Andrea Kane (30 page)

“Wonderful!” Daphne gestured toward the table. “Please, sit. I’ll check with Cook to see if our first course is ready.”

Her departure was nearly as rapid as Langley’s.

Chuckling, Pierce watched Daphne bolt, thinking how damned arousing her innocence was, how intoxicating he found each one of her facets. So shy in public, so passionate in bed. His beautiful, dazzling snow flame.

“There’s no shame in loving your wife,” the vicar murmured, studying Pierce with far-reaching wisdom.

“No, there isn’t.” Stiffening, Pierce made his way to the table and lowered himself into his chair. “Shame is not an issue. Risk is.”

“Risk?” The vicar frowned, settling himself beside Pierce and immediately concentrating on the task of unfolding his napkin. “Funny, I seem to recall Daphne mentioning you were an exceptional gambler. According to her, the Markham investments have soared since you assumed your title.”

“She’s right. I am an exceptional gambler. And part of being an exceptional gambler is recognizing what you’re willing to wager and what you’re not. Sometimes the risk is simply too great.”

“And sometimes the risk is nonexistent.”

A muscle worked in Pierce’s jaw.

“Daphne is deeply in love with you. You’re a lucky man, one who has everything to gain and nothing to lose.”

“Nothing to lose? I beg to differ with you, Vicar. I’m submerged in unchartered waters, wagering something I never knew I possessed and can’t fathom losing. In short, I’m terrified.” Pierce averted his head. “You say I’m lucky. Well, I’ve never relied upon luck, nor has it ever been my ally. All my life I fought for what I needed: food, money, survival. I battled for each victory with my blood, my sweat, or both. Now I’m being offered this rare and priceless gift, one I need far more than all the others combined.” He drew a sharp breath. “And I keep waiting for it to be snatched away.”

“You’re a fine, compassionate man, Pierce. Did it ever occur to you that this blessing won’t be snatched away? That perhaps, after the life you’ve just described, you truly deserve some happiness?” The clergyman cleared his throat. “I’m not privy to all the details of your past. But I am witnessing your present and, hopefully, your future. And yes, as I said, you are indeed lucky. Daphne’s love belongs to you and that is a gift more precious than money can buy. But Daphne is equally lucky. Because, whether you perceive it or not, your love belongs to her as well.”

As if to accentuate the fact, Daphne’s laughter drifted in from the butler’s pantry, permeating Pierce’s heart like a warm summer breeze.

Warily, he nodded. “I can’t argue with what I know to be true. Nevertheless, the reality is overwhelming. I’ve relied only upon myself for thirty years. I’m going to need some time to adjust.”

“As I recall, you have until death do you part.”

“So we do.” For a long moment Pierce was silent. Then he met the vicar’s gaze. “I understand now why Daphne cares so much about you. You’re an extraordinary man.”

“I return the compliment.”

Again, silence.

“You’ve something else on your mind,” Chambers stated quietly. “Feel free to speak it.”

“Very well. You’ve known Daphne’s father a long time. Do you think he’ll honor our agreement?”

“You’re worried.”

“I have reason to be.”

“Evidently, you know Harwick as well as I do.”

“Too well,” was the bitter reply. “And his lack of retaliation is making me very nervous.”

“Perhaps having unencumbered access to his funds is enough vengeance for him.”

Pierce gave a harsh laugh. “Hardly. Tragmore’s vengeance would be to see me in hell.”

“Then he’s destined to be disappointed. Your hell is in the past. You won’t see another.”

A slight smile, followed by a measured look. “Vicar, I presume you’ve known the marchioness for many years, as well.”

“Elizabeth? Yes. Many years.”

“Then perhaps you can shed light on another concern of mine. Do you think Daphne’s mother has the strength to pursue a divorce?”

Chambers looked sad rather than startled. “Perhaps once my answer might have been yes. But now? After one and twenty years of torment? I seriously doubt it.” He stared at the tablecloth. “Am I to presume you’ve given thought to aiding Elizabeth in severing her ties with Harwick?”

“I have. Great thought.”

“And your grounds? Extreme cruelty?”

“Given the physical violence she’s endured, yes, without question. But I wouldn’t stop with the Church. I’d demand an Act of Parliament, granting the marchioness a legal divorce.”

Now the vicar did start. “I assumed you meant divorce
a mensa et a thoro,
a Church-granted separation to protect Elizabeth from Harwick’s cruelty. But a legal divorce? That is unheard of.”

“Unusual, Vicar, but not unheard of.” Pierce’s jaw set in staunch determination. “The separation you’ve just described has ramifications I refuse to abide. Elizabeth would be safe, yes, but she’d also be permanently alone, unable to remarry. Worse than that, Daphne would be rendered illegitimate.”

“You’d have to take your suit to the House of Lords.”

“To a Court of the Common Law
and
the House of Lords,” Pierce corrected. “I’m prepared to do both. Surely you can understand why. I’ve endured thirty years as a bastard, Vicar. I’d sell my soul before allowing Daphne to bear the brand of illegitimacy. The only way I have of protecting her is to secure, not only a religious, but a legal divorce for her mother.”

The vicar drew a slow, inward breath. “I, of all people, yearn for Elizabeth’s happiness. But a Parliamentary grant is rare enough for a man to obtain. Elizabeth is a woman. That makes your goal next to impossible, even with unlimited wealth and influence.”

“As I told you earlier, I’m an exceptional gambler, one who has taken on far more insurmountable odds than these and won. As for wealth and influence, I have more than enough of both. I can make this divorce happen, I assure you. But not unless Daphne’s mother truly wants it, wants it badly enough to let me fight for her freedom.”

“She’d be ostracized by nearly everyone she knows.”

“Perhaps. But do you truly believe that would be a great enough deterrent to stop her?”

“No,” the vicar replied, his tone rich with memory’s keen recall. “Deep inside Elizabeth lies the same strong and independent girl I knew in my youth.”

“I agree. I’ve seen traces of that girl myself.”

The two men’s gazes locked.

Roughly, Chambers cleared his throat. “What can I do to help?”

“Talk to her. I think we both know she’ll listen to you.”

“Very well, Pierce. I’ll try.”

“Cook is hovering over our first course, ensuring its perfection,” Daphne announced as she re-entered the room. “Having tasted it myself, I can assure you it is heavenly. She, however, is dubious. Hence, the entire staff, footmen and serving girls alike, are cajoling her into relinquishing it into their capable hands. Whoever is successful will be along straightaway with our food.” Instantly, Daphne’s alert gaze flickered from her husband to her old friend. “What are you two discussing so heatedly?”

“You,” Pierce replied, coming to his feet. “The vicar was just reminding me of my great fortune and excellent taste in wives.”

“And your husband was just concurring with my assessment,” Chambers added.

Daphne flushed. “You’re both inordinately biased. Besides, it is I who am fortunate. Not many women can boast of dining with two such heroic men at one time.” She smiled up at Pierce, settling herself at the table. “Speaking of heroics,” she turned to the vicar, “did Pierce tell you he plans to donate all the profits he reaped from his latest business investment—nearly twenty thousand pounds—to the parish schoolhouse? Why, with that vast sum we can provide, not only a new roof, but a whole new structure—a sturdier, warmer one, perhaps even of brick, plus new slates, books,” Daphne’s eyes twinkled, “even higher wages for Miss Redmund. Why, our subdued schoolmistress might just break down and smile; even laugh outright.”

“No, he didn’t mention it.” A myriad of emotions crossed the vicar’s face. “God bless you, Pierce. Such generosity defies words.”

“None are necessary.” Determination hardened Pierce’s features. “Children need both love and hope in order to survive, much less flourish. I have the funds to provide them with hope, and Daphne has the fullness of heart to provide them with love. If my wife and I have our way, those children will never know the onus of futility.”

Joy and pride shone in Daphne’s eyes, followed by a spark of illumination. “Vicar, what would you think about the children and us helping to rebuild their schoolhouse? I know we’re not trained,” she added hastily, seeing the vicar’s surprised expression, “and perhaps all we can do is hand tools to the workmen. But think of the sense of fellowship it would give the children, the wondrous feeling of working side by side to accomplish something important to us all. Why, we’d be like a family, a unit. Wouldn’t that teach them one of life’s most important lessons: that respect, cooperation, and hard work yield success? Wouldn’t it give them a tremendous sense of accomplishment? Of sharing? Of pride?”

“Enough!” the vicar laughed. “I can’t dispute your point, Snowdrop. Nor can I think of any reason why we can’t participate in the school’s restoration.”

“Pierce?” Daphne waited for her husband’s response.

A corner of Pierce’s mouth lifted. “It’s December, sweetheart. Hardly the time to begin so massive an undertaking.”

“But the roof is old and rotted. It can’t last until spring.” Daphne sat up straighter as another idea dawned. “How would it be if we replaced the roof immediately, and waited to rebuild the schoolhouse until spring? That would give us time to hire an architect who could, in turn, have three months to devise the most beneficial plans possible for a new school. We’d begin building on the site just after the first thaw. Why, we’d have months to erect the new structure.”

Laughter erupted from Pierce’s chest. “How can I argue with such unbridled enthusiasm? Your plan is excellent. I’ll begin contacting workmen tomorrow. The new roof is as good as on.”

“Oh, thank you, Pierce.” Daphne leaned forward, impulsively hugging her husband. “When may we tell the children? I’ve missed visiting them, and I so want you to meet them, and they you. Perhaps we can convince Russet to finally join us.”

“Vicar?” Pierce turned to their guest. “When is your next scheduled visit to the schoolhouse? My wife, her fox, and I would like to join you.”

“I have business to attend to over the next few days,” Chambers said, giving Pierce a meaningful look. “How would next week be?”

“Excellent,” Pierce concurred at once.

“No, it isn’t.” Daphne looked positively crestfallen. “We accepted our first holiday invitation for next week. Viscount Benchley is hosting a lavish Christmas party at his country estate. We agreed to attend weeks ago.”

“We could send our regrets,” Pierce suggested.

“Don’t tempt her,” the vicar said affectionately. “Given a choice between an elegant ball and an afternoon at the schoolhouse, Daphne will undoubtedly opt for the latter.” Growing sober, he took Daphne’s hand. “I want you to go, Snowdrop. The merriment will do you good. Besides, the joy you share with your new husband is contagious. Perhaps you can infect others with it.”

“But the children—”

“When does the party commence?”

“We leave for Benchley on Wednesday.”

“Excellent. Then we shall visit the school on Monday. How would that be?”

“That would be wonderful.” Daphne squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Vicar.” She glanced up as a slender serving girl entered the room carrying a tray with three steaming bowls of artichoke soup. “At last! Our first course has arrived. Congratulations, Jane. I feared Cook might never be persuaded to relinquish her soup. Now hurry along and have a bowl yourself, you and the rest of the staff. Cook made enough for an army.”

“Yes, ma’am, she did.” The girl’s head bobbed up and down, a genuine smile alighting her face. “Thank ye, ma’am.” She scurried off.

“Wait until you sample this,” Daphne told the vicar proudly. “You may decide never to leave.”

Two hours later, full of roast pheasant, stewed mushrooms, Yorkshire pudding, and lemon pie, the vicar wholeheartedly agreed.

Pushing back his plate, he groaned. “You were right, Snowdrop. Not only do I not wish to leave such a splendid feast, I fear I might never be able to. With the massive amounts of food I’ve just consumed, I doubt I can stand, much less walk.”

Daphne laughed, rising from the table. “Why don’t we adjourn to the sitting room? I’m sure some conversation and an exceptional glass of claret will do wonders for—” She broke off, swaying on her feet, groping for a nonexistent object upon which to brace herself.

Pierce caught her just before she fell.

“She’s fainted,” the vicar said, his features tight with concern.

“She’s white as a sheet,” Pierce managed, looking as pale as his wife. Swiftly, he carried Daphne into the sitting room where he placed her gently on the sofa. “Snow flame?” Lightly, he stroked her face, brushing tendrils of hair from her forehead. When she didn’t respond, he turned paralyzed eyes to the vicar. “What do I do?”

Instantly, the vicar appraised the situation. Pierce was bordering on panic. In that state, he could do naught but get in the way. “Go to Daphne’s bedchamber. I’m certain you’ll find a vial of smelling salts there.”

Pierce’s eyes narrowed. “This has happened before?”

“On occasion, yes.”

Comprehension dawned. “When that bloody bastard beat her.”

“Get the smelling salts, Pierce,” the vicar instructed quietly. “Daphne will be fine.”

This time Pierce complied, taking the steps two at a time, bursting into Daphne’s bedchamber like a man possessed. “Lily!” he bellowed. Not waiting for a reply, he began flinging items from Daphne’s dressing table, frantically searching for the vial he sought.

Nothing.

Her nightstand.

Veering around, Pierce crossed the room, yanking open Daphne’s nightstand drawer. The vial was right in front, the first thing he spied. Seizing it, he raced back to the sitting room where the vicar, surrounded by over a dozen worried servants, was pressing cold compresses to Daphne’s forehead.