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More than two years before, he’d been discussing changes at Whitegate’s stables with Dane and a messenger had arrived to let them know Cassandra had had the successful birth of a baby girl. The chair had been replaced afterwards. One of Ben’s mementos had been broken—perhaps some kind of ship made of twigs. He raised his eyes to the tops of the curtains. His mind flashed on pulling them down from the walls but maybe he imagined it.
He didn’t want to be told about that night, didn’t want to know what others knew of it and didn’t want it known he couldn’t recall the fury. He was thankful he’d been miles from Whitegate and wished he’d been far from any other seeing and hearing person.
Now, when the raps at the entrance alerted him of guests, he walked to the head of the stairs. Broomer wasn’t in the house to answer. He’d been sent on another of the special errands he excelled at. The maid of all work bustled from a doorway below, a cleaning cloth in her hands, and rushed to the vestibule to answer the knock.
Warrington stepped back, knowing the servant had been instructed to show the guests directly to him. He waited for them, thinking of a spider’s carefully constructed web, and how fragile it was. Success or failure depended on the whims of nature.
Daphne’s yellow day dress swirled around her as elegantly as if she glided into a ballroom when she greeted Warrington, her hands outstretched. ‘Did you have a grand adventure?’ Daphne asked, mentioning the reason Warrington gave for his travels. Her husband, Ludgate, entered the sitting room, his crutch working in tandem with his leg. He stood slightly behind her, watching the welcome.
Daphne had Cassandra’s colouring. Cassandra’s features. But on Daphne they’d taken a wrong turn. Her azure eyes, pert nose and full mouth were spaced too close to each other—giving her a full forehead and long jawline, which had made her face seem wide. But now, with the thinness in her cheeks, her features blended together. Age favoured her, except for the way the shadows around her eyes seemed to make them shrink into her face.
Even Ludgate had a paleness Warrington didn’t remember, but then it had been years longer since the two men had seen each other.
Warrington grasped Daphne’s hands, lifting one to kiss the air above her glove.
‘I would find another word to describe our voyage besides adventure.’ Warrington released her. ‘Ben can make hell sound like a paradise. He put the hook in my mouth, slowly pulled me in, and I didn’t know what was happening until salt water splashed all over me. The dousing was warm, but all the same, a rude awakening.’
‘Oh, it could not be so terrible...’ Daphne’s voice chided, and she reached briefly to pat his cheek. ‘A sea voyage. New sights. New lands. Surely you have some good to say of it.’
Small brackets framed her mouth—ones he’d never noticed before. But he’d not seen Daphne since right before her sister’s death. Daphne had returned home after the women’s tiff. He’d sent his brother Dane to break the news of the death because he’d not wanted to tell her in a letter. Dane said she’d collapsed and later Warrington had received the missive telling him how troubled she’d been because the last words the two women had spoken had been harsh.
Pushing the memories aside, Warrington chuckled. ‘I assure you, it was not a grand adventure. You will not again get me on a sailing ship unless it is at gunpoint.’
Daphne continued into the room, walking past him. ‘You jest.’ She spoke lightly, but her voice had an edge. ‘You want to make it sound difficult so men who travel will appear brave and strong. I dare say you quite enjoyed it.’ She pulled at the strings of her reticule, twisting them around her finger, sliding free and then roping them around her hand again.
He heard the forced gaiety. He supposed Daphne still suffered the loss of her sister.
‘Of course.’ He put warmth into his words. ‘I slept every night and dreamed of the novelty of getting stranded at sea in a longboat, with Ben’s smelly feet sticking in my face, and I would awake to discover the scent of bilge water in my nostrils. Bilge water. Imagine a swamp so distasteful animals will not even drink from it and that is perfume compared to the sloshing liquid in the hull of a ship.’
Ludgate barked a laugh and nodded to Warrington.
Daphne, back straight, looked deeply into Warrington’s face. ‘You’ve darkened in the sun. And you look strong enough to lift a horse.’
His smile warmed, but inside, regret sliced him. Daphne had inherited the heart for both the women, but her presence made his palms sweat.
