Page 11 of Romancing Daphne

“The warmer weather of Town is . . . is a welcome change after the long winters of Northumberland,” she said.

Had her very first sentence really been a comment on the weather, and a broken, inarticulate one at that? He was bound to think her an imbecile now.

“Lancashire is not particularly warm during the winter months either.”

He hadn’t laughed at her. That was encouraging.

“You seem to prefer Lancashire to London.” That was a better topic of discussion. He would at the very least realize she had paid attention during their conversation the day before. And the comment had emerged whole. That was an accomplishment.

A moment passed before he replied, his attention focused on maneuvering the carriage around a cart on one side of the street and a carriage moving in the opposite direction on the other. The vendor who tended the cart watched them rather closely as they passed. A touch too closely, in fact.

“My mother’s health has been poor for many years,” he said when they had successfully passed the obstacles.“I worry for her when I am away. Likewise, my brother remains on his estate a great deal of the time—also in Lancashire—and I sorely miss his company while I am in Town.”

A note of longing threaded through his words. Daphne glanced at him as they continued at a subdued pace. She understood loneliness. Perhaps he would appreciate knowing she did. She was not, however, ready to confess that she felt alone most of the time. Her father had begun rejecting her company when she was still very young. She had tried again and again to convince him to allow her a space in his life, but to no avail. One did not endure such personal and repeated dismissals without a great many scars. She would not, however, speak of that. His opinion of her would be rendered decidedly low if he knew her own father had not cared overly much for her. An accounting of her siblings was a far safer topic.

“My sister Athena and her family do not come to—They do not travelfrom their home often,” she said,“and I miss my brothers as well.”

“I did not realize you had brothers.” James glanced briefly at her beforereturning his attention to the increasingly busy street.

She nodded.“Linus is in the navy.”

He looked over at her once more, his gaze lingering.

She had to turn her gaze away, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. He would probably like her better if he did not study her overly much.

“You said you had brothers. How many others are there?” he asked.

“One other: Evander. He—” Her throat closed up a touch. Speaking of her siblings had not proven a harmless subject after all. Thoughts of Evander did not always affect her as they had in the first few years afterTrafalgar. What a time for her emotions to take hold once more. Sheprayed her voice would remain level.“He was killed at the Battle of Trafalgar.” Her voice broke as she forced out the wordkilled.

Evander had meant the world to her. Of all the members of her family, only he had never been too busy to notice a lonely child desperate for affection. After leaving for the navy, he had regularly sent her letters in addition to those addressed to the family as a whole. She had lived for those letters. She would read them again and again until the creases wore through. He had been her reassurance that she mattered to someone. His death had torn her to pieces, fragments of which remained unhealed and broken still.

“I am sorry for your loss,” James said.

Dear heavens, she was very nearly crying in front of James Tilburn.What a ridiculous impression she must have been making. Not only could she not seem to produce an unbroken sentence, but she was turning into a watering pot too.“Forgive me.” She blinked away a tear threatening toform in her eyes.“I do not always grow so emotional when speaking of him.”

“I assure you, Miss Lancaster, there is nothing to forgive. Were I, heaven forbid, to lose my brother, I doubt I would ever fully recover.”

James carefully tooled his way into the mad crush of carriages and horses descending on Hyde Park. The outing had not yet proven disastrous. She was keeping up her end of a conversation. He did not seem utterly bored with her. A smile tugged at Daphne’s lips even as she felt warmth creep into her cheeks.

She had worried for hours on end over the reason for James’s call the day before. Adam, she feared, had forced the call despite insisting he’d merely suggested it. But James didn’t act like someone being bullied into spending time with a young lady. He’d asked her to take a ride with him without any noticeable prodding from her brother-in-law. She had reason to hope James enjoyed her company.

“Hyde Park is busy this afternoon,” he said. “A sure sign the Season has truly begun.”

Daphne nodded, glancing around at the others who had ventured out for the promenade. “I have never been at the park during the fashionable hour. My sister and brother-in-law prefer to avoid crowds.”

“I cannot say I blame them. With the Season in full swing, the madness of this undertaking boggles the mind.”

Daphne would gladly endure even the most crowded days in the parksimply to sit beside James Tilburn as she was. She’d wanted for so longto know him better. “Do you often come for the promenade?”

He nodded. “Often enough to know that this is Mrs. Bower and her daughter approaching in their carriage. Have you met them?”

Daphne’s pulse quickened dreadfully, as it always did at the prospect of meeting new people. “I have not.”

“I would be happy to make the introduction, if you would like. Thisis also Miss Bower’s first Season, and I believe the two of you are of an age.”

Her first inclination was a quick and decided refusal. But that would make her even more ridiculous than she likely seemed, having admitted to never before entering Hyde Park during the daily crush. “Yes, please,” she managed with some degree of believability.

He brought the carriage to a very gentle stop. The approaching carriage did the same. A matron in a bonnet with so wide a brim as to cover her face entirely sat on the far end. Closer to James’s carriage sat a young lady who looked shockingly like two of Daphne’s sisters: flawless complexion, beautiful golden curls, and a figure that would have inspired even the pickiest of sculptors. How horribly dowdy Daphne must have appeared in comparison, with her drab-brown hair and alarmingly colorless complexion. She had a figure, but only just.

---