Chapter Fifteen
“Daphne!”
Her aunt’s hand flew to her mouth as she rushed into the room, her eyes wide with concern. “Sarah relayed what happened, but I never expected…” Her eyes dropped to the crumpled excuse of a gown slipping off Daphne’s shoulders. “Well, I certainly didn’t imagine this,” she said, her palms outstretched toward her appearance. “A hot bath awaits, dear.”
Daphne sat atop her bed, her legs stretched out in front of her, the bedraggled hem of her dress scrunched over her swollen and bruised ankle. The pain of her physical injury had crescendoed past tolerability, but it was still muted in comparison to the gut-wrenching shame she felt at Edward’s betrayal, at the knowledge that she had given her heart to a man directly responsible for her beloved brother’s demise.
Aunt Susan settled down next to her, her silk dinner gown spilling over the golden coverlet. “My goodness! I never expected you and Sarah to be so diligent in your task. I never imagined you would stray so far in search of flowers. I will not forgive myself if you should fall ill.” Her aunt lifted the corner of the blanket and pulled it across Daphne’s middle. She gave her niece an assessing look. “I’ve had the physician sent for, dear. No doubt he’ll suggest lots of rest. Goodness, when Albina twisted her ankle, she was in bed for weeks! I’ve already written ahead to the staff in London, letting them know we’ll be delayed.”
“Delayed?” Daphne asked, blinking herself out of her painful reverie.
“Yes, of course. We want you to be good and rested.” Her aunt gave a sly smile. “And why not capitalize on this opportunity to spend more time with His Grace?”
“No.” Daphne’s hand clenched her aunt’s wrist. “We must return to London at the earliest opportunity. Tomorrow, if possible.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I already blame myself for this ordeal. I will not rush a return and risk you further injury.”
“But we can’t possibly impose on His Grace’s hospitality,” Daphne insisted. She couldn’t stay here, not in his house. Not where his scent lingered in the halls or where every room bore traces of his presence. She needed to be removed from the premises as fast as humanly possible.
“Nonsense. His Grace would be insulted if we didn’t accept his generosity.”
“But what of the Season?” Daphne asked. “What of all the balls and soirees that will be missed on account of me? I would never forgive myself if Henrietta did not marry because she missed the opportunity to waltz with her future husband at Almack’s.”
“Goodness. If that were the case, Henrietta would already have a ring on her finger. Almack’s, indeed. She would have better luck here, with Lord Westbrook, and Sarah with Lord Colwyn.”
“But Lord Westbrook is to leave this evening.” The more miles between him and any one of her cousins, the better.
“He is?” Her dark brows furrowed together. “I don’t recall such an announcement being made.”
“Because it was only just decided upon my return.”
“Lord Westbrook saw you, dear? Like this?” She waved her hands over the length of Daphne’s gown.
“Yes, or rather no…” Daphne fumbled over the words before drawing a deep breath. “While assisting me into the house, His Grace informed me of Lord Westbrook’s decision.”
Her aunt’s shoulders slumped ever so slightly. “It is unfortunate that he should leave so soon, but there is still Lord Colwyn, and His Grace, of course.” She leaned over and placed a hand atop Daphne’s. “Did the duke mention anything of his discussion with Thomas?”
Daphne slid her hand out from beneath her aunt’s and tucked it under the coverlet. “No.” The very idea of the duke considering her as a possible candidate for his duchess was beyond ridiculous; it was nigh on hysterical. That she could ever marry someone so untrustworthy, so, so, so incorrigible…
“Perhaps he is just waiting for the right moment.” Aunt Susan patted Daphne’s leg. “Yesterday bore a lot of excitement. He probably wished not to overtax your nerves. A proposal will do that, my dear.”
“I suppose it would, if one were to be given. But there is no chance of such a thing ever occurring between His Grace and me.” She glanced toward the door where Edward had exited only moments before. She could still see the hurt and anger that had covered his face at her accusations. Accusations he had refused to claim.
“Don’t be so morose. A twisted ankle is hardly means for a change of heart. If anything, I’m certain it has shown him how much he has come to care for you. That you were injured has likely scared him witless. Men do not deal well with their emotions, dear. Just give him time.”
“No amount of time will change my answer. In the unlikely event that His Grace offers marriage, I shall decline.”
“But I don’t understand,” her relation sputtered. “He is a duke! You could do far worse.”
“He could be the King of England for all I care. I will not marry the Duke of Waverly. And I am positively certain he will not marry me.” She crossed her arms, the dampness of her gown causing little prickles to rise on her skin.
Aunt Susan shifted, her arms wrapping around Daphne’s shoulders. “Goodness, child. What has happened? Did His Grace give you cause to change your mind?”
Daphne stiffened. He had given her a plethora of reasons justifying her refusal. “Yes.”
“What could he possibly say to elicit such a strong reaction? “
Tears sprung in Daphne’s eyes. “He smuggled rum, for heaven’s sake!”
“Rum?”
“And on the very ship tied to Samuel’s impressment.” Her eyes watered over, the unshed tears threatening to spill with the smallest provocation.
“Impossible.”
“Is it?” Daphne asked. Tears spilled down her cheeks. “He bears physical evidence supporting otherwise.” How could she have failed to see the connections? She swiped her face with the edge of the blanket and swallowed. Was one pair of imploring blue eyes all it took for her to set aside her pain? To forget the injustices committed against her brother?
“Where did you hear such things?” Aunt Susan asked, her face a contorted mixture of disbelief and shock.
“It doesn’t matter. The evidence speaks for itself.”
“What evidence? Have you any physical proof that these claims are truth and not mere fabrications spun by a disgruntled lord or scorned miss?”
“I know of its existence. Whether I have seen it with my own eyes is irrelevant.”
“Irrelevant? Unfounded gossip is the very reason you sought the duke’s assistance in the first place, is it not? Because some fool’s sharp tongue threatened your family’s good name? Why, His Grace could be just as much a victim as he may be a participant.”
“I highly doubt that.” Daphne sniffed.
“Did you ask His Grace? Did you inquire after these accusations?”
“Yes, of course.”
“And?”
“And he did not deny them. In fact, he acknowledged having made mistakes.”
“Which we are all prone to do,” Aunt Susan said. “I fail to see why you would turn him away, when he has confessed his missteps. It takes a true gentleman to admit that he was wrong.”
She stared at her aunt aghast. “A true gentleman, perhaps, but the duke is most certainly not. He failed to tell me the truth. Does Samuel’s life hold such little value that I should overlook his death for a possible future spent with a man responsible for his demise?”
Her aunt’s hands settled on Daphne’s shoulders. “Samuel’s death was most unfortunate but it was an end to a life with little want and one I have no doubt he wished for you to duplicate. Do you think he would approve of you harboring such grudges against a man who could potentially offer you such a life and more?”
Daphne shrugged off her aunt’s constraints. “The duke has made no declarations or overtures of marriage. I doubt he ever had the inclination to offer for an American. Samuel’s ghost, however, likely cries for vengeance. He would be disgraced, and rightfully so. I am a traitor to my own blood.”
“Blood,” her aunt said calmly, “that is half-English.”
Her aunt glanced down at the fine linens covering the bed, but not before Daphne caught the pain filling her aunt’s eyes.
She sighed. “I in no way intended my disdain to reflect on you or your daughters.”
Her aunt shook her head, her finger tracing one of the filigrees embroidered into the coverlet. “I was just eight when your mother left for America. I was nothing more than a child, and one who had their world turned upside down by the precipitous departure of a dear sister. A sister who left on account of an American man my parents despised.”
“I—” Daphne paused upon seeing the anguish coloring her aunt’s face.
“I had only met your father once before he took Elizabeth to America. He was kind and everything a gentleman should be. The only thing that set him apart from the other men who came to call on my sister was his slight accent. And yet, that accent was enough to send my father into a rage and my mother reaching for her salts.”
Aunt Susan lifted her head, her eyes settling on Daphne. “I could have allowed my parents’ bitterness to pollute my image of your father. I could have allowed their harsh words to sway my opinion. And I could have allowed the estrangement of my only sister to taint my views toward Americans as a whole. But I didn’t. Instead I chose to be happy in the truth that my sister had found love and had not settled for anything less.”
Daphne glanced away. “As compelling as that story is, you have forgotten that mother was long passed before Samuel was impressed. I believe his death would have swayed her views toward her former homeland.”
“Elizabeth knew well the strained relations between our two countries. General Cornwallis had only just surrendered when she left with your father to live in Boston. She knew that peace was not guaranteed. She long wrote to tell me her fears that her children would be forced to take up arms and in doing so, would have to decide which half of their heritage they would claim and which they would fight against. She was not na?ve.”
Her aunt stood and stepped away from the bed, just as a maid entered the room with a steaming bucket of water on her hip. Daphne glanced toward the succession of servants carrying rose petals and perfume, then returned her gaze to her aunt.
“Be that as it may, I wish to leave at the earliest opportunity. Tomorrow if possible.”
“That is in the hands of the physician. I will await his professional opinion before making any arrangements. Until that time, I advise you to take a bath and then get some rest, dear.” She gave Daphne one last lingering look and made her way toward the door. “Perhaps, in time, you may reconsider, after what I have shared.”
Yes, and perhaps in time, her aunt would realize the grievous error she had made in thinking the duke was anything more than a man driven by the guilt of innocent blood on his hands.
…
“Perhaps this will help ease your afflictions, Your Grace,” Farrington suggested, sliding a glass of amber-colored liquid under Edward’s nose. “It isn’t rum, but I’ve discerned you no longer have a taste for the drink.”
God dammit. Were all Americans terribly astute, or just the ones in his acquaintance?
He lifted the snifter of brandy to his lips and took a long draw of the liquid before setting it down on his desk. “I never did like the taste of rum. Far too bitter for the likes of my palate. I find that I prefer the simplicity and sweetness of more local fare.”
Farrington lifted his glass and swirled the French brandy Edward had imported before Napoleon wreaked havoc on the Continent. “I rather enjoy the bite rum offers as it slides down the throat. Most sailors would agree…especially those employed in His Majesty’s Navy.”
Edward lifted his head, his back hunched in the same position as it had been an hour ago when he had retreated into the depths of his study. “So I’ve been informed.” As he had been at least eight years prior, when a different source had brought that same information to his attention.
Farrington said, “We had quite the devil of a time keeping them supplied when Jefferson put his Embargo Acts into place.”
“You supplied rum to His Majesty’s navy?”
“Yes, though I’m not certain which was more difficult. Getting rum into the hands of the English, or hiding our illicit dealings from Daphne.”
Brandy, sweet and fruity, dribbled down Edward’s chin, the warm liquid splattering onto the desk as he sought to control the muscles surrounding his mouth. Sopping up his chin with a handkerchief, he lifted his eyes. “Has she discovered your past dealings or been made aware of their existence?”
“Such information was never deemed necessary for her to know. My father is an intelligent man, Your Grace. While he recognizes my sister’s skills and has allowed her more freedoms than most women of her standing, she is still a woman, and one who does not need to be involved in every aspect of a man’s business.”
“God in heaven,” Edward muttered. He pushed his empty glass away from his fingers. “I wish I had your foresight, Farrington. I was not as clever in hiding my business dealings from the overly intelligent woman in my family.”
Farrington gave a half-smile. “Are you referencing the duchess, Your Grace?”
“Unfortunately, yes. When I first entered trade, I assumed, and quite erroneously, that she would turn a blind eye to my investments. I was negotiating with tradesmen after all, a class of society she had never seen as worthy of her attentions. But I saw the potential and Mr. Burnham, a man who was recommended to me by one of the merchants, helped me to obtain success in my venture.”
Edward pushed himself out of the chair and stood. “I had no idea that she would seek to capitalize on my success and dip her fingers into a world she detested. But in her haste to fill the coffers my father did his best to empty, she was misguided, and made decisions I have no doubt had she been better informed, she would never have agreed upon.”
“Everyone is entitled to make mistakes, Your Grace.” Farrington set his glass on the sideboard and uncorked the decanter.
Edward snorted. “Yes, well, your sister does not agree with that sentiment.”
“Does Daphne know of your mother’s investments?”
“She would not allow me any explanations. She assumes I am guilty, and I am, though not of the smuggling, but of misplacing my trust and hope. I thought I could change her opinion of my countrymen.” He gazed past Farrington to the window where the late evening breeze tickled the curtains. “I thought she could be trusted. That she would not turn me away when the truth was revealed. But I was wrong.”
He ran his fingers through a hank of hair. “You should know that the ship my mother backed in her attempts to run American rum was captained by a cruel and exceptionally corrupt individual.”
Farrington frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Not as sorry as I am. I had no idea of his practices until they were discovered by Mr. Burnham. I can assure you, I immediately had the captain brought to justice, but not until he had made numerous raids…and had impressed at least fifty Americans into service on his ship.”
“Good God.”
“Most sailors, both American and British, died from the harsh conditions aboard the Seraphina. It was why the captain took advantage of the Royal Navy’s allowance for the practice of impressment, despite the fact that the Seraphina was not a frigate fighting against Napoleon.” He held Farrington’s gaze. “I am so very sorry for the fate that befell your brother. You have my most sincere apologies.”
The other man nodded, his hand covering his mouth. With a deep inhale, his hand fell down to his side.
Edward let out a sigh and continued. “Lord Westbrook informed your sister of my connection to the Seraphina earlier this evening. I had hoped to tell her myself, with both of you present, but it seems fate had other plans.”
“Westbrook?”
“It seems he was in league with Mr. Burnham.”
There was a moment’s silence before Farrington cleared his throat. “Daphne has requested an immediate departure from Thornhaven. And while, given your revelation, I can understand her decision; I am at a loss to explain why she has directed her anger toward you. It was you, after all, who brought Samuel’s captor to justice, was it not?”
“I did and I watched him hang for his crimes. But what Westbrook likely did not know, and therefore did not relay to your sister, was my mother’s involvement. I told Burnham the rum was my own botched attempt at trade, and he believed me.” Edward fingered the white monogram on his handkerchief. “My mother places great value on her reputation, which, I am sure you know, would be irrevocably damaged should it be connected to this scandal.”
“So you took the fall.”
“I didn’t correct assumptions.”
“Including Daphne’s.”
Edward pulled on his sleeve. “She has made up her mind when it comes to my character.”
“Which is why I need to set her to rights, Your Grace. You are no more guilty of Samuel’s death than I am for sending him off to oversee the acquisition of more sugarcane.”
“That may be so, but as you have kept your secrets, so, too, do I ask that you keep mine. I shall invest in your company, but under the condition that you and your sister leave Thornhaven. Immediately.” The very idea of extra time spent with Daphne, of her golden honeysuckle-scented hair flowing over his pillows, his blankets, as she recovered from her injury, God. He couldn’t do that to himself. Couldn’t tempt himself to believe that maybe if she heard the truth she would change her opinion, would see him for the gentleman he was and not the beast she believed him to be.
But she had already set her mind against him. She saw nothing but a man tied to her brother’s death. A duke with English blood.
Farrington’s mouth settled into a thin line. “I do not pretend to understand your wishes, but I will do my best to fulfill them, Your Grace. I will notify my aunt of our change in plans.”
Edward gave a small smile. “Please see that you do.”