And the Miss Ran Away With the Rake(77)

It gave her shivers, as if to tell her to pay attention to this man. But that was madness. For certainly her reasons—disliking old, mangy costumes and overdone Aphrodites—could hardly be the same reasons as his. And just to test her theory, she asked as casually as she might, “What are your reasons?”

“Graying matrons done up as Aphrodite and some old costume my sister thinks will be ‘divine’ on me but instead smells like a horse blanket.”

Daphne cringed. Oh, good heavens. Truly, how many times did she have to tell herself that she and Lord Henry held nothing in common, only to have that dratted man prove her wrong?

Or right.

She wasn’t too sure which it was.

Before he could say more, Lady Juniper came bustling out. “There you are, Henry. Good heavens, you’ll end up being the Nave of Hearts if you don’t go in there and claim a costume.” Suddenly she spied Daphne at his side and her brows rose slightly. It was clear on her face that while she might be the widow of Lord Juniper, she was a Seldon at heart.

Her? What the devil are you doing with a Dale?

But if anything, Lady Juniper held good manners in high regard, and she whisked the shock off her face to say in a polite, albeit a bit strained, fashion, “Yes, well, there you are, Miss Dale. The ladies are choosing their costumes across the hall in the morning room. The light is better in there.” She pointed the way, but her strained expression seemed more inclined to pointing toward the front door, which opened to the driveway, which joined the road back to London.

But before the lady could do more, there was a clamor inside the morning room, and she had to rush off to solve yet another emergency.

Daphne went to follow, but Lord Henry caught her by the arm.

“You have no intention of telling me who you were waiting for, do you?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Then so be it,” he said. But instead of letting her go, he pulled her closer. “But know that I think whoever he is, he’s a demmed lucky fellow if he’s won your heart.” He bowed over her hand and placed a lingering kiss on her fingertips. Then having released his grasp and flashed a smoldering glance, not unlike the one from last night—the one that had left her trembling—he disappeared into the ballroom.

And left her alone. To find her Dishforth.

Then suddenly he was back at her side. “You had best leave Mr. Muggins out here in the hall,” he told her.

“Why?” Daphne felt as she always did when he arrived at her side . . . a little taken aback. Just as she had the first moment she’d laid eyes on him.

“As I recall, my mother had a particular costume she loved—a water sprite, I think it was, but the hemline is done in blue feathers.” Then he leaned over and whispered, “If you find it, offer it to Miss Nashe.”

And then her Lancelot was gone. Yet again.

Offer it to Miss Nashe.

Daphne pressed her lips together as she walked into the morning room. Why that wretched, awful man! How devilish of him to put such a notion in her head.

But demmed if she didn’t take a quick, furtive glance around the room for just that gown. The one with the feathered hem.

Better that than consider what else Lord Henry had just said.

But know that I think whoever he is, he’s a demmed lucky fellow if he’s won your heart.

She couldn’t help herself; she looked over her shoulder. Whatever did he mean by that?

Had he been teasing her, like he had when he’d suggested she offer the feathered costume to Miss Nashe?

Or had he meant every word?

But before she could consider anything else, Harriet and Tabitha came bounding forward and towed her across the room, the entire space awash in gowns and props and splashes of color. The other ladies were holding up velvet gowns made for a princess, fairy gowns of changeable silk that shimmered in the light, and gaudy ensembles that spoke of the gilded times from the previous century.

“We saved the best costume for you,” Harriet told her, guiding her past the others, including Miss Nashe and her mother, who appeared affronted by the meager choices left them.

“I must confess, we came down early and hid it before Miss Nashe arrived,” Tabitha said, her eyes dancing with mirth. “This costume is perfect, and I wasn’t about to let her wear it.”

Daphne made a note to mention to her old friend that just because she was marrying a Seldon, she needn’t take on their mischievous ways. But it wasn’t until they got to the far corner and Harriet dug the dress out from beneath a pile of silks and brocades that Daphne became convinced that Tabitha had utterly forgotten her vicarage roots.