Chapter 10

"It is quite hot today, is it not?" Amelia said, breaking the awkward silence after the men's departure.

"Yes, and I am afraid it might only worsen," their mother commented drily with a slicing glance at Daphne.

She gulped and stared down at her shoes. To her family, she had become a betrayer of sorts. She was sent away from the ball to her quarters because she had refused to break the courtship with Victor.

When Amelia heard, she quickly went to pacify their mother. However, she was chastised to within an inch of her life. They reminded Amelia that she was to be married to one of the most eligible men in the country. Did she not want her sister to have the same? A person who would not threaten her future.

A forlorn Amelia had returned to Daphne. "Sister, this is entirely your decision now. If you truly love him then continue to convince them. I foresee that his station and rank will ultimately tilt him in their favor."

Daphne had pressed her lips shut. If Amelia discovered the debacle was for nothing and that Victor did not possess an ounce of feeling for her…

She distracted her sister by inquiring about the upcoming ceremony.

Daphne had asked if there was anything she could do to ease her exhaustion, Amelia said, "Just worry about yourself and our parents. I want you to be happy, too."

In the grounds now, Melanie sidled up to her and hooked her arm through Daphne's, resting her head on Daphne's shoulder.

"How are you?"

Daphne glanced at her parents. Both were immersed in the preparations below. She sighed and crossed her arms, "As well as I can be."

"I sensed a bit of tension between your parents and him. Do you think he suspects that they do not approve?"

"Oh, so it was not in my head."

"Oh no, it was strained all right. Did you notice he only called for Mr. Farton, forgetting his friend?"

Daphne suddenly turned to her cousin, inadvertently dislodging her head and hat. "Sorry…" she bent and retrieved it then placed it back on her head.

"Do tell me how your conversation with Mr. Farton went."

Melanie scoffed, "He was delightful, if a little forgetful."

"What do you mean?"

"Where is Amelia going?"

Daphne looked ahead and saw her sister winding past the shooters. "She has been calm lately. Perhaps she has recalled some missing details. What do you mean, forgetful?"

"He calls me several female names. Grace, Mary…whichever occurs to him first."

Daphne chuckled, "I am sorry, I should not laugh but that is just ludicrous. You never know a person fully. Have all the men become rakes?"

"It is appalling. Shall we get drinks? I am positively parched."

"Wait! It is starting."

Harry mounted an elevated podium with Amelia by his side, "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for honoring my invitation. I welcome you to this wonderful day. We are ready to begin. I will take the first shot, after which the beat keeper will release the first set! Good luck gentlemen!"

"Hear! Hear!"

Daphne craned her neck to see where Victor and Percy were stationed. This development between them was unforeseen. Marriage prospects could truly bring forth another side of a man. Otherwise, playful Percy would not utter a bad word to a man above him. Nor would he openly seek confrontation the way he had been doing for the last few days.

The same Percy who wailed at the sight of a frog and would take the blame for another's wrong simply because he was afraid to cause upset. This person was being hostile to a duke. Daphne would have been flattered, had she not known of his true intentions.

Both men had two others separating them. Victor was focused on checking his weapon and adjusting his posture. His back was straight and his legs apart, an image of arrogance, or confidence, depending on how one chose to view it. Percy's arms hung loosely at his sides. He stole intermittent glances at Victor. She could not tell given the distance, but it did seem as though a frown marred his features.

Off to the far right, over the sparkling emerald fields, beat keepers called out an alert to the shooters and then held the doors to the cages open.

"I cannot look!" Melanie squealed, hiding her face in Daphne's shoulder.

Shots reverberated across the grounds. Several birds splattered to the earth. The men congratulated each other, clapping themselves on the back and tipping their hats.

Victor neither moved nor acknowledged anyone. At least seven out of the birds were unfortunate at his hands. She had kept count and even noticed that other men tried to get closer to him.

After each round, the shooters were supposed to switch positions. This was because they felt some parts of the grounds were elevated or more balanced, offering a wider aim and more conquests. Victor did as he was expected and now, he was beside Percy.

Victor treated the other man as though he were a pesky fly on the wall. Percy's count was nowhere near Victor's.

"Excuse me…" a woman said at her side.

Daphne turned and blanched. The feminine copy of Victor's face was by her side. His mother angled her head to the side, much like her son. "May I speak with you?"

"Your Grace," Melanie curtsied, having seen the resemblance and heard the scathing remarks from the previous night.

Daphne hurried to do the same. The woman was effortlessly elegant. Although there was a haunting look in her eyes, like a person who had been through hell and back. Still, she carried herself with unbreaking dignity.

Daphne's parents had yet to notice the newcomer, so immersed were they in the sport below. If she knew her father, he had probably gambled a small amount to make it more exciting.

"I will get those drinks. Enjoy your day, Your Grace," Melanie curtsied once more and fled.

Daphne thought she saw her cousin's retreating back more than anything these days.

She swallowed hard and faced the intimidating woman. She was a head taller than her and carried an elegant fan which she moved at a slow pace, one side at a time.

It was a slight, Daphne knew. To court her son, without so much as acknowledging her presence, when they were at the same event. She had just felt it would bring more complications. How would she ever face the woman if Her Grace found out that it was fake?

Daphne started to apologize, stumbling over her words. Victor's mother held up that intricately designed fan, signaling Daphne to shut her mouth.

"I know you will hear many things regarding my son and our family, some of which might cause you to have second thoughts. I want to assure you that he is an exceptional man. It might sound a little unbelievable, coming from his mother. However, I know that from a young age, I have been reliant on his strength, more than I should have and he has never failed me. Not once."

Daphne was struck silent. She could only gape at her. She had expected chastisement rather than this indirect plea to stay with Victor. When the woman spoke of her son, it was as though something came alive inside her.

Daphne remembered again that night when he saved her. He had been chivalrous, a complete gentleman, and not at all like people professed him to be. If only she had not heard him disparage her, her heart would have been deeply moved by the Dowager Duchess's words.

Daphne struggled to draw out a sunny smile. "I know, Your Grace. He is exceptional."

"Where did you two meet? I assume it cannot be this wedding. I have never seen my son so invested in another's affairs as he is with yours."

"You mean when we quarreled?" Daphne was flabbergasted.

"Especially when you bickered. It has taken years, but I am glad that my son has finally found someone who he can rely upon. Someone to make him smile. Does your family approve?"

"My… my family?" Daphne stuttered.

She gave a faint knowing smile that made Daphne wish to run and hide. "I see."

"You misunderstand…"

"I doubt that I do. Do you love my son?"

Daphne's throat constricted. Now how to answer the question? She hesitated, drawing circles with her foot under her dress.

"It does not matter. I was madly in love with my husband when we married. He was a charming man, much like Victor, I dare say. That is where their similarities end. You may require more time before you love him, and you will be grateful that you do. He already loves you and, in my opinion, these things are best when the man is truly besotted. I must take my leave now, Lady Daphne. Good day and enjoy the performance."

Daphne remained stuck at the part where she thought her son loved her. "Why do you think he loves me?"

The dowager duchess smiled, looking toward her son. "Oh, I know." Daphne's heart missed a beat. The dowager came closer, carrying a scent of lavender. "That girl; your cousin, I believe. What is her name?"

"Melanie? Melanie."

"Delightful girl. I have been watching her. A diamond in the making. Will she be at the Queen's ball with the other young maidens?"

"Definitely," Daphne bobbed her head. "I will ask her to prepare."

She nodded once, flipped her fan, and melted into the crowd. Daphne's face alternated between big smiles and deep longing. She could hardly wait to relay the Dowager's words to Melanie.

And, there was a dangerously wounded part of her that wished she was right about her son's feelings.

* * *

"Come, I will escort you to the theater," Victor said. He held out a hand toward Daphne who was on the verge of descending the stairs in their house.

She was resplendent in a pale blue dress, pale skin glistening under the warm gas lamp above her head. She glanced back, "My father?—"

"Will prefer that I do. Come."

With a little hesitation, she revealed those slender fingers. Victor smiled and wrapped his around them. They were cold but warmed his heart.

"You were exceptional today, Your Grace."

"I am always exceptional," Victor returned, then started to laugh.

Daphne rolled her eyes at him and repeated his sentence, mimicking the exact tone and wording. "That is correct," Victor responded nonchalantly—he knew she'd meant to tease him, but he didn't mind.

He led her down the steps. "You never change," she told him.

"Change can be a dangerous thing, my lady. Do you enjoy these performances?"

"The Siege of Rhodes has always held some fascination for me. I cannot wait to see how it will be portrayed. I hear the troupe is brilliant. Able to captivate the audience with their flair. Although, I wonder why Lord Lutton chose it."

They entered the path that would lead toward Harry's private theater. Other guests walked with them, several tipping their hats to Victor. Some congratulated him on singlehandedly winning in the afternoon. Victor soaked it up, especially glad when he remembered Percy's reddened face.

"Yes, he is partial to them. It was the first performance he attended with his mother. His father was against it at the time, citing that young boys should devote their time to something more profitable. Now, the entire family cannot go a year without it. I hear it is a kind of tradition for them."

"Oh, it does sound special. And you know them so well. Yet you give the appearance that you could be a stranger." Daphne remarked.

"No, I am not a stranger to Harry. Not in the least. He is a man for whom I have deep respect."

"You grew up as an only child, I am glad that you have someone like him."

Victor waited for the sharp pain that always swam through his heart whenever his childhood was mentioned. He smiled down at her when there was nothing but that warmth, flowing through him from their joined hands.

"If you ever repeat that to him, I will deny it vehemently."

She placed a delicate hand over her lips and giggled, "Ah, I have a weapon against you now; tread carefully."

"You would not hurt a fly, I daresay. I always wondered what it would be like, to grow up with siblings…"

Or a happy family.

"Did you share a good relationship with your sister?"

"I suppose, yes. With siblings, it can be a little complicated. I love her more than life itself, yet when she borrows my shoes or a dress without telling me, I want to tear her eyes out. That was when we were younger, of course."

Victor laughed out loud, picturing a smaller Daphne defending her territory against her sister. His laughter drew pointed stares from people, not that he cared. He led Daphne up the stairs into the theater.

"Once, I wore a hat of hers to a tea party. I did not tell her, and she marched right over there and gave me a loud earful. The host had to walk us away from her house, with a wish never to see us again, lest we corrupt her only daughter."

"I can imagine the bloodbath when you returned home."

"I went up to my bedchambers, and she to hers. We did not speak to each other for a month. We were both terrified of what would happen if our parents heard so we put up an appearance whenever we were in their presence."

"False appearances, I see that I have been outmatched. You have previous experience."

She nudged his side with her elbow. "This is clearly different," she said under her breath.

The long corridor, lit by gas lamps hanging from high ceilings ended at a gorgeous mahogany double door. He stood aside for her to enter, thoroughly enjoying her playfully annoyed expression.

"This is beautiful…"

"Indeed," Victor agreed.

Harry was not particularly lavish, but when it came to his private theater, the family had spared no expense. He knew that Harry had also spent a small fortune recently to renovate it, in expectation of this gathering.

It was an intimate luxurious space, with a small stage and an ornate proscenium arch. The walls were adorned with ruby velvet curtains, which were lined with a gold trim. The seats, arranged in a circular form, were cushioned and comfortable.

The arrangement of the gas lamps, along the walls and on the high ceiling, cast a warm, cozy glow on the guests as they took their seats. Victor felt an excited jump in his body as he led Daphne to a secluded booth, reserved for him.

She swept her dress aside to enter the narrow door, then stopped and asked, "Here?"

"Only the best for you. The best view in the house."

The lighting could not hide the faint blush on her cheeks.

"Nonsense."

She took the farthest seat and he sat beside her. The closest people to them were three seats away. There was a small wooden screen separating them from the crowd.

"He built this place for his parents and other executive guests that could come calling. There are others, but I reserved this one for us. The seats are newer, and the cushions are thicker."

"All right, I appreciate it." She brought her palms together and gave him an imploring look. "Thank you, Your Grace, for this great thoughtfulness; who else is like you in this world?"

Victor laughed at her comical expression and the sarcastic praise. The performance was yet to start and he was already entertained.

"Your parents and Melanie just arrived. There," Victor pointed. "You can relax now."

"I was relaxed."

"Then why do you keep looking toward the door?"

"Maybe I want an escape. I am next to a wolf. I should fear being devoured."

Victor made his grin wolfish by widening his lips and narrowing his eyes, "You are in trouble, Lady Daphne," he drawled, directing his gaze to her lips.

She covered her mouth and broke their gaze, facing the stage. "Look," her voice came out as a rasp. "The troupe is here."

He was drawn to the sharpness of her jawline. The elegance in her posture as she attempted to ignore him. Her hands were folded on her lap, the right resting on the left.

"Daphne, why have you not asked me about the past?" he asked softly.

It was as though time stopped between the time he blurted out that stupid question, and when she turned. His heart thudded, whether in regret or expectation, he did not know. However, he could not take another breath.

Her eyes widened for a few seconds, then she returned her attention to the small stage, "I do not understand."

Victor exhaled. She was right. Like him, she was unwilling to revisit something that could not be resolved. She had probably heard stories about him. The lies and the truths. All of which culminated in this barely concealed scorn she bore for him.

In a way, now that he knew her more, he was riled by that scorn. He hated that she, along with the others, drew conclusions about his character based on his family.

His father had debased their name so much that even the title did not garner much respect. And a person like Farton could almost spit in his face. The little reputation he had managed to build back up would take years to be rooted in people's hearts.

Then again, Percy was right. He could not guarantee that Daphne's happiness would not be extinguished if she stayed with him.

He had heard stories about the early days of his parent's marriage. His father had been besotted; his mother doting on him. The darkness seeped in through repressed resentments, scathing remarks, and finally, hands that sought to injure.

His father would often remark that he was not a caged animal and would never succumb to lying with only one woman. His mother's insistence on making him good only resulted in episodes of black rage. He would then leave home for weeks at a time, gallivanting across the country.

There was no way around it. Victor was half of that man. Half of his vileness resided in him. He could not guarantee it and he would not risk it, no matter how much he wished it.

Still, he hated that she had not granted him a chance to prove himself first.

You have her now, a voice like his mother's prodded in his head. You have a chance to make her see you in a better light. Why are you wasting it?

Because if her hatred turned to love, he could not bear to shatter her heart.

Victor watched the musical drama on stage, but he could barely assimilate the exploits of the Ottomans, nor could he appreciate the beauty in their voices.

His head was a raging menace. He craved the ease that had been between them before he blurted out that question. A cool hand was placed on his. It took all of his self-control to remain calm as he looked sideways at her.

Her gaze was trained at the stage, but she gave his hand a gentle squeeze and then made to retract it. Victor's restless heart gave a heavy thud. He covered her hand with his.

What felt like an eternity passed, while their hands were joined. Slowly, the webs in his heart began to dissipate. On stage, each time a character executed a comical move to eliminate the enemy, Victor found himself laughing.

She relaxed on the cushion, her lips curved up in time with his. In there, there was no room for hatred, or the past or effects.

He would stay in that moment. And treasure it.