Rafe hid his smile behind his fist, which he coughed into. “Surely you’re not implying that I am a suitable suitor for Lady Daphne’s hand?”
“Suitability has nothing to do with it, Captain. I’m strictly speaking about looks. Lord Fitzwell is handsome but you are both handsome and dashing.”
What was this family’s preoccupation with being dashing? “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Rafe inclined his head toward the wicked old widow. Pinching him had been egregious, but he’d heard that about her before.
“I’d settle for your upending their engagement. I can’t say I highly approve of Fitztottle. The man seems to be more interested in Daphne’s connections than Daphne.”
“With all due respect, my lady. Isn’t that the way of your, er, class?”
“My nephew Julian was able to find both love and rank. I expect Daphne can do the same.”
“A baron isn’t good enough for you, my lady?”
“Pish-posh. I don’t give a fig about his title. Fitzwhobert isn’t good enough for me. Or more specifically, my niece.” Another eyebrow waggle. “Now might I suggest you ask Daphne to dance.”
***
Daphne peeked into the ballroom. The space was magnificent. It looked as if an arboretum had been brought inside. Mother and Cass had surely outdone themselves. Daphne stood on the threshold to the ballroom, clutching Julian’s arm, pressing her hand to her middle, and taking large gulps of air. Tonight was the night. Lord Fitzwell would ask her to marry him tonight. He had to. And she would accept. Yes, there was the small matter of her annulment that would need to be settled before the actual marriage could take place, but that was a detail she intended to see to immediately after completing Rafe’s mission.
She held her breath. The conveyances of the guests who had not been invited to the house party arrived in a steady stream at the front entrance. Thetonwas abuzz tonight and this was her engagement ball. That was all there was to it. Now the potential bridegroom merely needed to do his bit and propose.
She’d finally reached an agreement with Delilah, that little thief, before the ball tonight. The girl promised to occupy Rafe’s attention and keep what she knew to herself in exchange for another month’s pin money, Daphne’s new light pink bonnet, a second fan, and a new pair of gloves. Daphne had no idea how she’d explain all of that to Mother. But she’d worry about that later. Tonight she had more pressing concerns, like securing an engagement with her husband in the room.
She certainly looked more confident than she felt. She wore a sparkling silver gown that made her feel like a diamond. A string of sapphires laced through her hair and a sapphire shrug draped around her shoulders. Her hair was up in a chignon with curling pieces framing her face. She’d pinched pink into her cheeks per Delilah’s suggestion just before she’d left her bedchamber. Delilah and her maid had both assured her that she was a vision. But Daphne didn’t feel like a vision. She felt like a roiling mass of nerves. Yes. It was definite. She looked much better in the looking glass than she felt on the inside. That was certain. Inside, she felt as if she might just cast up her accounts.
Daphne took one last deep breath and nodded to her brother.
“You are stunning tonight, Daph,” Julian said from her side as they waited at the top of the stairs to be introduced.
“Thank you,” she replied in a shaky voice. “I only hope Lord Fitzwell thinks so.”
Julian’s gray eyes met hers. His were filled with concern. “Are you sure, Daphne? About Lord Fitzwell, I mean. If you have any doubts, you don’t have to go through with any of this.”
Daphne pressed her gloved fingertips into Julian’s fine black sleeve. “What do you mean?”
“I was speaking to Cavendish earlier and he said—”
Daphne’s breathing hitched. Despite the gloves, she dug her nails into her brother’s coat. “You’re listening to Captain Cavendish when it comes to my marital prospects?”
Julian arched a brow. “It is a bit ironic, isn’t it?”
Daphne shook her head. “I was quite deliberate, Julian. I made a list. Lord Fitzwell is eligible and—”
“Being eligible and being correct are two different things.”
“The Earl of Swifdon and Lady Daphne Swift,” Pengree intoned, announcing them to the masses in the ballroom. Without saying another word, Julian stepped forward, bringing Daphne with him. All eyes turned to stare at them. Daphne searched the crowd. It wasn’t until moments later that she realized she’d been looking for Rafe, not Lord Fitzwell. Blast it.
She and Julian made their way into the room together and Daphne kept her smile pinned to her face. It hurt to smile so much. She’d never realized it before. People greeting her were a blur. The room spun. She clutched at Julian’s arm to steady herself. Thank heavens for her tall, composed brother.
“Daphne,” her mother’s voice rang out. A bit of space opened up and Daphne followed her mother’s voice over to their small group where Mama and Aunt Willie stood near the French doors that led out onto the terrace.
“I’ll leave you here with the ladies,” Julian said. “I’m off in search of my wife.”
Daphne reluctantly let go of her brother’s sleeve, reminding herself that she could hardly find herself engaged by the end of the evening if she clung to him all night. As soon as Julian glided away, Daphne took a deep breath and turned to the other ladies. Before she could say a word, Delilah came skipping up to them.
“Good evening, Cousin Daphne,” she said, curtsying prettily.
Daphne curtsied back. “Delilah, what are you doing here?”
