“The likeness is astounding. Sophia, I can’t thank you enough for thinking to have the portrait done.”
The painting had been Sophia’s birthday gift to Claxton the previous July, created by an artist who utilized Mr. Garswood’s miniature as inspiration. As for the damaged portrait of the old duke that Sophia had hidden away in the attic months before, the canvas had been painstakingly repaired and now hung in the cavernous gallery of their London home between a portrait of Vane’s great-grandfather and himself.
In the dining room, Daphne crossed to the window, where she peered out through the new peacock-blue draperies Mrs. Branigan had finished and hung with pride just the week before. “At last! Clarissa, our handsome husbands have returned from their walk about the property with Mr. Kettle and Mr. Branigan.”
Clarissa joined her, William perched on her hip. “They are handsome, aren’t they? And look, they’ve brought more mistletoe.”
The two of them broke into a round of delighted giggles.
“Girls!” chided Lady Harwick, momentarily looking up from Vinson’s laughing face. “Not at breakfast.”
Claxton pulled Sophia’s chair from the table, and she stood beside him, reveling in the familiar banter. To have her family here, at this happy place with her and Vane, meant more to her than anything. He moved to stand behind her, his arms encircling her waist and pulling her close.
“I believe my mother would be very happy if she were here to see,” he said, nuzzling her cheek.
“Of that, I have no doubt.”
“This is the best Christmas ever,” he murmured.
Sophia smiled. “You said the same thing last year.”
“Every Christmas will be my best Christmas as long as I have you.” He pressed a tender kiss to her temple. “I love you. Merry Christmas, goose.”
Miss Daphne Bevington will do anything to help a friend…even masquerade as a dancer at a house of ill repute for a night. But when a police raid threatens to expose her identity, she finds help in the arms of Cormack, Lord Raikes, a sinfully sexy man with a secret all his own…
Don’t miss the next enthralling book in this sizzling series!
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Chapter One
Daphne Bevington smiled at her sister’s obvious excitement for the Heseldons’ ball. Clarissa looked like a princess in blush-pink silk, a color Daphne would never, as long as she lived, choose to wear. She’d developed an aversion for the color in her youth, when Lady Harwick had oftentimes insisted on dressing her and her sisters in matching pink dresses. Daphne shivered at the memory but reminded herself not to lose focus. She had to get her sister and her mother out of the house as quickly as possible.
“I wish you were coming.” Clarissa pouted. “But I understand how fond you are of Miss Fickett. I do hope she improves very soon. You’re such a dear to offer to stay and nurse her and the others. I wish I’d thought of it first. They are all going to like you better now!” She laughed, and merriment lit her eyes.
“I only want to keep an eye on Miss Fickett and the others, Clarissa. Will you keep an eye on Mama? She didn’t want to leave me here alone.” At Clarissa’s nod, Daphne continued, leading her closer to the front door. “The physician believes the illnesses are the result of tainted sausages on the servants’ midafternoon tea sideboard and that’s why those who had chosen to eat mutton suffered no symptoms. You should have seen Cook when he came back from confronting the butcher.” Daphne laughed despite herself. “Steam was shooting out of his ears. But at least this time it didn’t require an intervention from the authorities.”
Clarissa waved a gloved hand. “I’ll tell you all the on-dits tonight when we return—what everyone wore and who asked me to dance.”
“I can’t wait to hear, but tomorrow at breakfast, perhaps,” Daphne responded. “Most likely I’ll be asleep when you return.” Balls always ran late, and it would be two or three o’clock before they arrived home.
“Come along, Clarissa,” called her mother. Behind her, the footman opened the door.
In a shimmer of pearls and diamonds, her sister and mother were gone. Daphne breathed a sigh of relief. Finally—time to help Kate! Thank heavens Wolverton had decided to make an early evening of it and take dinner in his room. She’d glimpsed O’Connell, his valet, descending the servants’ staircase some thirty minutes before, having already been dismissed for the night.
“Now, what next?” she whispered to herself, as she rushed down the stairs, returning again to the servants’ corridor.
Daphne’s mind raced and her heart pounded so hard and rapidly she could scarcely breathe. How unjust that a girl like Kate, who worked so hard day to day as a lady’s maid, should have to bear the dreadful burden of her dead father’s unpaid debt.
She had told her friend—
She had to come up with a plan. There wasn’t much time. She could no more allow Kate’s elderly grandmother and siblings to be turned out into the streets or sent to the workhouse than she could allow the same misfortune to befall her own family.
But she’d already considered every option. For Daphne, simply paying off the debt wasn’t possible because despite her privileged life, she had no access to money of her own, not of the magnitude required. She couldn’t sell her dresses or her jewels. Anything of value that went missing would be noted immediately either by her mother or the keen-eyed housekeeper, Mrs. Brightmore, and the loss construed as theft. The servants would be questioned, and she would be forced to step forward and declare herself the guilty party in stealing from…well, from her own self. A strange predicament but true.
She alighted on the lower landing and gripped the banister. If only she could go to her grandfather or her mother and simply ask for the money, but she knew from experience their rule about lending money to servants. Her grandfather, no matter how generous he might be, would soundly reject the lending of money to a servant. The problem had presented itself before, and she had heard his reasoning. What he did for one, he must do for all. There would be no loans granted, only fair wages earned, and never in advance.
Likely by opening her mouth she would only find herself on the receiving end of a lecture about proper behavior and boundaries—and Kate in search of a new position.
She could only imagine her grandfather’s explosive reaction to learning that she’d involved herself in the financial affairs of a servant. Her mother’s dismay. She couldn’t even go to her older sister, Sophia, who very well might take pity on Kate’s plight, because the Duke and Duchess of Claxton had not yet returned from Vienna, where his Grace was deeply involved in diplomatic affairs related to the war.
Daphne hadn’t felt this helpless since the day of her father’s death.
Hurriedly, she spoke to the nurse who had been brought in to tend to those servants who had been stricken ill, and afterward, she visited each of the female staff, where she fluffed pillows and coaxed spoonfuls of weak beef tea through unwilling lips. All the while, her brain churned out one useless idea after another. At last she returned to Kate’s door, having arrived at no useful resolution. Inside, thankfully, Kate still slept, her face pallid against the linen pillowcase.
Hands shaking, she took up Kate’s reticule from the table and searched inside until she found what she wanted—a scrap of paper upon which all the necessary particulars had been, in her friend’s familiar handwriting, neatly inscribed. There was no other way.
“Cheatin’ nob!”
Cormack intercepted the fist, which had only a second before been drunkenly presented to his face. Grabbing the red-nosed fellow by his shoulders, he spun him round and shoved him in the direction of his intended opponent.
Lord, he despised bawdy houses. Having only just passed through the well-barricaded door, he elbowed
