Page 16 of Barbarous

He took a drink of wine but it tasted like bile. “You did not share my uncle’s interest in orchids?” he asked roughly.

“No, it was his vast library that drew us together.”

Hugh could only stare.

“Lessing Hall was my escape in those days, and I enjoyed many wonderful afternoons in the library reading or discussing books with the earl.” Her fond smile turned arch. “Unlike many men, your uncle found pleasure in my thirst for knowledge, even if it was political philosophy instead of orchids.” Her expression became challenging. “After we married, Thomas urged me to submit one of my papers to the Philosophical Society.”

Hugh’s brain was whirring like a stripped gear. Books?

She frowned at his silence, her blond brows lowering. “You find that offensive? A woman studying philosophy?”

Hugh shook his head. “It makes no odds to me if a woman studies shipbuilding or millinery,” he assured her. “It is your, er, shared passion for books I find fascinating.”

Her pupils narrowed, making her eyes appear even bluer. For a moment he thought she might throw something at him. He had not meant to offend her, but did people really marry one another—more to the point—did girls of seventeen marry men of seventy because of a mutual love of books? Rather than make matters more clear, her explanation made the union seem even more perplexing; so perplexing that Hugh refused to believe it.

He stared at her and she glared back, a red stain creeping up her neck. Hugh wasn’t sure that was a sign of guilt or anything nefarious; the woman had the most delicately blushing skin he’d ever seen and colored at the drop of a hat.

Hugh changed the subject. “You had no desire for a larger family?” He knew his question was offensive by society’s standards and wouldn’t have been surprised if she put him in his place. Instead, she answered.

“More children would have been welcome, but Thomas was satisfied with two sons—” She stopped, her smooth brow furrowing. “Not that they supplanted you in his memory, of course.”

Hugh had to laugh. “Pray do not think to spare my feelings, my lady. I know better than anyone what my uncle’s opinion of me was and how much I did to earn it. The earl took me in—an orphan of three when my parents died—and raised me as his son after his own wife and son died in childbirth. Instead of showing any gratitude, I was wild and ungovernable. I did nothing to repay his kindness.” Which is why I am here now, trying to protect his widow without bedding her, he could have added, but kept to himself.

She regarded him steadily through her distorting lenses, her thoughtful examination making him rather edgy, a feeling he had very little experience with.

Hugh shrugged away the unwonted sensation. “I have always believed my death must have been liberating for him.”

She did not hasten to reassure him otherwise and he liked her all the better for it.

“I cannot speak to that, but I do know your death changed him and caused him to open his doors—and his heart—to a young girl who had few connections, nobody to aid her in finding a husband, and very little interest in seeking one if she had.” She gave him a direct look. “I will speak frankly, my lord. The life my mother and I had at Whitton Park was most unpleasant. My stepfather, Sir Walter, had long ago dissipated the fortune my mother brought to the marriage. Sir Walter also made it no secret that he despised both my mother and her heritage.” Her full lips twisted into a bitter smile. “He would never let her forget he had only stooped to marry a coal heiress because he needed money.” She shrugged. “It only became worse after his death. Because my stepfather had no son—yet another crime for which he blamed my mother—his nephew Malcolm inherited and became our sole source of support. My mother had nothing and I would not come into my small inheritance until I was twenty-one.” A log in the huge fireplace popped and sparked and Daphne started, swallowing hard before continuing.

“Living under Malcolm’s dominion was uncomfortable enough while my mother still lived, but when she died . . .” She stared at him, her blue eyes bleak. “Well, it was not a pleasant development and, at the age of seventeen, four years seemed like an eternity to wait for an inheritance.”

So, his uncle had rescued a damsel in distress. Hugh knew her predicament must be all too common: a young woman of gentle birth forced into marriage. But had there really been nobody else but her seventy-year-old neighbor? Hugh refused to believe it. Thomas Redvers had been a wealthy, powerful man and his sister, Lady Letitia Thornehill, was one of the ton’s most influential leaders, a woman whose hobby was arranging marriages. Surely the earl and his sister could have found Daphne a more suitable spouse?

“You recall your cousin John?”

The question pulled Hugh from his musing and he grimaced and nodded.

“John gambled away his own father’s estate and lands in less than five years. You must be aware of how many people depended on the Earl of Davenport, my lord. Thomas could not risk their fate to a man like John. He needed an heir.” Not surprisingly, her cheeks were now a dark crimson, but her gaze was steady and unashamed.

Hugh couldn’t help feeling there was more to this story than she was telling, but he couldn’t say why. Instead of pressing her on her marriage, he pursued a different, but equally interesting, subject.

“If I may ask, what is your relationship with your cousin Malcolm? It seemed from the scene I interrupted that there is very little love between you?”

Or, maybe too much love?

The thought shot through his mind like a stray ball from a musket. Was it possible the incident he’d observed had been the result of fury born of love rather than hate?

But the flash of revulsion that spasmed across her face at Malcolm Hastings’s name convinced Hugh otherwise. Her full lips tightened until they were a thin pink line.

“Malcolm and I are not on polite terms.”

Hugh smiled at the understatement.

“My cousin is laboring under the misapprehension that I need male guidance now that I am widowed.” She cleared her throat and fiddled with the spoon beside her plate. “His guidance, to be precise.”

Again, Hugh felt she was holding something back. “And he did not want to take no for your answer?”