Page 63 of Barbarous

“Thomas was a man among men,” Sir Marcus said. “I know you and the boys made his last years very happy ones.”

“Thank you.”

Even in death Thomas was protecting her and her sons—not to mention saving her from unspeakable ignominy. She thought of Hugh and the proof she could now offer him, and her heart sang.

Hugh might be upset at her deception, but at least he would have no reason for disbelief or disgust. Well, at least not about her marriage. She would never tell him the truth about Malcolm—that episode was too shameful. Nor did he have any right to know such an unsavory, personal story. It would be far better if he believed she’d been a foolish and promiscuous young girl who’d gotten herself into trouble.

Yes, she thought as the sick, grinding sensation returned to her stomach. Far better.

* * *

Hugh and Daphne arrived at Lady Letitia’s impressive gray fortress on Grosvenor Square a half hour early, along with the rest of Hugh’s family.

Anne seized Daphne’s hands and held them out to her sides while she examined her gown, her mouth an O of surprise. “Did you choose this gown?”

Daphne laughed at her obvious skepticism.

Anne blushed. “I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did, and you needn’t apologize. To answer your question, I did not. Rowena and Madame Thérèse engaged in fisticuffs and Madame won.”

“It is absolutely stunning and perfect.”

Daphne was not so sure of that, but she had no interest in discussing her clothing. Instead, she chatted with Anne and her parents for a few moments before excusing herself to greet Lady Letitia, who sat in great state on a tapestry-covered wingback chair, her gouty foot resting on a matching ottoman. She was swathed in puce from head to toes and diamonds the size of hazelnuts festooned her ample bosom and swollen fingers. She was talking to her butler, but waved him away when she saw Daphne approach.

“Ah, Daphne. Come, sit beside me, my dear.” She gestured to a chair.

“Good evening, my lady.”

The older woman scrutinized her through her ornate quizzing glass. “I suppose that sour-faced maid of yours chose that gown?”

Daphne’s gown was midnight-blue silk that was far too low cut and form-hugging for her comfort. Not only that, but she wore only one nearly insubstantial petticoat beneath it. But it was too late to regret her decision now—even if it was leading to conversations she found more than a little tedious.

“I usually leave all my clothing decisions in Rowena’s hands, but this gown was chosen by Madame Thérèse.”

Lady Letitia gave a bark of laughter. “Wise decision. I daresay your head is too full of high-flown rubbish to give a tinker’s cuss what you wear—just like my brother’s head was.” She tapped her glass against the upholstered arm of her chair and kept Daphne pinned like an insect with her steely stare. “I dread to think what your life was like with my brother.”

Daphne began to protest, but the old woman forestalled her with a loud tsk tsk.

“I know he wasn’t cruel to you, my dear. But he and my sister are like a pair of helpless infants who require tending. I daresay it was you who took care of them both. Before you came along, I expected Thomas and Amelia to be wearing bibs and slippers every time I visited Lessing Hall.” Something like sadness seeped into her hard gray eyes. “You were good for my brother in many ways. I’m pleased he could return the favor.”

Daphne’s brow wrinkled. What was the older woman saying?

Lady Letitia waved her hand. “But that is of no consequence now.” Her eyes slid to where Hugh stood. “I daresay you needed a whip and spurs to get him here tonight.”

Surprisingly, Hugh had been ready and waiting with no prodding from anyone. He had also been uncharacteristically subdued and quiet during the brief carriage ride.

“I believe he was eager to come this evening,” she lied.

“Hmmph.” Lady Letitia’s glare intensified the longer her eyes lingered on Hugh, who was talking to his cousin Simon. “I’d as well set my money on fire or toss it out a coach window as expect him to appreciate this ball.”

“I cannot imagine he is insensible of the honor you do him.”

“Ha! Then you must lack for imagination, missy. Just look at him over there. As happy and carefree as a lark. No thought for how he has disrupted our lives—especially yours—by returning willy-nilly after almost two decades.”

Daphne took full advantage of the older woman’s order to study Hugh.

He had his hands clasped behind his back and was leaning down to hear something Simon was saying, a ready smile on his gorgeous face. There were miles of muscular calf and thigh encased in stockings and snug black-satin breeches. He wore a green-gold waistcoat beneath his black tailcoat, a color that made his blond hair shine like a newly minted guinea under the blazing chandeliers. It was indecent, really, how godlike he looked talking to his shorter and stockier cousin.