Page 93 of His Runaway Duchess

“This is ridiculous,” Daphne huffed. “I don’t want to do this. Can’t we go home?”

The carriage was a little too full. The family had decided to go together, which meant that there was Daphne, Emily, and Octavia on one bench, and Anna, Theodore, and Beatrice on the other.

The carriage was not really designed for six people. Every time Daphne breathed, an elbow stabbed her in the ribs.

A sense of unease had been building up in the pit of her stomach over the afternoon. She’d felt it as they all sat together over a late luncheon, everybody talking except her. She’d felt it as she stood in front of the mirror and watched herself getting dressed, her movements mechanical like a puppet’s.

Why did it feel so strange, being without Edward? It wasn’t as if they’d been joined at the hip. And really, what had happenedbetween them? A few moments of intimacy, a few arguments, a few pleasant moments. Why should she feel bereaved without him?

It’s nonsense. Youare nonsensical.

Anna sighed, finally glancing at Daphne. “We’ve talked about this, Daff. You have to show your face. You can’t just hide in the house. This won’t blow over, you know.”

“It will blow over,” Theodore remarked, his gaze fixed out of the window. “Society will move on. But it will move on without you, Daphne. Be under no illusions. No matter the circumstances under which a woman runs from her husband, Society will always side with him.”

A lump formed in Daphne’s throat. She leaned back in her seat as best as she could and closed her eyes.

“Was he cruel to you, Daphne?” Beatrice asked, speaking for the first time in a while.

“Cruel? No, he was just… cold. Sometimes, at least,” Daphne added, with a twinge of guilt.

It was dark in the carriage, the only light coming from the bouncing lantern hanging outside the window. The night was a cloudy one, with no moon or stars to be seen. It was cold, too, and Daphne found herself wishing with all her heart that shecould be back at home, wrapped up and snug before a roaring fire.

Not just any home,she realized with a flare of misery.Thornbridge.

Beatrice nodded, as if learning something she already knew.

“I don’t know much about Edward,” she said. “He and Jane weren’t married long enough for him to properly feel like one of the family.”

Beatrice had not spoken much about her former brother-in-law, despite Anna pressing her. So, when she began to speak now, everybody leaned forward, paying attention. She looked at nobody in particular, her gaze fixed on her hands in her lap.

“I asked Jane once, shortly before she married him, whether she loved him,” Beatrice continued, a furrow appearing between her eyebrows. “She said no. At least, she said, ‘Not like a wife loves a husband.’ They were always friends, and she thought they’d be a good match. Jane always said that she was not made to fall in love, and didn’t particularly want to. Sometimes, I think she would have liked to be in love, to feel what came so easily to others. Even so, they were happy. She was excited about her baby. And Edward was kind to her. She said that he was a good man.”

Beatrice paused, gathering her thoughts, and gave a little nod, as if confirming something she was going over in her head.

“Yes,” she murmured, half to herself. “A good man, that’s what Jane said. A very good man.”

There was a short silence after this.

Daphne shifted, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

What should I say next? Should I say anything?

Should I not have left him?

As Daphne was deliberating, Octavia leaned forward, clearing her throat.

“That’s enough of that subject,” she said severely. “We are here to support Daphne tonight. She’ll show her face, perhaps dance a few sets, eat something, drink something, and then leave. We’ll all leave together, and then Society will see that she isn’t hiding her presence in town. They’ll see that we have nothing at all to hide.”

“There’ll be gossip,” Emily pointed out, matter-of-factly. “Probably to her face. To our faces, in fact. Everybody is going to have something to say.”

The dread in Daphne’s stomach intensified. She shifted, trying to swallow down her fear.

It’s a party. It’s just a party. How many parties have I been to?

This one, she suspected, was going to be different.

“My friend is the host,” Anna said, changing the subject. “Mrs. Whitmore. She’s a pleasant woman, very kind and understanding. When I asked for an invitation to be extended to Daphne, she agreed at once. She’ll help keep an eye on things. But, Daphne, you must keep a low profile. Don’t be too loud, or shocking, or talkative. Simply glide around like the Duchess you are, and act as though you’re too haughty to talk to anyone.”

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