"Heavens above!"

The exclamation caused Daphne to pause in her sketch of Elizabeth and Anne, who were seated on the settee opposite her in the drawing room of the Fitzhugh's' London house. She turned to look at Lady Fitzhugh, who was sitting in the chair beside her own, staring at the card the maid had just handed to her. Her other hand fluttered to her heart as she leaned back on the settee. "The Duke of Tremore has come to call."

"What?" her daughters cried together.

"Well, that did not take long," Daphne murmured under her breath.

"This must be due to you, Daphne!" cried Elizabeth. "All our lives we have lived in Hampshire, yet the duke has never come to wait upon us."

"Indeed," her mother added, tapping the card against the fingertips of her other hand, "I have scarce conversed with his grace half a dozen times in the seventeen years since he ascended to the t.i.tle, and we have never received such condescension as this." She tucked the card into the side pocket of her gown and straightened in her chair. "Show him in at once, Mary. It does not do to keep a duke waiting."

As the maid left the room, Daphne could not help but notice how Lady Fitzhugh and her daughters began to pat their hair and straighten their gowns in antic.i.p.ation of the unexpected guest. Daphne did nothing of the sort, and she almost wished she had raked back her hair in that efficient, tight little bun he despised. When she caught Elizabeth gesturing to her in a friendly reminder to take off her spectacles, she ignored the girl and left them on.

When he entered the room, she rose and dipped him a curtsy along with the others, then took refuge behind her sketchbook as Lady Fitzhugh introduced her daughters and invited him to sit down.

Over the top of her sketchbook, she observed the faces of Anne and Elizabeth as they stared at Anthony, who was sitting to her right. Looking at them was a bit like looking at a mirror image of herself, for their expressions seemed to offer a precise reflection of her own initial impression of him. Overwhelmed, ridiculously nervous, and caught up in the heights of a giddy attraction. He was looking every inch the handsome, elegant duke today, with his blue coat and darker blue trousers, his striped blue and gold waistcoat, and his immaculate white linen, and it was clear by the admiring faces of the Fitzhugh daughters that they wanted to pinch themselves for even being in the same room with him.

He is no doubt accustomed to this sort of feminine reaction everywhere he goes, she thought, lowering her gaze and noting with dismay that she had involuntarily pressed her pencil across her sheet of drawing paper in a thick, dark slash, ruining her drawing of Elizabeth.

"Ring the bell for tea, Anne," Lady Fitzhugh ordered, but before her elder daughter could move to stand, Anthony protested.

"No, please, do not trouble yourself on my account," he said, "for I cannot stay long. I paid a visit to my sister just before she left for Northumberland, and I learned you had brought Miss Wade to town with you. I wished to pay my respects."

"That is very kind of you," his hostess replied, only the tiniest hint of surprise in her voice, though the fact that the duke had wished to pay a call upon them clearly surprised her very much indeed.

"I have come to town to make my museum ready for its opening, for that event is only a few short weeks away," he told her. "I do hope you will come?"

"Of course. We should be delighted."

Daphne stirred in her chair, wishing he would leave, knowing he was not here to make idle chitchat. She hoped he did not intend to make his intentions clear to Lady Fitzhugh and her daughter by asking for a private interview with her. That would be humiliating, especially for him, when she refused. But she soon discovered he was not going to be quite so blunt as that.

"I have been working at such a pace these last months," he said, "that I have had little time for society, but now that we are nearly finished, I hope to have the opportunity to enjoy the season in London. I shall be quite free to accept invitations."

His words were expressed with such emphasis that Daphne looked up, just in time to watch Lady Fitzhugh fall right into the trap. Before she could interrupt with something about the weather, Lady Fitzhugh said in a small voice, "Indeed, your grace? I plan to have a card party very soon, a small party of a half dozen of our friends, and far too modest for you, I am sure, but I would be delighted if you would come."

"I would enjoy that very much," he said with such a satisfied smile that Daphne wanted to throw her pencil at him.

Lady Fitzhugh seemed quite stunned, not only because she had been so bold as to issue a verbal invitation to a duke, but also because he had accepted. "I shall send an invitation round to you," she murmured.

"I shall be happy to receive it." He glanced over at Daphne, then returned his attention to his hostess. "Miss Wade has worked very hard on the sketches for my museum, and I regret that she has had so little time for amus.e.m.e.nts herself. She deserves to enjoy herself in town."

"We intend to help her do that, your grace," Elizabeth a.s.sured him, laughing.

Lady Fitzhugh shot her daughter a reproving look. "We are delighted to have Miss Wade with us."

Anthony turned his attention to Daphne. "This is your first visit to London, is it not, Miss Wade?"

"Yes," she answered, and stopped pretending to sketch. "I am looking forward to it, having spent so little time moving in society, buried in the country for so long."

"Ah, your words remind me of the purpose of my visit." He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a small package wrapped in plain paper and tied with brown twine. He leaned forward in his chair and held the package out to Daphne. "This is yours, I believe."

She took it from him with a puzzled frown, noting by its shape and feel that it must be a book. "I did not realize I left a book behind me."

"Perhaps you did not," he replied, his oblique words puzzling her further.

She looked up and found that he was giving her that half smile that meant he was teasing. "I do not understand."

He did not enlighten her. Instead, he turned to Elizabeth and Anne. "It is a bit early yet in the season, but I hope you young ladies plan to attend some a.s.semblies while you are in town?"

"Oh, yes," Anne a.s.sured him, a bit nervously.

"We shall be attending one at the Haydon a.s.sembly Rooms three days hence, as a matter of fact."

"I am gratified to hear it. Ladies, please forgive me, but I must go. I fear I have trespa.s.sed on your time long enough."

"We are honored you did so, your grace," Lady Fitzhugh answered. She stood up, and her daughters and Daphne rose as well. "Please feel free to call upon us any time. Any time at all."

"I a.s.sure you that I shall avail myself of that pleasure as often as I can, Lady Fitzhugh," he said as he moved to stand. "Please tell your husband he may come to see the museum any time convenient. And I look forward to receiving your invitation. Please do not forget me."

Daphne could see all three of the other women practically melting on the floor, but she held back her frustrated sigh. So this was how he intended to get his way. By overwhelming her friends with charm, dazzling them with his condescension, and flattering them with his attentions. She realized with a sinking feeling that he was going to be nice. How awful.

"Lady Fitzhugh," he said. "Miss Fitzhugh, Miss Elizabeth, Miss Wade." His eyes lingered on her for a moment, and she stared back at him, appalled by this new campaign he intended to launch, but he did not appear to notice. "Ladies," he said with a bow, "it has been a pleasure."

After he had gone, no one spoke for several moments. Elizabeth, of course, was the first to do so. "What did he give you, Daphne?" she asked. "Did you forget a book in Hampshire?"

"Elizabeth," reproved her mother. "It is not our business."

Daphne owned scarcely a dozen books, having had to sell all of her father's, and she was certain she had not left behind even one of the precious few she did own. She untied the bow, pulled away the twine, and carefully tore off the wrapping paper. She was holding the book facedown, but the white linen cover alone confirmed her suspicion that it did not belong to her. "This is not mine," she said, frowning. "I have never seen this before."

She turned the volume over and read the gilded stamp on front. "Le Langage des Fleurs ," she read aloud, with a tightening pang of pain around her heart, "by Charlotte de la Tour."

She stared at the golden fleur-de-lis below the t.i.tle for a moment, then read the inscription he had written.

Miss Wade, The words of Englishmen are known all over the world to be the most inarticulate of devices for communicating matters of true consequence, and they have certainly failed me. I must resort to another language to talk with you, and to that end, I give you this lexicon. Should you wish to send me any replies, may I venture to recommend DeCharteres? They are the most excellent florists in Town.

Your servant, Tremore Daphne bit her lip. That night in the conservatory. He remembered. She felt herself softening inside, felt a hint of pleasure like a ray of sunshine peeping between dark, stormy clouds, and she closed the book with a snap, striving to come to her senses. She had no intention of getting hurt again.

"If this is not your own book, it must be a gift!" Elizabeth p.r.o.nounced. "Oh, Daphne, a gift from the duke. Why, you are so discreet! You never said a word to us."

Daphne looked up in dismay to find all three of them staring at her. "I do not know what you mean."

"Do you not?" Lady Fitzhugh asked softly, giving her such a knowing look that Daphne wanted to scream. "It is a very poetic sort of gift, is it not?"

"Indeed," Anne agreed with a sigh. "To be the recipient of a duke's attentions. How romantic."

"Is it romantic and poetic?" asked Elizabeth.

"Of course it is, silly goose!" Anne cried, laughing. "It is Le Langage des Fleurs !"

"Yes, yes, but I'm not a silly goose, and what does it mean?"

"The language of flowers," her mother explained. "You would know how to translate it, Elizabeth, if you had not railed so forcefully against your French lessons as a child. It is a book that explains the poetic meaning of particular plants."

"Lovers use it to send each other secret messages," Anne said with delight. "It has become quite the thing. So, Daphne, are you engaged to him yet?"

"Anne!" Lady Fitzhugh cried. "You do not need to confide in us, Daphne, my dear. It is not our affair, and we shall respect your privacy."

"But I am not engaged to him, nor shall I be!" She could tell by their faces they did not believe her, and she added, "There is nothing between us! Nothing at all!"

In her agitation, the book slipped from her fingers. As it fell to the floor, a small, flat posy of flowers tied with ribbon fell out, along with the two thin sheets of vellum in which they had been pressed. The posy and the papers floated down, surrounding the book on the floor.

"You see?" Anne cried. "A message already!"

Daphne picked up the bouquet, noting that though pressed flat, it was still fresh. He must have obtained the flowers on his way here, for they were not yet limp. One was a spike of tiny pink blossoms. Attached to it was a single flower of deep purple and pale yellow. She turned the stems in her fingers, studying it as the others came to surround her, also looking at her bouquet.

"The pink one is hyacinth," Anne told her. "The purple is columbine."

"Pink hyacinth signifies a game," Elizabeth p.r.o.nounced, looking up from the book, now open in her hands. "And columbine means, *I will win.' "

A game of flowers was clever, she had to admit, but it was so very much like him to proclaim victory before that game had even begun.

"This is so exciting!" Elizabeth cried. "The Duke of Tremore himself courting our Daphne."

"That is Daphne's personal correspondence," Lady Fitzhugh reminded her daughter in a severe tone, "and as confidential as any letter. You should be ashamed of yourself. Apologize to Daphne and give her back her book!"

"I am sorry, Daphne," Elizabeth said, chastened. She handed back the book. "This is a private matter between the duke and yourself."

"Not for long, dear sister," Anne said. "For if the Duke of Tremore is courting Daphne, every person in Town will know it within a few days. Everyone has been speculating about him choosing a wife ever since he took the emeralds to be reset. Oh, Daphne, if he has not offered for you, he must be intending to do so, for he would not have given you a gift, especially one like this. Oh, the papers will be filled with it, and with all of us."

"I am afraid that is true," Lady Fitzhugh said with a sigh of resignation that contrasted sharply with the delight of her daughters. "We had best prepare for the onslaught."

Daphne sank into a chair. "Onslaught?"

"Anne is right, dear Daphne. If the duke is courting you, then every move you make will be observed and commented upon, as will ours. We shall be inundated with visitors and discussed at length in the society papers."

"How lovely," Elizabeth said, laughing, "for we shall not lack for partners at the a.s.semblies now! Daphne, do you think your duke could introduce us to his friends?"

"I despair of you, Elizabeth, I truly do!" Lady Fitzhugh said, sinking down in the chair beside Daphne's and laying a hand on her arm. "You must understand what this will mean, dear. You will be watched, and studied, and gossiped about. You must prepare yourself for that, for much of that gossip will not be favorable. Envy is a horrid emotion, and there will be a great quant.i.ty of it. Dukes are a rare commodity, and people can be full of avarice."

Daphne stared down at the book in her hands. She did not want this. She did not want him to be courtly and romantic, for if he did, she might fall for it. She might start to believe he truly cared for her, when it was only a facade to get his way and satisfy his honor. He did not love her, but she knew from the hurt in her heart that she was in great danger of falling back in love with him.

"I am not worried about gossip at all," she said, and stood up, hardening her heart against him. "For there is nothing to gossip about. There is no romance, there is no engagement, and I am not marrying him! The sooner everyone understands that, the better!"

Slapping the book in her hand against her palm, she walked out of the drawing room, leaving the others looking after her, astonished by her outburst. A game such as this required two players, she told herself as she went up the stairs to her room. She decided she simply would not play his game. She would not play the fool for him twice. Sometimes, even a duke had to take no for an answer.

Chapter 22.

Lady Fitzhugh's prediction that their house would be inundated with callers began to come true the very next afternoon. The first visitor Daphne received was Lord Durand.

She was not in the best mood for receiving any callers. She and Elizabeth had just arrived home after a walk to Montagu House, where she had been refused entry into that exclusive museum because she had not applied ahead of time in writing for a ticket to view the collections. The statement that she was the daughter of Sir Henry Wade, whose excavations made up part of those collections, had not impressed the curators enough for them to break their rules. So, when she arrived back at the house in Russell Square and found that Durand was waiting for her in the drawing room, her mood did not improve.

She halted at the bottom of the stairs, her hand tightening around the cap of the newel post. "Lord Durand?" she repeated, staring at Mary in shock as she handed the maid her bonnet and pelisse. "Why should he want to see me?"

The maid took them, and answered, "I don't know, miss, but Lady Fitzhugh said I should fetch you when you arrived."

Before Daphne could reply, Lady Fitzhugh emerged from the drawing room upstairs, evidently having heard their voices down below. She came down the stairs to them at once.

"Lord Durand is here," she whispered to Daphne. "He has been waiting for over half an hour." She laid a hand on Daphne's arm, and said gently, "He has informed us that he is your grandfather-your mother's father-and he has only recently been made aware of his connection with you. Daphne, is this true?"

"Yes," Daphne admitted, as she started up the stairs with her friend beside her. "But we have been estranged for years, and I have never met him in my life. Why should he wish to see me now?"

"He said he wishes to talk with you. He seems eager to meet you at last, and thinking it might perhaps be an awkward meeting for you, Sir Edward requested that he and I be present. The baron agreed. If you do not mind, of course."

"No, not at all. I suppose I cannot refuse to see him, even though he has refused to see me."

"Has he?" Lady Fitzhugh frowned. "He seems quite eager to see you today. But in any case, I do not believe that would be your wisest course, dear. He has already acknowledged to Edward and myself his familial connection with you."

"Has he?" she asked as Lady Fitzhugh opened the door and entered the drawing room.

Daphne followed.

Her first sight of the baron rather startled her, and she paused in the doorway. She had not expected him to be an attractive man at all. She had envisioned a sort of wizened, stooping old fellow with a pursed-up mouth and meanness in his expression. Instead, she found a tall, elegant-looking man, with silver hair and a countenance that, though lined with the marks of his age, was quite a handsome one. Which made his first words all the more appalling.

"My dear granddaughter," he cried, coming to take her hands in his. "It is so heartening to finally see you. Come, come, let me look at you." He gave her appearance scarcely more than a glance from head to toe, then tucked her arm over his and led her past Sir Edward, who stood beside the fireplace, to the settee opposite the chair where Lady Fitzhugh had seated herself. "Let us have a nice visit together."

Daphne pulled her arm out of his and chose the chair beside Lady Fitzhugh opposite the settee so that she could look directly at him, but before she could ask the only question to which she wanted an answer, the baron spoke.

"I am so happy for you, my dear child. Let me be the first to congratulate you."

She blinked. "I beg your pardon? For what am I to be congratulated?"

"On your engagement to his grace, the Duke of Tremore, of course."

Daphne was astonished. "I do not know what you mean. I am not engaged to the duke."

The baron did not seem at all taken aback by her words. "Of course, of course. I understand. The duke explained to me how impetuous his proposal had been, and how you expected him to court you in the proper way before allowing your engagement to be announced officially."

"Did he indeed?" she responded through clenched teeth.

"Yes, and I understand. You have every right to expect even a duke to woo you first."

"I have no intention of marrying him," she said, not knowing who was succeeding in irritating her more, Anthony or the baron. Just now, she had enough for both of them.