The Major's Faux Fiancee (10 page)

Daphne Poppet Dear was singularly unimpressed by her new appellation, but terrified at the specter of her plan to escape her guardian’s schemes unraveling so quickly. What had made him doubt her? How was she meant to act like a young lady in love?

Her heart raced in panic. It wasn’t going to work. She had no invitations. The one Bartholomew possessed didn’t even have his name on it. What if they were denied entry? What if they failed to prove to anyone, least of all her guardian, that their betrothal was in truth? What if it was already too late?

No. Captain Steele
had
to believe she and Bartholomew intended to wed. Daphne’s future depended on it.

She spun toward Katherine. “You have to join us.”

Katherine recoiled in horror. “What? Why?”

“Bartholomew’s invitation says ‘Captain Grey.’” Daphne reminded her. “We are not invited. But you’re a cousin to the Duke of Lambley. No one would dare cut you. Or, by extension, us. Please, Katherine. We need your help.”

“But I hate musicales.” Katherine reached for a silver platter on the mantle. “Here, I’ll give you my invitation. I’ll write your name on top.”

Daphne stilled her arm. “You can’t just write extra names in the margin. They’ll think we pickpocketed both of you. Over a musicale.”

“You could be famous in a completely different way,” Katherine agreed in delight. “A couple in love… and unafraid of the law. Two lovers joining forces against Society in the mad, mad search for musical entertainment. There’s no captain too menacing, no duke’s cousin too hoydenish, whom they wouldn’t assault in their own front parlors to steal invitations to a good—”

“Katherine.” Daphne valiantly refrained from doing bodily harm. “Get your spencer. Then get in the carriage.”

“You could
try
to be romantic about it,” Katherine grumbled in good humor. She motioned for a footman to fetch her things. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were betrothed. I’m invited to the wedding, aren’t I?”

By the time they reached the Grenville estate, Daphne’s nerves were frayed beyond all hope.

Everything she’d worked for, everything she hoped for, hinged upon her deceptively simple plan not falling completely apart. Step one: Trump unwanted betrothal with false betrothal. Step two: Break fake betrothal as soon as her inheritance materialized. Step three: Be financially independent and free from male guardianship for the rest of her life.

She smoothed her gown with trembling fingers and stepped out of the carriage. If they didn’t sell step one well enough, she wouldn’t even make it to step two.

Katherine, for her part, was brilliant from the moment they knocked upon the door. The Grenville butler did not even blink to see the ebullient Miss Ross flanked by two unexpected guests.

As Katherine dragged them through the entryway, she murmured into several key ears that it would make her quite happy indeed if her dear friend Miss Vaughan and her fiancé Major Blackpool would trouble themselves to be seen more in Society.

Although none of them had seen Daphne before in their lives, all of Katherine’s acquaintances professed to be delighted to include the happy couple in any upcoming events. Such was the power of being first cousin to a duke. Daphne expected to have a half-dozen invitations by morning, all from Katherine’s good-humored intervention.

The surprising part was that it might not have been necessary.

From the moment they entered the main salon, Bartholomew was surrounded by well-wishers jostling to be the first to greet him.

“Blackpool!” crowed a tall, well-dressed gentleman. “Jolly good to see you back in society!”

“And with your cravat as exquisite as ever,” said another. “Never say that valet of yours has spent the last year perfecting his art, just so you could show us all up. How do you do it?”

The waves of eager faces were overwhelming. The noise, deafening. In no time at all, the musical entertainment was an hour delayed, simply because there was no end to the number of people who preferred to have a word with Major Blackpool rather than sit down for the performance.

“Major Blackpool, Major Blackpool,” cooed a handful of debutantes, each elbowing the others out of the way to preen at Bartholomew. “Now that you’re attending events again, shall I save a spot for you on my dance card at the next ball?”

Daphne’s teeth clenched as she forced herself to look away from their rouged lips and fluttering lashes. ’Twas everything she had always imagined Bartholomew’s life to be like. Rakish. Sparkling. Larger than life. Constantly surrounded by adoring eyes. She swallowed her jealousy. It wasn’t as though she wished
she
were in the limelight. She was needed in her office, not onstage. Her best work was accomplished anonymously.

Yet, what must it be like to have so many friends? To have so many people
interested
in what one had to say?

Bartholomew pulled her closer, as if sensing her discomfort. Or her jealousy.

“I’m afraid we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot,” he said to the coquettish young ladies, then winked at the gentlemen. “My
only
foot, that is.” He turned to Daphne and smiled as if she had been sent down from the heavens. “May I present Miss Daphne Vaughan, who has done me the honor of agreeing to be my wife. She was dear to me when we were children playing on the hills of Kent and she is even more precious to me today. I am a man in love.”

Daphne’s breath caught. She had to grip his arm a little tighter to keep from swaying, and she
knew
it was utter poppycock. Yet she couldn’t help but glance up at him from beneath her eyelashes and wonder how it would feel if he truly were a besotted swain.

Her cheeks flushed. Even thought he was acting a role, ’twas intoxicating to have a man who could choose anyone be focused on
her
. It was like sunlight to her soul. Rain to a flower. She had been starved for affection for so very long that even the pretense of it was heady and addictive.

If only it were as real as it looked.

A few of the debutantes stared daggers at Daphne. The others ignored her completely, as if the fight had only just begun. They made shameless calf eyes at Bartholomew whilst licking their lips and tugging coyly at their ringlets.

Daphne despised them all. Their lack of morals, their lack of sense. Why was it that
this
sort of woman could be confident in her ability to attract attention, whereas Daphne could dedicate her entire life to improving the world about them, and still not even earn a second glance?

She was irrelevant. An afterthought. No matter how hard she tried to be the best possible person she could be, ’twas never enough. She wasn’t good enough to keep her father’s attention, pretty enough to catch a gentleman’s eye, intriguing enough to command anyone’s attention.

Bartholomew would have forgotten her altogether, had circumstances not thrown them together. Even here, at his side, with her fingers curved about his elbow, the aristocrats and debutantes had dismissed Daphne without so much as a second glance. Even Bartholomew had been caught up in a conversation with several gentlemen on the merits and pitfalls of fox hunting.

Her throat tightened. What had she expected? All her life, she’d wanted to be noticed. To be loved. To be
worthy
of love. She had done everything she could to be an angel on earth and all it had earned her was a lifetime of loneliness. She’d had to learn to be strong. To define her own self-worth, rather than wait for someone else’s approval.

As she gazed at the crowd, part of her wished she could be the sort of giggly, simpering debutante who never sat out a single dance. But it was too late for that. She hadn’t been raised to giggle or simper. Now that she’d opened her eyes and her heart to the plight of the nation’s poor, she could no more turn her back on them than she could have turned her back on her own father.

She rolled back her shoulders. As much as she might fantasize about being a giddy, feather-headed girl whose life revolved about little more than fashion and merrymaking, she had committed herself to a greater cause. A worthy cause. She might not interest others, but she would lose respect for herself if she gave society events more importance than human charity.

Even if it meant losing Bartholomew to one of these girls.

“You
rogue
,” pouted one of the debutantes, edging closer to Bartholomew. “How cruel of you to tease us with your presence after all this time, when you’re already taken.”

An older gentleman raised an eyebrow at Daphne. “I imagine Major Blackpool considers himself quite fortunate.”

“Fortunate?” Bartholomew turned to Daphne, eyes solemn. “I used to think the luckiest moment of my life was when I made it off the battlefield alive.” He lifted her gloved fingers in his hands. “I now know it was the day I met you.”

Her stomach dropped and her throat went dry. She stared back at him, speechless. He was everything she’d never dared to dream of.

His warm gaze never left hers as he pressed a kiss to her trembling fingers. She cursed the foolish weakness in her knees. The temptation to throw herself into his arms and beg for the betrothal to be real. For him to look at her and
mean
his incredibly romantic words.

When he turned away, she pressed her kissed fingers to her chest. Close to her heart.

“I don’t know,” laughed a freckled gentleman. “I’d still say the battlefield was your luckiest day. Let you come home to the lass, did it not?”

“What precisely happened? Carlisle wouldn’t say a word,” put in another. “Rescued two out of three of you, and you’d think it was just another promenade in the park. Did you see Boney?”

“Were you ambushed?” asked another.

“Tell us about Waterloo. Were you near Wellington at all times?”

“How many soldiers were on that field?”

The loud gaggle of gentlemen surrounded Bartholomew, separating him from Daphne with their thumps to his shoulders and their avalanche of questions. He sent several searching looks over his shoulder in Daphne’s direction as he was enveloped into the tide.

She hugged herself. He would find her later. Probably. She sighed. If he remembered she was still here.

’Twas no surprise everyone found Bartholomew fascinating. Not only were he and his friends collectively referred to in the scandal sheets as the Dukes of War, Bartholomew was a major. A twin. A hero. A survivor. Despite a pulverized leg, he’d still tried to save his dying brother.

The whole thing was so gothic and heart-wrenching that the recital had been all but forgotten, and even Katherine resembled a wallflower for the first time in her life. It also meant she probably wouldn’t see Bartholomew again until it was time to return home. She’d been left standing all alone. Adrift in an ocean of strangers.

Daphne sighed. If she’d but known she would be invisible this evening, she might have brought her work and a traveling desk with her and taken up office in one of the retiring rooms. And perhaps dedicated her time to someone who actually wanted it.

“Well?” murmured Katherine as she returned from the refreshment table with two cups of lemonade.

Daphne took a sip and winced at the criminal dearth of sugar. “Well, what?”

“The Blackpools are from Maidstone, so that’s obviously how you met. But the major was off at war for three years and hasn’t left London since he returned, so how the deuce did you get betrothed?”

“
Shh
.” Daphne flapped a suppressing hand in Katherine’s direction. “You can’t say
deuce
. Especially not in public.”

“You may recall I never wished to attend this musicale in the first place.”

“Don’t say that either!” Daphne motioned Katherine over to the rows of chairs set up before the pianoforte. The audience section was currently the most private area of the entire Grenville estate. “I did see Major Blackpool recently. In Maidstone.”

“And you fell instantly and deeply in love. Then forgot to tell me about it.” Katherine squinted over Daphne’s shoulder. “Hard to see him through the throngs of people. He cuts as dashing a figure as he ever did. Perhaps more so, now that he’s a tragic hero as well. I believe it’s safe to say your wedding will be well attended. Not that you’ve invited me to it.”

“
Fine
.” Daphne took a deep breath. “’Tis a lie. We’re not getting married. He’s only playacting to help me out of a scrape with my new guardian. After Papa died, I became ward to a man who would rather walk the plank than be responsible for me. He tried to force me into an unwanted betrothal.”

“And Major Blackpool swept in to save you?” Katherine arched a brow. “This gets more romantic with every word. Do go on.”

“It’s not romantic, it’s—” Daphne snapped her teeth together and briefly closed her eyes.

He
had
swept in to save her. It
was
romantic. She’d promised their scheme would be a secret, yet when their imaginary relationship fell under suspicion, Bartholomew hadn’t hesitated to involve himself up to the ears just to keep her safe from her guardian’s threats. To protect her.

“The look on your face tells me you’ve finally noticed your fiancé would be considered a fine catch.” Katherine’s eyebrows tilted toward the crowd. “Approximately every single female present appears willing to take your place, should anything untoward happen to your happy engagement. Such as a shocking termination, moments before the as-yet-unplanned ceremony.”

“I can’t marry him,” Daphne burst out, her voice thick. “He doesn’t even wish to. He’s playacting.”

“But are you?”

Daphne swallowed. She wasn’t sure anymore. Not that she had a choice. The betrothal was a sham. Soon she would have the freedom she’d wanted. And the memory of what might have been. “You know how wholly my projects consume me. I don’t have time for myself, much less a husband.”

Katherine’s expression was skeptical. “You wouldn’t even marry for love?”

“
Especially
not for love.” Daphne had thought it through. Repeatedly. Every time Bartholomew crossed her mind. “If I loved someone, I would want to spend every moment with him, which isn’t remotely amenable to getting anything at all accomplished.”

Katherine shrugged. “I’m sure a good husband could be counted upon to have interests outside the home.”

“Yes, and I’m just as certain that a wife in love would spend
those
moments mooning over him or worrying about him or wondering what, precisely, he and his friends were up to and whether she oughtn’t to go and investigate.” Like right now. With a room full of unwed debutantes on the loose. She shook her head. “No, thank you. I’ll stay unfettered and unencumbered.” Life was simpler when her heart was only involved from afar. “There are thousands of people whose lives are affected by whether or not I act to protect them. I cannot jeopardize that over something as foolish as love.”

Katherine’s head tilted. “What projects are you working on now?”

Daphne gave her a shaky smile, relieved at the conversational reprieve. Charity work was a far safer topic than Bartholomew. “I’m terribly worried about the worsening situation with the weavers. There’s scarcely any work and the people are starting to get desperate. And then the miners… The Davy lamp seemed like a miracle—who wouldn’t wish to see what lurked in the shadows?—but the increased visibility makes workers feel safer in areas that are anything but, and the accident rate—”

“The what lamp? Why isn’t there any work for the weavers?” Katherine clasped her hands together and leaned closer. “If I can’t help you plan a wedding, at least let me lend a hand with your projects. I’m frightfully good at planning things. Last year I became patroness of an antiquities museum, did I not? Just look at how successful it is.”

“An antiquities museum is nothing at all like—” Daphne stilled her tongue. Katherine meant well, but she didn’t understand. “I wish you could help. If there were some way for you to know everything I know overnight, perhaps. But I don’t have weeks to spend explaining the history or what’s been done about it. I might not have weeks at all, if my guardian gets his way. I need to focus now more than ever.”