She told Charlotte everything on the journey. About the case, the blackmail, and why Lord Templeton’s eagerness to name another man troubled her.
Charlotte sat forward. “You think your mother and Hawke’s met the same fate?”
“Both wished to prevent a child.” Daphne mentioned her mother’s visit to Mrs Flavell. “Both wrote to Mr Moseley, hoping to secure a loan. Both were intimately involved with my father.”
“His mistress, Mrs Foster, must know something.”
“Yes. They’ve been lovers on and off for a decade.”
Charlotte glanced out the window, the grey sprawl of the metropolis coming into view. “And that’s why you left Shadowmere? To pursue your own agenda?”
At the mention of Shadowmere, her heart grew heavy.
“No. Dominic told Lord Templeton he would marry me. It was about control. To prove a point. As if the decision were his alone.”
Knowing he thought it his duty cut deep.
Charlotte arched a brow. “Hawke spoke of marriage?”
“Yes, as a weapon to attack Lord Templeton.”
“And you’d rather he’d made a sweeping declaration?”
Something in Charlotte’s tone said she believed Daphne expected too much of a man like Dominic.
“Is it foolish to want him to love me?”
“No,” she said quietly. “But you should ask yourself who you love more. The scoundrel or the dream?”
She already knew the answer.
She loved the man who dominated a room with a single look. The man who would break the hand of anyone who touched her. The man who wore his mother’s ring around his neck and carried roses to her grave.
“Was I wrong to leave?”
Charlotte shook her head. “It must have been frightening to walk alongside those masked fiends. Sometimes a lady must make a stand. You’re allowed a voice, Daphne. Hawke needed reminding of that.”
Would he realise it?
Or would he strengthen the barricade around his heart?
“It was hard to think while there,” she admitted. And yet leaving had been the hardest thing she had ever done. “I have never witnessed anything quite so abhorrent as the Autumn Masque.”
“I can quite imagine.” Charlotte adjusted her gloves and considered her for a moment. “What say we attend Lady Parker’s ball tomorrow? Mrs Foster will be there. We’ll lure her into the garden and you can bombard her with questions.”
“Shouldn’t I be in mourning?”
Shouldn’t she help her aunt arrange the funeral? Should she grieve for a man who didn’t deserve her tears?
“You’ll be the topic of the evening, regardless. You may as well give the heifers fodder.” Charlotte raised a hand. “And before you raise another objection, I have the perfect gown for you to wear.”
Conversations died when Daphne entered Lady Parker’s crowded ballroom. Under the blaze of chandeliers, every head turned. Their eyes lingered on the deep purple silk of her gown, disapproval plain on every face.
Music drifted from the orchestra balcony, a lilting waltz at odds with the sudden hush.
But she would not stumble. She would not sweat.
Charlotte slipped her arm through Daphne’s in quiet solidarity. “Head high. Remember, they’re only vultures if you look like carrion. And you look exquisite tonight.”
