Page 73 of The Lady Knows Best

With an apologetic glance toward Miles, Daphne nodded and sat down by her sister.

“I can’t decide,” Alistair said once they were underway, the curricle racing ahead this time, “whether you feel the trip went well or not.”

“Almost too well,” Miles replied, rattling the whip to urge the horses faster yet.

Uncertainty, however, was not so easily outrun.

He’d done everything and nothing he’d set out to do this afternoon. And despite Daphne’s reassurances, doubt still plagued him.

Was it truly possible that a visit to Lyneham Park had transformed her reluctant proposal into something real, as her comment about liking the place and the people had suggested?

Or had he won the wager but failed the test? Had that hour in the library fully convinced her he could never be anything more than that devil, Deveraux?

CHAPTER 23

The trimmings of Daphne’s pen lay scattered about her like bones in a predator’s den. At breakfast, Frost had informed them that the master would be away for most of the day, called to an urgent matter some miles away. The butler had been more than usually tight-lipped about the details. Daphne had seen Lady Stalbridge exchange a glance with her husband when the news was delivered. Not a romantic glance. Not an irritated glance. Not a glance Daphne knew how to read.

But something about it had driven her upstairs, to her writing desk, determined to gather her thoughts and finish her essay at last, now less about rakes than about choices. It wasn’t at all what she had planned, and it wouldn’t be enough to secure her freedom—but she was less sure with each passing day that she wanted to be free of Miles.

She had not realized how many hours had passed until Bell opened the door and sailed into their joined rooms, Eileen in her arms. “Here you are! I’ve been to the library, the drawing room, the winter parlor, the—”

“And now you’ve found me,” Daphne said, putting a point to her final sentence and waving the sheet in the air to dry the ink. “What’s so important, anyway?”

“Cami and Gabriel are here,” she announced with a little jump that sent the cat leaping from her arms. “I think Eileen’s disappointed they didn’t bring Zwolf or any of the children.”

Daphne felt a similar longing for some distraction. The memories of Gabriel’s words the morning of her departure from London, and Cami’s worried face two nights before, were still painfully fresh. Her family would support her through any scandal, but they had also come all this way expecting a wedding, in spite of their reservations. What would they make of her decision . . . when she finally made it?

After stacking the pages together and folding them, she slipped the completed essay beneath the lid of her writing desk and stood. “Where are they now?”

“Frost took them to the winter parlor to meet Lady Deveraux.”

“Then we should join them.”

“I’ll be right there,” Bell agreed, even as she moved toward the door to her room. “I promised Miss Palmer the loan of my copy of The Highwayman’s Hostage. Can you believe she hasn’t read it?”

“Boggles the mind,” Daphne agreed, and stepped into the corridor.

In the winter parlor, she found Lady Deveraux, Miss Palmer, Lord Ryland, Lord and Lady Stalbridge, and Cami and Gabriel still making introductions.

“Ah, yes, the famous authoress,” Lady Deveraux said, as she greeted Cami. “Haven’t read any of your books, I’m afraid—my companion has developed a taste for the gothic and nothing else will do.”

Miss Palmer flushed crimson but did not deny it.

“But I did read your brother’s book of poetry . . . well, I heard some of the young ladies from the village sing a few of the pieces last winter. So romantic.”

Cami looked as if she couldn’t decide whether to be affronted on Galen’s behalf or amused, but Gabriel laughed, coaxing her toward the latter. “Do you know,” he said to Miss Palmer, “I have the distinction of being the hero of my wife’s first novel?”

“And the villain,” Cami reminded him, her scolding glance over the top rim of her spectacles paired with a poorly repressed smile.

“Oh!” Miss Palmer looked him up and down, her interest obviously piqued. There was no denying Gabriel still cut a dashing figure. He would not have looked out of place in one of the companion’s beloved Robin Ratliff books.

“Do I hear Miss Burke?” asked Lady Deveraux, tilting her gray head toward the door.

“Yes, ma’am,” Daphne said, approaching.

“Daphne.” Cami reached out her hands and drew her into an uncharacteristic hug, then held her at arm’s length to scrutinize her face, her clothes, her figure, as if they’d been separated for weeks or months and not days. “The country air agrees with you.”

“Lyneham Park is a lovely place,” she said. “You are both well now? And the children?”