A thrill shot through Daphne’s chest. Did Lucy truly mean what she thought she meant? “Bring my gentleman up to scratch?”
Lucy gave her a resolute nod. “This is no time to be a shrinking violet. If you want Captain Cavendish, you’re going to have to fight for him. You’re the one who’s told him you intend to marry a man from your list. He has no reason to believe you even want to see him again. Did you tell him you do?”
Daphne blinked. Panic rose like a rogue wave in her chest. “No. I didn’t tell him. He was so adamant about not taking me to France with him. I thought it was clear that things were over between us.”
Lucy folded her arms over her chest and shook her head. “But if you didn’t tell him you wanted to see him again, why would he have any reason to think anything else?”
Daphne’s stomach lurched. Her words from the other night came back to haunt her. He’d asked her what sort of men were on her list. “Titled, rich, handsome, loyal,” she’d replied.
“So, it’s safe to say I’m not on your list” had been his response.
She could kick herself now. Lucy was completely right. Why would Rafe think Daphne wanted anything more to do with him? All she’d ever asked of him was the annulment.
She turned frantically to Cass and searched her sister-in-law’s face. “Cass, what do you think?”
Cass bit her lip and glanced away. “Of course I’d never tell you to do anything that would be unladylike or put you in danger.”
“Please tell me, Cass,” Daphne begged. “Truly. What do you think I should do?”
Cass met Daphne’s gaze then. “I happen to remember a girl who tried to climb out of a window once and I do wonder where that girl is now.”
Another thrill shot through Daphne’s chest. Lucy was right and so was Cass. Despite the blond and the difference in Daphne’s and Rafe’s social standing and everything, Daphne couldn’t let Rafe leave without at least trying to tell him that she loved him. She had to go to him.
She allowed a wide grin to spread across her face. “Where is he now?”
Lucy jumped up and clapped her hands. “That’s the spirit! Be bold!”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
“Cavendish, I thought I might find you here.”
Rafe looked up from his glass of brandy. He was sitting in a tavern, not by the docks, but still far enough outside of Mayfair that he hadn’t expected to see Garrett Upton, the future Earl of Upbridge, striding toward him. Upton was dressed to the nines as usual. Black trousers, emerald-green waistcoat, expensively tailored black overcoat, and shining black top boots.
Rafe glanced down at his own rumpled attire. The same white shirt he’d been wearing for days, dark brown breeches, and scuffed boots. He’d never be as fine as the blue bloods. He glanced at the grim scene. A few barmaids, a few rough patrons. Dirty floor, chipped wooden chairs, mismatching glasses. His usual haunt, but certainly not a place for a swank like Upton. It was exactly where Rafe belonged, however. He fit right in here as if he were born to the place.
He squinted up at the future earl. “How did you know I was here, Upton?”
Upton pulled the chair over from the table next to him and straddled it. “Lucky guess, really. Claringdon told me you sometimes come here when you’re not at Brooks’s with him.”
Rafe smiled a humorless smile. “Claringdon knows me too well.” Rafe liked Claringdon. Claringdon was a duke now, it was true. But he hadn’t been born to it. No, Claringdon had earned his title in the war. Claringdon was the type of man who made sense to Rafe. Though, he had to admit, he liked Upton as well. As the nephew of an earl, Upton had been born to theton,but he was the only son of a second son, not meant for a title. It had been mere fate that had taken the life of his male cousin, Lucy Hunt’s brother, in childhood. Upton stood to inherit an earldom one day but no, he hadn’t been born for it. Upton had been a soldier, actually. He’d been shot in Spain. He’d nearly died. Rafe could respect a man like Upton. Hell, he did.
A barmaid brought a glass of brandy for Upton. He took it from her and tossed her a coin. Then he turned his attention back to Rafe. “I hear you’re about to go back to France.”
Rafe nodded. “I am.”
Upton inclined his head and took a drink. “Not much work for a spy during times of peace. Is this your last mission?”
Rafe contemplated the amber liquid in his glass. “You know why I’m going.”
Upton turned the glass around and around in his hand. “To find the men who killed Donald Swift?”
Rafe took a sip. “That’s right.”
Upton narrowed his eyes on Rafe. “You told me once I should take my own advice.”
Rafe furrowed his brow. “I said that? When?”
Upton continued to turn the glass in his hand. “Last spring. When I told you how guilty I was over Harold Langford’s death. You said you knew how I felt.”
