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Daphne watched Mr. Stewart walk away before she placed her hands on the keys and started playing a song by Beethoven. She had always been embarrassed when she wore her spectacles, and she truly didn’t want to wear them around Mr. Stewart. For some inexplicable reason, she hoped that he found her attractive. Which was odd. She had never cared about how gentlemen perceived her before.
Once she concluded, her grandmother clapped and praised, “Well done, dear.”
“I agree with Lady Frances,” Mr. Stewart said. “You play splendidly.”
“You are much too kind.” She rose from the bench, secretly pleased by Mr. Stewart’s praise.
After she sat next to her grandmother, Mr. Stewart went to sit across from them as his eyes roamed the room. “This is a lovely drawing room,” he commented.
“Thank you,” her grandmother replied. “I’m afraid that not much has been done to the manor since my husband died.”
“May I ask how long ago that was?”
A wistful expression came to her grandmother’s face. “I’m afraid it has been nearly twenty years,” she replied softly.
“You have my condolences,” Mr. Stewart said.
“I’m afraid that is what happens when people get older,” her grandmother responded. “We start dying by the wayside.”
“You are still young, Grandmother,” Daphne insisted.
“Only in your eyes,” her grandmother said. “But, enough of me, I would rather hear more about Mr. Stewart.”
“There isn’t much more to tell, I’m afraid,” Mr. Stewart stated.
“I find that hard to believe,” her grandmother pressed. “You are the son of a brickmason, and yet you have the demeanor of a gentleman. I find that fascinating.”
Mr. Stewart smiled. “Very few do, my lady.”
“Well, they are fools,” she quipped.
“I won’t disagree with you there,” Mr. Stewart said, “but I am a man who has no place in either world.”
“Then you must carve out your own place,” her grandmother advised.
“I’m afraid that requires more than what I have at my disposal,” Mr. Stewart remarked.
“You work at the bank, and that counts for something.”
A guarded look came to Mr. Stewart’s eyes. “That I do.”
Daphne’s reply was interrupted by the sound of the front door slamming shut. “Is anyone home?” a familiar voice asked.
Phineas.
Her heart dropped at the sound of his voice, and she tried to keep her face expressionless. She knew precisely why her cousin had decided to make the trek to Anmore.
Phineas walked into the drawing room with his hands out wide. “Grandmother!” he exclaimed. “I was hoping I would find you home.” He walked over to her and kissed her on the cheek. “I was worried that you would be out for the evening.”
Her grandmother smiled up at him. “I don’t go out very often anymore,” she admitted.
Phineas turned his attention towards Daphne and smiled. “Cousin,” he greeted. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”
She brought a smile to her face. “Likewise, Phineas.”
Phineas turned towards Mr. Stewart, his eyes widening in surprise. “Guy?” he asked. “Is that you?”
Mr. Stewart rose. “It is,” he replied.
