Andrea Kane (34 page)

This time Daphne couldn’t suppress her laughter. “You shock me, Your Grace.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Pierce retorted dryly. “You know me too well.”

“Yes, I do.” She smiled up at him. “And I know you came to Benchley for my sake. Thank you.” She gazed around at the festive holiday decorations. “I normally dislike these parties as much as you do. But it’s almost Christmas. And for the first time in my life I truly know what Christmas spirit means. I’m so happy. Perhaps it sounds foolish, but I somehow wanted to glory in that joy, to share it with the world, just this once.”

Pierce brought her gloved hand to his lips. “It doesn’t sound foolish. And the glow on your cheeks makes the whole disagreeable event worthwhile.”

“All of it? Even the two-hour tour Lord Benchley insisted on conducting to demonstrate his latest renovations?” Daphne teased.

Pierce rolled his eyes. “The pompous ass. As if he’s the first man to effectively use a fireplace to heat his bedchamber.”

“Also the first to install seven water closets and three bathrooms in the main house, all with gilded washstands, basins, and ewers and all for only himself and Lady Benchley,” Daphne added with a sad shake of her head. “Such a waste.”

“Try telling that to the viscount. Or his insipid wife, for that matter. Why, the trinkets she’s wearing tonight could feed an entire village for a year.”

“I didn’t notice.” Daphne frowned, gazing into the hall where the viscountess was loudly berating an obviously terrified serving girl. “But I can’t bear the cruel manner in which she treats her servants. That poor child out there is probably still in her teens. Not to mention that the tray she’s carrying weighs more than she does.”

Pierce spun Daphne about so he could view the scene firsthand. What he saw was a gaunt, terrified young girl nodding vigorously as she endured the viscountess’s tirade.

“Now get to the kitchen and fetch a tray of champagne for the guests, the noblewoman ordered. And no dawdling! Or you shan’t receive a penny of the added wages you’ve begged me for.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Knees trembling, the girl turned on her heel and bolted, juggling piles of soiled dishes as she ran.

“That witch,” Daphne murmured. “Has she not a shred of compassion?”

“Evidently not.”

“So Markham.” The Viscount Benchley chose that moment to approach them. “How are you enjoying your first official ball as a member of the peerage?”

Pierce bit back his candid retort. “I’m enjoying this rare opportunity to dance with my wife,” he said instead.

“I don’t blame you.” Benchley’s lecherous gaze swept Daphne from head to toe. “Your bride is breathtaking. ’Tis hard to believe she is Tragmore’s young daughter.”

“I’ve grown up, my lord,” Daphne said, feeling the impending storm that emanated from her husband. “I’m a married woman now.”

“So you are.” He stroked the ends of his mustache. “How is your father? Has he recovered from that notorious bandit’s invasion?”

“Father is quite resilient. He’s very much himself again.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Benchley displayed the ballroom with a grand sweep of his arm. “Myself, I have nothing to fear from that bandit scoundrel. My house is impenetrable. I’ve seen to that. Why every lock has been personally installed by the finest locksmiths in England, the grounds protected by the keenest guards to be found anywhere.” He laughed harshly. “I’d like to see that rogue just try to gain entry to Benchley. He would quickly learn the meaning of the word defeat. Why the very thought of him robbing reputable people and turning our money over to worthless urchins and filthy gutter rats who will do naught but squander the funds on liquor and women.” Hastily, he broke off. “Forgive me, Daphne. I did not mean to go on so in your presence.” He bowed. “Continue to enjoy your evening.”

Pierce’s jaw was so tightly clenched, Daphne feared it might snap, She felt him make and inadvertent move in the viscount’s direction. “Pierce, don’t. He isn’t worth it. He’s a witless, arrogant fool.”

“We’re leaving.”

Her expression soft with compassion, Daphne nodded. “Very well. I, too, have had enough.”

“Coming here was a mistake. I don’t belong here. I don’t
want
to belong here.”

“Neither of us does,” Daphne replied, covering Pierce’s hand with her own. “We belong to each other.” Slowly, she extricated herself from his hold. “I apologize for insisting we attend. It was stupid of me to suppose we could infuse joy into the hearts of the heartless. I’ll feign a headache. Then we can pack. We’ll be home before dawn.”

“Snow flame.” Despite his fury, Pierce felt a twinge of remorse. “I never want to shatter your dreams.”

Daphne smiled. “You couldn’t. You
are
my dreams. I’ll merely alter my plans and glory in the Christmas spirit at Markham, which is where I’m happiest anyway, rather than at some vapid party. And rather than display my exuberance in front of the world who, for the most part, are thoroughly unworthy, I’ll share my joy with the worthiest man I know, my husband.”

Gathering up her skirts, she made her way from the ballroom, warmed by the love she’d seen darken her husband’s forest green eyes. She truly was the luckiest woman on earth.

A vicious growl and a loud crash transformed Daphne’s golden haze into ugly reality. Halting in her tracks, she saw the same young serving girl, this time poised just outside the pantry, a pile of broken glass swimming in spilled champagne at her feet. Her hands were pressed to her mouth, and, at first, Daphne assumed she was distressed over the accident. An instant later, she realized otherwise, simultaneously identifying the source of the growl she’d just heard.

A black dog with bared teeth was advancing on the maid, crouched low to the ground as if to pounce. Lunging forward, he seized the hem of her gown, tearing it between his teeth until she shrieked with fear.

“You stupid chit!”

The viscountess emerged from an anteroom at that moment, seeing naught but the mess in her hallway and the embarrassment of the accompanying din. “See what you’ve done, you senseless dolt! I knew I shouldn’t have succumbed to your pleas to keep you on. I should have discharged you long ago. You’re not only frail and simple, you’re clumsy and inept as well.”

The dog, hearing his mistress’s infuriated tone, wasted no time, but relinquished his jaw-full of material and bolted into the pantry.

“But, ma’am—” The girl made a futile gesture toward the deserted pantry door, realizing even as she did so that it was too late. The culprit was gone. With utter resignation, her arms fell to her sides and she awaited her punishment.

So did Daphne, hovering, unseen, in a small alcove down the hall, holding her breath for the castigation she anticipated.

It was far worse than she feared.

“Pack your things at once. I want you off my estate this instant.”

The girl’s head came up. “Off the estate? But, my lady—”

“Not another word. My mind is made up.” The viscountess stepped distastefully around the servant and the glittering puddle at her feet. “I’m going to summon a footman so he can arrange to have this mess cleaned up. By the time I return, I expect you to be gone.”

Daphne could see the girl’s fingers nervously rubbing the folds of her gown.

“What about my wages, ma’am?” She seemed to drag the question from some reluctant place deep inside her.

“Your wages?” The viscountess drew herself up. “Not only will I not pay you, I have half a mind to strike you. You’re fortunate that I’m a lady and therefore will restrain myself.”

“I worked a full week, Lady Benchley.”

Courageously, the maid maintained her stance, but her voice quavered, and Daphne ached for her humiliation.

“The meals you were fed were lavish compensation for your pathetic attempts at work. Now be gone before I have you thrown from my home.” Sweeping up her skirts, Lady Benchley marched off.

For a long moment the girl did nothing, merely stood, unmoving, where she was. She was too far off for Daphne to discern her expression, but her trembling shoulders left little doubt she was crying.

An instant later she recovered, dashing tears from her cheeks as she walked toward the servants’ quarters.

Without hesitation, Daphne went after her, propelled by a myriad of emotions too vast to contain.

Halfway down the corridor, the girl turned, disappearing into one of the tiny bedchambers.

Unthinking, Daphne followed. “Are you all right?” she blurted.

The maid spun to face her, her eyes wide with shock. “Who are you?”

Daphne didn’t answer. She couldn’t. All she could do was stare, a chill encasing her heart as she confronted the agonizing specter of her past. Those eyes—dark, fathomless, intense. They had haunted her for twelve years, their hollow futility tearing at her heart.

“Who are you?” the girl repeated, backing away.

Her throat tight with remembered pain, Daphne tried to find the words to say and the voice with which to say them. Perhaps she would have succeeded, had her gaze not chosen that moment to fall upon the unadorned nightstand beside the girl’s bed.

After which all attempts at speech were forgotten.

There, its unblinking stare as vivid as it had been twelve years past, was the tattered, indelible memory of Daphne’s childhood.

The doll from the House of Perpetual Hope.

“M
A’AM, PLEASE. WHO ARE
you? Why are you here?”

Daphne heard the question through a paralyzed haze. Forcing herself to respond, she dragged her mind back from the fateful day that had forever changed her life.

“My name is Daphne Thornton.” Her voice sounded odd, strained to her own ears. “I—” She wet her lips. “I saw the disgraceful way Lady Benchley treated you. Forgive me, but I had to make certain you were all right.”

The girl lowered her lashes, turning away to begin gathering her belongings. “I’m accustomed to such treatment. It’s only that I need this job badly, now that—” Her mouth snapped shut. “ ’Twas very kind of you to check on me, ma’am. But I assure you, I’m fine.” She folded two worn frocks, then collected her brush and comb. “I’d best take my leave.”

“Where will you go?”

That hollow futility flashed in the girl’s eyes. “I haven’t given it any thought. In truth,” she added in a voice so tiny it was barely audible. “I’m not sure it matters.”

Daphne blocked her path. “It matters to me.” She rushed on, desperate to intercede in a way she’d never before been allowed. “What is your name?”

“Sarah.”

“And your surname?”

“Cooke.” The maid took up her bag, surveying Daphne with wary candor. “Ma’am, I don’t mean to sound rude, but why would you care about my name? Or about me, for that matter?”

Sarah. At last. A name to put to the face. The identity of the girl, until now unknown, had, at last, been revealed.

Perhaps the fates are offering me another chance, Daphne mused, the wondrous prospect infusing her heart with joy and hope. Twelve years before she’d been her father’s prisoner, a child herself, unable to reach out to the little girl who’d stared with terrified mistrust, clutched her doll as if it were her very lifeline.

Now, Daphne was free.

With the help of fate—and Pierce—Sarah would be, too.

“ ’Tis not the first time we’ve met,” Daphne began carefully, praying for the right words, knowing she’d have but this one opportunity to extend her hand.

Sarah inclined her head. “You must be mistaken. You’re a lady. I’m a maid. Besides, I’ve only been at Benchley for two months.”

“And before that?”

“Before that I worked in a tavern. I doubt you’d know it by name. The east end of London is hardly an area you’d frequent.”

“Sarah,” Daphne closed the door, leaning back against it. “We haven’t much time, so I’ll be blunt. My husband is the Duke of Markham.”

An intrigued spark of recognition flashed in Sarah’s eyes.

“I see you’ve heard some of the gossip,” Daphne responded. “Residing with Lord and Lady Benchley, I rather assumed you had. So you know Pierce’s title is newly acquired.”

“I’ve heard only that he was a wealthy commoner and now he’s a wealthier duke,” Sarah replied carefully.

“A commoner of questionable parentage,” Daphne clarified.

“Yes.”

“His childhood was a nightmare, Sarah. A living hell that no one in that ballroom could possibly understand.”

“Why are you telling this to me?”

“Because you
would
understand.”

“I? Why? Because we both grew up without benefit of title or wealth?”

“No. Because you both grew up in the House of Perpetual Hope.”

Silence.

Slowly, Sarah sank down on the bed, pressing her shaking hands to her face. “How did you know that?” she whispered.

“Because that was where you and I met. A dozen years ago.” Daphne inhaled sharply. “My father is an unfeeling man who believes all those born without should be cast into the streets, and all who oppose that course of action should be beaten into submission. Sadly for me, I was a dissenter, then and now. When I was eight, he decided to alter my convictions by forcing me to witness the horrors of a workhouse firsthand. The workhouse he selected was the House of Perpetual Hope.” A painful pause. “I first saw you pumping water in the garden, then again when I was leaving. I picked up your doll.” Daphne gestured toward the nightstand and the only possession Sarah had yet to pack. “Father flung her aside. You rescued her—” Daphne broke off, tears clogging her throat. “I don’t expect you to remember. But I never forgot.”

Sarah’s face was pale, her lips quivering with emotion. “I don’t recognize your face. But the incident?
That
I remember. How could I not? I’d never seen anyone quite like you before, except in my dreams. I remember thinking how elegantly you were dressed, how beautiful you were—and how fortunate.”

“Fortunate,” Daphne repeated with hushed irony. “Then, no. But now? Yes, very. My luck has changed dramatically thanks to Pierce. He’s given me joy, hope, a future.” She lay a tentative palm on Sarah’s shoulder. “And, if you’ll allow us, we can do the same for you.”

“All because of one episode from your childhood?”