She chortled and barreled into the room. He swung her into his arms, enfolding her into a hug.
“You made it in time for my birthday,” she whispered.
“I did.” She would turn seven next month, and the joyful creature before him had almost been lost to an indifferent family and education. Sylvester had collected her in Cornwall only a week after he had learned of her existence, but it had taken months before Hetty garnered the courage to collect her bastard daughter. His love and admiration for his sister had only grown deeper, for she had done it even knowing how cruelly the ton would, in turn, treat her, and she had risked losing the man she loved. Hartington, however, had been undeterred in his love and had claimed Alexandria as his daughter, and most of society was none the wiser about her true parentage. Sylvester had done everything in his power to hide the trail his sister had left behind and protect their family from scrutiny.
Sylvester set Alexandria down.
“Will you take tea with me, Uncle Syl?”
“It would be my honor. Perhaps after we take a turn by the lake?”
She nodded happily and slipped her tiny hand into his, waved distractedly to his mother and sister, and tugged him away. He barely inclined his head in their general direction before he allowed her to lead him away. There was something soothing about being home, about being with his family, if only for a few hours.
“Sylvester.”
He paused and shifted to see his sister ambling toward them.
“Will you be joining us, Mamma?”
“I thought the walk would be good for us,” she replied with a smile.
She looped her hand through his as they exited through a side door and onto a garden path. His niece skipped ahead, at times pausing to lift her face to the sunshine. Her gold spun hair glinted, and he found himself absently wondering what a daughter with Daphne would look like. Or a son. He smiled as Alexandria bent to smell the flowers along the path, her joy at the moment beautiful to observe, for he knew she walked these paths often. “She is happy.”
His sister’s fingers dug into his arm briefly before she relaxed her grip. “Yes,” Hetty replied softly. “Do you know, on the best of days, I am still haunted by the knowledge I almost lost her. If not for you, I…” She took a deep breath. “She is happy, we are happy, but you are not.”
“I assure you I am content.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
“You seem different,” Hetty said softly.
He shot her a startled glance. “I do?”
“Yes, and I do believe it has something to do with your countess. I’m very glad the piece printed in the scandal sheet is true. You appeared empty for so long, which was quite puzzling since you had a wife whom you clearly desperately desired.”
Sylvester made no reply, hardly knowing what to say. He had been careful to keep the state of his marriage private from his family, never revealing the cause of the distance between himself and Daphne. When his mother wanted to invite her to Northbrook Park, he had been firm in his refusal. When his family had their yearly garden party, his wife had not attended, and when his mother hosted balls it was rare for Daphne to make an appearance by his side, and he had never given them an explanation. Yet through it all, his sister had observed he had a wife he desperately desired.
He thought of his sister’s mettle, the core of steel that she had found to shape her into the lady she was today. “I was blackmailed into marrying her.” The words sounded strange, for he had never told a soul before. Not even the man he considered his closest friend, the Marquess of Belmont. For years, Sylvester had been unsure if he protected his pride, or if he protected Daphne from their resentment, until he had simply stopped giving a damn.
Hetty faltered, forcing him to halt. Wide, horrified eyes peered up at him. “Upon my word, Sylvester, surely you cannot be serious. By whom?”
He tugged at one of her curls gently. “That was years ago, and the reason behind the blackmail is irrelevant.”
Knowledge and distress gleamed in her eyes. “It was because of me, wasn’t it? It was truly her. I suspected when you got married so soon during that horrid time. The note—”
He placed a finger to her lips, never wanting her to say those words aloud. Even now he hated recalling to her mind the dark place she had traveled because of fear, and all she had almost lost.
The world will know of your bastard daughter and your affair with Lord Danbridge unless your brother comes to heel.
There had been no signature, just the cold, vile threat. “I know what the note said.”
“When you married so suddenly it was to spare me pain. Oh, Sylvester, I have been so selfish. I have never considered the sacrifice you made to make my scandal disappear. I thought…I thought you’d paid an exorbitant sum for it to disappear when nothing happened.” A frown marred her brow. “There had always been an odd sort of tension between us and your countess, but Mamma and I were so caught up with keeping Alexandria away from the vile speculation of society we made little effort to call upon her more often. We have been selfish.”
And the fierce pride of his countess would have had her remain aloof. Sweet Christ, how silly they all had been. “I reviled her for the actions of another, for I thought she was party to the blackmail. In my unguarded moments, I may have shown that I wanted her, but I kept myself from her for six years. She is not of a mind to forgive me, and I find I want to know the woman who is my wife if she will give me a chance.”
Hetty’s eyes softened. “I gather she is unwilling?”
“Very.”
“It is not like you to be deterred.”
“I am not.”
Hetty laughed. “Then I wish you all the good luck. Your wife never struck me as the biddable type. In fact, the few occasions I have met her I had cause to admire her. I thought her daring and original, and it was a pity we were not great friends. I’ve always wanted a sister. I daresay it is time for you to win over your countess.”
…
A ball was to be held.
A heady feeling of fear and anticipation scythed through Daphne, for she’d never hosted a ball as the Countess of Carrington. Once she had decided she would host one this season, Daphne had thrown herself into organizing what had already been dubbed the most anticipated ball of the season with Georgiana’s help. In a little over a week, dozens of invitations had been sent out, and the scandal sheet had thought her ball, which was to be held in three weeks’ time, a most noteworthy event.
She’d been quite aware that by that time their eight-week arrangement would be over, and something new would be beckoning on the horizon, and for the first time in a long time she felt uncertain of what she truly wanted.
Her husband had seemed a bit bemused by the frantic level of activity at their townhouse. She did not like to dwell on the fact that there seemed to be some distance in his eyes whenever they spoke or dined together. She had concluded it must be the letters, and it hurt somewhere deep inside, a place that she had thought numb, that he would believe she had them.
Redgrave and her brother believed she had the awful information her father used to blackmail Sylvester, and they wanted it. She would blister Henry’s ears when she saw him. How dare he conspire against her husband? But then, why wouldn’t he? How often had she lamented to her dear brother about how wretched her marriage had been?
Hence, almost two weeks after the botched kidnapping, Daphne traveled to Hampstead to visit her childhood ho
me. Jenkins, Seaview Manor’s butler, who had been with her family since she was a child, took her pelisse and bonnet. His kind eyes smiled before his lips did, and it felt wholly natural when he enfolded her in a hug.
“Pardon the impertinence, your ladyship,” he said gruffly, releasing her. “It is a right pleasure to see you.”
It struck Daphne that she hadn’t been back to the manor since her marriage. She’d visited her brother at his townhouse in Mayfair, but she hadn’t returned here, where all the memories lingered, the good and the bad. “I’m quite happy to return to Seaview Manor for a brief spell, Jenkins. Is my brother at home? I haven’t sent word I was coming down.”
Instead, she’d had Letty order the carriage to be ready and had departed without informing her husband. He had been knee-deep in papers with his secretary and man of affairs for several hours and would hardly miss her presence.
“His lordship is in his study. Mrs. Blake was about to send in a tray. Shall I inform her to send two?”
“That would be lovely, Jenkins, but let me see if I can coax him out for luncheon.”
She advanced to the study. Daphne hadn’t seen her brother much in town this season and the few letters she had sent him had been unanswered. Arriving at the study, she knocked, then opened the door when he bid her entry.
“Daphne!” He surged from his chair, appearing pleasantly shocked. “You should have told me you were coming. I’d have had your room prepared.”
He made his way over and hugged her briefly before leading her to a sofa covered in yellow damask silk. It had been a favorite of their mother’s, and a sweet piercing emotion clogged her throat as the memory of being curled into her mother’s side as she read their favorite stories.
Henry lowered himself beside her. It was then she observed how tired he seemed, and quite a bit out of sorts. His dark blond hair was unkempt, and there were lines of strain around his mouth, and eyes so very much like hers appeared worried. He’d always considered himself a man of fashion and elegance, and this level of dishabille was disconcerting. “Are you well, Henry? You seem out of sorts.”
“I am not feeling quite myself at the moment.”