Page 59 of Romancing Daphne

“What first interested you in the apothecary arts?”

She didn’t answer immediately. He saw in her face a debate, as though she wasn’t sure she wished to answer his question.

He took her hand in his own, hoping to assure her that he could be trusted. He found, however, that he himself benefited from the connection. She soothed and calmed him every bit as much as her teas and tonics had Mother.

“My mother died when I was too young to have any real memories of her.” She spoke in a quiet voice.“My father closed in on himself over the years since, pushing away everything and everyone. At first he was simply distant and hermit-like. I remember coming into his book room and asking to sit with him, something he allowed with less and less frequency. He would shoo me away or ask that I not disturb him.” She seemed to think a moment.“He grew less reachable with each passing year. By the time I left home to live with Adam and Persephone, Father did not seem to be more than vaguely aware of the world around him.”

What a difficult experience that must have been.

“Once, while his was still a purposeful isolation rather than an ailment ofthe mind, I asked Persephone what was wrong with him,” Daphne continued.“She told me his heart was broken. In my naivety, I assumed hisphysicalheart was unwell. I knew enough to realize we could never affordto pay a man of medicine to cure him.”

“So you sought out the cure yourself.” He clasped her hand ever tighter, imagining in his thoughts a tiny girl with thick black hair and deep-brown eyes poring over books of medicines and concoctions in a desperate attempt to save her father.

She took a long breath, leaning against the back of her chair as she let the air out.“I finally asked the local apothecary where in the old book he’d given me I might find the treatment for a broken heart. He told me, ‘There is no herb on earth can cure that.’ I’d learned how to treat pain and fevers and infections but had to admit to myself that I could do nothing to get my father back.”

“Has he been slipping away all these years?”

She nodded.“He is less aware of the world around him every time I see him.”

James rubbed her hand with both of his.“I am so sorry. I cannot imagine watching a parent slip so slowly away.”

“It is an agony I do not wish on anyone.” Her head rested against his shoulder, though he didn’t think she slept. While he hoped talking with him, sitting there with him, eased some of the pain he’d heard in her retelling, he found it lessened his burden as well. How was it that this remarkable young lady he’d not even known a month earlier could calm his mind by her very presence?

Guilt and relief made for an odd combination. He felt he’d learned enough of Daphne Lancaster to find a great deal of peace in the idea ofcourting her. She had a good heart. She was intelligent, well-spoken, selfless. Her dimple alone was reason enough to coax a smile from her. He could easily imagine himself being quite happy with her in his life, nomatter the unfortunate way in which their courtship began. But knowing he had been, and out of necessity would continue to be, dishonest with her, if only by omission, nagged at him.

Her head grew heavy against his shoulder, her breathing steady and deep. He hoped she was sleeping. She’d spent the entire night tending to Mother. He adjusted his position enough to look down at her. She didn’t even stir as he moved. Lud, she looked tired, even in her sleep.

“We have been unfair to her,” a raspy and raw voice said.

How long had Mother been awake?

“Lifehas been unfair to her, I am discovering.” He kept his voice low so as not to wake her.“She lost her parents as a child. As a young lady, she endured the rejection of Society simply because she is quiet.”

“And we decided to hate her without even meeting her.” Mother’s pale features showed real remorse.“No one as sweet and kind as she could conspire the way I assumed she had.”

“I fear everyone in the neighborhood will assume something of thatnature should she eventually accept my suit. I believe most of LondonSociety suspects something underhanded on someone’s part.” James gently rubbed Daphne’s hand between his. “It is a shame no one is aware of her worth. Not even she seems to recognize it.”

Mother tried for a moment to turn and look at him but, in the end, simply lay back, exhausted.

“Have you decided what you mean to do, James?” she asked.“Have you given up the idea of finding a wife of your own choosing?”

The question was certainly direct. He had spent the night firming his decision, yet it still pained him.“I have decided I must.” He would not tell Mother of Father’s threats and the subsequent agreement he’d made. She had suffered enough at the hands of her unfeeling husband.

A small tear appeared at the corner of Mother’s eye.“You admire her and respect her. I can see that you do. That is a better start than your father and I had. And you are a better man than he.”

He held back theI should certainly hope sothat immediately sprang to his mind.

“Commit yourself to making her happy, James, and I think you will find your own happiness as well.” Her eyes closed once, twice, and finally the oblivion of sleep took hold.

James stayed in his chair, holding Daphne’s hand. She slept peacefully in the chair she’d occupied most of the night, her head still resting heavily against his shoulder.

Commit yourself to making her happy.He could do that. He’d learned a great deal about her already and could at least begin to guess at the things that would bring a smile to her face. He’d moved forward on the expectation of a cold rejection of the suit he’d been forced to undertake. In that quiet moment, having been given such a tender glimpse into the person she was, he found that outcome no longer suited him.

For the first time, he could almost imagine himself making a life withthe remarkable woman seated beside him. If only a chasm of unspokentruths didn’t stand between them.

Chapter Twenty-Two

James walked at Daphne’s sidein silence, carrying her trunk of herbs. She’d spent the late morning taking her breakfast and packing her herbs. He knew he had done a poor job of thanking her for the kindness she’d shown his mother. He was simply so unaccustomed to anyone helping him look after his family that the words refused to come.

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