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“You rarely attend social gatherings. For example, I noticed that you did not attend Mrs. Johns’ house party this past weekend.”
“My grandmother was not up to attending,” Daphne maintained.
“You could have come on your own.”
“Without a chaperone?” she asked. “I think not.”
“Mrs. Johns could have acted as your chaperone.”
Daphne shook her head, causing the curls that framed her face to sway back and forth. “It wouldn’t have been fair of me to leave my grandmother.”
“Lady Frances has an entire household staff to tend to her every need,” Mr. Huxley pointed out.
“But I am her granddaughter.”
Mr. Huxley shrugged. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything. I rarely see my grandmother.”
“Lucky woman,” Daphne muttered under her breath.
“It isn’t becoming for someone so young to spend time with an old woman,” Mr. Huxley pressed.
With a frown on her lips, she chided in a hushed voice, “That ‘old woman’ raised me and is the daughter of a duke. She deserves a little more respect than what you are affording her.”
Mr. Huxley didn’t appear remorseful, if the smile tugging at his lips was anything to go by. “My apologies, Miss Locke.”
Daphne turned her attention back towards her plate, wishing she could just disappear. Mr. Huxley was insufferable, and she tired of being in his presence. They may have grown up in the same town, but they never had become anything more than acquaintances.
Mr. Huxley’s voice drew her attention back to him. “Would you care for some more champagne?” he asked, holding the bottle up.
“I would not.”
Daphne watched as her friend, Augusta, excused herself from the table and rose awkwardly from her chair. She decided to follow suit and go speak to her friend.
“If you will excuse me,” she murmured as she pushed back her chair.
Mr. Huxley rose and held his hand out to assist her in rising. “Allow me, Miss Locke.”
“Thank you.”
Once she had slipped her gloved hand out of his, Daphne hurried towards the door where she had seen her friend exit. She stepped into the entry hall and found Augusta pacing.
“Whatever is wrong?” she asked.
Augusta placed a hand on her increasing stomach. “My back started aching in that chair,” she explained.
“How much longer do you have?”
Her face softened. “The midwife says I have a month left.”
“Are you terribly uncomfortable?”
Augusta bobbed her head. “I am,” she replied. “I feel as if every part of me is swollen.”
“Is that commonplace?”
“The midwife assured me that it was.”
“It sounds painful.”
