In short, he looked every inch a duke, while she was dusted with flour and dressed in her oldest gown, and she had believed she’d found in him a kindred spirit whose circumstances were no better than her own, while all the time he had been—he had been—
The next time a man does something you don’t like . . .
She snatched up her flour-sprinkled skirts and jerked her knee up, just as he had once taught her in this very room.
Theo jumped out of range with a yelp. “Daphne, you little hellcat! What the—”
“How dare you?” she demanded, hopping after him on one foot while she tried without success to make contact with her other knee. “How dare you come here and—and laugh at me—at all of us—”
“I never laughed at you,” he assured her gently, taking her by the shoulders but holding her at arm’s length, just in case. “How could I?”
“Still, you might have told me,” she said, wiping away angry tears with her sleeve. “I told you all about Papa, and about how things stood with Mama and me, but still you said nothing.”
“But I did,” he insisted. “I told you I was a gentleman who’d temporarily fallen on hard times.”
“You admitted it after I guessed it on my own,” she retorted. “It’s not at all the same thing.”
“But—but, dash it,” Theo protested. “After hearing what happened to you, what your father had done, how could I look you in the face after admitting that I’d been no better? D’you think I was proud of the fact that I’d managed to run myself to grass within days of coming into the title?”
She blinked at him. “You did? But—how?”
He shoved his hand through his hair, disarranging the modish curls. “I’ve asked myself the same question a hundred times. Part of it—most of it, I suppose—was cowardice, pure and simple.”
“Cowardice?” Daphne echoed, picturing once more the image of Theo going off to face an angry mob without so much as a stout stick to defend himself. “You are the bravest man I’ve ever known! What you did at the mill that night—”
“Oh, that,” he said, dismissing it with an impatient gesture. “That wasn’t bravery; it was simple necessity. I had to do something, and so—but this was different. Suddenly all the responsibility of the dukedom was mine, and there would be no more running to Papa to extricate me when I found myself in difficulties. Then, too, I had a longstanding pact with some of my old friends from Oxford days, to celebrate whenever one of us came unto his title—all at the new peer’s expense, of course—and I had to hold up my end of the bargain. We played cards at White’s, and I lost—one always does, when one most needs to win. Finally, there was a—a woman who expected me to marry her, although I never gave her the least reason to think—anyway, it was necessary to—well, to buy her off. Compensation for breaking her heart, she said, although I could give you another name for it.”
“And this lady found money an acceptable substitute for your affections?” Daphne asked, indignant on his behalf.
“To be perfectly honest, it was jewelry, not money. And although she was a woman, she was certainly not a lady.”
“Oh,” Daphne said in a small voice.
“Anyway,” Theo continued, “it wasn’t until after all this that I discovered I couldn’t touch my inheritance until Papa’s will had been probated.”
“And so you came to work at the mill.”
He shook his head. “Not at once. My brother-in-law is my father’s executor, and although he said he couldn’t legally give me an advance against Papa’s estate, he did offer to lend me the money, under one condition: he wouldn’t charge any interest on the loan, but I would work at the mill until I could pay it back out of my inheritance.” He snapped his fingers in sudden realization. “Dash it! I knew there was something I forgot to do while I was in London!”
“Your brother-in-law,” Daphne said thoughtfully. “He must be—”
“Ethan—that is, Sir Ethan Brundy, who owns the mill. His wife, Lady Helen, is my sister.”
Of course she is, Daphne thought, recalling the poised beauty with the honey-colored hair—a shade or two darker than her brother’s, although the green eyes were the very same. She could only wonder why she hadn’t thought of it before.
“It seems rather harsh of him, treating a member of his wife’s family in such a way.”
“So I thought at the time—and don’t think I didn’t let him know it! In fact, it wasn’t until I’d exhausted all other avenues that I agreed to such a scheme. But looking back, I can see it was all for the best—yes, and I suspect he knew it, too, and that was what he was doing all along! I hope to be a better duke—a better man—for having known Ben, and Tom, and all the men at the mill. And you and your mother and your boarders, too.” He grinned suddenly, and Daphne’s heart did strange and wonderful things in response. “Especially Mrs. Jennings. I took her son’s wedding clothes back to London with me, and had my valet clean and brush them before bringing them back to her. She knew who I was all along, can you believe it? She had been acquainted with my mother in her youth, and I’m said to bear a strong likeness to her. My mother, that is, not Mrs. Jennings.”
“I’ve always suspected Mrs. Jennings is sharper than she lets on,” Daphne said, smiling bravely. Here it was, then, the reason for his unexpected return. It was nothing to do with the Duke of Reddington, nothing to do with her, at all. “It was kind of you to have the clothes cleaned for her, and to deliver them yourself. And to—to seek me out to say goodbye. I was worried about you
