Page 89 of His Runaway Duchess

Theodore paused, thinking. “I could ask Stephen—he has eyes and ears everywhere—but Beatrice is always so strange and oddly protective of her brother-in-law. I think the loss of his wife cut him deep.”

“Do you think he loved her?” Daphne burst out, aware of eyes on her. Shehadto ask. “He said that it was only a marriage of convenience, as ours was meant to be, but perhaps he’s been in love with her all this time.”

Theodore considered this, then shook his head. “No. They were well-matched enough, but it was fairly common knowledge that they were more like brother and sister than husband and wife. Lots of people do that, you know. They marry a friend because it is comfortable. Love can be a troublesome thing, let me tell you.” He shot Anna a pointed look as he said this, a smile curving his lips.

Anna paused in her pacing and glanced over at him. She stuck out her tongue and continued pacing.

“There’ll be a great deal of talk, and that’s what worries me,” Octavia spoke up. “If we can hide the fact that Daphne left him?—”

“Doubtful,” Anna interrupted. “If the coachman who drove her here knows, then the rest of the servants in that household know. From there, it’s only a few steps to the rest of London. This will get out, believe me.”

Daphne shrank back in her seat, listening to them talk over her head.

I’m so inconsiderate.I didn’t even think about my family. I never thought about how my reputation—and theirs—would suffer. But how could I not have thought about it? Fleeing from my husband’s home in the dark, so shortly after marriage. Of course,people will talk.

“I have an idea,” Anna said suddenly, cutting through the chatter.

One by one, the others fell silent and glanced up at her. Once she was sure she had their attention, she smiled broadly.

“There’s no sense in hiding it,” she said. “Everybody will know that Daphne left her husband’s house. She’s the Duchess of Thornbridge now—everybody is interested in her. They’ll want to know why she left. Of course, we don’t have the answers to that yet, and that will require some neat conversational side-stepping on our part, to be sure.”

“Conversational side… What are you trying to say, Anna?” Octavia demanded.

“I am saying,” Anna said, with great patience, “that if she stays holed up here, she will look as guilty as sin. It’ll be clear that something is wrong. However, if we all go about our business as usual—and take Daphne with us—people will be confused. We shall be acting as if there is nothing wrong, and they will start thinking that perhaps this is all part of a plan. Perhaps she left her husband’s house on good terms. Perhaps he’ll be joining her soon. Who knows?”

“I don’t much want to make an appearance at the moment,” Daphne murmured. “I… I feel rather raw, Anna.”

Anna’s face softened for a moment. “I know, darling. This is all very upsetting, but now we need to considerdamage control. This is serious, Daphne. Already, all eyes are on you after that little stunt you pulled at the wedding. The first one, that is. The one that didn’t happen.” She cast a quick, apologetic look at Emily, who appeared unmoved. “All eyes will be onus. I don’t expect much, but I think it would do you good to at least show your face in Society. I will bring you along to a party or some event. There’s one coming up tomorrow evening, and we will all be there. We willallbe there, Daff, and you’ll be safe.”

Daphne sighed, closing her eyes. “Do I have a choice?”

Anna winced. “I’m afraid not. I was hoping you’d agree with me, and then it wouldn’t be too obvious that you didn’t have a choice. Still, never mind, eh?”

“In that case, fine. I will come with you.”

“Excellent. Daffie, my dear, youshallgo to the ball.”

Daphne pursed her lips. “Lucky me.”

There was a tap on the door. Edward bounced up from behind his desk, his anxiety fizzing. He’d turned away from the window, where he could see servants darting in and out of the dower house in the distance. On his desk, a half-finished letter to the Abbess of St. Agnes’ sat, staring accusingly up at him.

It was a fairly well-known place, where women in dire circumstances could find shelter. Women with aggressive, violent husbands who threatened their lives were often sheltered there, as well as beggars, cast-off wives, impoverished spinsters, and so on. Edward would speak to Peter about paying an allowance for Clarissa’s upkeep. There was no need for her to suffer. It might be a prison, but he was determined that it would be a comfortable one.

He took a moment to compose himself before opening the door.

Alex stood there, and Mrs. Trench stood behind him. Her face was pale, her hands folded in front of her.

Alex was glaring at his father.

“Grandmother is packing,” he said, without preamble. “She’s leaving, Papa. Did you send her way?”

Edward glanced up at Mrs. Trench, who spread out her hands helplessly. “He overheard a pair of footmen talking about it. I’m sorry, Your Grace.”

“It can’t be helped,” he said, sighing. “I’ll speak to him alone, Mrs. Trench.”

She nodded, curtsied, and slipped away.

Alex watched her disappear and turned wordlessly back to his father.

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