Page 43 of His Runaway Duchess

No answers, of course, were forthcoming. Edward stared at her for a long moment, the air crackling between them.

“I don’t mean to offend you,” he said, at last. “But stay out of my business, Daphne. Especially between me and my son. And I’ll tell you once more that I won’t change my life, not for you. I can’t.”

He can’t? What does that mean?

Daphne held his gaze for a long moment, waiting for him to say something more, but there was nothing. He only stared back at her, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

She broke into a wide, insincere smile. “Very well, Your Grace.”

Before he could react, she swept down into a deep curtsey, spreading out wide, imaginary skirts, hem brushing the gritty kitchen floor. She rose again, turned on her heel, and strode out, leaving her chocolate cooling on the kitchen table behind her.

CHAPTER 12

“Are you ready, Miss Belmont? I’ve got a great deal to show you.”

Alex was in a fine, chirpy mood. Daphne, who had slept badly, was not. The little sleep she’d gotten had been haunted by dreams of Edward leaning close to her, his eyes flat and blank as he explained to her that his life would not change one iota after his marriage and that he did notwantit to change.

The implication, of course, being that he did not care abouther.

What did you expect, you fool? That’s what this marriage is going to be. A friendship at best, at worst, devoid of all care or emotion. He’s only telling you the truth, stripped of any airy-fairy nonsense.

The truth it may be, but it was still hard to swallow.

Still, it’s better to realize what I’m getting into now, rather than childishly imagining that he’d turn into a handsome prince after we were married.

“Miss Belmont? Are you listening?”

She jolted, waking up from her reverie, and glanced down at Alex, who was pouting up at her.

“I’m sorry, Alex, I’m just a little tired. So, where shall we start this tour?”

Already, preparations were being made for the wedding. Only that morning, Octavia, Anna, and Emily had gone to town to buy material for Daphne’s wedding dress. Daphne, of course, could not join them. She was under house arrest, more or less, until the wedding happened.

That was annoying.

Theo was wandering about the house somewhere—or perhaps he’d gone out, as he didn’t generally bother to explain his movements to Daphne—and Lady Clarissa was around somewhere. She hadn’t spoken to Daphne, or anyone, since that fateful dinner when the Duke had scolded her and made her apologize.

All in all, it looked set to be a boring day. Daphne had idled away the time while Alex did his morning lessons, and now it wasat least mid-afternoon, and the day had slipped away while she wasn’t looking.

“I was wondering, Miss Belmont, if I could leave Master Alexander and yourself to take the tour yourselves?” Mrs. Trench asked. She was pale and heavy-eyed, and Daphne suspected it was the beginnings of a megrim. “I’m not feeling well. If I can lie down for an hour, then I’m sure…”

“Of course,” Daphne said at once, smiling. “Alex and I will entertain ourselves, won’t we?”

Mrs. Trench smiled in relief. “Thank you, Miss Belmont. I shall meet you both in the breakfast room for refreshments. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Daphne and Alex chorused.

A house tour conducted by a small boy was a good deal more interesting than Daphne had imagined. Alex did seem to have an impressive knowledge of the history of the house, but he mostly ignored the facts for moreinterestingbits of information.

“That corner is where I threw up a few years ago after Christmas dinner. I ate too many marzipans. Papa was not pleased. Oh, and you can’t see it, but there’s a hole in the rug where Papa knocked over a candle and it set fire to the carpet. It was quite a commotion. Ooh, andthishallway was said to be haunted. All the maids said that they felt a nasty, cold presence here, but it turned out to be a mousehole in the walls that let in a draft. And here…”

Daphne found that she was enjoying herself. Alex was a likable, little boy, precociously clever but not spoiled. They skipped through room after room, seemingly at random, until they finally stopped in front of a tall, brass-studded door with a key hanging on a hook high beside it.

“This is the gallery,” Alex said, suddenly hesitant. “I don’t go in here very often, but it has lots of pictures. It’s kept locked, but I can never reach the key.”

He shot her a quick, unreadable look, and Daphne smiled back at him.

“I’ll unlock the door, don’t you worry.”

---