Never Entice an Earl (3 page)

Clarissa’s shoulders slumped. “Can’t we miss just one party, Mother? There will only
be the same people there who we saw yesterday…and the day before.”

Daphne knew the real reason why Clarissa wasn’t interested in attending. The night
before, a certain Mr. Christopher Donelan had informed her that he had other obligations
and would not be in attendance. The handsome and well-connected Mr. Donelan was Clarissa’s
latest fascination—since Tuesday evening, to be precise. Before then she’d been completely
enamored of the dashing Captain Musgrave, who on Tuesday afternoon had sadly lost
her love when he’d bent to kiss her gloved hand with an unfortunate glob of clotted
cream nestled in his tawny mustache.

Daphne had witnessed the whole tragic incident. It didn’t matter that the poor fellow
hadn’t realized his unintended faux pas. By then it was too late. The moment Musgrave’s
back was turned, Clarissa had discreetly pulled a change of gloves from her beaded
reticule, and after brief soliloquy of regret shared only with Daphne, released him
from her heart.

They could be friends. Of course they could. Always! But anything more was now impossible.

While her sister was exceedingly romantic, she also had highly idealized expectations
of what an amour should be. Unfortunately for Captain Musgrave, when he had smeared
Clarissa’s glove with the remnants of his tea plate, he had disqualified himself from
that category forever. It wasn’t that Clarissa was shallow, not at all. Quite the
opposite. It was as if she felt so intensely and too quickly, hoping to find true
love, that the slightest crack in the mirror of perfection could shatter her perceptions
completely. It was why their mother, and Daphne as well, feared that the wrong man
could win her quickly and later, when it was too late to turn back the clock, break
her heart.

But in this moment Clarissa did speak the truth. At Lady Buckinghamshire’s Venetian
breakfast—which of course wasn’t to be a breakfast at all, but an afternoon party—they
would see all the same people they had seen the day before. Thus far the season had
been a blur of activity, and wouldn’t it be nice to spend an afternoon at home, and
to be done with the invitations, once and for all?

Hoping to support Clarissa’s cause, Daphne added, “And Sophia and Claxton have only
just returned from Belgium. We’ve barely visited with her, with all the coming and
going.”

Margaretta tilted her head and spoke with gentle authority. “Of course you can’t miss
the party. Lady Buckinghamshire has taken a special interest in seeing the both of
you successfully matched and wed, which I don’t have to tell either of you is quite
an honor.”

Daphne exhaled, biting her tongue, for this was just another indication no one took
her declaration never to marry seriously.

A potted red amaryllis stood on a small three-footed table beside her. Lady Margaretta
plucked off a wilted bloom and dropped it into a rubbish receptacle near her feet.
“It would be ill-mannered to miss her breakfast. It’s all she’s talked about for weeks.
Sophia, you will stay here and recover from your travels. Mother’s orders.”

“And husband’s orders,” said a male voice behind her.

Claxton appeared, dwarfing their delicate mother. He had spent the morning with their
grandfather, escorting Wolverton to breakfast with Lord Liverpool and elsewhere about
town. Dark-haired and tall, his cool blue gaze found his wife and, in an instant,
warmed with adoration. Just like that, a snap of electricity came into the air. The
heat of their attraction took Daphne’s breath away.

“As if you give me orders,” Sophia retorted softly, yet she reached for him.

The duke strode past them to take her hand. Bending low, he pressed a kiss to her
lips.

“I shall delight in continuing to try,” he murmured in an intimate tone.

Clarissa sighed audibly, her attention fixed on the couple. Only then did Daphne realize
she, too, stared, enraptured.

Biting her lower lip, she glanced downward to the invitation list, a blur of paper
and ink. It wouldn’t do to pine for a similar passion when she’d already resolved
not to have it.

“Out now, the both of you,” the viscountess ordered suddenly, a telling blush on her
cheeks. “There is no time for delay. I will see you in the foyer in one hour. Don’t
forget your parasols.”

Daphne accompanied Clarissa up the marble staircase, where they separated to go to
their own rooms. She couldn’t wait to share all the
turgid
details with Kate—

Oh, fig! Kate wasn’t in residence today!

Kate Fickett, her lady’s maid, and truly, her dearest friend in the world who wasn’t
a sister and obligated to love her. For the last three years, Kate had awakened her
with breakfast every morning, except for her day off, which was Monday. Only this
morning, Hannah the upstairs maid had awakened Daphne, saying Kate hadn’t slept in
her bed the night before.

She’d told herself not to worry, that Kate had likely stayed another night to assist
with all the work at the Fickett family’s new haberdashery shop. After all, with the
season in full swing, the store would be teeming with customers and orders and bespoke
work to be done.

Still, Daphne did worry and would continue to do so until she knew all was well.

She found her door ajar and stepped inside to hear the rustle of brocade as the draperies
were drawn back from her window.

“There you are, Miss Bevington. I was about to come for you.” A pretty oval face,
made even prettier by a sprinkle of freckles across the nose, peered back at her.

Kate, her auburn-haired lady’s maid, pulled back the remainder of the curtain.

“Kate.” Relief bubbled up inside Daphne. “You’re here. I was worried about you.”

“Just a bit of trouble at the shop, but it’s all resolved now.” She set off to bustle
about Daphne’s gold-and-cream-papered room, which her grandfather had commissioned
to be redecorated in honor of her debut season. He’d done the same for Clarissa, who
of course had chosen her favorite color, pink.

Oddly, Kate didn’t look her in the eye, and her voice seemed artificially light in
tone. Daphne knew Kate. Something wasn’t right. Intuition told Daphne that whatever
sort of trouble there had been at the shop, everything wasn’t completely resolved.

Daphne said, “You needn’t have rushed back, if there were matters requiring attention.
You should have just sent word, and taken the entire day—”

“The day?” repeated Kate incredulously. “All day?”

Daphne’s heart twisted at that. She felt such an enormous affection for Kate. Every
morning Kate—like all of Wolverton’s servants—woke up and devoted herself to the service
of the family, not necessarily by choice, but because of the circumstances of birth
and their absolute need to earn a living, not only for themselves but their families.
They all took such pride in their employment, and made everything look so effortless,
but Daphne understood the hardships that went with the work. The long hours and the
time spent away from family. She admired them all so much.

“Fickett, you have never, ever asked for so much as an extra day off, or three, or
ten, and you know very well, if you should ever need to, the request would be granted.
Hannah can always step in. I’m certain your mother and father would appreciate the
help, being that this is the busiest time of the year at their shop.”

“What, and miss out on all of this?” Kate laughed, her expression vivid, but her eyes…suspiciously
damp. With a flutter of her lashes, she quickly turned away, her voice hushed and
thick as if she were trying to keep her emotions in check. “Even if it’s not my season,
it’s all very exciting and I don’t want to miss out on a single moment. And besides,
someone has to dress you properly for Lady Buckinghamshire’s Venetian breakfast, and
it won’t be Hannah, not again.”

Daphne watched in silence, even more certain something wasn’t right. Her friend was
upset about something.

After a brief pause, in which Kate straightened her shoulders and cleared her throat,
she briskly took up Daphne’s petticoat and dress from the chair, where Hannah had
neatly abandoned them the night before. “Dear girl, she does her best, but she ought
not to have allowed you to wear the blue silk last night. Now your entire wardrobe
is thrown out of sequence. The blue had been set aside specifically for the Vauxhall
Gala next week. Each dress is clearly labeled, so I don’t understand how this happened—”

“It isn’t Hannah’s fault,” Daphne asserted quietly, twining an arm around the bedpost,
and leaning against it. “The lace on that atrocious green dress itched under my arms,
and I rather insisted on the change.”

Kate disappeared into the dressing room, only to emerge again moments later with a
different dress, this one delicate yellow with puffed sleeves and four inches of pleated
ivory lace at the hem.

“I did not doubt that for one moment,” Kate responded with her customary pluck. “Which
is why it’s best I’ve returned to attend to you. Your
insistence
means absolutely nothing to me.” Her gaze then settled on Daphne’s head and her lips
thinned with disapproval. “I see Hannah used the frizzler on your hair. I suppose
you talked her into that as well?”

Daphne raised a hand to touch her hair.

“I wanted something different,” she answered, only mildly exasperated. “Everyone else
frizzles.”

With a roll of her eyes, Kate continued past the bed. “All those tiny curls, so inelegant
and impossible to smooth out the next day. Your hair is far too delicate for such
torment.”

Kate was jabbering, and still avoiding eye contact.

She crossed the carpet to stand behind Kate, who stood at the window. Kate held the
dress to the light, allowing the sunshine to filter through the muslin.

Kate grumbled, “I’m of a mind to make you wear the blue again to the gala, even with
the lemonade stain on the sleeve. Hannah ought to have treated the spot last night,
immediately upon your return. Now I fear I’ll never get it out—”

“Fuss, fuss, fuss,” Daphne chided softly.

“Things ought to be done right, or not at all,” Kate retorted.

“I don’t know why I suffer your continual impertinence,” she teased. It was a continuing
jest between them, because they both delighted in impertinence.

Kate laughed. “After three years, I’m afraid you’ve no other choice.”

Yet on the last word, her voice faltered again. Her head dipped and she dashed her
fingertips against her eyes.

Daphne touched a hand to her back. “Kate?”

Kate turned, tears spilling over her cheeks. “Oh,
Daphne
.”

She fell into Daphne’s open arms and sobbed into her shoulder.

“Kate, what is it? What is wrong?”

The girl’s shoulders heaved between sobs and gasps. Daphne squeezed her tight. Kate
never cried. She never lost her composure.

“Everything, Daphne. Everything is terribly wrong.”

D
aphne pulled away, just enough to look Kate in the eyes and see tears streaming down
her cheeks. “Tell me.”

“My father, he…he…he borrowed a lot of money to invest in the new shop, hoping to
attract more customers of a wealthier class. Fine carpets, rich draperies and furnishings,
and also a large and expensive inventory.”

“A smart investment,” Daphne declared softly. “He is a good businessman.”

“Always before, yes, but unbeknownst to me or my mother, he borrowed the money from
the most unsavory man—” She flinched, her face paling a shade more.

“And now what has happened?” Daphne pulled a handkerchief from her skirt pocket and
dabbed at her friend’s eyes.

“The term of the loan was to be two years, but of course, there was a tiny notation
in the contract that it might change at any time at the lender’s discretion, and suddenly
he has demanded that my father repay the entirety of the loan with all its interest.
Immediately.” Kate’s bottom lip trembled, and tears spilled over her cheeks. “It’s
just all very upsetting. Mother has sold her heirloom silver, and Grandmother offered
up her pension monies from when she served at the palace. But worst of all, Robert
may have to come home from school.”

Daphne’s heart broke at hearing that. Kate referred of course to Robert, her younger
brother, who at just nine years old already boasted advanced scientific and mathematical
honors at the exclusive Mr. Gibbs Academy. They were all so very proud of him, and
they’d had such high hopes for his future.

Daphne recalled all too vividly the dark days when grief had devastated the Wolverton
household. Daphne’d had her grandfather, mother, and two sisters for comfort, but
understandably they’d all been consumed by their own private grief. And she in particular,
who after the death of her father had suffered the most terrible guilt. It had been
Kate, then newly hired, who had been her rock.

Now Kate found herself faced by a terrible difficulty. Shouldn’t she be there for
Kate just as unwaveringly as Kate had been there for her?

Daphne reached for Kate’s hand. “Let me help in some way. You know I love everything
in the shop, as do my mother and sisters. If we all went shopping there this afternoon—”

“No, no, Daphne.” Her face pallid and drawn, Kate shook her head. “Thank you, but…I’m
afraid the amount of the debt quite exceeds that sort of simple solution.”

Daphne nodded, feeling spoiled and sheltered from the dreadful financial realities
of life that so many suffered. Most of all, she felt helpless. She lived such a life
of privilege, but had no money of her own. Just pin money, and accounts at several
shops that her grandfather’s accountants paid, as long as the expenditures remained
within reason.

“Kate, how much?”

“I can’t even say it.” Her hand curled on Daphne’s sleeve. “I’ll become ill, right
here on the carpet.”

“Go right ahead,” Daphne urged. “I don’t give a fig about the carpet. I want to know.”

“I’m not going to tell you,” Kate replied, her eyes tightly closed. “So don’t press
me.”

Daphne’s frustration only grew.

“There has to be something I can do.” She worked her bottom lip, trying to conjure
a solution, but already Kate was shaking her head and scowling at her.

“Don’t say that.” Kate took the handkerchief from her hand and dabbed her own eyes.
“It only makes me feel worse that you’d feel the need to intervene, and besides, that’s
not why I told you. You’ve helped me just by listening. Everything will be fine, and
we’ll get through it.” She nodded and smiled bravely, and nodded again. “We
will
. This hardship will only make the family stronger, and bring us closer together.”

That much Daphne knew to be true. Her own family had become immeasurably closer in
the dark days after her brother’s and father’s deaths. But now she needed to concentrate
on Kate’s well-being, not on her own tragic memories. Kate stared over her shoulder
at nothing, seemingly a thousand miles away.

Daphne inquired softly, “You are certain everything will be all right?”

Kate blinked, appearing to break free from whatever spell that held her. “Yes, Daphne.
Of course it will, without a doubt. Thank you for being such a friend.”

With a glance to the clock, her tearstained eyes widened.

“Look at the time. Come along now,” she said. “To the dressing room with you. I have
less than an hour in which to transform you into the
ne plus ultra
everyone expects you to be. When you return I want to hear so many compliments about
your appearance today that even I become morbidly conceited!”

Kate’s enthusiasm eased her concerns just a little, but Daphne wouldn’t forget. They
would revisit the matter soon, and she would press for more details, just to be certain
the Ficketts’ difficulties resolved completely. Still, what a relief to return to
the easy banter that usually transpired between them. They always had such fun together.

“Kate, just wait until I tell you what Sophia just told Clarissa and me, downstairs,
when we were in the conservatory.” Daphne sat on the tufted stool at her dressing
table.

Kate peered over her shoulder, and their gazes met in the mirror. “I can’t wait to
hear.”

“It’s very wicked,” she warned.

“All the better!”

Only three hours later, Daphne and Clarissa stood at the entrance to the female servants’
quarters, having just returned with Lady Margaretta from Lady Buckinghamshire’s Venetian
breakfast. Though the afternoon was young and there was the Heseldon ball to attend,
a note from Daphne’s grandfather, Lord Wolverton, had summoned them home with word
that a number of the staff had been stricken by an undetermined malady. From the distant
end of the corridor came the sounds of someone suffering from the most wretched effects
of illness.

“Oh, my, I do believe that was a lung,” Daphne fretted, curling her fingers into the
straw summer bonnet she held at the front of her skirt.

A door opened and Lady Margaretta emerged, accompanied by the housekeeper, Mrs. Brightmore.
They both wore frowns of concern.

“They are very ill, then?” inquired Clarissa.

That was rather obvious, Daphne thought, given the sounds of misery still emanating
from behind the row of doors.

A housemaid moved briskly past, carrying a stack of fresh linens and several tin buckets
on her arm. With a knock, she disappeared into the first of the rooms.

“I’m afraid so,” answered Lady Harwick.

“What of Miss Fickett?” Daphne asked, having been told Kate was one of those who had
fallen ill.

It had taken every bit of Daphne’s will to remain in the corridor as her mother had
insisted, rather than barging inside to assess her condition herself. Hadn’t Kate
suffered enough from the shocking news of her family’s financial predicament?

“Unfortunately the dear girl is in no condition to assist you for the Heseldons’,
and Hannah has been stricken as well, but there is sufficient time for Clarissa’s
maid to dress your hair.”

“Oh, indeed, Miss Randolph is exceedingly efficient,” agreed Mrs. Brightmore. “I will
speak to her and make her aware of this temporary arrangement.”

“I don’t care a fig about the ball or my hair,” Daphne retorted, stung by the superficial
bent of the conversation. “I care about Miss Fickett!”

How was it that those closest to her sometimes seemed to understand her the least?
She couldn’t go to a ball and smile and dance and charm while her dearest friend lay
confined to her bed. For a moment, her fears got the better of her. What if the illness
was of a serious nature? She’d already lost too many loved ones. She couldn’t lose
Kate, too.

Clarissa put an arm around her shoulder. “I care about Miss Fickett, too, and I hope
she and the others feel much better soon.”

“We all do,” added the viscountess. “But there is nothing to do now but await the
arrival of the physician. Depending on what he tells us, we may need to make changes
in the household to protect His Lordship from exposure.”

The aging Lord Wolverton had largely recovered from the infirmity that had left him
an invalid throughout the winter, though his aged muscles and weakened limbs still
necessitated the use of a bath chair. Lady Margaretta and his granddaughters, not
to mention his valet and other devoted staff, remained in constant vigilance with
regard to his health, which at times led to his complaints of being treated like a
child.

“By Heaven, I pray it’s not the influenza,” murmured Mrs. Brightmore, a hand pressed
over her heart.

As if Mrs. Brightmore had voiced Lady Margaretta’s exact fears aloud, Daphne’s mother
extended a hand in the opposite direction. “Come now, let us all return upstairs.
There is nothing more we can do here at present.”

Her voice bordered along urgency, as if removing her daughters from the corridor would
protect them from all threat of illness and danger, though they all knew Providence
would selfishly do as it wished, as it had done with her eldest son and her husband.
Out of consideration for her mother, Daphne accompanied Lady Margaretta and spent
the next two hours writing out the remainder of the invitations with Clarissa’s help.
Lord Wolverton sat nearby, reading aloud any details of note or amusement from the
morning newspapers.

Eventually it was time to prepare for the Heseldon ball, and Daphne abandoned her
inkwell and pen. Yet while Clarissa ascended the staircase, Daphne quietly slipped
away and returned to the servants’ hall. Peering down the corridor to be certain she
would remain unobserved, she knocked on Kate’s door.

“Come in,” came a feeble reply.

As a lady’s maid, just a notch in the household hierarchy below the housekeeper, Kate
enjoyed the privacy of her own room. To Daphne’s surprise, however, Kate wasn’t in
bed. She stood, pallid and gaunt, struggling to don her cloak. “Kate Fickett, where
do you think you are going?” Daphne rushed inside, reaching a hand to steady her.

“Daphne, please leave,” Kate answered, her voice weak. She wobbled, unsteady on her
feet, as if she might topple over at the slightest draft. “Her Ladyship would not
approve of your being here, not with everyone else being so ill.”

“Everyone
else
being so ill? Including
you
, do you mean? Kate, you look dreadful.”

“It is nothing, I assure you,” she insisted faintly, listing to the left. “The others
have it much worse than I.” Kate’s hair had slipped from its usual neat knot, and
most of it now hung limp around her face. For someone who always took such pride in
their appearance, her dishevelment told a different story.

“I don’t believe you, not for a minute.”

“Truly, I have only the mildest of stomach pains, with none of the other symptoms.”
Kate let out a sudden gasp. Bending at the waist, she moaned. Perspiration dappled
her forehead and upper lip.

“Ah, do you see?” Daphne said, guiding her by the arm into a wooden chair. “You really
should be in bed.”

“But I must go,” Kate protested. As soon as she was seated, she stood from the chair
again but teetered, lacking balance. “I’ll rest later. If you could please just hand
me my hat.”

Shadows, almost as deep as bruises, darkened the skin beneath her eyes.

Daphne scowled at her friend’s continued obstinacy. “I forbid you to go. You can’t
even stand up straight, let alone walk down the street.” With a gentle push to Kate’s
shoulders, Daphne urged her down again.

“You don’t understand,” Kate declared, throwing a glance at the door and looking trapped.
“I can’t remain here. I’ve a certain obligation to which I
must
attend.”

“Yes, I understand, your family. You feel as if you need to return home. If my family
were suffering, I’d want to go home as well. Allow me to send word that you are ill
and being cared for here.”

“Not
that
obligation,” Kate whispered with desperate intensity. She twisted in the chair, refusing
to meet Daphne’s gaze. “Not exactly.”

“Then what?”

The young woman balled her hands into fists, looking miserable, and lifted them to
her temples. “Please, Daphne, I beg you not to press me.”

Seeing Kate so anguished caused Daphne no small measure of alarm. Clearly there was
more at issue here than getting home.

“How can I help you if you don’t confide in me?”

“It is a distressingly private matter,” whispered Kate.

“I have the feeling you didn’t tell me everything. The situation is worse than you
led me to believe. Fickett, you don’t think I’ll understand?” She rested a hand on
Kate’s arm.

With a sudden jerk, Kate wrenched her arm free. She glared at Daphne, eyes wild and
feverish. “You couldn’t possibly understand. You’ve not a care in the world. Everything
is so easy for you going from party to ball, your only responsibility to look pretty
and marry well—or not. Whatever you decide, because you are wealthy and have that
freedom.”

Daphne froze, as if she’d been struck.

Certainly their lives were different. They’d been born into disparate circumstances.
But to think that Kate had felt this way about her all along when Daphne had actually
dared to believe them close friends. Kate was wrong, of course. No amount of money
could buy the one thing Daphne’s heart desired most. Neither wealth nor influence
could turn back time and allow her to repair her life’s greatest regret.

“Oh, no.” Kate’s face crumpled and she sank to the bed, her hands covering her face.
“I didn’t mean what I said. You have been nothing but constant and understanding,
my dearest friend. Please forgive me.”

Daphne sighed, relieved to hear the words, but at the same time she knew Kate did
hold that opinion of her in some way. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have said it. And why
should her feelings be so bruised, when just a few hours earlier she’d thought the
same thing, that she was a spoiled girl compared to Kate, who’d had to work in some
form or fashion since the age of twelve?