Page 21 of The Lady in Pearls
“Not to me. My mother was the daughter of a duke, but she married down for love. I think I’m more like her than my father, at times. I care little about thetonand it’s love of rank. It always seemed a silly thing to me.”
“Oh?” He stiffened at the mention of the man who had unknowingly brought them together.
“Yes. I love my father, but he was focused on advancing our position in society. I believe he felt he had to earn his place to make up for my mother marrying down, but he became addicted to his social climb. It was very lonely growing up with him after my mother died.”
Her quiet words cut through the anger that usually filled him when that man was mentioned. But to hear about him through her eyes, the rage vanished. She, too, had lost someone she’d loved.
“How old were you when she passed?”
“I was eleven. She was fine one minute and the next, she had a bad headache. She went to sleep after tea and never woke up. It was her heart that failed, according to the doctor.” She looked down at her feet. “I cried for weeks. I still miss her.”
Lachlan pulled her close as he pictured her waiting for her mother to wake up, and how frightened and grief stricken she must have been when she didn’t.
“I...” She hesitated as they reached the steps. She tucked her rose branch under one arm then lifted something from the pocket of her gown and held it out. When she uncurled her fingers, he saw a string of pearls coiled on her palm.
“These were my mother’s. It’s all I could save when the Court took my house to pay the victims of my father’s crimes.” Her voice wavered on the last word, but when she raised her head to look at him, fierce pride gleamed in her eyes.
“You don’t wear them?” he asked, surprised at her humility.
“No. They’re too precious for that. I couldn’t even part with them for food and water when…” She couldn’t finish her sentence.
“When you were living on the streets?” There was a time he would have taken a dark pleasure at the idea of her on the streets, cold, hungry, alone and endangered. But now the thought filled him with a hard rage, almost as suffocating as the hatred he bore for her father.
“Wear them tomorrow for the wedding,” he ordered. “I want to see them on you.”
“But—” she started to protest, but he placed a finger to her lips.
“Please. I insist. For your mother’s sake. No doubt she would have wanted you to wear them.”
“They won’t look fetching with my plain white gown.”
Regret prickled his insides, because he’d insisted that he didn’t want her to have a fancy wedding trousseau.
“We could have the modiste return…”
“No,” she replied. “You wanted simple, and simple I shall be.” She tucked the pearls back into her gown pocket. She let go of his arm as he met a groom at the steps of the house. She did not wait for him, nor did she look his way as she entered the house alone, her head held high.
If he ever doubted she was the granddaughter of a Duke, that moment alone would’ve proven him wrong. And damned if the picture didn’t make him smile.
Chapter Seven
Daphne trembled as she gazed at herself in the full-length mirror. Her new maid had helped her dress in her lovely but simple purple evening gown. Would it be good enough to please Lachlan? He’d claimed he didn’t want a fancily dressed wife, but that didn’t stop her from wanting to look pleasing. His friend Cameron McLeod and his new wife Eliza had arrived for dinner and Daphne couldn’t shake the feeling that they would be studying her closely, measuring her to see if she made a suitable match for their friend.
“You look lovely, my lady. Truly.” Mary sighed dreamily. “Purple complements your fair skin.”
Daphne pressed a hand to her cheek, trying to see the beauty Mary spoke of. She had to admit, she did look...better. Two months of scraps had left her gaunt and feeling worn in ways she hadn’t been prepared for. Having a warm bed and regular meals had been more than a relief, it had been restorative.
I am finally safe, I finally have a home.
Her eyes suddenly burned and she closed them, fighting her emotions.
Mary touched her shoulder, giving her a gentle squeeze. “My lady? Are you all right?”
She cleared her throat. “Yes. I am. ’Tis nerves, is all. I’m anxious about meeting Mr. McLeod and his wife.”
Mary grinned. “There’s no need to be nervous. Mr. McLeod is a perfect gentleman, especially toward the ladies. I suspect his Lordship will be the one in trouble.”
“Oh?” Daphne reached for the white elbow-length gloves that had been laid out across the bed’s coverlet.
