Chapter Nineteen

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Rafe jumped. Something, or more precisely someone, had pinched him. He was standing in the Swifts’ ballroom, wearing his uniform, formally dressed for the ball that was being held tonight in Daphne’s honor. Daphne and Lord Fitzwell’s honor, more precisely, but apparently the man hadn’t quite offered for her yet. Delilah had informed Rafe earlier that the nosebleed had been stopped by some additional pressure with linens after the footmen had carried the bore up the staircase to his room. Too bad.

Who had pinched him? Rafe looked behind him, half expecting to see Delilah grinning up at him. Instead, he found Daphne’s Aunt Wilhelmina waggling her gray eyebrows in a manner he could only describe as unsettling.

“Captain Cavendish?” The older woman’s voice was sharp and accusatory.

“Yes,” Rafe replied, rubbing the offended spot on his rump.

“With you in the room, I have absolutely no heavenly idea why my niece is looking twice at that Fitzwarton fellow.”

Rafe hid his smile behind his fist, which he coughed into. “Surely you’re not implying that I am a suitable suitor for Lady Daphne’s hand?”

“Suitability has nothing to do with it, Captain. I’m strictly speaking about looks. Lord Fitzwell is handsome but you are both handsome and dashing.”

What was this family’s preoccupation with being dashing? “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Rafe inclined his head toward the wicked old widow. Pinching him had been egregious, but he’d heard that about her before.

“I’d settle for your upending their engagement. I can’t say I highly approve of Fitztottle. The man seems to be more interested in Daphne’s connections than Daphne.”

“With all due respect, my lady. Isn’t that the way of your, er, class?”

“My nephew Julian was able to find both love and rank. I expect Daphne can do the same.”

“A baron isn’t good enough for you, my lady?”

“Pish-posh. I don’t give a fig about his title. Fitzwhobert isn’t good enough for me. Or more specifically, my niece.” Another eyebrow waggle. “Now might I suggest you ask Daphne to dance.”

***

Daphne peeked into the ballroom. The space was magnificent. It looked as if an arboretum had been brought inside. Mother and Cass had surely outdone themselves. Daphne stood on the threshold to the ballroom, clutching Julian’s arm, pressing her hand to her middle, and taking large gulps of air. Tonight was the night. Lord Fitzwell would ask her to marry him tonight. He had to. And she would accept. Yes, there was the small matter of her annulment that would need to be settled before the actual marriage could take place, but that was a detail she intended to see to immediately after completing Rafe’s mission.

She held her breath. The conveyances of the guests who had not been invited to the house party arrived in a steady stream at the front entrance. The ton was abuzz tonight and this was her engagement ball. That was all there was to it. Now the potential bridegroom merely needed to do his bit and propose.

She’d finally reached an agreement with Delilah, that little thief, before the ball tonight. The girl promised to occupy Rafe’s attention and keep what she knew to herself in exchange for another month’s pin money, Daphne’s new light pink bonnet, a second fan, and a new pair of gloves. Daphne had no idea how she’d explain all of that to Mother. But she’d worry about that later. Tonight she had more pressing concerns, like securing an engagement with her husband in the room.

She certainly looked more confident than she felt. She wore a sparkling silver gown that made her feel like a diamond. A string of sapphires laced through her hair and a sapphire shrug draped around her shoulders. Her hair was up in a chignon with curling pieces framing her face. She’d pinched pink into her cheeks per Delilah’s suggestion just before she’d left her bedchamber. Delilah and her maid had both assured her that she was a vision. But Daphne didn’t feel like a vision. She felt like a roiling mass of nerves. Yes. It was definite. She looked much better in the looking glass than she felt on the inside. That was certain. Inside, she felt as if she might just cast up her accounts.

Daphne took one last deep breath and nodded to her brother.

“You are stunning tonight, Daph,” Julian said from her side as they waited at the top of the stairs to be introduced.

“Thank you,” she replied in a shaky voice. “I only hope Lord Fitzwell thinks so.”

Julian’s gray eyes met hers. His were filled with concern. “Are you sure, Daphne? About Lord Fitzwell, I mean. If you have any doubts, you don’t have to go through with any of this.”

Daphne pressed her gloved fingertips into Julian’s fine black sleeve. “What do you mean?”

“I was speaking to Cavendish earlier and he said—”

Daphne’s breathing hitched. Despite the gloves, she dug her nails into her brother’s coat. “You’re listening to Captain Cavendish when it comes to my marital prospects?”

Julian arched a brow. “It is a bit ironic, isn’t it?”

Daphne shook her head. “I was quite deliberate, Julian. I made a list. Lord Fitzwell is eligible and—”

“Being eligible and being correct are two different things.”

“The Earl of Swifdon and Lady Daphne Swift,” Pengree intoned, announcing them to the masses in the ballroom. Without saying another word, Julian stepped forward, bringing Daphne with him. All eyes turned to stare at them. Daphne searched the crowd. It wasn’t until moments later that she realized she’d been looking for Rafe, not Lord Fitzwell. Blast it.

She and Julian made their way into the room together and Daphne kept her smile pinned to her face. It hurt to smile so much. She’d never realized it before. People greeting her were a blur. The room spun. She clutched at Julian’s arm to steady herself. Thank heavens for her tall, composed brother.

“Daphne,” her mother’s voice rang out. A bit of space opened up and Daphne followed her mother’s voice over to their small group where Mama and Aunt Willie stood near the French doors that led out onto the terrace.

“I’ll leave you here with the ladies,” Julian said. “I’m off in search of my wife.”

Daphne reluctantly let go of her brother’s sleeve, reminding herself that she could hardly find herself engaged by the end of the evening if she clung to him all night. As soon as Julian glided away, Daphne took a deep breath and turned to the other ladies. Before she could say a word, Delilah came skipping up to them.

“Good evening, Cousin Daphne,” she said, curtsying prettily.

Daphne curtsied back. “Delilah, what are you doing here?”

“She wouldn’t stop begging me to make an appearance tonight,” Mama explained. “I’m only allowing her in here because I know well and good that if I didn’t she’d be hiding behind a door and peeking out in her night rail.” She turned to Delilah. “But as I said, miss, you’re only here for bit. Then, it’s off to bed with you. I mean it.”

Delilah nodded. “I know. I know.”

“Oh, let the girl have her fun,” Aunt Willie added. “I daresay being here is preferable to being cooped up upstairs with that sour-faced governess of hers.”

“She is sour-faced isn’t she, Aunt?” Delilah replied with a long-suffering sigh. “I often think so.”

“Well, you certainly look pretty tonight, Delilah,” Daphne interjected before anything more could be said about the poor, sour-faced governess.

Delilah was wearing a smart white gown with a turquoise sash around her waist and a matching turquoise bow on the top of her head… of the large variety as usual. She spun in a small circle. “Thank you. I smell good, too.”

“Turn around, Delilah,” Mama said. “I believe your skirt is hitching up in the back.”

Delilah turned, trying to look at her backside in a maneuver that reminded Daphne as nothing so much as a puppy chasing its tail. “It’s not the skirt, Auntie. It’s me.”

A footman walked by carrying a tray of champagne glasses. “Here, young man.” Aunt Willie swiped a drink from the tray.

“Care for one, Daphne?” Aunt Willie waggled her eyebrows.

“No, Aunt.” Daphne shook her head and waved the tray away.

“Ah, so Captain Cavendish was right about you?” Aunt Willie smiled at her, lifting the drink to her mouth.

Daphne pressed her lips together, hard. Captain Cavendish was not right about her. Why, of all the—

“I’ll take one!” Delilah piped up.

“No, miss,” Mama said to Delilah. “You may be at a ball, but you’re still a bit too young for champagne.”

“ J’adore a ball. J’adore champagne,” Delilah declared, her hands clasped together near her ear.

“That’s just silly. How many balls have you been to?” Mama replied, shaking her head.

“Only just this one,” Delilah replied, spinning to allow her skirts to swirl around her ankles. “But I am enjoying myself immensely and I’m certain all balls are as enjoyable.”

“I refuse to ask how many glasses of champagne you’ve had.”

“That’s probably best, Auntie,” Delilah replied.

“You look adorable,” Daphne offered, smiling at Delilah and patting her on the head.

“Well,” Aunt Willie said, motioning to Daphne with her champagne glass. “You’re not going to get yourself engaged standing here with the three of us. You’d best be off in search of a gentleman to ask you to dance. If I were you I’d begin with Captain Cavendish.”

Aunt Willie waggled her eyebrows again. Eyebrow waggling seemed her favorite pastime.

“Oh, ignore her,” Mama said. “I believe Lord Fitzwell is over by the refreshment table. I’m certain he’ll be along presently.”

“I’ll just go and greet Cass,” Daphne said, spotting her sister-in-law across the room.

Daphne took leave of the small group and dashed over to where Cass, Lucy, and Jane were standing together in the corner. Cass was wearing a gorgeous lavender gown. Lucy was dressed in deep emerald, and Jane looked stunning in ice blue.

“Ah, Daphne, dear,” Cass said, holding out a hand and pulling Daphne into their little circle. “You look absolutely breathtaking.”

“Thank you.” Daphne pressed a hand to her churning stomach. “I certainly don’t feel breathtaking.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Lucy asked, sipping from a champagne flute.

Daphne closed her eyes. “What if Lord Fitzwell doesn’t offer for me tonight?”

“Then he’s a fool,” Jane stated loyally. Daphne smiled at that. Jane had a book in her hand and while she was tapping her foot in time to the music, Daphne knew she’d much rather be off in a quiet corner somewhere reading. It was nice of Mrs. Upton to come to the ball tonight, for Daphne’s sake.

Cass searched Daphne’s face. “Do you have any reason to believe Lord Fitzwell won’t offer for you?”

Daphne shook her head. “No, but I have yet to see him tonight. Perhaps his nosebleed was more serious than we thought.”

Lucy winced. “Yes, that was extremely unfortunate, but don’t worry, dear. I’m sure he’s fine and you’ve only just arrived. You have all evening.”

Daphne twisted her third finger. “I know. I know. But…” She glanced around. “Where’s Julian? The last time I saw him he said he was coming to find you, Cass.”

“Oh, he found me.” Cass laughed. “He stopped by briefly after escorting you in but I do believe he’s already retired to the study.”

“With my husband, of course.” Lucy snorted.

“And mine,” Jane added, pushing up her spectacles on her nose.

“It’s funny how married men aren’t particularly keen on dancing.” Cass shook her head.

“Yes. Quite unfortunate,” Lucy replied. “As they tend to make the best partners.”

All of the ladies laughed at that.

“It’s a pity we don’t have some sort of plot to keep us occupied these days,” Lucy said, tapping a finger against her cheek.

Daphne was barely listening. Instead, she was standing on tiptoe and craning her neck. “Where’s Captain Cavendish?” She returned her attention to her friends in time to see the three of them exchange a knowing glance. Daphne tugged at her necklace.

“Do you mean Lord Fitzwell?” Lucy asked Daphne, a sly smile on her face. Cass gave Lucy a warning look. Daphne pressed her hand to her middle again. She just might cast up her accounts after all. Did Cass know? Daphne hoped the duchess hadn’t told what she saw in the library the other night but perhaps she had changed her mind.

“I was merely wondering if Captain Cavendish was in the study with the other gentlemen.” Daphne did her best to answer the question with nonchalance but even she heard the edge to her voice. “I cannot afford to have him poking his nose into my courtship with Lord Fitzwell. He behaved quite outrageously today during charades.”

“That’s true enough,” Lucy allowed. Her champagne glass dangled from her gloved fingers.

“I do believe Captain Cavendish is in the study as well. Though I haven’t seen him,” Cass added.

Daphne began to breathe a sigh of relief but stopped herself. Why wasn’t Rafe out here trying to cause more trouble? Had he given up? Did he no longer intend to keep an eye on her? Did he no longer think she needed him? Or was he merely sufficiently chagrined by his own rude behavior during charades this afternoon? And how dare he say that she’d had every blow softened for her by her family. It was preposterous. It was outrageous. It was… The memory of her asking Julian to throw Rafe out of the house and secure the annulment flashed through her mind. Very well. Rafe had a small—very small—point. She would stop asking Julian for help. She didn’t need him to handle Rafe. She could deal with him herself. The memory of her asking Delilah to help her keep him distracted flashed through her mind. Fiddle. Why was she thinking about Rafe at any rate? She needed to find Lord Fitzwell.

“I think it’s high time we went into the study and brought the menfolk back out,” said Jane. “They may be enjoying a bit of brandy and some male talk but I, for one, would like a suitable dance partner.”

Cass nodded. “You’re perfectly right, Janie. Not to mention Julian needs to remain available if he’s to entertain a proposal from Lord Fitzwell.” She patted Daphne’s arm.

Daphne gulped. This was it. The night of the engagement.

“Don’t worry, Daphne,” Lucy said. “We’ll help you. Just leave everything to us.”