Page 4 of Guilty Pleasures

“So what?” He met his sister’s dismayed gaze with a hard and determined one of his own. “Since when has love ever been necessary to matrimony?”

Viola stared at him for a long moment, then she sighed. “Perhaps it is not necessary,” she said, and rose to her feet. “But it would be nice.”

Chapter 2

“So these are his grace’s latest treasures?” Sir Edward smiled at Daphne over the pieces of jewelry she had laid out on the library table. There were armbands of gold, several pairs of pearl earrings, a few cameos, and an exquisite necklace of emeralds set between hammered gold leaves. The jewels glittered in the morning sunlight that poured through the windows of the library. They made a dazzling display against the white cloth that protected the table.

“Very fine emeralds,” he pronounced, studying the necklace through his monocle.

“They are not so fine as the ducal emeralds, I daresay,” Mrs. Bennington pronounced as she leaned her short, stout frame over the table a bit to have a closer look. Her rubicund face scrunched with disappointment. “When Bennington told me about these Roman jewels, I was so excited to see them, but now that I have, I find them rather a letdown. So crudely made. Why, no young lady would wear these!”

Daphne laughed. “But Mrs. Bennington, these are not to be worn. They are for the duke’s museum. His grace intends that museum to be open not only to the wealthy and privileged, but to everyone. Is that not a noble goal? All British people, rich or poor, shall be allowed to see their history.”

“She sounds just like Tremore, does she not?” A feminine voice floated to them from the doorway.

All three of them turned to see the woman who entered the library. Daphne pushed her spectacles up the bridge of her nose to have a clearer view and recognized her at once from the portraits in the gallery. This was Anthony’s sister. The portrait did not do her justice, for on canvas she seemed only a pretty blond woman with hazel eyes like her brother. But in reality, one could imagine that her face had launched the thousand ships at Troy.

Lady Hammond smiled at her and Mrs. Bennington in a friendly way, then nodded to the man at the end of the table. “Sir Edward,” she said, her hands outstretched in greeting as she walked toward him. “What a pleasure to see you again so soon.”

“Lady Hammond,” he answered, taking the woman’s hands into his own. “I so enjoyed dining here at Tremore Hall last evening, and your presence made it especially delightful.”

“I enjoyed it as well, Sir Edward. I was fascinated by your discussion with his grace about this excavation of his.”

Daphne would have loved to participate in such a discussion, but that was unlikely to happen. Being an employee of the duke, she never dined with Anthony or his guests. She took her meals with the Benningtons in a separate dining room, but it would not have mattered in any case. She had spent her evening fulfilling a request Anthony had made of her just before dinner.

Would you be able to have those pieces of jewelry finished for me by tomorrow morning, Miss Wade?

It was a time-consuming and tedious process to clean and repair jewelry, but she had willingly spent her evening and half her night in the antika accomplishing it.

The viscountess noticed the pieces laid out on the table. “These must be the emeralds my brother was talking about last night. It is hard to imagine that they were buried right on our land all this time. Are they really over fifteen hundred years old?”

“Over sixteen hundred, actually,” Daphne answered, causing the woman to turn in her direction.

“Lady Hammond,” Sir Edward put in, “you must meet Miss Wade and Mrs. Bennington. Mrs. Bennington is the wife of the project architect, while Miss Wade—”

“Does everything!” the viscountess put in. “Or so I have been told. Sir Edward was singing your praises last night at dinner, Miss Wade. Even Anthony admitted that you were quite the best antiquarian he knew.”

“He said that?” Daphne felt a warm little glow at the idea that Anthony had been singing her praises, but she did not show it, far too afraid of having her secret feelings for him revealed. “I am gratified to hear it.”

“I should hope so, dear, for that is high praise indeed,” Mrs. Bennington put in. “Mr. Bennington tells me the duke’s good opinion is very hard to earn, for it is always given with the strictest honesty.”

“Quite true,” Lady Hammond agreed. “He is always frank in his opinions, sometimes brutally so, but he said Miss Wade is a most excellent mosaicist and restorer. How did you ever come to learn such things, Miss Wade?”

“I suppose you could say I was born to it,” she answered. “I have lived and worked on excavation sites all my life.”

“Speaking of excavations,” Sir Edward went on, “I must go down to meet his grace at the site. He wishes to show me the hypocaust.”

“A hypocaust sounds most impressive,” the viscountess commented, “but what on earth is it?”

They all laughed, but it was Daphne who answered. “A hypocaust is a sort of cellar beneath the house that slaves kept filled with hot water. It made the tile floors warm in winter and heated the house. Quite a practical design.”

“I must see it then. Anything that would keep one’s feet warm in the wretched English climate would be a sound idea.”

“We could do with more of them, Lady Hammond, I am sure,” Sir Edward answered. “But forgive me, I must go.” He bowed to her.

“I shall go with you,” Mrs. Bennington declared, “for I must speak to my husband.”

“Of course, dear lady, of course.” Sir Edward offered her his arm, and they departed.

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