Page 15 of Guilty Pleasures

When he had finally interrupted her, stating in the most icy tone a duke could command that he had chosen her father because he had wanted the best antiquarian available and he had no intention of hiring her without her father, she had not pleaded with him. She had not tried to play on his sympathy or his chivalry with some heartbreaking story about how she had nothing and no one and needed the job. She had merely blinked at him through those spectacles, staring at him with that inscrutable face and looking for all the world like a solemn baby owl as she had replied in utter seriousness, “I am the best available.”

His disbelieving laugh had gone right by her, for she had continued, “I am the daughter of Sir Henry Wade, and he was the best. I was trained by him, and now that he is gone, there is no one more qualified for this post than I.”

He had never intended to hire her, but he had few options. For the sake of expedience, he had agreed, and for the sake of propriety, he had brought Mr. and Mrs. Bennington from one of the lodges on the estate into the house, so that Mrs. Bennington might act as her chaperone.

During the five months Miss Wade had been here, he had come to realize that her words had been no idle boast. She knew more about ancient Roman antiquities than he could ever hope to know. She was an excellent mosaicist, and her fresco work was perfection itself. He had wanted the best, and as she had so bluntly told him, he had gotten it.

Anthony came out of his reverie and crumpled the letter in his hand into a ball. Until this project was complete, Miss Wade was not going anywhere. When he had the best, he was damn well going to keep it.

Chapter 6

Viola had predicted Anthony would not like the idea of Daphne resigning, and the moment he came storming into her sitting room scarcely an hour after Daphne’s departure, she knew her prediction had been an accurate one. He was frowning like thunder.

“Miss Wade is leaving,” he said without ceremony. “What have you been up to?”

Viola looked up from her letters to glance at her maid, Celeste, who had paused in her task of repairing a torn hem on one of her gowns, then back at Anthony. “If we are going to have a row,” she said calmly, “I should not like to do so in front of a servant.”

Anthony turned to the maid. “Leave us,” he ordered, and the girl stuck the last pin into the dressmaker’s model, bobbed a quick curtsy to both of them, and left her mistress alone with the duke, closing the door behind her.

Viola studied her brother for a moment, noting his narrowed eyes and the grim set of his mouth. Oh, yes, he was very angry indeed. Even to her, it was a bit intimidating.

“I really don’t know what you mean,” she finally said. “Daphne came to me and said she had decided to resign her post. She told me of her intention to find her grandfather, move in society, and perhaps begin meeting suitable young gentlemen. She asked for my assistance. What was I to do?”

“Refuse. That seems to be an obvious choice.”

“I would not do such a thing. She is a baron’s granddaughter.”

“Perhaps. We do not know that.”

Viola shrugged as if it did not matter. “A knight’s daughter then,” she amended, smiling. “I like her, we have become friends, and I think she deserves to be given the opportunity to find her family. She is no common servant sent up from the orphanage. She is a young lady, and she deserves to take her place in society.”

“Cannot this little venture of yours wait until spring? Or better still, five years or so?”

“How heartless you are, Anthony!” Viola rebuked. “Five years will serve to eliminate her chances in the marriage mart altogether. Besides, she wishes to go, and you cannot blame her for wanting to establish her connection to her grandfather. I told her if she was determined to this course, of course I would assist her, but she needed to speak with you first.”

He shot her a shrewd, knowing look. “You encouraged her to resign.”

“I did not refuse to help her, if that is what you mean. Daphne must be allowed to claim her birthright.”

“That is not what I meant. You talked to her about how exciting London is, how amusing the balls and parties are, offered to help her find a husband and all that rot. God only knows what silly ideas you have put into her head.”

“There is nothing silly about a young lady wishing for company and society and wanting to find a husband. She is very lonely here, you know.”

“That is hardly the point,” he answered. “You know how important this museum and excavation are. You know I have obligations to complete this project. I cannot believe you would do this, Viola.”

She spread her hands wide and donned an air of bewilderment. “Anthony, you seem quite put out. I fail to understand why you should care one way or the other. All you need do is replace her.”

“Miss Wade is not replaceable. She is vital to the success of this project, and she is not going anywhere for at least the next seven months. Five years, if I have my way.”

Viola began to laugh. “My dear brother, you cannot make her stay against her will. Slavery is against the law, you know.”

He was clearly not amused. “When I hired her, she took on an obligation to me through the completion of this project. She intends to break her promise to me, yet she had the impudence to call me inconsiderate.”

“She did?” Viola was astonished. Anthony’s position was so high that most people, including herself, would not dare speak to him in such a way. “I can scarce believe it.”

“Believe it, for that is what she said. I do not say please and thank you, she said. I am inconsiderate, arrogant, and—what was it?—selfish. Yes, that was it. She said she was resigning because she did not want to work for me any longer.”

He sounded outraged—baffled, too, without any comprehension of Daphne’s point of view. Viola was a bit confused herself. What on earth could have prompted Daphne to speak in such a fashion? She seemed such a serene, steady sort of person. “Anthony, when she told you she was resigning, what did you do? Bully her, I suppose.”

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