Page 12 of Guilty Pleasures

Like a moth blundering in lamplight, Daphne stumbled her way through the maze of Tremore Hall’s many corridors, only instinct guiding her to the refuge of her own bedchamber on the other side of the house.

Once inside the privacy of her own room, she slammed the door behind her, dropped the tablet heedlessly to the floor, and clamped her hands over her ears, but it was a futile gesture. She could still hear Anthony’s words ringing in her ears, muted only by the sound of her own sobs as her heart fractured into pieces.

Chapter 5

The human heart must be a strong and resilient thing, Daphne decided when she awoke the following morning. She was surprised to find that she was no longer in the throes of wrenching heartbreak and pain. Instead, in a strange way, she felt as if she had been reborn.

She had spent the entire evening and most of the night crying into her pillow and nursing her broken heart. She had shed countless tears for the pain of Anthony’s insulting words. She had told herself, more with defiance than sincerity, that this Lady Sarah he intended to marry was welcome to him. She had called herself all kinds of a fool for her unrealistic illusions. Most of all, she had grieved for the painful destruction of the hope in her heart, hope for Anthony’s affections, hope that she had not even acknowledged to herself until his opinion of her had shattered it.

Now, though a vestige of pain still lingered, Daphne did not feel sad or foolish. She felt free.

As she dressed, she tried to understand herself, and she realized that it was as if a great weight had been lifted from her. She had spent the last five months trying to be what Anthony wanted, trying to anticipate and fill every need or desire he expressed to her, working like a slave to please him, and all it had gotten her was his indifferent scorn.

Daphne sat down at the dressing table in her room and stared idly at her reflection as she brushed out her hair. A rueful smile tipped her mouth. Anthony had called her pathetic, and she looked rather a sorry mess just now with her face all puffy from crying, but the only pathetic thing in this scenario was how much of herself she had wasted on him.

Anthony’s words had been harsh, but they had made her understand something about herself, something that she had never seen before.

Since her mother’s death, she had spent her life needing to be needed, trying to fill the void in her father’s heart with the love her mother’s death had taken from him, trying to be his partner in his work, trying to be the antidote to his grief. Here, she had tried to do the same with Anthony, desperately wanting him to need her, wanting him to make her feel valued, appreciated, loved.

As noticeable as a stick insect on a twig.

Now, in the light of a new day, she vowed that things would be different. She remembered Viola’s questions in the antika yesterday, and she realized they led to a much more fundamental one.

What now?

Daphne turned in her chair and surveyed the room around her, a room that was ornate to the point of opulence. The gold and green damask draperies around her bed, the paneled walls and fireplace mantel of carved rosewood, the elaborate moldings of angels on the ceiling, the malachite-topped dressing table where she sat, and the painted urns of peacock feathers. Like all the other rooms at Tremore Hall, it was large and overpowering, conveying immense wealth and a true sense of history, but it was a house with little warmth. Rather like its owner , she thought. He thought to marry without any sort of love or affection. How cold he must be, and how blind she had been never to have seen that aspect of his character before.

Daphne returned her attention to her reflection in the mirror, met her own gaze, and made her first decision about her future. She had to leave Tremore Hall. She could not stay here. To be near that wretched man, to continue to work for him like a slave for the next five years, knowing the disdain with which he regarded her, was an intolerable prospect.

But where else could she go? What could she do? She had done excavation work all her life. For the first time, she began to wonder if there were other possibilities for her future.

I should love it if you could come with me to Enderby.

Daphne remembered the viscountess’s words of yesterday in the antika. She also went over what she had overheard of Viola’s plans for her, and she felt a spark of excitement. The viscountess had admitted being lonely. She envisioned Daphne as a sort of protégée, and wanted to find her a husband. Perhaps she would agree to allow Daphne to stay with her for a time, introduce her to people, help her form some connections. Who knew what might happen? With the viscountess to guide her, she could gain a great deal of experience with the ways of good society, ways she had only read about in books.

Perhaps this opportunity would enable her to become a governess to a wealthy family. Or perhaps she should swallow her pride and make another attempt to unite with her grandfather. She might even fulfill Viola’s matchmaking hopes and find someone to marry, someone who truly loved her and wanted her.

Daphne decided it was time to stop believing she had no choices for her future. It was time to begin deciding her own destiny. Perhaps it was even time to have a bit of fun.

She would leave here and enter the glittering world of English society. As for Anthony, he could go hang, and his opinions with him.

“I beg your pardon?” Viola set down her quill and stared at Daphne in complete astonishment.

Daphne knew she was being quite bold, but she was desperate. “Yesterday you mentioned how you wished I could go with you to Enderby when you leave here. Given our short acquaintance, I know it is presumptuous of me to ask, but did you mean it?”

Viola recovered herself and gestured to the chair opposite the writing desk in her room. “Do sit down, Daphne.”

Daphne took the offered chair, crossed her fingers in her lap, and waited for an answer.

“Of course I meant it,” Viola said, “but what about your position here?”

“I intend to resign my post.”

“I thought you loved it at Tremore Hall.” Viola stiffened in her chair and gave Daphne a sharp look. “Has something untoward happened since yesterday?”

“No, not at all,” she hastened to assure the other woman, hoping she sounded convincing. She could not bear it if Viola or Anthony learned she had overheard their conversation and the duke’s low opinion of her. “I have enjoyed it here, but your words of yesterday about London have made me realize all that I have missed.”

Viola leaned back against the mahogany chair in which she was seated. “My dear Daphne, I am all astonishment. I had no idea my words would provoke such a reaction.”

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