Page 64 of Guilty Pleasures

Your servant,

Tremore

Daphne bit her lip. That night in the conservatory. He remembered. She felt herself softening inside, felt a hint of pleasure like a ray of sunshine peeping between dark, stormy clouds, and she closed the book with a snap, striving to come to her senses. She had no intention of getting hurt again.

“If this is not your own book, it must be a gift!” Elizabeth pronounced. “Oh, Daphne, a gift from the duke. Why, you are so discreet! You never said a word to us.”

Daphne looked up in dismay to find all three of them staring at her. “I do not know what you mean.”

“Do you not?” Lady Fitzhugh asked softly, giving her such a knowing look that Daphne wanted to scream. “It is a very poetic sort of gift, is it not?”

“Indeed,” Anne agreed with a sigh. “To be the recipient of a duke’s attentions. How romantic.”

“Is it romantic and poetic?” asked Elizabeth.

“Of course it is, silly goose!” Anne cried, laughing. “It is Le Langage des Fleurs !”

“Yes, yes, but I’m not a silly goose, and what does it mean?”

“The language of flowers,” her mother explained. “You would know how to translate it, Elizabeth, if you had not railed so forcefully against your French lessons as a child. It is a book that explains the poetic meaning of particular plants.”

“Lovers use it to send each other secret messages,” Anne said with delight. “It has become quite the thing. So, Daphne, are you engaged to him yet?”

“Anne!” Lady Fitzhugh cried. “You do not need to confide in us, Daphne, my dear. It is not our affair, and we shall respect your privacy.”

“But I am not engaged to him, nor shall I be!” She could tell by their faces they did not believe her, and she added, “There is nothing between us! Nothing at all!”

In her agitation, the book slipped from her fingers. As it fell to the floor, a small, flat posy of flowers tied with ribbon fell out, along with the two thin sheets of vellum in which they had been pressed. The posy and the papers floated down, surrounding the book on the floor.

“You see?” Anne cried. “A message already!”

Daphne picked up the bouquet, noting that though pressed flat, it was still fresh. He must have obtained the flowers on his way here, for they were not yet limp. One was a spike of tiny pink blossoms. Attached to it was a single flower of deep purple and pale yellow. She turned the stems in her fingers, studying it as the others came to surround her, also looking at her bouquet.

“The pink one is hyacinth,” Anne told her. “The purple is columbine.”

“Pink hyacinth signifies a game,” Elizabeth pronounced, looking up from the book, now open in her hands. “And columbine means, ‘I will win.’ ”

A game of flowers was clever, she had to admit, but it was so very much like him to proclaim victory before that game had even begun.

“This is so exciting!” Elizabeth cried. “The Duke of Tremore himself courting our Daphne.”

“That is Daphne’s personal correspondence,” Lady Fitzhugh reminded her daughter in a severe tone, “and as confidential as any letter. You should be ashamed of yourself. Apologize to Daphne and give her back her book!”

“I am sorry, Daphne,” Elizabeth said, chastened. She handed back the book. “This is a private matter between the duke and yourself.”

“Not for long, dear sister,” Anne said. “For if the Duke of Tremore is courting Daphne, every person in Town will know it within a few days. Everyone has been speculating about him choosing a wife ever since he took the emeralds to be reset. Oh, Daphne, if he has not offered for you, he must be intending to do so, for he would not have given you a gift, especially one like this. Oh, the papers will be filled with it, and with all of us.”

“I am afraid that is true,” Lady Fitzhugh said with a sigh of resignation that contrasted sharply with the delight of her daughters. “We had best prepare for the onslaught.”

Daphne sank into a chair. “Onslaught?”

“Anne is right, dear Daphne. If the duke is courting you, then every move you make will be observed and commented upon, as will ours. We shall be inundated with visitors and discussed at length in the society papers.”

“How lovely,” Elizabeth said, laughing, “for we shall not lack for partners at the assemblies now! Daphne, do you think your duke could introduce us to his friends?”

“I despair of you, Elizabeth, I truly do!” Lady Fitzhugh said, sinking down in the chair beside Daphne’s and laying a hand on her arm. “You must understand what this will mean, dear. You will be watched, and studied, and gossiped about. You must prepare yourself for that, for much of that gossip will not be favorable. Envy is a horrid emotion, and there will be a great quantity of it. Dukes are a rare commodity, and people can be full of avarice.”

Daphne stared down at the book in her hands. She did not want this. She did not want him to be courtly and romantic, for if he did, she might fall for it. She might start to believe he truly cared for her, when it was only a facade to get his way and satisfy his honor. He did not love her, but she knew from the hurt in her heart that she was in great danger of falling back in love with him.

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