“If you will excuse me, Mama, I’ll change into an old gown and be down to help Cook in a trice.”
Suiting the word to the deed, she left the kitchen for the more public part of the house. She hurried up the stairs (noting once more the signs of wear on the carpet that covered the treads) and started down the corridor toward her own room. Before she reached it, however, the door to Mr. Potts’s bedchamber flew open and the aspiring lawyer stepped into the corridor.
“Miss Drinkard,” he addressed her somewhat stiffly, “I have been awaiting your return.”
“Have you?” she asked in some confusion. She glanced toward the open door behind him. “Is something amiss with your lodgings? Do you require fresh towels, perhaps?”
He made an impatient gesture of dismissal. “Towels be hanged! My window overlooks the back of the house, you know. I saw you with Sir Valerian.”
She sighed, having a very fair idea of the direction the conversation was about to take. “Yes? What of it?”
“Miss Drinkard, I must caution you against encouraging that man’s advances. I fear his intentions toward you cannot be honorable.”
“I was not aware that you were so well acquainted with Sir Valerian,” she said coolly, wondering why every gentleman of her acquaintance suddenly seemed determined to address her in terms usually heard only on the stage.
“I’m not.” Mr. Potts made this declaration as if it were a source of considerable pride.
“Then what, pray, can you know of his intentions?”
“Permit me to observe, Miss Drinkard, that I know rather more of the world than you have had occasion to learn. I have attended Oxford, you know, and before taking up my present position, I was accustomed to spending the summers with my aunt in Yorkshire, where I attended both the cathedral and the assemblies.”
“Yorkshire,” echoed Daphne. “How very cosmopolitan!”
“Don’t laugh at me!” Mr. Potts ground out through clenched teeth. “You must know how I feel about you!”
“Indeed, I could not fail to do so, Mr. Potts, although I am sure I have never given you the least encouragement! I fear I can give you no hope, and can only urge you to fix your interests on some other, more receptive object.”
“Never!” declared Mr. Potts. Before she realized what he was about, he had seized her in his arms. “I shall never love anyone but you!”
“Stop it! Mr. Potts, you must not! Release me this minute, before I box your ears!”
In fact, this was an empty threat, as her arms were pinned to her sides. In any case, he paid her not the slightest heed, but attempted to capture her mouth with his own—an assault which Daphne could only resist (and that with only mixed success) by twisting her head from side to side. Above their labored breathing, she was vaguely aware of muffled footsteps on the stairs—a familiar tread that increased rapidly once it reached the uncarpeted corridor. In the next instant, Mr. Potts let out a strangled cry as his cravat tightened about his neck like a noose and he was hauled backwards by his collar. He perforce released Daphne, who, although flushed and breathing heavily, nevertheless looked beyond his shoulder to regard her deliverer with glowing eyes.
“You will make your apologies to Miss Drinkard at once,” commanded Theo, giving his captive a shake as a terrier might a rat.
Mr. Potts glared at Theo over his shoulder as much as the viselike grip on his collar would allow. “And why should I take orders from a common laborer?”
“Because if you don’t, this common laborer is going to take you outside and give you the thrashing you deserve.”
Although a stranger to Yorkshire, Theo stood fully half a head taller than his vanquished foe and had more than once boxed with Gentleman Jackson in the former champion’s Bond Street saloon. Although Mr. Potts had no way of knowing of the latter circumstance, he was all too aware of the former. Whatever his shortcomings as a lover, he had not progressed so far in his chosen profession by being stupid, and he quickly reached the conclusion that here was one of those instances where discretion was indeed the better part of valor.
“Very well,” the fledgling lawyer said stiffly. With these words, he found himself released so abruptly that he was hard-pressed not to stumble into the wall. Straightening himself to his full (albeit unimpressive) height, he tugged his disarranged clothing back into some semblance of order, and addressed Daphne with what dignity he could muster. “I am sorry if the ardor I have so long felt for you has betrayed me into giving offense. Believe me when I say I never would have insulted you with my attentions, had I the slightest notion that you preferred the lecherous advances of a London park-saunterer to the love of an honest man.”
“Mr. Potts, you do both Sir Valerian and me an injustice—”
Ignoring her half-formed protest, the offended lawyer turned his disdain upon Theo. “As for you, I regret that the difference in our respective stations prohibits me from demanding satisfaction from you on the field of honor. Nevertheless, I will not spend one more night beneath the same roof as one I can only consider a ruffian and a bully-boy. Miss Drinkard, I shall settle my account with your mother, and then this house shall see me no more.”
“Really, Mr. Potts, there is not the slightest need for you to—”
He paid her no heed, but ducked back into his room and slammed the door. Daphne and Theo regarded one another in silence for a long moment.
“Oh, dear,” Daphne said at last, letting out a long breath.
“Are you all right?” Theo asked, regarding her keenly.
“Yes. That is, I’m not looking forward to breaking the news to Mama that she is losing one of her boarders, but other than that—” she broke off, shrugging.
“Surely
