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Slowly, Daphne rose to her feet. “You’ve certainly been busy. A divorce.” She turned questioning eyes to her husband. “But won’t that prohibit Mama from remarrying?”
“Not if the divorce is issued by Parliament, no. And I mean to ensure that it is.”
“How?”
Another grin. “I’m the Duke of Markham, remember? Wealthy beyond our wildest comprehension, influential beyond our grandest imaginings. Combine that with cunning, skill, and instinct, and success is guaranteed.”
“Will it take long?”
“Some time, yes. Why?”
“Because I hate the thought of Mama and Mr. Chambers being apart any longer than necessary.” Daphne chewed her lip. “The question is, what can we do to bring them together?” Her face lit up. “I know! I’
ll send Mama a missive telling her I’m with child, that I’m not feeling well and require her assistance. She’ll leave for Markham immediately.” Just as quickly, Daphne’s face fell. “But how can I summon the vicar? What excuse can I give for needing him at Markham?”
“You need no excuse. We’ll simply send him a message informing him that Elizabeth is leaving Rutland for Markham. We’ll express our concern for her safety, given that Tragmore obviously knows her whereabouts, and request that the vicar chaperon her here. He’ll be on his way just as swiftly as she.”
A brilliant smile lit Daphne’s face. “Have I told you how wonderful you are?”
“I believe so.” Pierce tugged her close. “However, now that we’ve resolved the plights of the world, and all our secrets are out, I feel we should adjourn to my bedchamber where I can truly show you how wonderful—”
A purposeful knock interrupted Pierce’s suggestion.
“The arrival of the chalk, probably,” Daphne laughed.
“And the slates,” Pierce added mournfully. “Very well. I’ll curtail my enthusiasm. But later tonight—”
Another knock, accompanied by a “Your Grace?”
“Yes Langley.” Reluctantly, Pierce released Daphne. “Come in.”
The door opened, and Langley cast a tentative glance into the room. “Forgive me, sir, but Mr. Hollingsby is here to see you.”
“Ah. Thank you, Langley. Show him in.”
Hollingsby strode into the schoolroom, hand extended. “Hello, Thornton. I hope I’m not coming at an inopportune time?”
“No, of course not.” Pierce kept his expression carefully nondescript, despite Daphne’s revealing blush. “Sweetheart, you know Mr. Hollingsby, don’t you?”
“Certainly. We’ve met at Tragmore. How are you, sir?”
“Quite well, thank you.” Hollingsby bowed. “Congratulations on your marriage, Your Gra—Mrs—” He broke off, a puzzled expression on his face.
“Proudly, it’s Mrs. Thornton,” Daphne supplied. “But neither formality is necessary. Daphne will suffice.”
Hollingsby cocked a brow. “A woman as irreverent as you, Thornton.”
“Proudly, yes.” Pierce grinned. “What can I offer you?”
“Nothing. I came here directly from—” Another hesitation.
“Daphne knows about our plans for her mother’s divorce,” Pierce informed him. “So if your visit relates to that, feel free to speak.”
“Very well. I just left Tragmore. The marquis didn’t take kindly to what we have planned.”
“I didn’t expect that he would.”
Daphne inhaled sharply. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I’ll see to the missives we just discussed.”
