Guilty Series Page 23

  “My dear granddaughter,” he cried, coming to take her hands in his. “It is so heartening to finally see you. Come, come, let me look at you.” He gave her appearance scarcely more than a glance from head to toe, then tucked her arm over his and led her past Sir Edward, who stood beside the fireplace, to the settee opposite the chair where Lady Fitzhugh had seated herself. “Let us have a nice visit together.”

  Daphne pulled her arm out of his and chose the chair beside Lady Fitzhugh opposite the settee so that she could look directly at him, but before she could ask the only question to which she wanted an answer, the baron spoke.

  “I am so happy for you, my dear child. Let me be the first to congratulate you.”

  She blinked. “I beg your pardon? For what am I to be congratulated?”

  “On your engagement to his grace, the Duke of Tremore, of course.”

  Daphne was astonished. “I do not know what you mean. I am not engaged to the duke.”

  The baron did not seem at all taken aback by her words. “Of course, of course. I understand. The duke explained to me how impetuous his proposal had been, and how you expected him to court you in the proper way before allowing your engagement to be announced officially.”

  “Did he indeed?” she responded through clenched teeth.

  “Yes, and I understand. You have every right to expect even a duke to woo you first.”

  “I have no intention of marrying him,” she said, not knowing who was succeeding in irritating her more, Anthony or the baron. Just now, she had enough for both of them.

  The baron winked at her. “Not many other young ladies would be so brave as to keep a duke dangling, but he seems fond enough of you that he is resigned to it. However, I must invoke a word of caution, my dear. Do not push him too far. He is a duke, after all.”

  Daphne had a feeling she was going to be hearing that phrase quite often. “I am not marrying him,” she said. “Pray do not speak of an engagement that does not exist.”

  “This desire for secrecy on your part seems a pointless business, for the duke made it clear to me that he would make no secret of his suit. You are my granddaughter, and as an honorable gentleman, I have an obligation to you. I am impelled to provide you with some counsel on this courtship, though of course, I already gave the duke my permission and my blessing.”

  She was getting very tired of honorable gentlemen. “I do not wish to be your obligation, sir.”

  Before he could reply, she rushed on to the only subject she wished to discuss. “Why did you hush up my mother’s elopement to my father, and how did you keep it a secret?”

  The baron glanced at Sir Edward and Lady Fitzhugh. He frowned, as if annoyed at this abrupt change in the conversation to uncomfortable questions, but he answered her. “My daughter was very young, only seventeen. I did not approve of the match, for the obvious difference in their station made it clear to me that such a marriage would be unsuitable. When they eloped, I chose to avoid the inevitable scandal, and told people I had sent Jane to relatives living in Italy because she wanted to study art.”

  Daphne listened, gratified that he was finally admitting the truth about her parents, but he was doing so as if reciting a prepared speech, and there was a hint of resentment beneath the rehearsed words. “I deemed it for the best.”

  Daphne folded her arms, giving him a hard stare. “Did you?”

  The baron shifted uncomfortably in his chair at the cool contempt in her question, but Daphne was unmoved by his discomfiture. “Why did you then compound your wrong by refusing to acknowledge me? I know my father was an orphan with no family or connections, but he was a brilliant man, a good man, and your daughter loved him. He was a knight. You knew they had married. You knew that I was your granddaughter, yet you refused to acknowledge me. Are you ashamed of me that you have treated me thus?”

  The baron was frowning at this rapid stream of words, looking displeased that such an attack was to be part of their first conversation together. But he did not speak in a tone that conveyed that displeasure. Instead, he forced away his frown and spread his hands in a gesture of bewilderment. “Daphne, it is not at all what you think.”

  “Is it not?”

  “No, no.” He gave another uncomfortable glance at Sir Edward and Lady Fitzhugh, but they remained silent and gave him no help. Lady Fitzhugh was embroidering, and Sir Edward stood idly stirring the fire with a poker. Neither seemed to notice the awkward silence in the room. Even the baron’s slight cough did not cause either of them to look up.

  With clear reluctance, he returned his attention to Daphne, who was staring at him in stony silence. “Your father was in Durham, near my estates at Cramond, only a short distance away. He was giving a lecture on Roman antiquities to the Historical Society. My daughter chose to attend. They began meeting secretly, and a week later, they came to me and announced they intended to marry. Needless to say, I disapproved.”

  “Did you disown her?”

  He denied it at once. “No, no. I was furious, for several reasons. Your father was an orphan of no family or connections whatsoever. He was nearly twenty years older than my Jane, and he scarcely had the money to support a wife and children. If they had intended to live with me, I could perhaps have been persuaded to forgive the match, but he intended to cart your mother off to some godforsaken place in the Mediterranean. Also, I did not believe any marriage of lasting happiness could be based on a week’s affection. My daughter and I quarreled. She and your father eloped that night, and a few days later, they were on a ship out of Edinburgh, bound for Naples. I never saw my daughter again. My wife is gone, and I have no other children. Can you understand my feelings of betrayal and bitterness?”

  “You say you did not disown her, but you did. You disowned her in your heart, and never answered any of her letters to you. Nor did you answer mine.”

  He winced at her blunt way of putting it. “I hope you can understand.”

  Daphne leaned back in her chair, still feeling no compunction to see his point of view. “No, I do not understand your actions at all, sir. Not only did you wrong your daughter, you have wronged hers as well. I wrote to you, and received a response from an attorney representing your interests. Shall I tell you what he said?”

  He tried to respond, but she did not allow him that opportunity. “I was told in very explicit terms that I could not possibly be your granddaughter,” she continued, “and that any attempt of mine to gain either money or connection to you would be futile. My father had just died. I was in the middle of the Moroccan desert, with no money, no family at hand to help me. I wrote to you from Tangier, and waited six months for your response to my letter, spending what little money I had, barely able to sustain myself. All the antiquities Papa had discovered at Volubilis had already been sold to the Duke of Tremore or to the museum in Rome, and most of the money from Papa’s share had been spent for expenses.”

  She could hear her own voice becoming quavery and much too emotional, but she did not care. She wanted him to know just how devastating a wound his neglect had inflicted on her. “I was forced to sell Papa’s books and equipment in order to eat and have a roof over my head, but I waited, hoping that as my grandfather, you would help me. You did not. You abandoned me, leaving me alone, with no money, no protection, and no means. It was only because the Duke of Tremore had hired my father and had sent billets of passage for us that I was able to journey to England. I went to Hampshire, and worked for the duke to support myself. You asked me if I understand why you did what you did. My answer is no. I do not understand, and I find it impossible to forgive—”

  “You give your opinions far too decidedly for one so young!” he interrupted, his voice rising in anger. “I have come in good faith to right the wrong done you.”

  “Only because you believe I am about to marry a duke. There is no engagement. So you see—”

  “Perhaps,” Sir Edward’s voice entered the conversation for the first time, interrupting what she had been about to
say, “this matter needs to be discussed and settled between us, Lord Durand, for women, you must agree, are emotional creatures, and do not allow rational thinking to enter their speech at times.”

  Daphne made a sound of outrage, but Lady Fitzhugh put a hand on her arm, and when she turned to look at the other woman, Lady Fitzhugh mouthed the word, “Wait.”

  “Perhaps you are right, Sir Edward,” Durand said.

  “Capital! Shall we go into my study?” He gestured to the door of the drawing room, and the two men departed together, leaving the two women alone.

  Daphne jumped to her feet the moment they were gone and began to pace the room. “This is so humiliating! I know perfectly well it is only his desire for a connection to the duke that has impelled the baron to come forward and claim me as his granddaughter now. Horrid man! And how dare the duke go to Durand and speak of this? He knows I will not marry him, for my refusal was most emphatic.”

  “Daphne, sit down.”

  She looked over at Lady Fitzhugh, who was looking back at her with such a grave countenance that she returned to her chair at once and sat down.

  “The duke did offer for you, then?”

  “Yes.” Afraid that Lady Fitzhugh was about to tell her to be sensible, she went on, “Please do not offer me counsel on the wisdom of my refusal. I—”

  “No, no, Daphne, I would not be so indelicate as to inquire about your answer or your reasons. I respect your reticence in the matter and your choice. I only asked if he had offered because if he has, I would like to offer you a bit of advice, if I may.”

  Daphne looked at her with interest and a hint of dismay. She had a high regard for Lady Fitzhugh, and did not want to hear the other woman tell her she was being foolish to refuse a duke. “Advice?”

  “Yes.” She clasped her hands together in her lap and was silent for a moment, then she said, “But first, let me say that I have come to have a great deal of affection for you, my dear. You have been such excellent company for my daughters, for you are older than they, and therefore possess a good deal more sense because of it and are a steadying influence on them. But I am older still than you, and the wiser for my advantage in years, I hope. Please allow me to offer you my counsel, with the understanding that it is heartfelt and solely out of concern for you.”

  “Of course, you may offer me your counsel and advice. You have been so kind to me. You have taken me into your home, befriended me, and—” Her voice broke, and she waited a moment before going on. “Lady Fitzhugh, I am so grateful. You have treated me almost as a member of your family, and words cannot express—”

  “Hush, now.” She patted Daphne’s hand. “Do call me Elinor, my dear. As for the other, well, I have come to regard you as a member of my family.” She gave a wry smile. “Although you may not like me after you hear what I have to say.”

  Daphne steeled herself for the inevitable. “You are going to tell me I should be wise to marry the duke.”

  “No, no, you are a grown woman, and you know your own heart and mind. Besides, being a duchess would be an enormous responsibility, and I can understand your reluctance to take on such a role. I am not certain I would wish it even for my own daughters. No, my counsel to you concerns the baron.”

  “The baron?”

  “Yes. Daphne, as much as I regard you as a member of my family, that does not alter the truth that the baron is your true relation. He is your grandfather. I appreciate your pride, for I possess a great deal of that quality myself, and I would feel just as indignant as you at his motives. No doubt it is the duke’s interest in you that has compelled the baron to come forward after such shameful neglect. No doubt he values the possible connection that could come from an alliance with Tremore. No doubt he fears the censure that society will surely lay upon him for his refusal to support you and thereby force you to seek employment to support yourself. It is unconscionable, and his connection to Tremore would blunt his disgrace. Despite all his motives, I must advise you to allow him to do the right thing and allow him the pretense of being the benevolent grandfather, at least for the present.”

  Daphne started to speak, but Lady Fitzhugh laid a hand on her arm, and she fell silent.

  “For your sake, Daphne,” Lady Fitzhugh went on, “I must be so bold as to speak with you as if you were my own daughter. You are such a sensible woman in most respects, but in this matter, dear, you are allowing your pride to alter your judgment. If you are adamant about refusing the duke, he will eventually be made to accept that. If you allow Durand to acknowledge you now, he cannot take it back, even if your marriage to the duke does not come off. You will be given his support and protection, and you need not fear for your future ever again.

  “From our conversation with him before you arrived, I came to the conclusion that though he is not a man of vast wealth, he does have a substantial and secure income from his estates, and would be able to support you quite adequately. My dear, you know from bitter experience how hard life can be. Do not allow pride to prevent you from having the security and connections your grandfather’s position can provide. The duke, no doubt for your sake, has given the baron a chance to right his wrong to you. Allow Durand to save face and do so.”

  Daphne drew a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “You are right. He has repeatedly refused to acknowledge me, and when he came today, I was so outraged by his blatant and transparent attempt to curry favor with Anthony, that I blinded myself to the sensible course. To refute his acknowledgment would be folly.”

  “Anthony?” Lady Fitzhugh repeated the name, her voice so reflective and thoughtful that Daphne blushed. But Lady Fitzhugh was a tactful woman. “Perhaps a cup of tea would do both of us a bit of good,” she murmured.

  But the tea had barely been brought before the gentlemen returned to the drawing room. She and Lady Fitzhugh both rose to their feet, and Sir Edward came over to Daphne. Giving her a kindly pat on the shoulder, he said, “The baron has conferred upon me his acknowledgment of you as his legitimate granddaughter. Your future is secure, my dear.”

  Daphne turned to the baron, taking Lady Fitzhugh’s advice and allowing him to save face. “Thank you,” she said politely. “You are very kind.”

  “We have also made all the arrangements regarding your situation,” Sir Edward went on. “Lord Durand has agreed to allow you to remain with us, for he appreciates that Anne and Elizabeth are your friends, and he agrees with me that Lady Fitzhugh is an excellent chaperone for you. He is providing you with a pocket allowance of ten pounds per week, and you may use his name at all the shops for anything you might need.”

  “That is most generous of you, Lord Durand,” Lady Fitzhugh added. “Whether she is to marry a duke or not, a young lady needs much in the way of clothes and other fashionable things. Daphne is a wonderful friend to my own daughters, and we are delighted to have her remain here. I shall see that she avails herself of your generosity wisely.”

  “Thank you.” The baron turned to her with a little cough. “Daphne, I can only hope that once you have thought over the circumstances of your situation, your heart will soften toward me.”

  He bowed, she curtsied, and he departed.

  The moment Mary had closed the door behind him downstairs, Anne and Elizabeth came racing up to the drawing room. “Well?” they demanded in unison.

  “The baron is Daphne’s grandfather,” Sir Edward informed them.

  They both gave cries of astonishment and turned to Daphne. “But why did you not tell us? Why were you having to earn your living for the duke if you are a gentleman’s daughter?”

  “The baron had not acknowledged me,” Daphne said, still feeling a hint of bitterness as she remembered those frightening days in Tangier. “Now he has.”

  “Durand is allowing her to remain with us,” Sir Edward told his daughters, “and he has provided her with an allowance, which I am sure the pair of you will be happy to help her spend as quickly as possible.”

  “Oh, yes, we shall!” Elizabeth said, laug
hing. “Lovely new gowns, bonnets, and all the other finery a young lady being courted by a duke will need. First a duke comes to call, then a baron. I am certain that by the end of the week at least one earl and a pair of viscounts shall visit us.”

  Daphne made a wry face. “It is only because he believes I am to marry the duke that the baron is being so generous. Now that my future is settled, I believe I shall go out and spend a bit of the baron’s money this very day. May Elizabeth and Anne accompany me?” she asked Lady Fitzhugh.

  “Of course, my dear,” the older woman answered. “But where are you going?”

  “DeCharteres’. I must send a reply to the duke for his gift of yesterday.”

  Anne and Elizabeth gave exclamations of delight at the idea of going with her to the florist and seeing for themselves what flowers she would use in her response, but Lady Fitzhugh’s raised brows were her only indication of surprise. “Replying to his message in kind is a very sweet and gracious thing to do, my dear.”

  “Once he sees it, Elinor, I doubt he will agree with you.”

  Chapter 23

  Anthony’s London home in Grosvenor Square displayed none of the awe-inspiring opulence of his ducal estate. This home was one in which he spent a great deal of time, and it reflected his personal tastes to a much greater degree than any of his country houses. The chimney pieces were of a pale travertine marble, and the soft, thick carpets were of subtle colors and simple designs. It was described by some who dined there as a disappointment, intimate rather than imposing. To Anthony’s mind, that was a compliment.

  One of his soft, thick, subtly colored carpets was receiving some significant wear three evenings after his call upon Daphne in Russell Square. He was pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace of his study, growing more impatient by the hour.