C
astleford had his coach stop in the park. He alighted and strolled to the park’s entrance, then walked up Park Lane.
His discretion was not only for Mrs. Joyes’s sake. He did not mind gossip about himself if it was of the normal sort, but he did not want it reported that he pursued a woman. Wagging tongues would make too much of it, because it was generally known that he never bothered with such exertions.
He never had to. Usually all it took was an expression of interest and a few gifts, and soon the biggest challenge was how to free himself of the affair when he tired of it. The ends could be so complicated that he rarely bothered with the beginnings anymore. Life was easier if he restricted himself to professional women.
Yet here he was, making a social call on a woman in midday. He could not remember when he had last done so. The realization that he was about to break with his more sensible practices had annoyed him, until a bottle of good wine at his club put a better light on it.
He grudgingly admitted that Daphne Joyes and her cool composure had occupied his mind more than he liked the last ten days. It was all her fault too.
His interest in her might have passed quickly and normally if she had not thrown down a gauntlet. Several of them, to his mind. He was not a man to stand down from a challenge, and hers had provoked his mind even more than his pride. The only way to find peace when that happened was to follow where such fascinations led him and see them through to the end.
Usually that only meant cornering government lackeys into answering his questions, to learn what cards some minister had up his sleeve. Sometimes the curiosity required more active investigations. On occasion the puzzles absorbed his attention for weeks.
He doubted that the object of his current stimulation would require much time to exorcise, however.
Most men might believe it demeaning to arrive at a woman’s door on foot, but he did not care about such things because he, unlike most men, knew his worth. Well fortified with the wine that instilled a beatific sense of well-being, he presented his card to one very astonished servant.
Castleford amused himself with the paintings in the drawing room while he waited for Mrs. Joyes. He was lost in mentally improving the composition of an extravagant mythological scene by Le Sueur when the servant returned.
“Mrs. Joyes is not at home, Your Grace.” The young man stammered it out, then flushed and averted his eyes. “I sincerely regret to inform you of that, sir. Most sincerely.”
The footman looked young, green, and mortified to be delivering that message to a duke. As damned well he should be. Castleford did not hide his irritation and pointedly ignored how the footman positioned himself to escort the visitor out.
Women were never this bold. Even the ones afraid of him, even the ones who thought him the devil incarnate, did not dare this insult.
The footman appeared increasingly nervous and unsure what to do. Inappropriate flushes and fidgeting revealed his distress. Presumably the more experienced footmen had gone to the coast with Summerhays.
Castleford crossed his arms and gave the lad a good look. The footman’s face got redder by the instant.
“What is your name?”
“P—” A strangled cough. “Perthy, sir. Your Grace. Horace Perthy. Sir.”
“You seem an honest sort of person, Mr. Perthy.”
“I try to be, sir.”
“Then I am sure that you will tell me the truth now. Mrs. Joyes is indeed in this house, is she not? She sent down that message as women do at times, when they do not wish to see someone who has called. Am I correct?”
The fellow looked like he might faint. One could see him thinking hard to find some lesson on how he was supposed to handle such a blunt question from a visitor who refused to play by society’s rules.
“Your silence speaks eloquently for you, Mr. Perthy. Now, find your tongue, and tell me just where in the house Mrs. Joyes resides.”
“Oh, I cannot. . . . I mustn’t. . . .”
“Mr. Perthy, there is no
cannot
or
mustn’t
with me. Not even from the prime minister, and certainly not from you. Tell me where she resides, and no one will be the wiser. The alternative is that I will have to search the entire house to inform the lady of my displeasure.”
Perthy’s eyes bulged at the threat the house would be searched. He surrendered, relieved, forgetting that at least one woman would be the wiser in a few minutes. Whispering, he gave up the information.
Castleford favored him with a smile and sent him away. “Remember, Mr. Perthy, what you do not see, you cannot know.”
A few moments later Castleford strode up the stairs. He must remember to tell Summerhays that the training of his servants lacked the requisite discipline. The boy had been intimidated too easily.
He found the apartment young Perthy had indicated. He opened the door to a bedchamber that did not even have an anteroom. It seemed fairly small for a house like this and was decorated in white with some green here and there. No flowers, he could not help but note. The park could be seen through the window, though.
A movement to his left stirred the air. A chilled little breeze wafted his way. Mrs. Joyes rose from a chair on the far side of the bed with a book in her hand.
She glared at him. “You are too bold, sir!”
Pride and insult stiffened her spine, and wonderful color marked her cheeks. Her fair hair had been dressed in the simplest way. It appeared only bound at her nape with a ribbon. He wondered how long it was. The bed spanned most of the space between them, and he imagined her kneeling on it, with that hair falling over her naked breasts.
He strolled into the chamber. “You refused to receive me, Mrs. Joyes. You sought to turn me away like some clerk or apprentice who forgot his place. And you think
I
am bold?”
Her nose rose. “A gentleman would have accepted my choice with grace, not invaded like a barbarian.”
“I am no graceful gentleman, I am relieved to say. Being one forces the most stupid behavior on a man. However, I remind you that I am
Your Grace
.”
He made his way to the window and checked its prospect. She could see Park Lane’s length from it, which had probably been this small chamber’s appeal.
He turned and faced her. “Do not do this again.”
She did not like that. He did not care. She pressed the wall behind her to put more distance between them. She made it a point never to allow her gaze to acknowledge that big bed beside her.
“I am not obligated to entertain you, Your Grace, especially when I have reason to believe you will not behave well.”
“You had no reason to believe anything of the kind today.”
“I saw you approach, while looking out that window. You appeared too happy.”
“You hold it against a man that he is in a pleasant mood? Hell, you
are
strict.”
“You were merely in a pleasant mood when you visited The Rarest Blooms. Today you exceeded that. I believe that you have been imbibing a good deal and are well in your cups.”
“My cups are only half-filled at best. I am regretting my restraint more with each passing minute.”
“You just ignored the proprieties of this house and intruded on my bedchamber. I would say that you are well beyond good sense. You would never do such a thing on Tuesday.”
“I am a boring and hellishly bad company on Tuesdays. Also cruel. Remember?”
“And you are drunk other days. I do not receive men who are inebriated. I cannot receive your social calls if you are incapable of normal restraints with spirits.”
She absolutely refused to back down and apologize. Unbelievable.
“I never said this was a social call. It is presumptuous for you to assume it is.”
She sighed in a way that reminded him of Hawkeswell, when Hawkeswell was his most irritating. “I will not receive you for
any sort
of call when you are inebriated. When there is business to discuss, when you require information from me that influences your decision on that property, we will meet for that purpose, but not here.” She squared her shoulders, lifted her damned invisible shield, and gazed over with her coolest regard. “Now, I must ask that you leave.”
Damnation, she was
throwing him out.
She was fortunate he was in such a pleasant mood. Her manner only prickled instead of inflamed. All the same, her hauteur goaded him. He’d go to hell before he stood down without goading a bit himself.
She held her poise so severely she might be one of those porcelain figurines. He looked right back, capturing her full attention, and he did not make any efforts to ignore the bed mere inches from her side.
He did not insinuate, he merely allowed his gaze to expand until the bed was in view along with the lady. He forced their mutual stare to acknowledge the intimacy of where they held this little contest and the possibilities of this privacy and the fact that he already had more familiarity with her than her manner today implied.
Her expression altered not at all. Her gaze did not waver. The slightest flush tinted her cheeks, however. He held her gaze until that tint darkened noticeably.
Finally, she looked away.
“We will do it the way you wish,” he said. “I thought to spare you the inconvenience of formal meetings, but if they are your preference, far be it from me to inconvenience myself instead. Tomorrow at nine o’clock, call on me, and we will discuss the matter that brought me here today.”
“Nine o’clock! That is uncivilized. As for where we meet—the park is preferable, I think.”
“As I said, I thought to spare you, but I have only received your dreary scold for my generous efforts. Therefore, we will meet next time at my leisure, at an hour and place when this business will not interfere with my day and habits. That is nine o’clock tomorrow morning, at my house.” He strolled to the door and bowed. “Until then, Mrs. Joyes.”
Chapter Seven
I
t would be inaccurate to say that the servants on Park Lane considered Daphne’s unexpected presence a nuisance. She suspected that she had disrupted their plans for an informal few weeks with no demands, however.
The best of them had traveled with Audrianna and Sebastian, and the ones who remained tended to be young and inexperienced. She was sure that Castleford would have never dared come up to the private chambers uninvited when the whole household was in residence, for example.
He had dared it, however, and now she found herself cornered again. There was nothing for it but to attend this business meeting in his house. She rose before dawn to prepare. Her maid yawned in her face when she arrived to help.
While washing and dressing, Daphne considered the plans she had made yesterday for her week here, before Castleford intruded. She would, of course, see to influencing his decision on the property and hoped she acquitted herself better in the future than she had thus far. However, she had also seized on her inspired impulse during her conversation with Verity. It made sense to use her time to further her business. It might all come to naught within days, but if things went her way with Castleford, she could help The Rarest Blooms flourish even more.
Her gaze fell on yesterday’s newspaper while her maid dressed her hair. That story about Latham had preyed on her mind ever since she read it. There would be no ignoring that man’s presence in England now. It appeared that society would celebrate his every utterance and that his opinion would be sought at every turn. His role as moral philosopher would go unquestioned.
She snorted in derision so ungracefully that her maid’s hands paused. She gestured for the girl to continue.
Latham was a fraud. Those essays were laughable coming from his hand. He might play the role of a good man, but there was nothing to recommend his character. Unfortunately, he had a talent for hiding his true nature beneath charm and eloquence. Even his own family did not comprehend how base he was and how he lacked the slightest sympathy for others.
Except Castleford, she reminded herself. He had endeared himself to her with his harsh judgment of Latham. It was the first time she had ever met another person of gentility who saw Latham as she did. Everyone else, it seemed, remained happily ignorant.
She looked in the mirror at her maid’s handiwork. Then she averted her eyes so she would not meet her own gaze. Everyone remained ignorant because those who knew the truth never exposed him. He made sure that the only people who could denounce him were powerless to hurt him. He depended on their vulnerability making them confused and on their cowardice keeping them silent.
Of course, Castleford did not remain helpless or powerless. Yet, while he had broken with Latham, he had not exposed him.
They were relatives, of course, and two peas inhabiting the same extremely privileged pod. That probably accounted for it, and it made sense with the way the world worked. Still, realizing Castleford might have acted otherwise angered her. He might have spared some good people considerable grief.