Page 28 of The Lady Knows Best

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Daphne had managed to avoid her sisters’ interrogation after the musicale by claiming a headache.

But no excuse could keep the memories of the evening from flooding her mind.

Those moments in Lord Estley’s study were exactly the sort of dangerous research Lady Stalbridge had warned her about. When she had made her scandalous proposal, a moment of panic had followed as she wondered whether Lord Deveraux might refuse to go along as a matter of principle.

But of course, she needn’t have worried. As he’d told her at the Clearwaters’ ball, he was no gentleman. And his insistence on kissing her was precisely the sort of behavior that she intended to expose in her essay on rakes.

You didn’t have to kiss him back....

As for that duet in the drawing room, how dare he expect her to perform her Irishness in front of an audience of English aristocrats, to perform at all, in front of any audience? She had never in her life been the center of attention, the focus of every eye.

Of course, she still hadn’t, because he had not been perfectly honest about his abilities, either. He didn’t have a fair voice. He sang beautifully, in a strong, bright tenor that had made her skin pebble and the fine hairs rise along her arms. She had chanced a glance or two toward the audience, to see if they were equally surprised by the discovery, and had found them mesmerized, despite the song of warning she’d chosen.

If his charms had such power, what chance did she—or her essay—have?

After passing a largely sleepless night, she had risen feeling no better than she had when she’d retreated to her room. Nevertheless, when she arrived in the breakfast parlor, it was clear that her sisters’ concern for her health no longer outweighed their curiosity.

Before the footman had even offered to serve Daphne, Cami nodded to dismiss him.

“Where’s Gabriel?” Daphne asked. She had hoped her brother-in-law’s wry sense of humor and easygoing manner would make the meal bearable.

“Raynham called at an ungodly hour and dragged him to breakfast at his club,” Cami explained. “Said his house has been made uninhabitable by preparations for the Duchesses’ Garden Party this afternoon.”

Daphne glanced toward the window and was relieved to see bright skies. She’d forgotten that Erica and Guin’s annual event was today.

“Will Lord Deveraux be attending, do you suppose?” Bell asked sweetly.

Suddenly Daphne had to will her shoulders not to sag.

Of course that devil, Deveraux, would find some way to finagle an invitation.

Cami peered at Daphne over the top rim of her spectacles. “Yes, has he given you any indication of his intentions?”

Though Cami was twenty and more years their elder, it would have been an exaggeration to describe her behavior toward her youngest sisters as motherly. Despite having four children of her own, clucking and fussing had never really been in her nature. But since Daphne and Bell frequently spent more than half the year with her, moving in society far beyond that of their Dublin upbringing thanks to her own marriage, she still held herself responsible for them. She would always expect to exert a shaping force over their lives.

Daphne had hoped to have a bit more time to acclimate her eldest sister—and herself—to the idea of Lord Deveraux’s courtship.

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean,” she said, busying herself with selecting a slice of toast from the rack at the center of the table.

“Let’s see. Last night’s duet. A dance at the Clearwaters’.” Bell ticked off each occasion on the fingers of one hand as she listed them. “And of course, we mustn’t leave out that whispered conversation in the moonlight. . . .”

At that last item, Cami’s teacup, which had been on its way to her lips, clattered back into its saucer. “I beg your pardon?”

“We exchanged a few words on the balcony,” Daphne explained, “when I stepped out for a breath of fresh air. Nothing more.”

Cami drew in a breath—rather too ragged to be calming—before she went on. “Bell also told me about a column in some magazine. . . .”

Bellis had revealed her secret to Cami? Daphne’s pulse began to hammer so loudly it drowned out every other thought. A sputtering protest rose to her lips.

“The anonymous advice column,” Bell explained, silencing her with a pointed stare. “No one knows who writes it.”

“That is the usual meaning of anonymous, yes,” said Cami, a quick frown of befuddlement notching the space between her dark brows. “But my concern is for our sister, not some gossip peddler. In any case, it seems this writer exposed Lord Deveraux’s participation in a most ungentlemanly wager about his impending marriage, which caused the young lady in question to cry off.”

“Don’t you see?” Bell shook her head at Daphne, as if impatient with her obtuseness. “He’s lost Miss Grey, but he still hopes to win that wager—with you!”

Cami shot their younger sister a look, as if they’d rehearsed a slightly different version of this conversation before Daphne’s arrival. “If it’s true that the viscount is desperate for a bride . . . ,” she began gently.