A Lady Under Siege(56)
“I see.” Derek’s eyes showed a flicker of bewilderment. “Why didn’t you just tell me about that, right off the bat, instead of all the minor details first? Why *foot around?”
“I felt like I don’t know you well enough.” She wondered if she saw a tear at the corner of his eye. He brought a finger up to touch it. She herself felt like crying.
She looked at his smooth, honest face. He said, “It’s true. I found a great woman and I married her. And we had a lovely little girl. It’s not a secret I keep hidden, but I’m surprised you know about it.” His words, and the casual, matter-of-fact way he delivered them, left Meghan a little at a loss.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be sorry.” He stared at her evenly, with just a hint of defiance. “The wound has healed, Meghan. What you’re seeing are the scars.”
She had an instinct to comfort him, to touch his arm, but something in his eyes kept her at a distance.
“I’m going to go. I didn’t mean to invade your privacy and bring up things I probably have no right to know.”
“We’re neighbours,” he said. “If we ever became good neighbours you’d have heard about it eventually.”
“We can be good neighbours,” she said.
“Deal.”
She glanced at the medical books on the table, “You will look at these, won’t you? It would mean the world to me.”
“Sure. I will,” he said. “I’m still not sold, but I’m running out of plausible explanations for the things you tell me. So I’ll have a look, just to be on the safe side. If there’s a Thomas, he might learn something. I might too.”
27
Sylvanne was combing Daphne’s hair. She picked up the young girl’s long tresses and piled them atop her head. “I prefer my hair down, not up,” Daphne told her. “I have a neck like a stork, so I like to keep it cloaked.”
“But this is the neck of a swan,” Sylvanne disagreed. “How gracefully it curves from your bodice to your chin. Any handsome knight would fall off his horse at the sight of you.”
“You really think so?” asked the girl, blushing.
“Have you seen yourself in a looking glass lately? The little stork is growing into a lovely swan, for certain,” Sylvanne insisted.
“You’re thinking of that fable about a duckling who’s ugly.”
“I’m thinking of a pretty girl named Daphne.”
Sylvanne planted a sweet peck of a kiss on Daphne’s neck. Just at that moment Thomas entered, and saw it, and saw his daughter, dressed in day clothes, rise from her chair and come to him, radiant and beaming.
“Daddy, do you like my hair this way?” she asked, doing a little pirouette to show it off from all angles.
“I can honestly say I do,” he replied. “You’re looking quite the lady.”
“I wish I had some fancy soirees to attend,” she mused. “I wish I lived in the capital. I wish a prince would see me like this.”
“That’s three wishes,” Thomas said tenderly. “Don’t spend them so freely. Save one for getting well.”
“I am well,” Daphne insisted. “Sylvanne says I’m well enough to go riding, and I think we should all three go out on horseback together, this very day. This very minute! She’s been telling me all about the horses she kept when she was my age. Her father’s farm had two sturdy draught horses she brushed and fed, and rode them bareback in the summers. She had two, and I’ve never yet had one.”
Thomas glanced at Sylvanne. She smiled back at him discreetly. Her hair had been fashioned into one long braid, and pinned up, displaying her lovely neck to fine effect.
“If wishes were horses…” Thomas said dreamily. “Well, I suppose a horse is a reasonable wish for a girl. We’ll find you one.”
“Today?” Daphne cried.
“No, not today, but tomorrow I’ll put out word. There may even be something appropriate in my own stable, although offhand I can’t think of one. They’ve all been bred for warfare, I’m afraid. Very spirited bunch. You’ll need something gentler, a sweet old mare with a motherly streak.”
“But I want a spirited one,” Daphne demanded. “And it should be chestnut in colour, and bigger than a pony. Sylvanne says ponies are for girls, and I’m a young lady now.”