When Only a Rake Will Do (5 page)

Having claimed the last dance of the evening for himself, the earl’s mood had been revoltingly smug as he’d congratulated her on her continued success.  “By God you even managed to draw young Leighton out of the shadows,” he’d exclaimed in an excited murmur, his expression triumphant as he’d executed the steps of the simple country dance, seemingly as pleased by that particular accomplishment as he’d been when she had secured her first voucher for Almacks. Perversely, she’d chosen not to enlighten him to the fact that Lord Leighton, having asked both Lizzie and Amelia to dance whilst standing directly in front of her, had most likely been acting out of simple courtesy when he’d asked to partner
her
as well. 

But now, as she lay gazing up at the shadowed ceiling above her bed, she couldn’t deny that a tiny little part of her wished that it
had
been more than mere courteousness that had prompted his offer; that he’d been attracted to her and that she had evoked in him the same dizzying emotions that he had evoked in her. 

Oh stop it, Daphne
, she mentally chided in the very next instant, for thinking like that would surely do naught but bring about disappointment.  For it was silly to think that Lord Leighton would be interested in
her
when he could surely have any woman he wanted?  Besides, like it or not, her fate had already been determined. She was to wed the Earl of Blackburn and no amount of wishful thinking on her part was going to change that.

With a heavy sigh she rolled onto her stomach, pressing her cheek against the cool linen of her pillowcase.  Difficult as it was, it was time for her to accept the inevitable.  Her life wasn’t a fairytale and it never would be.  There would be no gallant knight riding to her rescue and no charming prince with whom she would live happily ever after.  The fantasies of her youth were nothing more than that, silly flights of the imagination and girlish reveries that were never going to come true.  And much as it pained her, she knew that it was time to let them go.

But even as the dispiriting notion lingered within her thoughts, she couldn’t forestall the yearnings of her subconscious nor the vision that appeared beneath her closed eyelids when she finally drifted off to sleep.  Surprisingly however, it was not a chivalrous knight in chainmail and armor, nor an enchanting prince from a faraway land who invaded her dreams, but rather a swashbuckling pirate, a handsome rogue with dark hair, piercing blue eyes and a devilish smile that took her breath away.  And when he’d rescued her from the evil villain who held her, lifting her up into his arms and carrying her up the gangplank to board his mighty ship, she clung to him, joyful and unafraid, eager to set sail with her dashing hero and surrender her heart to the promise of an everlasting love.

Throughout the nights following the Chesterfield ball, the handsome pirate became a recurring figure within Daphne’s dreams, reappearing time and again to carry her away aboard his ship as her subconscious clung stubbornly to a hope that refused to die.

It was a quarter past seven when Daphne arrived at the park and as usual only a handful of riders were visible as she guided her horse onto the wide track.  Far too early for those who frequented the grounds in order to
simply
see
or to be
seen
, it was the ideal time of day for people like her, those more interested in riding than socializing.  And despite the late hours that she’d been keeping since the start of the Season, she was more than willing to drag herself from the comfort of her bed several times a week in order to enjoy a leisurely ride through the tranquil setting and to delight in the crisp morning air.  In addition, knowing that many of the freedoms she enjoyed now were sure to be curtailed once she became the Countess of Blackburn, was added motivation to enjoy each and every day as if it were her last.

And so, with Timothy, one of their liveried footmen following dutifully behind, Daphne urged Titus to a faster pace.  A gift from her parents, the sweet-tempered gelding was eager to run and soon she let him have his head, leaving poor Timothy trailing in her wake atop his less-spirited mount as they galloped along the track.

For a time, as she and Titus raced alongside the cool morning breeze, Daphne was able to set aside her worries and simply enjoy the moment.  The touch of the wind against her cheeks felt glorious and her spirits were lighter than air as Titus’s powerful hooves tore across the ground beneath her.  All too soon she would have to face reality once again, but for now and for a short while to come she was free and she reveled in the sheer joy of it.

Entering Hyde Park from the south, Brendon eyed Rotten Row with a leisurely gaze.  As he’d hoped, the park was nearly deserted at that hour and the track devoid of all but a few solitary male riders and one lone woman approaching from the north with a uniformed footman in tow.  He would wait for the woman to pass by and then head in the opposite direction, he decided.  It wasn’t until the female rider had drawn a bit closer however, that he recognized her.  It was Daphne Hewitt, who in the bright light of day somehow managed to look even lovelier than she had upon their initial meeting. 

Considering his initial attraction to the tempting young beauty he debated hanging back until she passed, for surely another encounter would only intensify his desire for the enticing lass. But after only a moment’s hesitation and against his better judgment, he found himself urging his mount forward instead.

Noting a rider entering the track a short distance ahead, Daphne was surprised to see that while garbed as a proper English gentleman rather than a swashbuckling pirate, it was the very man who had been haunting her dreams for the past several nights, Lord Brendon Leighton.

“Lady Daphne, this is a pleasant surprise,” Brendon hailed as he steered his horse onto the track, drawing alongside her chestnut-colored mount.

“Lord Leighton, good morning,” Daphne responded with an engaging smile as she slowed Titus to a walk. Sweeping her gaze from the top of his hat, down along his finely-tailored jacket and snug-fitting breeches to the tips of his polished boots, she couldn’t help but admire the splendid figure he cut in his stylish riding clothes.

“And a good morning to you, my lady,” Brendon replied with an answering smile.  Flicking a brief glance toward the requisite footman trailing a short distance behind his mistress, he promptly turned his attention back to Daphne.  “In addition to our fascination with ancient cultures, it would appear that you and I share yet another common interest,” he noted with a meaningful glance toward her mount.

“I do love to ride,” Daphne acknowledged.  “And the park is so peaceful at this time of day that it is well worth losing a few extra hours of sleep on occasion.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Brendon replied, glancing around at the serene setting.

“Do you often ride through the park, my lord?” she asked, surprised she hadn’t seen him there before.

“Not nearly as often as I’d like,” he confessed, “though I endeavor to take this hulking brute out whenever time permits.”

“He’s beautiful,” Daphne said, admiring the magnificent stallion he sat upon.  In addition to his immense size the stallion’s gleaming coat was a rich shade of black while his mane and tail were a snowy white.  It was a striking combination.

“Samson was a gift from my brother,” Brendon replied, patting the stallion’s neck affectionately.  “An incentive to spend less time at sea no doubt,” he continued with a chuckle.

“Do you spend a great deal of time away from home, my lord?”

“Far too much time according to my family,” he professed with a wry smile.  “In fact, if they had their way I’d likely never leave port, though in truth I don’t spend nearly as much time abroad as I used to.”

“I can only imagine all of the places you’ve been and the incredible things you’ve seen.”

“It
has
been quite an adventure,” Brendon acknowledged.  “But even as rewarding as it’s been, life at sea, all the time spent so far from home, it’s grueling as well and certainly not for everyone.”

Daphne nodded in understanding.  “Nonetheless, I can’t help but envy you,” she admitted with a wistful smile, “for you have explored the world while I have never traveled farther than Yorkshire.” 

“You’re young,” Brendon said, his tone encouraging.  “You’ve still plenty of time to see the world.”

She did her best to appear optimistic.  “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”  But would she really, she couldn’t help wondering, for she would soon be wed and to the best of her knowledge the Earl of Blackburn wasn’t known to be much of a world traveler.  Perhaps when the old reprobate succumbed to age and ultimately cocked up his toes, she thought morosely.  But even so, with his eldest son set to inherit his title as well as his fortune, who knew if her widow’s pension would even allow for such luxuries. 

Oh good gracious
, she thought guiltily, mentally scolding herself in the very next instant, for she had just been picturing herself in widow’s weeds when in actuality she had yet to walk down the aisle.  And in any event, despite her intense dislike of the earl she would never long for someone’s death, not even his, and certainly not so that she could derive any sort of benefit from it. 

They continued to walk the horses for a while, chatting pleasantly until Brendon’s mount began to grow restless beneath him. 

“Well, my lady,” he said with an apologetic smile, “much as I hate to cut our conversation short, I believe Samson is itching to stretch his legs.”

“Of course, please don’t let me keep you,” she replied, hiding her disappointment behind a cheery expression.

“Until we meet again then,” Brendon replied, tipping his hat gallantly.

“Until we meet again,” she repeated.  And despite the utter foolhardiness of it she did hope that they would meet again, and not only within the confines of her dreams. 

Watching as he rode away, Daphne knew that it was both silly and utterly pointless to become enamored with one of London’s most notable rakes, especially considering her present circumstance.  But like the scores of other women who had undoubtedly fallen under Brendon Leighton’s spell, she couldn’t seem to help herself. 

Dismounting at the rear of the house a short time later, Daphne handed her reins to the young footman.  “See that the grooms give Titus a few extra sugar cubes this morning, will you Timothy,” she said, lovingly stroking her gloved hand along the horse’s long muzzle before stepping back.

“Yes of course, my lady,” Timothy said, bobbing his head as he tugged gently on the reins, leading Titus toward the stable.

Making her way into the house a few moments later, Daphne glanced toward the side table that stood in the foyer and to the oblong silver salver that rested atop it.  As usual there were numerous calling cards and a sizeable pile of cream-colored envelopes stacked upon its flat surface.

“Did you enjoy your ride, Lady Daphne?” Hughes asked as he entered the foyer from the opposite direction.

“Yes, the park was lovely this morning.”  And the unexpected encounter with Brendon Leighton made it all the more enjoyable, she added silently.  Walking toward the table, she lifted the stack of envelopes and quickly thumbed through them.  One immediately stood out from the rest, for it bore the unmistakable crest of the Duke and Duchess of Sethe.  “Oh my,” she murmured in surprise.

“Is something amiss, my lady?” Hughes asked, his wrinkled brow raised questioningly.

She looked up from the cream-colored envelope, meeting his curious gaze.  “No, nothing at all,” she said, giving the aged butler a reassuring smile.  Holding onto the invitation, she set the remaining envelopes back onto the tray.  “I’ll see to the rest later,” she informed him.

Hughes nodded his greying head.  “As you wish, my lady.”

Still dressed in her blue-velvet riding habit and black leather boots, Daphne exited the foyer and walked down the hall to her brother’s study.  As she’d expected, the room was empty, for Thomas was surely still abed.  And so, walking over to his desk she sat down and reached for the ivory-handled letter opener that lay atop its smooth mahogany surface. Then, slicing through the wax seal she extracted the single piece of cardstock and read the elegant script.  It was an invitation to attend a dinner party at the duke and duchess’ London residence, she noted in astonishment.  In disbelief she read it a second time, but the wording remained unchanged. 

Considering that she had met the duke and duchess, one of Society’s most powerful and influential couples only once before, the invitation was completely unexpected.  Thinking back to her brief introduction to the pair at the Chesterfield ball, she could only speculate as to what had prompted the invitation.  Could her friendship with the Warrene family have something to do with it, she wondered?  Surely that must be it, she surmised, for what other reason could there be.  Even so, to be invited to such an intimate gathering was an extraordinary accomplishment, for although the Hewitt family had always held a place in Society, the Leighton’s were in a class all their own, maintaining an elite position within the
ton’s
highest echelon.

But even as she wondered at the remarkable circumstance, another thought soon superseded all others.  Would Brendon Leighton be in attendance at his brother and sister-in-law’s dinner party?  It was quite possible, she realized.  Oh my, perhaps she
would
meet the handsome lord again, she mused, and even sooner than she had anticipated.

“Daphne, are you in here?” she heard, just before her sister’s angelic face appeared within the doorway.

“Good morning, dearest,” she said, dropping the invitation onto the desktop and rising from the chair.  “I didn’t realize that you were up,” she continued, moving around the side of the desk.

“Umm hmm,” Charlotte replied, bobbing her head as she walked into the room.  “Whiskers was scratching at the door and woke me.”

Whiskers was Charlotte’s cat; and the grey, short-haired tabby’s favorite spot in the house was in the center of her sister’s bed. 

“Have you been out riding?” Charlotte asked, eyeing Daphne’s velvet habit.

“Yes, I awoke early this morning and rode through the park.”

“Will you take me with you next time?” Charlotte asked, her wide-eyed expression hopeful.

“Well, perhaps not the
very
next time,” Daphne replied.  “You’ll need a few more lessons with Mr. Dickens before we can take your pony to the park, I think.”

Although Charlotte looked disappointed, she knew better than to argue.  She had only just begun her lessons after all.

“Very well.  I suppose that is the sensible thing to do,” she said in a surprisingly grown up tone. 

Daphne nodded as she placed her arm around Charlotte’s shoulders.  “Are you hungry?” she asked, purposefully redirecting her sister’s thoughts as she guided her toward the door. 

At the mention of food, Charlotte’s expression brightened considerably, causing Daphne to grin.  Despite her small size, her sister had a remarkably healthy appetite.

“Do you think Cook has made raspberry tarts for breakfast this morning?”

Cook’s raspberry tarts were Charlotte’s favorite, and the scrumptious pastries were a favorite of hers as well.  “I don’t know.  We will simply have to wait and see, I suppose,” Daphne replied as they walked out into the hall.  “But first I shall have to change out of these clothes.  Would you like to come upstairs with me while I do?”

Charlotte nodded eagerly, allowing Daphne to take her hand and pull her along toward the staircase.

Later that afternoon, as Charlotte was busy with her art lesson, Daphne was once again seated behind her brother’s desk, attending to the daily correspondence.  Having just penned a note of acceptance to the Duke and Duchess of Sethe’s invitation, she reached for the next envelope from atop the neatly stacked pile.  As Thomas had little patience for such tasks, the job of sorting through and responding to the numerous missives was now her responsibility.

She’d just opened an invitation to a musical performance hosted by the Viscountess of Hawthorne when a soft knock sounded at the door.  “Come in,” she called, looking up.