Page 16 of The Dove
Equal parts relief and disappointment flooded her upon waking up alone.
Now, the sun had risen, and she could not rest, no matter how exhausted she was from lack of sleep. So, she had left the bed and dressed, determined to carry on with her day—with her life. However, as she settled into her seat at the head of the small dining room table, waiting for a footman to pour her tea, Adam’s words from the night before echoed through her mind.
I came for you, little dove.
She could not fathom why. They’d had an agreement and had both met their ends of the bargain. It did not matter that she’d begun to see him as a victim instead of a villain—that she’d begun to understand him in a way she suspected few people did. Nor was it of any consequence that her heart had softened toward him, so much so, that by the end of their time together, she’d begun to think …
No, she could not do this to herself yet again. Shewould notfall prey to delusion. Adam had made it clear the morning of her departure that he had finished with her.
If that were the case, then why was he here?
I came for you, little dove.
Blinking, she glanced down to find that the footman had not only poured her tea, but placed a plate arrayed with offerings she was known to like in front of her. All while she’d sat woolgathering like some cotton-headed fool. Glancing up to find the man now standing in the corner of the room like a sentinel, she gave him a tentative smile.
“Thank you.”
The footman nodded at her, but did not speak, nor did he return her smile. Sighing, she turned her attention back to her breakfast. She could not hide from him forever, but she would take this day to recover before going out, prepared to confront Adam once again. This time, she would make it perfectly clear that if he’d come to London for her, he might as well pack his bags and return to Dunnottar. She did not appreciate him turning up without warning and attempting to upend her life.
That decided, she helped herself to toast and tea, lamenting that she was not enjoying Mrs. Russel’s flaky scones. She made do, and ate her fill while perusing a copy of theMorning Post.She had just polished off her second cup of tea when another footman entered the room, bustling over to the butler, who stood watch near the sideboard. The two whispered in hushed tones for a moment, before the butler turned to Daphne, clearing his throat.
“Pardon me, my lady, but there is a caller.”
She gestured for him to approach the table, and he obeyed, extending a calling card to her. Her throat constricted when she laid eyes upon the name etched onto the card in elegant cursive.
Lord Bertram Fairchild.
She had not seen her brother since the night she had returned to London and made her way to the flat he shared with their father. Memories of that night, of the moment she had looked her brother in the eye and seen him for who he truly was, made her stomach churn.
“Shall we show him the door, my lady?” Rowney asked when she did not immediately respond.
Shaking her head, she forced her limbs into motion and slid her chair back from the table. “No. You may show him into the drawing room, and I will be there directly. And, Rowney?”
“Yes, my lady?”
“He is not to be served refreshment,” she declared. “He will not be staying long.”
“Of course, my lady.”
The butler left, the footman trailing after him. Taking a deep breath, she smoothed a stray strand of hair back from her face. While she refused to cower and hide, she did not relish this visit. Three months had passed since her return to London … three months since the night she’d written off her father and brother forever, vowing to herself that they would never see so much as a ha’penny from her. Nor would she become a part of their so-called ‘family’ ever again. If it had been within her power to change her surname, she would have. She wanted nothing to do with either him or her father, and she intended to tell him so right now.
Squaring her shoulders, she swept from the room, determined to keep her composure no matter how much she might wish to assault him. Attacking him would accomplish nothing, and besides, her brother had already paid for his sins—continued to pay for them as his reputation sank further and further into the gutter.
Entering the drawing room, she pulled the door closed behind her, not wanting servants listening in. When she glanced up, it was to find her brother lingering near one of the windows, staring out at the street. Daphne folded her hands before her and cleared her throat to gain his attention.
For a moment—at the exact second he turned away from the window and the light of the sun enveloped him from behind—he looked like the young man she’d known and loved. The charmer who could turn a stranger into a dear friend with nothing more than a smile. The person who had seemed to understand her better than anyone else. His hair glowed the same auburn shade as hers, and he cut a dashing figure in his morning coat and breeches, his form long and lean.
But then, she blinked, and he began to approach. The light that had clung to him receded, and the true Bertram showed his face. She almost gasped at the ghastly sight he made—pale, gaunt, blue eyes lifeless and surrounded by dark circles. His hair stood on end and did not hold the same luster it once had. A figure that had once been lean and sinewy now seemed downright emaciated. His clothing was threadbare, his coat a few more wears away from needing patches, his boots scuffed and worn.
If it weren’t for the things she knew he had done, she might have pitied him. Instead, a part of her was a satisfied as a cat after a saucer of cream. Seeing what Adam had reduced him to brought a smirk to one corner of her mouth.
“Bertram,” she said coolly, inclining her head at him. “How may I help you this morning?”
Scraping a hand through his disheveled hair, he scoffed. “Well, good morning to you, too. Is this how you greet your brother?”
A bark of sarcastic laughter came out before she could stop it. “Brother? I have no brother.”
“Dash it all, Daff,” he snapped. “Must you always be so bloody dramatic? I realize you are angry with me, but that is no reason—”
