But he was. He was sure that she was only a mistake for him, someone who does not even deserve his attention.
The thought made her stomach twist painfully. She wanted to scream, to cry, to tear down every book in this blasted library, but she knew none of it would make a difference. Ambrose had walked away. He had left her, and with that single act, he had left her with an unbearable truth: she was falling for him. Falling hard.
And she had no idea what to do with that.
CHAPTER 18
"My goodness, Daphne, you look like you didn't sleep a wink last night," Violet said the next morning as the women made their way to the dining room for breakfast.
Daphne rubbed the side of her face, suddenly self-conscious. "Do I?"
"Yes, I am accustomed to seeing you far more..." Violet paused to consider her words, "Well, refreshed, if you will. Did you turn in late last night?"
Daphne's heart skipped a beat at the question, but she forced a smile, keeping her tone as casual as she could manage.
"Oh, well, you know," Daphne found herself stumbling on her own words. They had reached the table now, and Daphne was beginning to take her seat. "I was just up reading. I became soabsorbed in the book that I lost track of time. By the time I noticed the hour, it was far too late."
A look of recognition crossed Violet's face, replacing her previous concern. "That sounds just like you. You always did have a habit of getting lost in those books of yours."
Daphne nodded, relieved that her excuse had been accepted so easily. "Yes, yes. It was just that. Quite the page turner."
Violet nodded, turning her attention elsewhere. But before Daphne could conclude her little crisis to be fully averted, Joyce leaned in with a knowing smile from beside her.
"Funny," she whispered just low enough for only Daphne to hear. "I don't recall you retiring to bed with a book last night."
Daphne's heart seized in her chest, and she shot her sister a pleading look.Not now,her eyes seemed to beg. The last thing she needed was Joyce of all people prying into what had happened last night. What had transpired in that library was not something she could ever admit to. It would remain her secret, one she would take to the grave if need be.
Joyce's smile widened, but thankfully, she didn't press further. Instead, she sat back and reached for her teacup, though the amusement in her eyes was far from gone.
Daphne exhaled slowly, her gaze falling to the empty chair across the table. It was where Ambrose sat normally. Her eyes flickered to the grand clock placed in the corner of the room.
It was thirty past nine, which was just on the accepted brink of showing up for breakfast without being considered late, or missing it altogether. However, most days he was here by fifteen past nine.
She knew because she had been keeping an eye out for him, even if inadvertently so.
Perhaps he will show up soon,she found herself thinking. But then, reprimanded herself. It would be better if he did not show up at all. For she did not know how to face him after what had happened. Had he gone out to clear his head, or was he deliberately avoiding her too? A part of her wished he were here, if only to gauge his mood. Did he regret everything that happened?
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Richard pulling out the chair next to her. He gave her a warm smile as he sat down, his mood noticeably brighter than usual.
"Good morning, My Lady," he said, his tone light and cheerful. "I hope I'm not too late for breakfast."
"Not at all," Daphne smiled, although with some effort.
He settled in comfortably, reaching for a plate of freshly baked rolls and pastries. "You know," he began, "I've always been more of a toast and jam kind of man, but these—" he gestured to the elaborate spread of eggs, bacon, fruits, and freshly baked goods "—are far too tempting to resist."
"You have good taste," she muttered absentmindedly.
No offence to Lord Richard, but after the eventful night she had,butter rollswere scarcely enough to hold her interest.
"What about you, Lady Daphne? Do you have any particular breakfast preferences?"
Daphne blinked, slightly taken aback by his sudden attentiveness. Richard had always been polite and gentlemanly, but his focus on her this morning felt different—almost forced. Still, she forced herself to respond, pushing thoughts of Ambrose to the back of her mind.
"I suppose I've always been fond of a light breakfast," she said, reaching for a small bowl of fruit. "Perhaps some fruit or a simple pastry. Nothing too extravagant."
Richard chuckled, nodding as he spread jam over a slice of bread. "That sounds much more sensible than my choices, I'll admit."
Richard leaned back in his chair, casually picking up his cup of tea. "You wouldn't believe what happened last season in London," he began.
