Page 61 of Barbarous

In any event, Hugh had had enough. He’d risen early and stayed out late and spent all the time he could stand in clubs, gaming establishments, and brothels. Until he had reliable information that Hastings was in London, Hugh would please himself. And pleasing himself meant seeing Daphne. Hugh was ravenous for her company. He needed to be with her, even if they only engaged in innocuous entertainments like sightseeing, meals, and bickering.

Hugh tossed aside the unopened invitations and went to stare out the window of his private study. He’d moved from his original suite of rooms to one overlooking the street. This location was noisier but he was able to keep an eye on things—specifically the crowds of gawkers and newspapermen that accreted wherever he was. Just as he had at Lessing Hall, he’d needed to hire men to keep the street clear. Ponsby had reported no disturbances in the house or its environs and Hugh wanted to keep it that way.

Hugh’s thoughts drifted back to Daphne. The constraint between them was his fault, and it made him want to smash things. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly; he just needed to be patient. He knew Mia was already attending ton functions; with any luck his silence would not have to go on for much longer.

As to what he and Daphne would do once she knew the truth? Well, what could they do? It made no difference to him whether they became social outcasts, but he could hardly expect her to feel the same, especially not when she had two young sons.

Hugh groaned. He’d never before experienced the particular brand of emotion he was feeling. Oh, he’d felt something similar on occasion, when he couldn’t get a woman out of his mind. But in the past, his obsessions had always been colored by the desire to get a particular woman into his bed. Not that he didn’t wish to get Daphne into his bed, because he wished that very much, but that wasn’t the entirety of what he wanted from her, or even the most compelling part. He’d enjoyed revisiting Lessing Hall with her and discussing the management of the property. He liked spending time with her sons, who were clever and charming and bursting with life. He liked their evenings together in the library, their chess games, their rides about the property, their—

He exhaled heavily. He wasn’t just obsessed with her, he was—

Hugh groaned and shoved a hand through his hair and propped himself up against the window frame, closing his eyes. He was behaving like a heartsick fool—because he was a heartsick fool.

He’d wait until this bloody ball was over, then he’d remove himself from Davenport House even if he could not yet leave England. He would continue his search for Hastings, but at a distance.

“Blast it all!” he cursed, pushing away from the window. It was not his way to be so self-sacrificing and civilized. If she did not have two small children, he would spirit her back to his ship, and make love to her until she agreed to—

The door to his chambers flew open and two small bodies barreled into the room.

“Hugh! Hugh!”

Hugh smiled down at them, his throat oddly tight. Why had he ever believed Daphne would be the only one he missed when he left England behind?

Chapter Fifteen

Daphne woke early; indeed, sleep had eluded her for most of the night. Today was the Thornehill ball, and tomorrow morning she would tell Hugh the truth. And then she would leave—she had already paid for seats on the next mail coach. She would have to arrange for their possessions to be brought to Yorkshire later. If she began packing now, Rowena would cause a fuss. In fact, Daphne feared the older woman’s reaction to her news more than her sons’.

Daphne scarcely recalled the house in Yorkshire. She had been to her grandfather’s property once, seven years ago, at Thomas’s urging when she’d inherited both the house and a moderate competence—the money she and the children would now use to live.

“Your grandfather was a great man, Daphne. There is no shame in deriving one’s wealth from hard work and ingenuity, no matter what many in our class might think. Don’t let Walter Hastings’s bitterness spoil that,” Thomas had cautioned her when she’d told him to sell it.

Thomas had been right, of course. The house was all Daphne had left of her coal baron grandfather’s fortune—most of which Walter Hastings had wasted. It was drafty, remote, and inhospitable, but it would be far enough from Lessing Hall and London that she could collect her wits and consider her future.

A knock on her study door pulled her back to the present.

Ponsby entered with a salver bearing a card: Sir Marcus Lawry.

“I do not recall a Sir Marcus Lawry.”

“He and the late earl were acquaintances of long standing.”

Daphne looked at the stack of correspondence she’d hoped to get sorted today and then sighed.

“Very well. Where is he?”

“In the Yellow Drawing Room, your ladyship.”

Daphne walked the short distance to the grand but uncomfortable drawing room, hoping the drafty room would keep the caller from staying too long.

An ancient gentleman wearing a skirted coat and full court wig, complete with powder, greeted her. “Thank you very much for seeing me, Lady Davenport.” He made a stiff but courtly bow.

“It is my pleasure. Please be seated, Sir Marcus.”

He lowered himself with obvious relief onto one of the miserably hard chairs that littered the room.

“I understand you knew my late husband?”

His huge wig nodded. “We were close friends for many years. Although I did not see Thomas as often these past few years, we did correspond regularly. I saw him whenever he came to London, particularly if he came on a matter for the Society—that would be the Horticultural Society, of course—of which I am also a member. I was very sorry to have missed his funeral. I’m afraid health problems made that journey impossible.” Sir Marcus paused for a moment and then reached into the large pocket of his skirted chartreuse coat and extracted a battered leather packet. “I last saw Thomas when he came to London two years ago. I believe you were with him at the time.”