Page 5 of The Damsel
“Why has this happened? How … how have we lost them all?”
He turned his gaze up to hers, seeking answers but finding none. Her eyes were dark and hard, all the warmth he usually found there snuffed out by grief.
“I do not know why,” she said, her voice rough and tortured. “But, I am thankful we ever had them at all, when there was a time none of you existed. You see, even in the midst of my pain, God has seen fit to smile upon me.”
His face contorted into something like disbelief as he swiped his sleeve over his damp face. “How can you say that? He took them from us, all of them!”
She knelt beside him upon the floor, urging him to lean against her as he went on sniffling and trying to get himself under control. He had always been the one to comfort her, to bring her flowers and make her smile through her grief. But, just now he did not have the strength. So, this time, she held him and kissed his brow and did her best to reassure him in a way she never had.
“I can say that because you are still here,” she murmured. “My dear, sweet boy. He made you special for a reason … because He knew I would need you when all was said and done. He might have taken Andrew, and Jonas, and William … and I may never understand why. His ways are mysterious to us. But as long as I have you, I can survive.” He wrapped an arm around her and held tight, unable to respond with words. She held him back, trembling as if afraid he might slip away from her any moment.
“It’s going to be all right,” she whispered. “All will be well as long as we are together.”
Chapter 1
LONDON, 1819
The Honourable Mr. Robert Stanley stood beside his barouche, watching the other carriage speed down the dark road. As it drew farther away, his heart began to sink, dropping deeper into his middle with every mile that separated him from the woman inside. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his greatcoat, he sighed. He barely registered the chill, or the wind mussing his hair. As he watched another man make off with the love of his life, all he felt was a deep, resounding grief.
His fingers brushed against something cold and hard, so he took hold of it and pulled it free. An enormous sapphire in a gold setting— a family heirloom passed down by generations of Stanleys—sat in his palm. The sight of the ring meant for the woman he’d hoped would become his wife only made the sensation in his gut worse. Now, along with the heavy weight of his heart, a churning maelstrom had begun, making him feel as if he’d be torn apart from the inside.
When he’d taken himself over to Fairchild House this morning, Robert had been aware of the risks. Five years ago—or even one year ago—he would have approached proposing to Lady Daphne Fairchild with far more optimism. She’d been his friend since they were children, and in adulthood they had become lovers of a sort. While seeking privacy in the stretch of woods separating her family estate from his, they’d indulged in their carnal urges—Robert teaching her the sort of pleasure her untouched body could enjoy, Daphne engaging him with a sort of curiosity and passion that had enraptured him. They’d kissed and touched while smothering the sounds of their rapture, but he had always pulled back for fear of losing his head and ruining her.
Because, it had been the honorable thing to do and if there was one thing he’d always wanted, it was to live up to the title preceding his name. He was a gentleman, after all, and while he had never dreamed he might someday inherit the barony, he had always been aware of who his father was and what that meant. He'd also thought he stood in the perfect position to make Daphne his in truth someday, so had been content to bide his time.
He’d been courtly and polite and understanding. He’d been honest about the depths of his affections at all times, knowing she’d never care for aloofness in a man. And when he thought he would die from needing to be inside her, he’d taken himself off to the first whore with red hair he could find. None of them could ever match her in beauty, but if he focused on the parts of them that were like shadows of her, it would prove enough to help him keep a handle on his urges when in her presence.
It had brought him no end of guilt to lay with whores when his heart belonged to her. But, he’d have done anything to keep from ruining her before they’d been wed. It had felt like the right thing to do, taking the edge off his urges so he could keep himself in check whenever they were together. Once she was his wife, she’d be the only woman he’d want to touch ever again.
When she’d reached the age of her coming out, Robert had sensed she was not ready to wed, and so—true to form—he had done the noble thing. He’d withheld his proposal and stood back while she went off to London for her first Season. If what she wanted was to experience more of the world outside their little corner of Suffolk, then she deserved that much. Perhaps she’d even find she preferred the city and they would live there together after he’d made her his wife.
Idealistic dreams of appearing in London on a whim and winning her once and for all had sustained him in the years separating them. He’d been so certain of their destiny, and had convinced himself that they were fated to end up together. Nothing could stop that, not even a brief time apart. When the moment was right, Lady Daphne Fairchild would be his.
Except, when they’d finally found their way back to each other, someone else had already set himself firmly between them. The one person with the power to destroy the future he had thought to be set in stone.
Lord Adam Callahan, Earl of Hartmoor.
The man had cast his spell over Daphne, and while Robert had tried to convince himself that what the two shared could only be carnal, he’d been forced to face the truth. Hartmoor loved Daphne. That much had been proven when the earl had come to Robert only a few weeks prior, asking a favor of him.
“I am leaving London,” he had told Robert while sitting in the small drawing room of his bachelor’s lodgings in Town. “Daphne will not be coming with me.”
That had come as a surprise, as the man had struck Robert as quite possessive, his obsession with Daphne obvious to anyone who paid even the slightest bit of attention.
“I see. Forgive me, my lord, but I’m afraid I do not understand.”
“I do not like you, Mr. Stanley. I think you weak and simpering … a milksop still latched onto his mother’s teat.”
He’d flinched, but said nothing, as he’d been well aware that Hartmoor thought these things of him. He might have said he found the earl to be crass and ill-mannered, that he was a conscienceless beast who'd preyed upon his Daphne in her hour of need, and that he wasn’t fit to lick the soles of her boots ... but he refrained. Firstly, because the man was built like an oak tree and while Robert wasn’t a small man he also was not daft enough to think he could survive being on the other end of Hartmoor’s fists. Secondly, because he was still curious about why the man had come to him without provocation.
“But,” the earl added. “You are as honorable a man as any I’ve ever known. You come from a good family and you have wealth, which means you can provide well for a wife. Most of all, you love Daphne. Do you not?”
Now more confused than ever, Robert hadn’t known how to respond to the backhanded compliments other than to say, “Well, yes, of course.”
Hartmoor had studied him in silence for a while, his gaze both assessing and intimidating. Had he been born small of stature, he would still seem a force to be reckoned with. That searing stare alone was enough to make any man feel two inches tall.
“You should give Daphne a bit more time … a few weeks, perhaps. Then, with me out of the way, you will be free to pursue her again. Ask her to marry you, beg her if you must.”
Robert had frowned, his mind spinning as he’d tried to make sense of it all. This man had taken Daphne as a lover, ruining her in the eyes of society before casting her aside. Then, he’d followed her to London and publicly made her his mistress. Despite all that, the woman still seemed to care for him. Robert would be willing to bet she’d have Hartmoor as her husband despite all that.
