Page 57 of The Lady Knows Best

Miles’s voice was flat when he spoke. “Lord and Lady Ashborough would not come, then.” Some of the pleasure leached from his expression, giving way to what looked for all the world like anger.

“Could not come,” corrected Lady Stalbridge as she sailed into the room behind him, her arm linked with Bell’s. “Young children have an inordinate capacity to disrupt plans, as you yourself may discover one day.”

Lady Deveraux chortled. “You must be Lady Stalbridge. And the younger Miss Burke is with you?”

Daphne wondered whether she had made out Bell’s shape or heard the extra footsteps.

“Yes, ma’am,” Bell said, and curtsied. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“And where is Lord Stalbridge?”

“Begging your pardon, ma’ am,” answered Lady Stalbridge, “but after all those hours confined in the carriage, he could not resist taking a stroll.”

“An excellent notion,” Miles declared, still looking rather agitated. “Shall we join him?”

“Palmer has just rung for tea,” said his grandmother.

“I will stay with Lady Deveraux, if you please,” said Lord Ryland, patting her hand, which now lay along his arm.

“As will I,” said Lady Stalbridge.

Her wrinkled face creased into a smile. “Excellent. Be warned, we shall not promise to save any jam cake for those who abandon us.”

“I never pass up jam cake,” said Bell. She sent Daphne a sly glance. “But I do believe my sister would prefer a walk in the flower garden.”

“Is that so, Miss Burke?” Though there was still some strain lingering about his mouth, Miles mustered a boyish grin as he approached and held out his arm.

If she had dared to glance toward Lady Stalbridge for permission to walk with him, she would have seen an encouraging glint in her eyes.

Research, Daphne tried to tell herself. An opportunity to observe the man in—well, perhaps not quite his natural habitat, which was more likely to be a gaming hell or a brothel. But at Lyneham Park she had a unique opportunity to discover what, if anything, lay behind his mask of rakish charm.

Drawing a deep breath, she laid a hand along his forearm, instantly aware of his strength yet determinedly ignoring the way her fingertips tingled. “Indeed it is.”

CHAPTER 18

How could something be so wonderful and so terrible at the same time?

Seeing Daphne at Lyneham Park, the window behind her framing her in a lovely view of the rose garden, Grandmama’s yarn encasing her hands, a smile on both women’s faces—it was better than he had imagined.

And a potent reminder of how low he had sunk to make it reality.

Perhaps Daphne, like Alistair, would understand why he’d done it without him having to explain. She was clever, after all.

But she deserved an explanation, whether she required one or not. Then, an apology.

And finally her freedom.

Unless . . . Unless, in one-two-three-four—oh, God, only four?—days, he could convince her she wanted to stay. At Lyneham. With him.

With his fingers resting on the carved finial at the top of the stairs, he tapped out the remaining days of the week—twice, to make sure he hadn’t miscounted—feeling the time slip away. Even these few minutes, waiting for Daphne to retrieve her bonnet and pelisse, were too precious to lose.

At last, she emerged from her chamber and approached him, her hands folded in front of her. He did not offer his arm.

“The room is to your liking? It’s the nicest of the guest rooms—but you may have any you choose.” No sooner had the offer passed his lips than he wished he could take it back. She would suspect him of mocking her again, would doubt the sincerity of his desire to please.

“Shouldn’t that room go to Lord Ryland?”

“He abhors the view. He would prefer to forget the existence of roses entirely.”