Part 19 (1/2)

Upstairs in her room, Daphne locked the door, took off her dress, and all of her underclothes, and went and stood in front of the cheval mirror in the corner.

She studied herself carefully, and from all angles. She wasn't showing yet. However, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were bigger, and they were also sore on occasion. Once she started to show, and her b.u.mp began to grow, she would have to leave Cavendon. There was no alternative. She couldn't even go to their house in Mayfair. Because of the servants. They would notice her condition immediately.

Looking at herself in the mirror once again, she shook her head and turned away, went to her closet, picked out a silk robe. As she slipped it on, she wondered if she could carry it off ... pretending not to be pregnant for the many months ahead of her ... going to live in Paris when she was showing. Being taught like a student to speak French, to learn about art and French history. And being shown how to become elegant and chic in the French manner. Could she follow the program Charlotte Swann had mapped out for her?

She could, she was positive about that. After all, she had a strong will, and once she made her mind up to do something, she did it.

But now, for the first time, she wondered if she wanted to go through that. It was playacting and being dishonest, and she would certainly have to learn the art of dissimulation ... she was open and honest by nature, not given to telling lies.

Walking over to her dressing table, she sat down, stared at her face, leaning closer to the mirror. For once in her life she saw herself objectively, and she understood how beautiful she was. Hugo had fallen in love with her because of that beauty.

Leaning back in the chair, she closed her eyes, and thought of Hugo. He was nice-looking, and charming. She imagined he was a gentle soul, from what she had observed in those few days he had been here at Cavendon. And people who had never met him took to him immediately. Family and staff, who had known him as a young man, welcomed him with open arms. That said a lot, didn't it?

Marriage to a powerful and wealthy man would protect her, wouldn't it?

One thing was certain, it would ease the terrible burden on her parents. She had heard her mother say recently to her father that the situation was like living under the sword of Damocles.

Could she marry Hugo? Did she want to? Would he let her keep the baby? Or would she have to give it up for adoption? And could she do that? Give her baby away?

Then there was the question of intimacy. Eventually, she would have to be his wife, not only in name, but in every way. s.e.xual union would be part of that marriage. Was she ready for that? Could she share an intimate life with Hugo?

She shuddered, thinking of Richard Torbett and the way he had been rough and cruel with her when he had forced himself on her, raped her. She was still fearful of s.e.x because of that fiend.

Thinking about Torbett now, she realized that being a married woman would, in fact, protect her from that vile man. He wouldn't dare do anything to her, or her family, if she had a husband like Hugo Stanton.

Then again, if she married Hugo she would never experience that wonderful feeling of falling in love and adoring the man she loved, of wanting to be his in every way. She would never know true love ...

What to do?

Daphne lay down on the bed, found her pillow, and buried her face in it. She was on the horns of a dilemma ... she did not know which way to turn.

There was one thing she was totally aware of, and that was the need to be strong, to be in control of her own destiny. She was determined to be her own woman, make her own decisions.

Thirty-three.

Felicity knew only too well that Charles loved the end of the evening, when dinner was over and everyone had retired for the night. It was then that he could be alone with her in her cozy upstairs sitting room, which adjoined her bedroom.

Comfortable in his nightclothes, he would sit in front of the fire, chatting. Sometimes Charles brought a small gla.s.s of cognac with him, or a scotch. Her choice was always a gla.s.s of cold water flavored with lemon.

Tonight, after the long afternoon in Harrogate, she was glad she could now relax in front of the fire in a comfortable chair, sipping her lemon water. And waiting for Charles. She wasn't looking forward to spending some time alone with him, but she had no alternative.

She could hear his voice on the other side of the door. He was in his dressing room with Walter Swann, and the two of them were talking about Winston Churchill, the politician. From what she was hearing, they both seemed to favor him, spoke of his brilliance and his apt.i.tude for public speaking.

A moment later, the door opened and Charles walked in, wearing pajamas and a dark blue silk dressing gown, and carrying a small balloon of brandy.

”You were being very laudatory about Winston Churchill,” Felicity said, looking up. ”There are some who don't like him, you know.”

Charles nodded, then gave her a knowing smile as he sat down in the chair opposite her. ”They're just envious of his brilliance, and his amazing ability to get things done, that's what all that is about.”

”I'm sure you're right,” she responded, and settled back in the chair.

”You didn't say much about Anne when you returned from Harrogate. How is she, actually?” Charles asked sympathetically.

”In her spirit she's more or less the same, Charles. Undefeated. Positive. Won't surrender to self-pity. She's extremely English in that sense ... very stoical. Puts up a brave front. But I know she's in pain, and she is having morphine more frequently.” Felicity let out a long sigh. ”She is one of the bravest people I've ever known.”

”She is indeed, and I'm so sorry, darling, I do realize how much her cancer worries you. And I just want to say that I'm here for you, whenever you need me. I'll always do what I can.”

She put out her hand, squeezed his arm, gave him a small smile. ”Thank you.”

After taking a sip of the Napoleon brandy, he said, ”I have something to tell you. I haven't had a chance before. Well, actually, I have, but I didn't want to burden you, I know you've been feeling a bit under the weather.”

Felicity looked across at him, and said in a firm voice, ”I'm much better today, and you sound serious. Is there something the matter?”

”Well, no, I couldn't say that...” He paused, took another swallow, and put his gla.s.s on a small table next to his chair. Leaning closer to her, he said, ”The day Hugo left for London he came to see me. He told me he had fallen in love with Daphne, and did he have my permission to court her? If she was not already spoken for, of course. He said it was love at first sight, and he had serious intentions.”

”I hope you said yes!” Felicity exclaimed, staring at him intently, her eyes bright, alive, her pale face filled with sudden animation.

”I did not,” Charles answered. ”I told him I would have to ask Daphne if she would like that. I explained it was her decision.”

”No! No! No!” Felicity cried, sounding unusually vehement. ”It's not for her to decide. We have to make the decision for her. Obviously Hugo is a solution to all of her problems. And ours. What a coincidence that Hugo arrived at Cavendon when he did. Or perhaps it wasn't a coincidence at all. I think it was meant to be. No, it was G.o.d's will.”

For a moment Charles was stunned by her vehemence and the way she spoke so easily of G.o.d's will. Felicity didn't often invoke G.o.d's name. He frowned, explained quietly, ”I cannot force Daphne to accept the overtures of a man she's not interested in. Nor would I ever push her into a marriage where there was no love involved on her part. That would be unthinkable. Monstrous, in my opinion. Living with someone you don't love would be impossible.”

Staring at him aghast, Felicity said, ”But you were going to marry her off to a duke's son, and she probably wouldn't have loved him either.”

”That was never my intention, Felicity, and you know that full well. I wanted to find the right young man, bring them together, and hoped they would fall in love. I am far too modern a man to tolerate an arranged marriage for a daughter of mine.”

”Sometimes they work very well,” Felicity pointed out a little sharply. ”Arranged unions have been known to last a lifetime.”

Charles was angry, but he controlled himself, and quietly said, ”But mostly they don't work. And both people are unhappy, miserable, and eventually get divorced. I don't want that for Daphne.”

”So Hugo is going to be turned away, is he?” she asked sarcastically.

”Far from it,” Charles responded swiftly. ”I have explained the situation to her, and Daphne confided that she likes Hugo. She thinks he's good-looking, charming, and rather nice. She will give me an answer in a day or two. In my opinion, she will agree to the courts.h.i.+p.”

”Well, let's hope it works, because to me it's the best solution there is. She would be married, protected, and there would be no gossip.” Felicity sat back in the chair, looking adamant.

”If she doesn't want to marry him, we will have to go back to the original plan of concealing it, sending her abroad,” Charles pointed out.

”I suppose we will, but that will be a strain on us all. You must persuade her, Charles, make her see the wisdom of marrying Hugo.”