She shrugged, taking on a look of playfulness once again. “Maybe. Maybe not.” Apparently, their tense moment from beside the stream was behind them now. Good.
“Oh, come on,” he nudged her shoulder. “You can’t even tell me that much about yourself?”
“I’d rather not.”
“Why? Afraid I’m accumulating ways to rid myself of you that don’t include giving you my fortune?”
Daphney looked toward her boot. “As I told you last night—I think it would be better if you did not confuse Daphney’s story with mine.” A single lock of hair slipped from behind her ear. Having to practice more restraint than he would have thought, he resisted the urge to brush it back from her soft face.
“As remarkable as it sounds, I am both ruggedly handsome and intelligent enough to compartmentalize information.”
She almost smiled. “Well…you are one of those things at least.” Her eyes peeked up from below thick lashes. “But I’m not going to tell you which one.”
“Why, Miss Bellows,” he said with a grin, “are you flirting with me?”
She shrugged again, something he was beginning to recognize as a nervous gesture. “I’m just getting into character. Your family will expect to see a certain amount of attraction between us, after all.”
His brows lifted as well as the tempo of his heart. “Will they now?”
Friendly balance.
She laughed. A glorious, beautiful sound. “You look the very picture of a rake when you do that.”
“So what you’re saying is, I was convincing in my role as Lord Newburry.”
She angled her face toward him, leaned her head back against the tree and tucked her hands behind her back. His eyes instinctively traced the lines of her pale pink lips. They were so close to him. “No,” she said. “That’s what confused me. Even when trying to play the part I could tell there was something about you that was inherently…good.” Would she still think that if she could read his thoughts right now?
He cleared his throat and turned so that his back rested against the tree and he was no longer facing her taunting lips. “If only my old governess could hear you now. She might regret having resigned from her post due to my having been a horrible child.”
Daphney sputtered a laugh. “Really? What was it you did that was so horrible?” This time it was her shoulder that moved to rest against the tree. Her lovely scent carried on the breeze and he breathed it in. Did she realize her hair had begun to slip from its pins? He could tell by the bits that were already flying in the wind that she had beautiful, wavy hair. What would it look like loose?
“Hmm?” He blinked, forgetting what they had even been talking about. Your ugly old governess! “Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Nothing so extravagant that warranted the title of ‘horrible child.’ Just the usual larks a schoolboy is inclined to play.”
“Which are?” she asked with lifted brows. “I spent most of life on the streets. I’m afraid that has left me completely ignorant to the ‘larks a schoolboy is inclined to play,’” she stated, as though his history were the more shocking between the two of them.
He wanted to linger. He wanted to know more. How had she ended up on the streets? Had she ever known her parents? But her expression was unguarded at the moment and he knew that the minute he started asking questions her walls would fly back up. Tucking his questions into his pocket for another time, he revisited memories of his crusty old governess.
“Let’s see,” he looked up and squinted at the sky. “Of course, there was the frequent bit of pepper in her tea, the occasional frog in her bed, worms in her boots, gluing the pages of her textbooks shut,” he made a thinking noise, “oh, and the time I recruited one of my female friends to sew the bottom hem of Miss Blaine’s Sunday dress shut.” Claire hated that craggy old Miss Blaine just as much as Carver did, so she had been happy to help. In the end, it worked out just as they had hoped. Miss Blaine could no longer abide the larks and packed her bags.
“Oh, is that all?” said Daphney, her eyes dancing. “A horrible little brat indeed! I kne
w street urchins more well-mannered than you.”
He laughed, relishing the lightness he felt when Daphney was near.
“Were you punished for any of it?” she asked.
“Not nearly as much as I should have been. Of course, my mother gave me a famous scolding, but I honestly think she despised the governess as much as we did. She would never have admitted it but I think she was thankful to see the woman go without her having to be the one to send her off. Mother despises confrontation.”
“I can see that. She seems to be a very warm and tender lady.” Daphney’s voice sounded almost sad.
“She is.”
“And what about your father? Was he angry?”
“Very little.” Carver couldn’t remember his father ever growing very angry. Reiterating what Mother had said, yes. Enforcing Mother’s edicts that he write his governess an apology letter, yes. But never really becoming upset or raising his voice. “He has always been a very gentle and understanding father.”
Guilt pinched him. His father had never been anything but kind and attentive. Even when his father had dozens of important things to get done in a day, he never failed to set it all aside and give his children his full attention when they needed it. And in return, for the past three years, Carver had pushed him away. He had pushed everyone away, but especially his father. When he looked into the man’s eyes, he was transported back to that day. Back to hearing his father utter the words that had ruined Carver’s life. Claire had an accident. She’s gone.