And the Miss Ran Away With the Rake(36)

Forgotten, Daphne would have told him most emphatically.

I am under an obligation to leave Town and will not be back for a month, perhaps longer. I am to attend a house party in the country. Please, after last night, if you are still inclined to correspond with me, address your letters to Owle Park, Kent, . . .

Daphne sucked in a deep breath. Owle Park?

“What is it?” Cousin Phi begged, squinting down at the page.

“He is going to the wedding.”

“He is going to be married?” Her cousin straightened, clearly outraged and ready to pitch herself headlong into a plot to exact revenge.

Daphne reached over and pulled her back. “No, no! He is going to a wedding.” Then, remembering where she was, she lowered her voice. “Tabitha’s wedding.”

Phi paused as she made all the connections, then her mouth fell open. “Dear heavens!”

“Whatever am I to do? Mother has forbidden me from going. Aunt Damaris said she will have me removed from the family annals if I even consider attending.”

Cousin Phi straightened. Then she said something that shocked Daphne right down to her boots. “There is nothing left for you to do but go. You must.”

Had Cousin Phi just urged her to go to the wedding? A Seldon wedding?

“How do I dare?” Daphne whispered.

Phi leaned closer. “If you had met Mr. Dishforth, as I have, you wouldn’t even ask that question.”





Chapter 5



Does it matter what is on the outside, when there is a heart beating inside, a soul full of longing as it waits to discover its own grand passion?

Found in a letter from Mr. Dishforth to Miss Spooner




Owle Park, Surrey

A sennight later

Henry came down the main staircase early for breakfast. More to the point, before the rest of the guests arose. Benley would have the newly arrived London papers at the ready for him, and he could eat his kippers and eggs in peace.

Which would be difficult to find—solitude, that is—in the next fortnight, what with Owle Park overflowing with guests. Carriages had arrived in a steady stream the previous day and late into the night, the last-minute guests hurrying to stake their claim at what gossip columns were calling “the only house party of note.”

Thus, no one had turned down an invitation.

Especially since the engagement ball—specifically the supper dance, or that “scandalous dance,” as it had been dubbed. One night and he’d become an object of speculation and gossip, a position for which he was ill-fitted.

That had always been Preston’s role in the family, not Henry’s. But now that the duke had become utterly respectable with his engagement to Miss Timmons, the curious had pinned their avid interest on Henry.

And all because of her. That demmed Miss Dale.

Not that Henry didn’t feel a bit of guilt over all of it. Perhaps he had provoked her.

Ever-so-slightly.

Still, there was no arguing that her flight from the dance floor had put a crown on his head as the most Seldon of all Seldons, and there was just no removing it—not if the invitations that had suddenly flooded the foyer at Harley Street afterward were any indication. Offers, vouchers and notes from ladies—married and otherwise. All addressed to Lord Henry Seldon.

Not Preston. Not Hen. Him.

Apparently a man who inspired such wrath from a lady demanded a closer inspection.

Overnight, he’d become London’s most notorious rake.

Henry didn’t realize it, but he’d come to a stop on the landing, and one of the newly hired maids scuttled past him, all wide-eyed and curious, as if she were viewing such a creature for the first time.

A rake!

He felt like calling after her, “Boo!”

Instead, he shook his head and continued down the steps, the house around him silent at this unfashionable hour, save for the whispered movements of the servants as they readied the house for the day’s activities.

Which he would have to take part in—at Hen and Preston’s insistence. Penance, he supposed, for the debacle at the engagement ball.

He would have been much happier to have stayed in Town and come down the day before the wedding and then return to London immediately after, but no, now that he’d become the latest on dit there had been naught to do but flee to the country.

At least Owle Park afforded him one benefit. No Miss Dale.

That thought should have been some comfort to him, but it only showed that the impudent, wretched bit of muslin continued to invade his thoughts. What with her winsome smiles, her bright eyes and fair features.