The Duke's Christmas Greetings (Regency Christmas Summons Book 3) (27 page)

“Daphne?”

Aaron's voice pulled her to present. “Yes?”

“Are you feeling well?”

Daphne realized her hands were trembling and she clasped them together. “I—I don't know.”

Aaron was by her side immediately. He wrapped his left arm around her and guided her to the little concrete bench about ten feet away from where they'd spread out their blanket. “Sit,” he murmured, helping guide her down to the bench. He sat with her and removed the glove on his right hand and used his bare fingers to brush away the hair on her forehead. “Do you feel over warm?”

“Yes.”

“I didn't really bring you turtle soup,” he offered, concern filling his blue eyes.

“I know,” she admitted quietly. “I also know you're not meeting anyone else.”

Aaron nodded once. “Then what is it?”

“You.”

“Me,” he said flatly. He released a deep breath. “I'm being too forward again.”

Daphne held up her thumb and middle finger. “Just a touch.”

Aaron blew out another breath, then folded his arms across his chest, stretched his long legs out in front of him and crossed his ankles. “I'm sorry. I really am.” His Adam's apple worked. “I know I shouldn't, but I just can't help it. When you're in the room I can't look elsewhere. When you're not there, I can't think of anything else.”

Daphne's body felt numb. Aaron was better than what she'd ever dreamed of. He was genuine and true. There was nothing about him that made her think his interest in her was only about connections or money or any of the other reasons that men in London wanted to marry. But what about his past? Was she just his means to a second chance?

“After Janette, I never imagined I'd ever find anyone I could ever come to care about again. But then I saw you...”

“So I'm just your second chance at happiness?” she asked unable to keep the shrill from her voice.

His body jerked a little. “No.”

“But you said.”

Aaron groaned. “Forget what I said.” He turned to face her took her hands in his. “It didn't come out how I meant it.” Rubbing her knuckles with his thumbs, he said, “It wasn't the divorce and black mark on my reputation that nearly killed me. It was her—” he swallowed— “rejection.”

Daphne's heart ached for him and the pain stamped on his face.

“The moment I found out about her infidelity I started building a rock wall around my heart and set the last brick in place the day the ink dried on the decree. It's not that I still love her, because frankly I struggle with that even though the Good Book teaches it, but I vowed to never trust another with custody of my heart again. And then I met you...”

Daphne's heart leapt up into her throat and the room spun around her. “I can't.”

“I understand that we've only just met and I'm not asking you to marry me—”

The relief Daphne thought she'd have at such a statement did not flood her as she'd thought it might.

“—but if you'd consider allowing me to court you this Season in London.”

“Court me? London?” That made absolutely no sense. “But you live here in Yorkshire. And
like
it.”

He smiled. “I'm afraid, I'm guilty of that, but I'm not opposed to—”

“No,” she said, standing abruptly. “I can't…you can't...we can't.” She shook her head. “I like you, Aaron. A lot. But—” she bit her lip so hard she could feel it starting to bruise, but she just didn't care, it was the only way to keep her tears at bay, which was for the best because if she let them fall, it'd be her undoing. “I'm sorry, I just can't.”

“Can't allow me to court you?”

“No.” Then before he could try to persuade her otherwise, she fisted her hands into her skirts and ran straight to the house and up to her room where she could collapse on her bed and cry and sob and scream into her pillow the way she'd heard the featherbrains in London did but never imaged she'd ever have the urge to do.

December 24, 1816

Ever since Aaron had laid his heart bare to her the previous afternoon, Daphne could think of little else. For as genuine as he was and for as much as she couldn't deny her attraction to him, it could never be.  Her sisters would swoon and her brother would be furious if she took a sincere interest in a man who was so much older than her and was
divorced.

Daphne wiped her clammy palms on her skirts as she watched Aaron across the room. He'd made his way around the perimeter of the drawing room, making what appeared as polite conversation to many of the gentlemen in attendance, but not even one of the ladies. Odd. No, it wasn't odd. He'd told her in no uncertain terms his interest was only for her.

Daphne wondered if he'd come speak to her.

Unfortunately, he did not.

“Where is your Mr. Lentz tonight, I wonder,” Gareth said, taking a seat beside Daphne.

“He's not
my
Mr. Lentz.” Daphne winced at the waver in her voice, then sent a pointed nod in the direction of where Aaron had made his way onto the balcony.

“That's too bad.”

Daphne made lazy figure eights with the toe of her slipper. “It's for the best.”

Gareth drummed his fingers on his knees. “I suppose you'd be the one to know.”

Daphne nodded sadly. “I know more than I should.”

“That might depend on what you plan to do with the information.”

“There's nothing to
do
with the information,” Daphne said, exacerbated. “You do realize the two of us only met less than a week ago.”

“I see nothing wrong with that. I knew I wanted Jane for my wife within a moment or two of meeting her.” Then, with no further ado, her besotted brother-in-law pushed to his feet and made his way over to where Jane was holding court by the north window.

“Did you and Mr. Lentz have a falling out yesterday?”

Jane’s direct, but not unkind, question grabbed Daphne’s attention and she stilled the hand that had been brushing out Jane’s long, dark hair. “No.” She cocked her head to the side, then resumed brushing her sister’s hair. “Why would you even suggest such a thing?”

In the mirror, Daphne could see Jane’s reflection as her older sister's face took on a dubious expression. “Oh, nothing other than you dismissed my maid and suggested you'd help me get ready for bed and you've been pulling that brush through my hair ever since—which was—” Jane made a show of looking at the watched pinned on her bodice— “an hour ago.” She met Daphne’s eyes in the mirror, Jane’s alight with mischief. “Do you think my hair is devoid of tangles now?”

“No.” Daphne inclined her chin and pulled the brush through her sister’s hair thrice more. “Now it is.”

“Very well,” Jane said, reaching for the heavy hairbrush.

Daphne relinquished her grip on Jane’s brush and bit her lip. It was a good thing her younger and closest sister Olive wasn’t there or else all would be revealed within seconds. Still, Jane was not only her sister, but her eldest sister and for whatever reason it was harder to lie to Jane than Charlotte or Michael.

“Now, tell me what you’re thinking,” Jane said quietly.

“Nothing.”

Jane’s laugh filled the room. “It isn’t nothing. I might not be as close to you as Olive is, but even I know that’s a lie just as sure as the sun will rise tomorrow.” Jane grasped the grips on the side of the wheels on her chair and backed up, then turned to face Daphne. “I’ve seen the way you look at him.” She smiled softly. “And the way he looks at you.”

Daphne exhaled and sat on the edge of Jane’s feather mattress. Only a fool could be persuaded to think that there wasn’t some sort of attraction between Daphne and Aaron. But it couldn’t be. “It’s just a flirtation.”

“Oh, I agree, I’ve born witness to plenty of flirtation.”

Daphne blushed. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Jane’s face softened. “I didn’t mean to shame you, dearest. I just meant—” She broke off, clasping her hands in her lap. A moment later, Jane licked her lips. “Daphne, I don’t think your feelings for Mr. Lentz fall in line with a simple, innocent flirtation.”

A hard, immobile bubble of air formed in Daphne’s throat and she tried desperately to gulp it down. But it didn’t budge and the more she gulped the bigger another one grew in her chest until she was almost gasping for air! “N-n—” she stammered. “I—I—”

Jane lifted a delicate hand, halting Daphne’s attempt to explain. “He’s a little older than you, is he not?”

A little older was one way to word it, she supposed. Daphne gave a small, single nod.

“And divorced.”

Again, Daphne nodded solemnly, the lumps in her throat and chest still not receding. Though she did wonder how Jane knew of Aaron's past. Never mind. Jane had spent a lot of time indoors with their great grandfather, who, Daphne had learned was the most knowledgeable gentleman she'd ever met. There wasn't a fact or rumor he hadn't already heard, of that she was certain.

“Can you see past the blemish on his reputation?”

“
He
has none!” Daphne said more fiercely than she meant. Her hand flew to her chest then up to her throat. Her strong response had dislodged both suffocating air bubbles. She cleared her throat. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

Jane waved her off. “I’m rather glad to hear such a tone.” She grinned. “It gives me hope.”

Daphne pursed her lips. “Just because I was quick to point out he was the wronged party, doesn’t mean—” She broke off. There was no use. The more she attempted to explain, the brighter Jane’s smile became. And that wouldn’t do. The last thing Daphne needed was for Jane to join Danby in his bold matchmaking attempts.

“Actually, whether he was in the wrong or not—which just to be clear when there is a parliamentary divorce granted, the man is never
wrong
, even if he is.” She shook her head. “The point is, I didn’t ask you if he was wrong or right. I asked you if the shame of his having been divorced was a problem for you and your sudden need to defend him proved that it’s not.”

Daphne couldn’t argue Jane’s logic, and to attempt to do so would be futile.

“Now, as for the other important issue at hand. His age. Is it so unforgivable to you that he’s so much older than you?”

“Unforgivable,” Daphne choked. “I didn’t think one had a choice in their age.” Truly, she hadn't given his age much of a thought except how her family might react.

“No,” Jane allowed. “But is it something you dwell on or worry about?”

Daphne’s top teeth worried her bottom lip. “Plenty of young ladies marry older men,” she said using Jane’s own words from when they first arrived.

“Indeed. And to most of those matches, it’s not twenty years that separate them, but perhaps fifty between them. Would you like for Gareth to find you one of those sorts?”

“No, but I don’t see your point.” She hadn’t lied. There were many couples with more than one generation separating them.

“Most marriages with such a significant age gap is because the marriage is arranged, it’s business...” she met Daphne’s eyes and impaled them, “not love.”

Jane’s words hit Daphne like a snowball square to the chest and before Daphne could form a response, Jane was speaking again.

“Whether you’re intending to or not, I think you’re dismissing Mr. Lentz's interest because you’re concerned about what others will think.”