Once She Was Tempted (6 page)

“We do.” Daphne scurried to the escritoire beneath the window, picked up a small pile of invitations, and shuffled through them. “Mrs. Reece is hosting a dinner party next Monday. Shall I let her know that you’re back in town?”

“Ah, she and her husband make a lovely couple—they’re so in love.” Mama shot Daphne a brief but wistful glance that all but shouted,
You could be, too, if only you’d apply yourself to the task
. “Yes, darling, please do let them know I’ll attend. Is there nothing else scheduled before then? An event at which we might see Lord Biltmore?”

Oh dear. “Lord Biltmore?”

“Anabelle wrote that he’s quite taken with you.”

“She did?” Daphne intended to have a word with Anabelle, who had apparently skated dangerously close to a violation of sisterly trust in her letters to Mama. “I don’t—”

“Don’t be coy, darling. It’s wonderful!” The rapture that overcame Mama was almost frightening in its intensity. Her shoulders rose up until they were almost level with her ears and she pressed her lips together tightly as though she might explode with joy. “Oh, Daphne. He’s
such
a gentleman! Kind and good-natured and”—Mama paused to fan herself—“a viscount! He’s everything I’ve ever wanted for you.” She sniffled, almost overcome. “My daughter, the viscountess.”

Good heavens. “Lord Biltmore is all that you say, only… I don’t think we would suit.”

“Why on earth not?”

“I know you want me to make a good match but—”

“It’s what every mother wishes for her daughter.”

“But finding the right person might take some time.” At the rate she was going, a decade or so ought to do it.

Mama deflated a little. “You have
some
time… but you’ve devoted too much of your youth to caring for me. Don’t deny yourself the joys of a family for too long.”

This was Mama’s sweet but thinly veiled way of saying that Daphne would be on the shelf if she didn’t apply herself to the task of finding a husband. And she was right.

After all they’d been through, it was only natural that she would want to see her younger daughter well settled and taken care of. Daphne used to think she wanted that, too, but now she yearned for something more than security and comfort. She dared to hope for love and… passion.

“I understand what a rare opportunity this season is for me, Mama. I’ll try my best not to disappoint you.”

“You couldn’t. Just promise me that you’ll give Lord Biltmore a chance to charm you.” Mama’s eyes twinkled so brightly Daphne was powerless to deny the request.

“I will.”

“Excellent.” Mama slipped on her new spectacles and gestured to the stack of invitations Daphne still held. “What else have we to look forward to?”

“There’s the Seaton musicale tonight. However, I’m sure that you’ll want to rest after your travels. We could plan an outing to Bond Street tomorrow.”

“I’m not too tired for a musicale,” Mama exclaimed, as
though slightly offended. “That’s tame even by my standards. Are the Seaton daughters talented?”

Daphne shrugged. “I’ve never heard them play.”

“Ah, well, it hardly matters. The important thing is I shall spend the evening with
you
.” Mama stood and smoothed her skirts. “I’m going to take Anabelle some toast—it’s the best thing for her queasy stomach, you know—and lie down for a quick nap. I can’t have puffy eyes while escorting you about. We must make a good impression everywhere we go. The unfortunate aspect of being suddenly elevated to the pinnacle of society is that some are looking for the slightest excuse to topple us right back from whence we came. I’ll not have anything spoil the happiness that we’ve been blessed with.”

Daphne crossed the room to hug her mother. “I’ve
always
been blessed, thanks to you, Papa, and Anabelle.”

“It’s good to hear you mention your papa.” Mama’s voice grew thin. “You must miss him as much as I do.”

She nodded. “Sometimes, living in all this luxury feels like a betrayal. What would he think?” Papa had given up his comfortable life when he chose to marry Mama—a common woman—and his family had disowned him until the very end.

Mama let out a long, wispy breath and tucked a stray tendril behind Daphne’s ear. “He would say that everything
around
us is not nearly as important as what’s
inside
us. Whenever you or Anabelle got into mischief or told a fib, he would invariably say—”

“Nothing is more valuable than one’s integrity,” Daphne finished for her.

“I’m glad you remember,” Mama said, her eyes moist. “I’ll see you at dinner.” After planting a kiss on Daphne’s
forehead, she glided from the room in a light cloud of rose-scented perfume.

Daphne sank to the settee. She was a fine one to speak of integrity. In posing for the portraits, she’d flagrantly disregarded the rules of proper behavior. That was shameful enough. But now she’d also been reduced to keeping secrets and lying to the people she loved.

She wished there were some other way, but she’d chosen her path two years ago—the moment she’d shed her coat in that chilly abandoned factory and posed upon the sapphire settee.

All she could do now was locate the second portrait—and the trail began with Thomas. The evening after Daphne had waited for him at Gunter’s, the artist’s mother had returned Daphne’s letter, with the seal still intact, thank Heaven. She’d also scrawled a note saying Thomas had embarked on a grand tour some time ago and would not likely return for several weeks. There was no one else she could turn to for answers, except perhaps the person who was in possession of the first painting…

No. She couldn’t trust Lord Foxburn. He was too cold, too unfeeling. Worse, his icy blue eyes seemed to judge her constantly, like he was measuring her behavior against a checklist of etiquette for proper ladies and finding it rather lacking. No small wonder, considering he owned evidence of her most embarrassing mistake.

But trusting Lord Foxburn wasn’t the only problem. Daphne wasn’t certain she could trust
herself
around him. He seemed intent on provoking her and casting aspersions on her character, and yet, she couldn’t help admiring his loyalty to his friend. Nor could she ignore the pain he stoically endured in his leg and his heart and the fact
that he was devilishly attractive—
if
one cared about such things.

When Daphne entered the Seatons’ crowded drawing room with Mama, Olivia, and Rose that evening, her nerves were wound tighter than a spring. She was all too well aware that at any given moment, someone could recognize her from the paintings and publicly brand her as a woman of loose morals.

So, after exchanging a few polite greetings, Daphne thought it prudent to take a seat in the back and attempt to blend in with Lady Worsham’s pink and green wallpaper.

“I see Henrietta seated in the front row.” Mama smiled; she was, perhaps, the only person genuinely pleased to see Lady Bonneville in attendance. “She requires room for her footstool, you know.”

“Yes, we know,” said Olivia, rolling her eyes.

The elderly viscountess took her red tufted footstool with her everywhere she went—or, rather, her long-suffering companion did. If the habit was a bit eccentric, no one dared label it as such. It was in the best interests of all to keep Lady Bonneville happy.

“She’s quite by herself. I shall go keep her company. Would you girls care to join me?”

Daphne did not wish to be anywhere near the front row
or
the viscountess’s scrutiny. “If you don’t mind, Mama, I’d rather remain here where the music won’t be as loud.” Olivia and Rose enthusiastically nodded their agreement.

“That’s fine, darlings. Be sure to mingle.” She gave Daphne one last pointed look through her spectacles before joining Lady Bonneville.

In the seat beside Daphne, Olivia snapped open her fan and fluttered it dramatically. “That was a narrow escape.”

“I admire the viscountess,” Rose said, “even if she does frighten me a little.”

Olivia snorted. “She would frighten Wellington himself.”

“She has taken Mama under her wing,” Daphne said. “I’m grateful for that.”

“I suppose I am as well,” Olivia said, a bit reluctantly. “Mostly, however, I’m grateful to be here with you and Rose.” She put an arm around Daphne and gave her a brief, tight squeeze. “I knew the yellow silk would be perfect with your golden hair. Don’t look now, but the gentleman by the fireplace can’t take his eyes off you.”

Daphne swallowed. She’d never met the man, but what if he recognized her from the portraits? Her palms grew moist inside her elbow-length gloves. “He’s probably admiring you and Rose. You both look lovely tonight.”

Olivia sighed. “This gown shall be wasted if James does not show.” Her eyes strayed to the door. “Alas, he is not among the latest arrivals… however, I see that Lord Foxburn and Lord Biltmore are.”

Lord Foxburn. Daphne had been thinking about him ever since he’d left her on her doorstep. More specifically, she’d been thinking about his hair—which was slightly too long—and the manner in which a few dark brown strands curled just behind his ear. She couldn’t imagine why she was fixated on such a random and meaningless detail, but there it was.

She swiveled on her chair and watched as he approached, Lord Biltmore at his side. The earl walked smoothly; the only sign of his injury was a slight hesitation before he stepped on his right foot. His jacket of blue superfine
complemented his tanned skin and made his eyes look as clear as a September sky. His expression was more suited to a funeral service than a musicale, but she’d come to expect no less from him.

“Good evening, Lady Olivia, Lady Rose, and Miss Honeycote,” exclaimed Lord Biltmore. He tugged nervously on the front of his rich purple jacket and shuffled his feet. “You’re all looking particularly beautiful this evening.” He smiled shyly at Daphne. “I wonder, Miss Honeycote, if you would like to take a turn about the room with me?”

Egads. Lord Foxburn had decreed that she must not encourage the viscount, but she did not wish to be rude. Surely the earl could not object to a walk in a room full of people. Pasting on a smile, she said, “That would be lov—”

Behind Lord Biltmore, Lord Foxburn narrowed his icy blue eyes and gave a subtle but crisp shake of his head.

“—er, lovely…
if
I didn’t have such a dreadful headache at the moment.” Lord, how she hated to lie. Almost as much as she resented having the course of her evening dictated by an ill-tempered tyrant.

Lord Biltmore’s brow furrowed in concern. “I’m most sorry to hear you’re not feeling well,” he said. “Shall I inform your mother that you’d like to go home?”

“No, thank you. I’ll just sit here awhile and see if that helps.”

An awkward silence followed, and Lord Biltmore shifted his weight from one foot to another.

“A suggestion, if I might be so bold,” Lord Foxburn said dryly. “Miss Seaton seems to be in need of encouragement.”

Lord Biltmore snapped to attention. “Which Miss Seaton?”

The earl made a pained face. “Damned if I know her name. The one over there”—he inclined his head toward the makeshift stage—“with the greenish pallor. She’s been adjusting the strings on her violin since we came in, but I suspect no amount of tuning will improve the upcoming performance. At least if you calm her nerves, she will be less likely to swoon midsong.”

Lord Biltmore gazed at the stage and nodded sympathetically. “That’s Miss Louise Seaton,” he said. “And she does have a rather terrified look in her eyes. Please excuse me while I endeavor to put her at ease.”

“Of course. That’s very kind of you,” Daphne said.

Just as Lord Biltmore left, Olivia sucked in her breath.

“What is it?” Rose asked.

“It’s not a
what
but a
who
,” Olivia whispered. “Miss Starling. And she’s walking toward us.”

The stunning blonde glided across the room, looking like she’d stepped out of the June issue of the
Lady’s Magazine
. Her sumptuous rose silk gown set off her creamy complexion perfectly, and rows of pearls glowed around her neck.

Daphne forced a smile and breathed through her nose. She’d succeeded in avoiding Miss Starling since arriving in London. While Daphne was not the sort to hold a grudge, she’d never forgive Miss Starling for trying to ruin Anabelle.

“Good evening, Miss Honeycote. I have seen neither you nor your infamous sister in an age. Where is the new duchess?” Miss Starling inquired, her eyes wide with feigned innocence. “I pray she hasn’t taken ill. One would hope marriage agrees with her.”

Daphne shot the woman a sharp look. “I can assure you that it does.”

“Lord Foxburn,” Miss Starling said, a little breathlessly. “A pleasure.” She extended a pristine white kid glove and preened as the earl bowed over it. “I confess I am shocked to find you hanging about with Miss Honeycote and her friends.”

The earl’s eyes flashed dangerously. “And why would you find that shocking, Miss Starling?”

She gave a throaty laugh. “The Honeycotes are hardly good
ton
. Do you know what part of town they were living in a few months ago? Proper young misses do not live in that kind of squalor. However, I’ll concede that their ill manners are not entirely their fault. Poverty necessarily breeds immorality.”

Lord Foxburn narrowed his eyes and said in a low but lethal voice, “The only person displaying ill manners is you, Miss Starling. I suggest you leave. After all, you run the risk of sullying your reputation if you converse with us.”

“Thank you for your concern. I shall heed your advice, but first I shall impart my own to Lady Olivia and Lady Rose.” She leaned toward the girls. “Do not allow yourself to be duped by the Honeycote sisters’ woeful tales and charming ways. They think that their newly elevated status protects them from scandal and disgrace. You may be sure they have secrets—dark, ugly secrets—and it’s only a matter of time before they’re exposed for all to see.”

The pink and green walls began to close in around Daphne. Miss Starling couldn’t know about Anabelle’s extortion schemes. Could she? And she couldn’t possibly know about the portraits… unless she’d seen one.