“When he sends in his own men to find where to mine.”
“It was a good sum, even for him, I would think.”
“He will miss it badly, if that is what you mean. His estate is not exactly boundless. That branch of the family got all the goodness. My branch has all the financial sense.”
She turned her head and rested her chin on his chest so she could see his face. “You led him into this. I do not know how you did it, but I know that you did.”
He just looked at her.
“Why do you hate him so? Not because of me, I think. It is older than that. Deeper too.”
“I do not hate him. I find him irritating and boring.”
She rested her cheek on his chest again. If he did not want to speak of it, that was fine, but his reactions to Latham were not those of a man merely irritated and bored.
His fingers stroked her back absently, as if he were not even aware of the movement. That touch soothed her, however, until she melted against him.
“He played a game once, and I was the pawn,” he said. “It was as if he tested whether he could make me as dishonorable as he was. He made sure that the price of refusing to be so was very high.”
He told her a story then of a sojourn in France and a young woman named Marie.
“She expected to get the family lands back after the war, you see,” he said. “Everyone knew that the nobility would regain their estates lost in their revolution. Her land was in Gascony and produced superior wine, she said. The fools lined up to buy a share. I learned she had sold ten percent interests to at least forty different men, each of whom paid a good sum.” He paused. “I could have ignored that, possibly.”
But not the rest. Not once he learned the money went to the remnants of Bonaparte’s followers.
“Latham counted on your ignoring that too, because of her?” Daphne asked.
“He hoped for it, I think. I would be bound to him forever, then, wouldn’t I? If he knew what she was up to, which I suspected he did. I learned I was right.”
“He could also take comfort in knowing you were no better than he. I think he badly wants to believe that.”
“Perhaps so.”
She kissed his chest and moved her arms to embrace him. This tale had deepened the mood between them, but sadness drenched their intimacy now.
“Did you love her?” She hoped not. That would make this story more tragic.
“She fascinated me, but I was not in love. I thought it would be easier since I was not. It wasn’t.”
“Do you regret it?”
He did not answer. She let it pass. She knew better than to pry into a person’s heart and cursed herself for having done so without thinking.
“There are some things you do because they must be done, because the other choice makes you a coward,” he finally said.
He had not said he did not regret it. Perhaps he did sometimes, when he allowed himself to think about it at all. Like now.
She understood his long anger with Latham better. It saddened her that it would never go away. He would never find Latham boring or be indifferent to that man’s presence in his world.
He was right, though. Some things had to be done, or one was a coward. It was probably natural to hate the person who forces the choice on you, especially if he waits and watches for you to be less than you should be.
She moved up and kissed him, so that maybe thoughts of that night would leave his mind. She used what skill she had to distract him. After a while she succeeded, and it seemed to her that he was grateful that she made the effort.
Chapter Twenty-five
D
aphne left the house the next afternoon to visit with her friends before going back to The Rarest Blooms. Castleford decided to pass the time while she was gone scribbling on his manuscript. Since it was almost completed, he also turned his mind to which printer to use.
He was drawing up a little list of printing houses that might be sympathetic to the subject matter when Albrighton’s card was brought up. Not expecting the distraction but happy to have it, he told the footman to bring Albrighton to his dressing room.
They managed to fill an hour with political talk before the conversation ebbed. Albrighton just sat there in silence after that. Castleford wondered if the man scoured his brain for small talk that did not sound too slight.
“Are you looking to fill the time until your wife is finished with that little party the women are all enjoying, Albrighton? There are taverns and coffee shops for that purpose, but you are welcome to read a book here.”
Albrighton smiled in his vague way. “Actually, I am trying to decide where the boundaries of friendship begin and end.”
“That is an odd thing to contemplate. If it is my friendship you speak of, why not let me decide?”
Albrighton regarded him. “You are known to meddle in friends’ lives most freely.”
“Only for their own good.”
“Only to satisfy your curiosity, you mean.”
“Are you still piqued about that? It all worked out well enough. You should be grateful, not dragging it up again.”
“And if it had not worked out well enough? Should a friend be glad for the truth, even if it is unpleasant?”
“Philosophy does not become you. You are getting irritating now. What is this about?”
“Hawkeswell was correct. Our wives are up to something.” He looked over. “I think that which is afoot is afoot right now.”
Hawkeswell’s suspicions had carried little weight. Even Summerhays might have read more into the most innocent correspondence. Albrighton, on the other hand, was a trained investigator. If he thought something was afoot, it probably was.
“You appear concerned. Is it dangerous?”
“No, I do not think so. Not immediately so, at least.”
“That is hardly reassuring. Perhaps you should confide in the husbands of those other wives.”
“In the end, it is not about them, I am sure. It is all about Mrs. Joyes.”
Damnation. “Then let me put your philosophical quandary to rest. You will confide in me. Now.”
“I will share what I can. The first thing you should know is this. My wife is not at any party now. Not yet. She did ask me to be sure to be home by three o’clock. Very pointed on that, she was. I suspect that, at three o’clock, she is going to suddenly have to go somewhere, and ask me to accompany her.”
“That is odd.”
“Odder yet is that I saw Hawkeswell right before I came here. He also has been asked to be home at three o’clock. His wife is still at home too.”
“It is possible, I suppose, that Daphne and Lady Sebastian are holding a private conversation, and the others will join them.”
Albrighton did not look like he was convinced of that. Neither was Castleford, for that matter.
“You must forgive me for what I am about to tell you, Castleford. And for my actions, which were not requested or entirely honorable.”
“Hell, fine. You are absolved, but only if you speak plainly and be done with it.”
“I followed Mrs. Joyes when she left your house today.”
How like Albrighton to demand forgiveness before revealing that. Castleford did not hide his annoyance.
“How dare you.”
“I picked up a vague scent of intrigue two weeks ago, and it has only gotten stronger with time. I do not like smelling such things in my own home. As for why I turned my attention to Mrs. Joyes—two of the women involved are with child and unlikely to be the center of any scheme. Of the two that were left—Lady Hawkeswell’s life is an open book now, isn’t it? Her secrets are over. Mrs. Joyes is the only one of them who is still surrounded by questions.”
So Albrighton had noticed that. Of course he had. Spotting ambiguities and holes in stories was what he did. What he was.
Castleford began forming the words to put an end to this, out of loyalty to Daphne. He stopped himself. If Albrighton was here, there was a reason that had not been explained yet.
“So I found it odd that my wife wanted me home at exactly three o’clock when she never is so precise, and I took a chance this was all about Mrs. Joyes, and I followed her. She did not go to Lady Sebastian. Or to Lady Hawkeswell. She went somewhere else entirely.” He reached into his coat and handed over a small piece of paper with an address on it.
Castleford looked at it. “Who lives here?”
“I asked a local milliner, and she said the house had been to let until four days ago, when someone took it. So, having nothing better to do, I sought out the estate agent.”
“Who took this house?”
Albrighton looked at him somewhat oddly. Cautiously. “A woman named Miss Avonleah. Do you know her?”
Castleford gazed at the paper. “I know her.” At least, he had thought he did. “It sounds as if there will be a party at this house this afternoon, Albrighton. I trust that you will attend when your wife asks for your escort.”
“I think it best if I do.”
“So do I. I think that Miss Avonleah will be very disappointed if her salon is not well attended.”
Albrighton left then to return to his wife by three o’clock. He would be there at least, Castleford thought. And Hawkeswell and probably Summerhays.
That meant that the only person in their circle not invited to this party was the Duke of Castleford.
D
aphne settled herself on a simple chair in the drawing room on Bird Street. The house was well-appointed and elegant enough. It spoke of gentility but not great wealth.
The street outside showed few carriages. There was only one shop on this block, a milliner’s. The residences lining it did not encourage many passersby.
“He is coming, I think,” Margaret said, running into the drawing room. She peered out the window. “That is his carriage stopping down there.”
Daphne got up and went over to look out. She turned Margaret around, and made a display of fixing the long frill of her cap. “Can you manage? I do not need a housekeeper. I can open the door myself and see him below in the morning room.”
“I will do it.” Margaret firmed her expression and forced the fear out of her eyes. “I will go now.”
Daphne repositioned herself on the chair. She made sure no others were close by. She closed her eyes and built her composure as if she laid courses of bricks. She would do this and she would pay the consequences and even if it did not all work out as planned, the scoundrel would never have such power again.
Sounds below. Steps on the stairs. Margaret entered, her head bowed, and brought a card. Daphne nodded, and Margaret went and invited the visitor in.
Latham breezed in, smiling. Behind him Margaret shook her head. No, he had not recognized her. Of course not.
He paused in the middle of the chamber and looked at Daphne. He made a display of admiring her and being impressed. “You are beautiful sitting there, Daphne. The blue of that dress is very becoming.”
He set aside his hat and advanced on her. To her horror, he did not sit like a proper guest but circled around her too closely. “It only lacks an appropriate jewel, my dear.”
Suddenly a little box appeared in front of her eyes, held by his hand. A gold chain and a sapphire gleamed up at her. The box closed and disappeared as quickly as it had come.
“For afterwards, I think,” he said.
He finally sat. He looked around the chamber. “This is pleasant enough. Well located. A quiet street too. You chose well.”
“I would have preferred being on a park, but as a widow, my income is limited. At least I can remain in London, however.”
“Where is your home otherwise? You never said.”
“In the country. In Surrey. Too far to visit London by day easily.”
“Is it just you and that housekeeper here?”
“And a cook.”
“How wonderfully discreet.” He appeared pleased. “I was very happy to receive your letter, Daphne. Our last meeting had not gone well. I thought perhaps—well, let us forget that, shall we. I think that you know that my interest in you has never dimmed. Circumstances did not permit—well, more, in the past. Neither mine nor yours did. It is different now, and you are an independent widow. I hope that I will receive more invitations to call on you in the future.”
He did not speak like a petitioner but like a man who assumed that of course she would want his attentions, especially now that he was a duke.
She remained silent. He frowned above a jovial smile.
“You are uncommonly cool, Daphne. So reserved now. Maturity has enhanced your beauty but perhaps not your manner. I think I need to find a way to melt some of that frost.”
He stood and walked toward her. Her heart beat painfully in fear, but she did not move. She did not let him see it.