Page 29 of The Lady Knows Best

Desperate.

“Are you insinuating that a handsome, titled, charming man could have no other reason for pursuing me than winning a bet?” Daphne demanded.

The two of them were quick to deny any such motive. Too quick.

“We just don’t want to see you hurt,” said Bell. “You aren’t accustomed to being the object of a flirtation.”

In other words, they feared Daphne—the poor, overlooked wallflower, teetering near the edge of the shelf—might be desperate too. Desperate enough to let Lord Deveraux take advantage of her.

Oh, it was intolerable to be treated this way, with pity masquerading as concern.

It would never occur to them that their sister could be clever enough to work things the other way ’round and best the rake herself.

The truth burned in her chest, like the heat beneath a kettle on the verge of screaming. Before coherent words could make their way to her lips, however, a footman entered bearing an unusual floral arrangement, with pale, spiky leaves. No, not leaves. Feathers. Quills....

He laid the strange sort of bouquet on the table between Daphne and her elder sister.

“That’s odd,” Cami said, though she spared the bundle of quills no more than a glance. “I wasn’t expecting anything today.”

Gabriel, bursting with pride over his wife’s novels, had a standing order for fresh writing supplies to be delivered monthly. Quills to Cami was very nearly as apt an aphorism for superfluity as coals to Newcastle.

“Well, take them to my study,” she directed with a wave of her hand.

The footman gave a discreet cough. “Forgive me, milady. But these were addressed to Miss Burke.”

Attached to the bundle of quills by a slender green ribbon was a note. With a catch in her breath, she unfolded the square of paper. Miss Daphne Burke, it read, in a bold scrawl. The shop clerk’s hand, she supposed. Until she spied the tiny drawing of a bee in the corner.

She jerked away her hand, nearly toppling her teacup.

“Are they from him?” demanded Bell.

After mopping up a bit of spilled tea with her napkin, Daphne managed to nod.

Why would that devil, Deveraux, send her pens? Send her anything at all?

Because you told him to court you, you eejit.

When the servant had left them again, Cami pushed her plate aside and dragged her teacup closer by its delicate saucer. She was studying the quills, her head tilted to one side. “An interesting choice of gift. . . .”

“A practical one,” Daphne countered. “I’m sure even he knows that many young ladies keep themselves busy with letters, or a diary.”

“But given your family connections, perhaps he hoped to encourage you to something more! Poetry, or a novel. . . .”

Bell made a little choking sound, but passed it off as a crumb caught in her throat. “How thoughtful,” she agreed after taking a sip of tea, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Just like last night. . . .”

Color flooded Daphne’s face, though of course her sister was referring to the scene in the drawing room. She could have no notion of what had taken place in Lord Estley’s study.

“You find that a thoughtful gesture? Being asked to play something of my brother’s? Perhaps next I can read aloud from one of Cami’s books. . . .”

“It seemed clear he hoped you would approve of his choice of music,” Cami pointed out. “And, well, don’t you? I never realized you felt such animosity toward Galen’s success as a writer. . . .” One finger traced the rim of her teacup. “Or mine, for that matter.”

“I don’t, of course,” Daphne hurriedly tried to explain. “It’s only that I—”

“And for two people who know each other so little,” Bell said before Daphne could complete the thought, “you performed together remarkably well.” A dreamy sigh whooshed from her lungs. “Imagine being serenaded on an ordinary evening by that voice, when no one else was around. . . .”

Nothing was going to plan. Daphne had never considered that her family was likely to push her toward Lord Deveraux—and all thanks to his mocking gift.

Their encouragement of the courtship at least had the advantage of making her research easier, but what would they say later, when she refused to wed him?