Chapter Twenty-two

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“Lady Daphne? What is the meaning of this?” Lord Fitzwell demanded, hands on his hips.

Daphne turned her head and looked up at him and began to giggle uncontrollably. “I… I fell off the bench.”

“Directly onto Mr. Cavendish?” Fitzwell’s eyes were narrowed and suspicious.

“That’s Captain Cavendish,” Rafe said, struggling to pull Daphne off him and stand up without hurting her. “And yes, it was entirely an accident.”

“It looked like a bit more than an accident,” Lord Fitzwell said, pulling at his lapels, a deep frown on his face.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Rafe maneuvered himself to his feet and helped Daphne up as well. She continued to laugh, which was not helping things. Not in the least.

Daphne turned and bent over, apparently searching for something in the hedge. “I’ve lost my reticule,” she said. She clearly wasn’t comprehending the import of her would-be groom’s presence, nor his insinuations.

“Daphne, stop,” Rafe said.

Daphne swung around, her giggling ended, a surprised look on her face.

Lord Fitzwell raised his brows in total effrontery. “You’re calling her by her Christian name?”

Rafe straightened to his full height and assumed his rigid army-captain stance. “I assure you, Lord Fitzwell, absolutely nothing untoward happened here tonight between Lady Daphne and myself.”

Fitzwell turned to Daphne. “Lady Daphne, is this true?”

Daphne raised her nose in the air. “Lady Daphne, is this true?” she echoed, and then burst out laughing again.

“Lady Daphne, please,” Lord Fitzwell said. “Why, I, if I didn’t know any better, I’d wonder if you were… intoxicated.”

“There’s no need to wonder. I am intoxicated,” Daphne said, still giggling. “I’m ever so intoxicated and at present I’m wondering why I haven’t been intoxicated more often.”

“No. No,” Rafe said. “She’s not intoxicated. She’s just—”

“I am intoxicated!” Daphne insisted, stamping her foot.

Rafe groaned.

She brushed a bit of grass off her sleeve. “I am quite pleasantly intoxicated. And I have one question for you, Lord Fitzwell.”

“Daphne, don’t,” Rafe warned.

“I’ll thank you to stop using Lady Daphne’s Christian name,” Fitzwell added.

Rafe gave the baron a condemning glare.

“I have one question for you,” Daphne repeated, pointing a finger high in the air.

“What’s that?” Lord Fitzwell said, still tugging on his lapels.

“What does your backside look like?”

Lord Fitzwell’s face contorted into a look of such utter confusion and horror that Rafe wondered if his nose would begin spontaneously bleeding again.

“Pardon me?” Lord Fitzwell asked. His valet would never get that coat right again after all the tugging the baron was subjecting it to tonight.

“I asked what your backside looks like. Please turn around. I’d like to see it, to compare.”

“Lady Daphne, you’re not well. Allow me to escort you back to the house.” Rafe grabbed her elbow. If she said another word there would not only not be an engagement, but Daphne’s reputation might be shredded past all repair.

“I am perfectly fine,” Daphne said, struggling to pull herself from Rafe’s grasp. “I would like another glass of champagne, actually.”

“You cannot possibly mean that,” Fitzwell said.

“Why not?” Daphne asked, blinking at Lord Fitzwell. “Would you like to hear a song?”

Rafe smothered his smile.

Lord Fitzwell tugged at his cravat this time. No doubt the man was sweating. So was Rafe. “I came out here to— Well, I’ll just say it. I came from your brother’s study, where we had a talk, came to an understanding. He provided his blessing in my asking for your hand. Your cousin told me I might find you here.”

Daphne lifted her hand in front of her face and stared at it. “My hand? I thought Delilah was asleep and I can’t imagine why you would want my hand. It’s a funny expression, isn’t it?” She waved her hand in front of her face, still staring at it.

“Lady Daphne, have you or have you not been drinking?” Fitzwell demanded, stamping his booted foot.

Daphne lifted her skirts and performed a simple three-step. “I have indeed. Quite a lot. Champagne, you know. It’s ever so delicious.”

Fitzwell frowned at her. “I must have your word that you’ll never drink to excess again if we are to marry.”

“Never? Never again?” Daphne asked, one hand clutching her necklace and her nose scrunched adorably.

“That’s right. And I’d also like your word that nothing untoward happened between you and Captain Cavendish here tonight.”

Daphne’s face instantly sobered. She plunked her hands on her hips. “What did you think had happened?”

“I certainly don’t know but it looked quite bad,” Fitzwell replied.

Daphne’s hands remained firmly planted on her hips. “So you just assumed that we had what? Been rolling around on the grass together on purpose?”

Fitzwell puffed up his chest. “I didn’t know what to think.”

Daphne raised her nose in the air and drew herself up to her entire five-foot height. “Lord Fitzwell, you are judgmental.”

The baron’s eyes nearly bugged from his skull. “Why, I—”

“And not only are you judgmental, you’re also quite wrong.”

Fitzwell’s face turned an alarming shade of red. Rafe slid his hands into his pockets and whistled. There was nothing left to do here but to let this little drama play out.

A scattering of pebbles announced someone else’s arrival as Claringdon came around the hedge. “Is something the matter? I was out for a walk and I heard a commotion.”

Lord Fitzwell’s eyes lit up. “No. Nothing. I was just about to ask Lady Daphne here for her hand in marriage. I do hope you’ll be able to attend the ceremony, your grace.” Another obsequious bow from the baron. Rafe rolled his eyes.

Claringdon’s shrewd gaze covered the three of them. “If Lady Daphne wishes it.”

“I do not wish it,” Daphne announced.

Rafe scratched the back of his neck.

“Lady Daphne, you cannot mean to exclude the Duke of Claringdon from our wedding,” Lord Fitzwell said, sounding entirely shocked. He turned to Claringdon and bowed again. “I’m sorry, your grace. She’s not well this evening and—”

“I don’t mean that at all,” Daphne interjected. “I mean that I do not wish to marry you, Lord Fitzwell.”

Fitzwell’s head swiveled to face her. “What? Why?”

“I do not think we suit. Nor fit… well.” She couldn’t help breaking into a new round of giggles over that one. Rafe bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing too.

Fitzwell’s face was quickly turning a mottled shade of red. “I cannot imagine what you mean. I was under the impression that you would welcome my suit. I thought that we—”

“That was before I realized how judgmental you are,” Daphne announced.

“I don’t know what to say.” Lord Fitzwell’s hands returned to savagely grip his lapels. “I am in shock and am entirely without words.”

Ah, finally, his opening.

“That may be for the best.” Rafe flashed the baron a grin. “The lady has spoken, my lord. Might I suggest you leave?”