Page 64 of Ten Lords for the Holidays

Again.

Eurydice did not recall that fortnight between the news of their parents’ death andGrandmaman’s return from Bath, when uncertainty had filled young Daphne’s every moment. She was determined to never be so vulnerable again.

ButGrandmamangrew older and still Daphne wasn’t married.

Everything could change in a moment. She clutched the linens and wished again that her Christmas wish would come true.

It had been a long time since Daphne had vowed to take care of Eurydice forever, and perhaps her sister had forgotten the pledge. Daphne never would.

She had to marry well and soon.

Her wish had seemed to show promise when they’d unexpectedly encountered the Duke of Inverfyre—even more so when he watched her so intently—but his carriage had passed theirs that afternoon and they hadn’t seen him again.

Daphne had liked him, too. Surely the opportunity wasn’t lost forever?

Jenny’s cold had grown steadily worse as they journeyed south and Eurydice had a slight sniffle by the time they arrived. She’d gone to bed early and was still sleeping deeply in the room when Daphne’s dream awakened her.

Daphne stared at the ceiling and feared for the future.

She wished she was the clever one.

The one kind of tutelage to which Daphne took naturally was her grandmother’s instruction about the management of finances. She had expressed curiosity and her grandmother had explained, apparently thinking that a taste would suffice. But Daphne had been curious and more interested in following the path of money than conjugating German verbs. Their lessons had continued ever since, and it was Daphne who was summoned to help her grandmother with the accounts. She knew the sum of the inheritance left to herself and her sister, and recognized that it was a pittance.

Their grandfather had stipulated in his will that if he pre-deceased his wife, she might remain in the smaller house now known as the dower house for her lifetime. Of course, he had passed away before Daphne had been born, before even her father and heir to the estate had taken a wife. OnceGrandmamanpassed, Daphne and Eurydice would have no home, unless their cousin, the viscount, chose to be charitable in Lady North Barrows’ absence.

Daphne would rather be reliant upon a husband than a cousin, and thus she was resolved to marry for both money and title. Her sister thought this was a foolish whim, but it was an utterly practical choice.

Eurydice was right on one account: the titlewasa whim. Daphne didn’t truly need to be a duchess. People were more accepting of an ambition to marry a duke than one to wed a wealthy man—and she knew that her grandmother would never permit her to marry an untitled man, independent of his financial situation.

A duke with a fortune it would have to be.

Like the Duke of Inverfyre.

Who had ridden onward, as if he’d forgotten her.

In the night, with uncertainty lingering from her dream, all horrors seemed possible.

Daphne tossed and turned but could not go back to sleep.

At home, she often went to the kitchen after her nightmare.

Her belly growled, as if to encourage the idea.

Daphne rose and donned a robe. She debated the merit of ringing the bell, but knew that Jenny needed her sleep to battle that fearsome cold. She didn’t want to awaken Nelson or Eurydice either.

Surely no one would mind if she went to the kitchen here?

Surely it would ease her fears todosomething, rather than lie abed and fret?

Feeling very bold, she slipped out of their chamber and into the darkened hall. Castle Keyvnor was quiet and cool, filled with shadows. Daphne struck the flint when she was in the corridor and lit the candle she’d brought from the chamber.

The flame blew a little in a draft. Daphne put the flint in her pocket and cupped her hand around the flame, then hurried quietly down the hall.

It seemed the only sound was the rumbling of her stomach. She had a strange sense that she was being watched, which was ridiculous.

Daphne paused at the summit of the stairs, listened and felt her heart skip. Had that been a swishing sound behind her, like the swirling skirt of a taffeta dress?

Of course not. She continued a little more quickly.

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