“Of course. We should be delighted.”
Daphne stirred in her chair, wishing he would leave, knowing he was not here to make idle chitchat. She hoped he did not intend to make his intentions clear to Lady Fitzhugh and her daughter by asking for a private interview with her. That would be humiliating, especially for him, when she refused. But she soon discovered he was not going to be quite so blunt as that.
“I have been working at such a pace these last months,” he said, “that I have had little time for society, but now that we are nearly finished, I hope to have the opportunity to enjoy the season in London. I shall be quite free to accept invitations.”
His words were expressed with such emphasis that Daphne looked up, just in time to watch Lady Fitzhugh fall right into the trap. Before she could interrupt with something about the weather, Lady Fitzhugh said in a small voice, “Indeed, your grace? I plan to have a card party very soon, a small party of a half dozen of our friends, and far too modest for you, I am sure, but I would be delighted if you would come.”
“I would enjoy that very much,” he said with such a satisfied smile that Daphne wanted to throw her pencil at him.
Lady Fitzhugh seemed quite stunned, not only because she had been so bold as to issue a verbal invitation to a duke, but also because he had accepted. “I shall send an invitation round to you,” she murmured.
“I shall be happy to receive it.” He glanced over at Daphne, then returned his attention to his hostess. “Miss Wade has worked very hard on the sketches for my museum, and I regret that she has had so little time for amusements herself. She deserves to enjoy herself in town.”
“We intend to help her do that, your grace,” Elizabeth assured him, laughing.
Lady Fitzhugh shot her daughter a reproving look. “We are delighted to have Miss Wade with us.”
Anthony turned his attention to Daphne. “This is your first visit to London, is it not, Miss Wade?”
“Yes,” she answered, and stopped pretending to sketch. “I am looking forward to it, having spent so little time moving in society, buried in the country for so long.”
“Ah, your words remind me of the purpose of my visit.” He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a small package wrapped in plain paper and tied with brown twine. He leaned forward in his chair and held the package out to Daphne. “This is yours, I believe.”
She took it from him with a puzzled frown, noting by its shape and feel that it must be a book. “I did not realize I left a book behind me.”
“Perhaps you did not,” he replied, his oblique words puzzling her further.
She looked up and found that he was giving her that half smile that meant he was teasing. “I do not understand.”
He did not enlighten her. Instead, he turned to Elizabeth and Anne. “It is a bit early yet in the season, but I hope you young ladies plan to attend some assemblies while you are in town?”
“Oh, yes,” Anne assured him, a bit nervously.
“We shall be attending one at the Haydon Assembly Rooms three days hence, as a matter of fact.”
“I am gratified to hear it. Ladies, please forgive me, but I must go. I fear I have trespassed on your time long enough.”
“We are honored you did so, your grace,” Lady Fitzhugh answered. She stood up, and her daughters and Daphne rose as well. “Please feel free to call upon us any time. Any time at all.”
“I assure you that I shall avail myself of that pleasure as often as I can, Lady Fitzhugh,” he said as he moved to stand. “Please tell your husband he may come to see the museum any time convenient. And I look forward to receiving your invitation. Please do not forget me.”
Daphne could see all three of the other women practically melting on the floor, but she held back her frustrated sigh. So this was how he intended to get his way. By overwhelming her friends with charm, dazzling them with his condescension, and flattering them with his attentions. She realized with a sinking feeling that he was going to be nice. How awful.
“Lady Fitzhugh,” he said. “Miss Fitzhugh, Miss Elizabeth, Miss Wade.” His eyes lingered on her for a moment, and she stared back at him, appalled by this new campaign he intended to launch, but he did not appear to notice. “Ladies,” he said with a bow, “it has been a pleasure.”
After he had gone, no one spoke for several moments. Elizabeth, of course, was the first to do so. “What did he give you, Daphne?” she asked. “Did you forget a book in Hampshire?”
“Elizabeth,” reproved her mother. “It is not our business.”
Daphne owned scarcely a dozen books, having had to sell all of her father’s, and she was certain she had not left behind even one of the precious few she did own. She untied the bow, pulled away the twine, and carefully tore off the wrapping paper. She was holding the book facedown, but the white linen cover alone confirmed her suspicion that it did not belong to her. “This is not mine,” she said, frowning. “I have never seen this before.”
She turned the volume over and read the gilded stamp on front. “ Le Langage des Fleurs ,” she read aloud, with a tightening pang of pain around her heart, “by Charlotte de la Tour.”
She stared at the golden fleur-de-lis below the title for a moment, then read the inscription he had written.
Miss Wade,
The words of Englishmen are known all over the world to be the most inarticulate of devices for communicating matters of true consequence, and they have certainly failed me. I must resort to another language to talk with you, and to that end, I give you this lexicon. Should you wish to send me any replies, may I venture to recommend DeCharteres? They are the most excellent florists in Town.
