Seduction Becomes Her (3 page)

It didn’t take her long to get ready for bed, and despite the fire, there was a distinct chill in the room. After blowing out the candle on the stand near her bed, she climbed into the big, curtain-hung bed. Slipping beneath the covers, a happy sigh escaped her. Mrs. Hutton had seen to it that the sheets had been warmed, and Daphne nearly purred as the warmth crept along her body.

She had been certain that she would fall asleep the moment her head hit the down-filled pillows, but such was not the case. She was oddly restless, and after tossing and turning for a few moments, she plumped the pillows behind her back and sat up, pulling the quilts and blankets up around her chin. She was, she admitted, a bit uneasy in these unfamiliar surroundings and found herself wishing again for April’s company.

The misty rain had become a full-fledged storm, the rain clawing at the windows, the wind howling and shrieking around the house, causing unnatural creaks and groans to rend the air. With only the light of the dying fire to see by, the room seemed even more cavernous and intimidating. Shadows lurked in the corners, the purple damask bed curtains seemed to hover like a great beast over her, and even the heavy furniture suddenly looked ominous and threatening. Daphne shivered, imagining the vague forms of demons dancing in the dim light.

She made a face. What a pea-goose she was! There was nothing to be afraid of, the surroundings were strange, it was true, but there was nothing to fear.

Despite her brave thoughts, a knock on the door made her jump and surprised a small gasp from her. Embarrassed by her reaction, she called out with only the faintest quaver in her voice, “Yes, who is it?”

“April,” came the muffled reply from the other side of the door. “May I come in?”

“Of course,” Daphne said with relief, lighting the candle beside her bed.

Garbed in a pale pink robe and her nightgown, April hurried into Daphne’s bedroom. Her curly blond locks falling over her shoulders, she scampered to Daphne’s bedside. “Oh, Daffy, I feel such a ninny, but please, may I sleep with you tonight?” She cast a nervous look around. “Everything is so strange and with the storm….” She turned big, pleading eyes on her older sister. “I know it is foolish of me, but I’m frightened…and it would be just for tonight.”

Daphne smiled and flipped back the covers of the bed. “Considering the storm and the size of this place, I don’t blame you for feeling frightened. Come along, poppet; hop beneath the covers before any more heat leaves.”

April shed her robe and a moment later, was snuggled next to Daphne. Her head resting against Daphne’s shoulder, she said, “Oh, Daffy, this is so much better. I’m not afraid anymore.” She angled her face toward her sister. “Weren’t you frightened at all?”

Daphne made a face, honesty compelling her to say, “Perhaps a trifle. It
is
rather a large place, isn’t it?”

“Oh, I know. Who would have ever expected us to live in such a grand house? With a butler and a housekeeper, and who knows how many other servants? I’m sure it will take me a week to find my way about. Sir Huxley must have been very wealthy.

“More wealthy than any of us expected,” Daphne admitted.

“Well, I’m sorry that he died, but isn’t it wonderful that Adrian inherited from him?” She waved an arm about. “Why, our entire place in London would fit into this very room.” She giggled. “With space left over for a ballroom, I wouldn’t doubt.”

“Indeed, it is wonderful,” Daphne agreed. Thoughtfully, she added, “It may seem very grand to us, but I believe that Sir Huxley’s fortune is comfortable rather than grand—at least that’s what Mr. Vinton’s letter implied.”

“I don’t care—it all seems magnificent to me.”

A gust of wind slammed against the house, rattling the windows so fiercely that Daphne feared they would shatter. A rap on the door followed immediately, and April started and clutched frantically at Daphne.

“Who can that be?” April cried, her expression terrified.

“I suspect that our caller is none other than our brother,” Daphne said.

“Adrian?” squeaked April. “What can he want at this hour?”

“Probably the same thing that you did—company on a stormy night in a strange house.”

That was, indeed, what Adrian wanted when he entered the room at Daphne’s command. He was wearing a dark blue woolen robe and carrying an armful of pillows and blankets. His expression sheepish, he walked toward the bed. Spying April beside Daphne, he grinned and said, “Oho! I see that I am not the only one who finds this place daunting.”

“I think we are all a little overwhelmed by the size of it,” Daphne said. Nodding to the blankets and pillows in his arms, she added with a twinkle, “Am I to understand that you intend to camp out in my bedroom tonight?”

He flushed. “I thought I could make a bed on the floor and sleep by the fire…if you didn’t mind.”

Once Adrian had made his bed on the floor to his satisfaction, he wrapped a thick quilt around his body and lay down a few feet from the glowing embers on the hearth. Propping himself up on one elbow, he looked across at Daphne and April. “Now this,” he said, “is much better. That vast room of mine is drafty, the fireplace smokes, and with this devilish storm howling about, I’ll not deny it—it was downright off-putting. I swear, Daffy, I expected any minute to see the ghost of old Sir Huxley rise up out of the shadows and come after me.”

April sat up and looked across Daphne at her brother on the floor. “Do you think,” she asked in a voice full of ghoulish interest, “that Sir Huxley’s ghost haunts the house?”

“There are no such things as ghosts,” Daphne said firmly.

“Oh,” April replied, her disappointment clear. “Well, if there were such things as ghosts, I think a ghost would be a fine thing to have, and this place would be perfect for one.”

“If you feel that way,” taunted her brother, “what are you doing in here? If you wanted to see a ghost, you should have stayed in your own room. Everyone knows,” he said, “that ghosts are particularly fond of haunting innocent young maidens…
especially
on stormy nights like tonight.”

April eyed him with suspicion. She glanced at Daphne. “Is that true?”

Daphne shook her head. “No. And I repeat—there are no such things as ghosts.”

Adrian opened his mouth, but Daphne said, “And that’s enough about ghosts.” Shaking a finger at Adrian, she added, “If you continue, I shall banish you to your own bedroom.”

He grinned at her and lay down. Yawning, he said, “G’night. I’ll be up at first light and gone back to my room when you awake.”

True to his word, when Daphne awoke, Adrian was gone, and when the two ladies arrived in the morning room, they discovered him already there. The oak buffet was again covered with trays and plates of food—kidneys, rashers of bacon, thick slices of country ham, warm crusty rolls, eggs, and fruit. Adrian dug into the food like a starving wolf.

Which was just as well, thought Daphne, watching him return to the sideboard for a third time. At seventeen, he was still slim as a reed, but his shoulders had broadened this past year, and even without his boots, he stood over six feet. She suspected that he was not through growing yet, either. Their father had been a very tall man, and Adrian looked to have inherited his father’s height along with the Captain’s thick black hair and brilliant blue eyes. Daphne did not consider herself prejudiced, but she rather thought that her brother was going to grow up to be a very handsome man, and now with a respectable fortune behind him, he would have a wide array of eminently suitable young ladies from which to choose his bride.

Her fond gaze fell upon April, who was nibbling on a roll spread with strawberry jam. If Adrian took after their father, April was the image of her mother, possessing the same gorgeous mane of wheat-fair hair, limpid blue eyes, and dainty frame. Daphne had always hoped that April’s gentle nature and fair loveliness would enable her to make a decent match, but now with Adrian’s unexpected inheritance and his promise to settle a sum on his little sister, her sights had been raised. In due time, April would have a season in London…Daphne’s cheeks pinkened with delight as she pictured her younger sister snaring a wealthy, perhaps even titled suitor.

That her thoughts were more those of a mother with a son and daughter to settle than those of an older sister with her own future to consider did not enter Daphne’s mind. With her father often gone and her mother unable to cope with military life, Daphne had been the mainstay of the family, taking on responsibility for the small household from an early age. Her mother had always been sickly, and when her siblings had arrived, Daphne had effortlessly filled in the breach and taken over the care of the younger ones. There hadn’t ever been any question of her having a London season, and even the idea of marriage had only crossed her mind once. When she was eighteen, there had been a young Lieutenant who had been most particular in his attentions, and for a little while, she had dreamed of marriage, a husband and a home on her own. Unfortunately, before they could marry, the Lieutenant had been killed in one of those nameless little skirmishes in India, and that had put paid to Daphne’s romantic dreams.

It never occurred to Daphne to resent the fact that her life had been sacrificed for her family—in fact, she would have been quite indignant at that notion and would have scoffed at the use of the word sacrifice. She was perfectly happy in the role she had been given and was content to live out her days as a beloved spinster sister and later, a doting aunt to the many nephews and nieces she was sure would follow. After all, she reminded herself from time to time, she had no fortune, although if Sir Huxley’s estate proved large enough, Adrian was determined to settle a sum on her as well as on his younger sister. April’s gentle loveliness alone would insure that she made a decent match—at least Daphne had hoped so, but she had long ago faced the reality that she certainly wasn’t the beauty that April was. Not for her, the glorious fair hair, dreamy blue eyes, and delicate frame. No, it had been her luck to take after their father, and while there had been a time she had despaired of her height and boyish body, she had years ago accepted the fact that she would never be a beauty. She was a beanpole topped by an unruly mass of black hair, and that was that. Sometimes, though, when she looked in the mirror at her hazel eyes and olive skin, inherited, she was told, from her paternal grandfather, she’d wished, just for a moment, for April’s pretty pink and gold coloring. But then some family crisis would distract her, and she’d put aside her foolish longings.

All of her dreams and energies these days were focused on establishing her brother and sister. Adrian’s windfall had opened all sorts of new doors, and Daphne was dazzled at the future that awaited them.

Daydreaming of April, a vision in muslin and lace, making her debut at Almack’s, Daphne was startled when Adrian asked, “How soon are we to see Vinton? Didn’t you say that he would come call?”

“Oh, I completely forgot,” Daphne said, pouring herself a second cup of coffee. “Goodson handed me a note as I came down the stairs—if it is convenient, Mr. Vinton will drive out from Penzance and meet with us this afternoon.”

After Daphne had sent a servant off with an affirmative answer to Mr. Vinton’s note, the three siblings spent the morning following Goodson about as he gave them a tour of the house. It seemed to Daphne that they marched up and down stairs and through endless corridors admiring countless elegant rooms. She agreed with April. It was going to take a while to become familiar with the house. Besides Cook, Goodson, and Mrs. Hutton, there seemed to be a bewildering number of staff—scullery maids, footmen, upstairs maids, gardeners, and stablemen.

By the time of the meeting with Mr. Vinton, Daphne’s head was whirling. Excited and nervous, she and Adrian were waiting in the library when Goodson ushered in the solicitor that afternoon at one o’clock.

Mr. Vinton was a middle-aged man with thinning brown hair, ruddy cheeks, and intelligent brown eyes and Daphne liked him on sight. Once the social amenities were complete, seated by the fire, a cup of coffee at his elbow, he set about explaining the full extent of Sir Adrian’s inheritance.

The house and servants had given them a clue that Adrian’s inheritance was far larger than either had expected, and when Mr. Vinton was done explaining the extent of his wealth, Adrian and Daphne looked at each other stunned. Adrian’s fortune was quite,
quite
handsome rather than just merely comfortable, even minus the respectable amount Adrian had decided would be set aside for April and Daphne.

Business taken care of, the conversation became more general, Daphne and Adrian both very curious about their benefactor, Sir Huxley.

“We had never heard of him until my brother received your letter—in fact, we believed we were the last of our family. The relationship must be quite distant,” Daphne said as she poured Mr. Vinton another cup of coffee from an elegant silver coffeepot.

Mr. Vinton nodded. “I believe that you shared a great-great-great grandfather with Sir Huxley.” He hesitated, then added, “Sir Huxley died over two years ago, and I should tell you that the estate was in the process of being awarded to someone else, another distant relative of yours, a neighbor, in fact. If I hadn’t happened to come across a reference to your branch of the family in Sir Huxley’s papers….” He cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable. “Viscount Trevillyan, after years of believing that he was the heir, was not best pleased, I can tell you, and when he learned that he was
not
the heir…. Most unpleasant.”

Adrian frowned. “A viscount? Why would he care about a mere baronetcy?”

“It’s true the baronetcy meant nothing to him—his branch of the family was awarded the viscountcy and took the name Trevillyan decades ago for exemplary service to the king,” admitted Mr. Vinton, “but the loss of the lands, farms, and income…well, that was another story.”

“Lord Trevillyan is our neighbor?” Daphne asked.

“Yes—in fact, your land splits his estate into two pieces.” Mr. Vinton tugged on his ear. “The majority of the Trevillyan lands lie to the east, but there are several hundred acres that his grandfather acquired that run along part of your west boundary. Lord Trevillyan had been looking forward to consolidating his lands—it has long annoyed him that he has no way of reaching his western property without traveling the long way around the estate. There had been, ah, some sharp words exchanged between Sir Huxley and Trevillyan in the past, especially when Trevillyan’s cattle have been driven right through the middle of Sir Huxley’s land. Naturally, Trevillyan had been delighted that the problem would be solved when he inherited. And of course, the loss of the fortune….”