And the Miss Ran Away With the Rake(57)

A Bath school offers a lady a chance to shine above all others, Miss Nashe had said, letting her gaze fall on the ladies who hadn’t had the privilege.

Which had singled out all the guests from Kempton. Save Lady Essex. But then again, Lady Essex had gone to her finishing school in the previous century. And not in Bath, but a perfectly respectable establishment in Tunbridge Wells, not that Daphne would expect Miss Nashe to agree.

“You could hardly miss Lord Henry,” Lady Essex said in her forthright manner. “He was clearly vying for your attentions.”

“Oh, yes, my dear,” Mrs. Nashe enthused. “And the Earl of Kipps couldn’t tear his gaze away from you.”

“You quite held every man’s attention, my dear,” Lady Clare said, a slight pinch to her nose as she said the words.

“They are all such excellent gentlemen,” Miss Nashe preened ever so slightly now that she had the notice of the entire room.

“Most excellent,” Lady Alicia echoed in fervent agreement.

Daphne glanced over to where Harriet and Tabitha stood, and then at the large vase of pink and white roses on the table beside them. Oh, wouldn’t Miss Nashe look so much better with a bit of a soaking?

Harriet glanced at the vase as well and covered her mouth to keep from laughing, while Tabitha gave a slight shake of her head. That would never do, Daphne.

Ever the vicar’s daughter was Tabitha.

But then again, Tabitha had stopped Daphne on more than one occasion from doing much the same thing—dashing something over a lady’s head. Make that most Thursdays, at the Kempton Society meeting, where the horribly well-to-do Miss Anne Fielding was always preening and prancing about Lady Essex’s salon, what with her new hat, or travels to Bath, or the well-appointed carriage her father had promised.

Daphne’s gaze narrowed as she measured this latest incarnation of her old nemesis. Either the room was not lit as well as it should have been, or good heavens, Miss Nashe bore a startling resemblance to Miss Fielding.

It was one of those moments that every lady of modest means and limited connections knew only too well.

When she realizes she is doomed to be surrounded by the Miss Fieldings and Miss Nashes and the rest of their ilk forever.

For there it was. Daphne’s Achilles’ heel. Raised a Dale on stories of her family’s lofty place in society, in England’s history, and yet . . . the Kempton Dales were hardly considered fashionable.

For the most part, they were overlooked and oft-forgotten.

Still, she’d come to London with such grand plans—and a bit of pin money her mother had set aside over the years. With a few new gowns, and the right introductions, she would find her chance to shine bright, to show one and all that she was a Dale worthy of recognition.

But in London she found herself shuttled to one side and then the other as just another girl from the country with no dowry and a lack of good connections.

Nor were her Dale relations much help. Whyever would Great-Aunt Damaris put Daphne forth when there were cousins aplenty with hefty dowries to dangle over Society?

The Daphnes and Phis of the family were left to wrestle for the affections of family leftovers, such as the Right Honorable Mr. Matheus Dale.

And while Daphne had spent most of her years dreaming of a lofty marriage to a man with an equally elevated income, it had taken Tabitha’s engagement to, of all people, the Duke of Preston to make her realize it wasn’t rank or money that made a good marriage.

Just one glance at how Preston looked at Tabitha quite stole one’s breath away.

Then along had come Mr. Dishforth, and Daphne had stopped worrying over her lack of dowry or connections. She could only hope that one day, when they met, he would look at her as if she was his entire world. Never mind that she was only poor Daphne Dale of the Kempton Dales, or that she came with naught but a hundred pounds; he would love her for who she was, who she dreamed of being.

Yet it was nigh on impossible not to feel that familiar stab of jealousy, that niggle of worry that Miss Nashe and her money would steal away the only thing she had left: the pending affections of Mr. Dishforth.

That didn’t seem so much to ask. Just to let her find her Dishforth.

Miss Nashe, now having moved to the very center of the room—for certainly someone in the corner might not be able to see her if she remained sitting on the settee—continued her discussion with Lady Essex on the virtues of the various gentlemen.

“What of Lord Astbury?” Lady Essex asked. “How lucky for you to be paired with him today. And to win so quickly. Why, it was almost as if he couldn’t wait to bring you back.”