrs. Bates?” Sarah asked, concern evident in her tone.

  “No, Sarah, not just yet,” Daphne murmured. “Let me speak with Thomas and Charlotte first. Perhaps one of them knows its whereabouts,” she continued, struggling to appear unconcerned. However, she knew that while Charlotte often played with her jewelry, it was unlikely that she had anything to do with the missing brooch, as her sister had never taken anything without her permission. “In the meantime, I think the pearls will do nicely.”

  Though Sarah nodded in agreement, Daphne suspected that the young maid might well be harboring the very same suspicion that she was. In was no secret after all that the household servants knew nearly as much about their employers’ personal lives as their employers did themselves. Thus, it would be naive and completely nonsensical to believe that those in the Hewitt’s employ knew nothing of Thomas’ financial woes.

  “Of course, my lady,” Sarah replied, lifting the three-strand choker from the box and then fastening it around Daphne’s throat.

  Though the carriage wasn’t due out front for another fifteen minutes, Daphne quickly put the finishing touches to her appearance and then made her way determinedly to her brother’s bedchamber down the hall.

  Knocking lightly upon the door, she waited until he bade her enter before stepping into the large, elegantly furnished room that had previously belonged to her parents. He was alone, sitting beside the unlit fireplace, a snifter of brandy in his hand. “Is it time to go already?” he asked, glancing toward the mantle clock.

  She ignored the question. “Thomas, I just discovered that mother’s brooch, the one with the diamond and emerald flowers is missing from my jewelry case?” she said, not bothering to beat around the bush.