A Return of Devotion Read online

  After a while, she realized she’d talked so much that her throat was a bit dry. A glance at the clock revealed she’d given considerably more time to this project this afternoon than she normally allowed. “Oh. I should go. Your dinner will be late.”

  “Share it with me.”

  “What?” Daphne froze with one hand extended to collect the sketchpad. He couldn’t possibly have suggested what she thought he did, could he?

  “Share it with me. You can—” He paused and waved a hand through the air, lips pressed together as if he couldn’t quite find the words he was looking for. “You can talk about your ideas more in the room. Looking at the drawing in the physical space would be impactful.”

  “I . . .” She should say no. She should return belowstairs and see to her housekeeper duties and remember her new place in life. But it was a reasonable request he was making, wasn’t it? To visualize and experience the design ideas as close to their reality as possible? “Yes.”

  Her voice was soft and a small smile graced her lips. His mouth moved into a matching curve and they stood there, smiling stupidly at each other until the clock chimed and broke the trance. Heat bloomed across Daphne’s cheeks as she scooped the pad back into her arms and mumbled something about seeing him at the table in a few moments.

  And so it began. Sharing tea turned into sharing dinner. By the time another week had passed, Daphne was taking time to run down to the cottage every evening to put on her best dress while William—it had become nearly impossible to think of him as Lord Chemsford anymore—exchanged his day wear for fitted evening coats and sharply tied cravats.

  He looked incredible in evening clothes. She’d nearly swallowed her tongue the first time she saw him in them.

  Admittedly they still made a ridiculous pair since Daphne’s best dress wouldn’t even qualify for an acceptable morning dress in London, much less a proper dinner gown. William didn’t seem to mind, so Daphne tried not to think about it either. At least not much. If she spent an evening adding a bit of trim on the sleeve or a new tuck in the bodice it was simply because keeping one’s clothes properly mended made them last longer.

  Three weeks of dinners later and she’d nearly gotten over that first jolt of attraction when she entered the room. She’d have thought they’d have run out of conversation topics as well, but they never did. Every evening started in an awkward silence and then he would ask her something simple about carpets in the upstairs corridors and that would turn into a discussion on favorite colors and flowers and animals and three hours later all they’d decided on was a rug. Sometimes he would mention the factory he was building or some of the other tasks he had worked on that day.

  It was a struggle at times, or perhaps every time, to keep her mind engaged in the conversation and not let herself drift into a daydream while sitting at the table. Tonight her mind was a bit more easily focused because they were discussing the music room. She was fairly certain they’d discussed it once already, but since he’d brought it up maybe he’d forgotten.

  “There isn’t much I would change in the music room.” Mostly because when she, Kit, and Jess had been removing their presence from the house and returning the original pieces to their places, she’d made the music room more the way she wanted it to be instead of the way it had been. “The piano is in fine condition, so any decorating should be done with that in mind. It’s currently the focus of the room, and there’s little reason to change that.”

  “Indeed.” William sat back as Cyril cleared away the plates and the next course was brought in. Ever since Daphne had begun dining with William, Jess’s meal preparations had become more elaborate. Now it was rare for there to be fewer than three courses.

  The blonde frowned at Daphne every time she came through the kitchen dressed for dinner. After the first three times, she’d ceased reminding Daphne to be careful, which made it ever so much easier for Daphne to pretend she wasn’t worried about what would happen when this idyll eventually came to an end.

  She was simply his way of passing time in an acceptable manner, but he was quickly becoming what she looked forward to every day.

  “After dinner, would you be willing to play for me?”

  Daphne was very glad she had not yet taken a bite of asparagus. “You wish me to play?”

  “Yes. If you don’t mind, of course.”

  No, she didn’t mind. She welcomed any excuse to play the piano. But the last time she’d played for him . . . Memories burned through her and brought a tinge of heat to her skin. She looked down at her plate in hopes that the curls she’d tried to fashion alongside her head swept forward enough to hide her pink cheeks.

  “Daphne?” he prodded.

  “I would be happy to play for you.”

  And tonight, when she returned to the cottage and laid her head on the pillow, she would, without a doubt, dream of playing for him on a regular basis. Perhaps even imagine playing while their children danced about, laughing and giggling. She would picture looking across the piano at him sitting in a chair by the window, smiling indulgently at his rambunctious offspring.

  Very dangerous thoughts indeed.

  “Excellent,” he said. “It’s one of the difficulties I didn’t anticipate, living out here alone.”

  “What is?”

  “Silence. The quiet is peaceful, but it’s also heavy. It can leave a man feeling quite alone. I’m sure you know, since you’ve lived out here taking care of the house all these years.”

  No, Daphne really didn’t know. If she were ever going to reveal the secret of Haven Manor, maybe now would be the time to do so. She’d filled the house with children and done so with her closest friend at her side. It had been anything but quiet.

  “I think . . .” she said slowly, deciding the past was best left in the past but still needing to respond to his observation about the solitude. The truth was, though, that she’d felt ever so much more alone in London than she ever had out here. “I think that silence can sometimes help you find yourself.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Life is so busy and loud sometimes. It can be easy to have everything crowd your mind until you can’t hear yourself and you forget who you are, and only see how you fit into the larger churning picture.”

  He sat back from the table, watching her with blue eyes that looked serious, curious, and something else that she couldn’t quite define. “Is that what you did out here? You found yourself?”

  “I rather think I did.” She’d discovered she could do so much more than she’d imagined—and she’d imagined an awful lot. Necessity had pushed her and brought her to a place she’d likely never have gotten if she’d kept floating along with life as she had been in London.

  “What about you?” she asked, dredging up the courage to turn this moment into a true conversation. It wasn’t a discussion between master and servant—or even between homeowner and the woman he’d arranged to fix his house. This was two people talking without barriers and without hesitations.

  “I think perhaps I’m getting there.” He pushed back from the table, automatically angling his legs to avoid the grotesque gargoyles. “Shall we adjourn to the music room? It will be a nice change to take my port while listening to beautiful music.”

  She ducked her head and blushed again. Her musical abilities had always been appreciated but with a certain negligence, the way one appreciates a clean window. To have it expressly stated sent a pleasant glow moving through her, one that had her deciding to play one of the harder pieces in her repertoire for him.

  He fixed himself a glass of port from the dining room sideboard and followed her into the music room, going straight to the chair she’d pictured him in earlier. The evening sun shone through the window, creating a beam of light that centered on the golden upholstery of the chair.

  It took a moment to discern reality from her imagination, but not as long as she’d have thought. She glanced around, seeing the room as it was, with its faded and out-of-date wall coveri
ngs and its abundance of decorative knickknacks. And a real-life William sitting in the corner, smiling.

  With a small smile of her own, she lowered her attention to the keys and played.

  Chapter thirty

  It was the best of ideas, it was the worst of ideas.

  William soon found himself lost in the music the way he’d wanted to be, but he was also lost in thoughts of her, of doing this more often.

  He could only see them like this, surrounded by simplicity and purpose. The problem was, he couldn’t stay here forever, and she was as much a part of this house as the columned front porch.

  But he was addicted to her.

  When she lost her hesitancy and let her passion for life come forward, it was entrancing. Talking about the house unlocked it, but if he guided the conversation carefully, she would remain that way, letting him bask in the warmth of her zest for life. She found so much pleasure in simple things, it was a wonder she’d survived even as long as she did in London’s fast-paced duplicity.

  Seeing her joy over tea hadn’t been enough. It was too short, too easy to escape. Dinner had been an inspired idea that he’d regretted suggesting instantly, but only until the moment they sat together at the table. He could trap her with dinner, keep her in one place long enough to relax, and then he could enjoy her company.

  Every morning he told himself it couldn’t continue. Every evening the idea of returning to dining alone in silence had him once again suggesting they discuss her plans over dinner instead of tea. He couldn’t care less about the plans, but he did enjoy watching her talk about them.

  She always wore the same dress, but the effort she put in had him pulling out the best clothes he’d brought as well. It made Morris happy to be cleaning him up properly, but it made his and Daphne’s differences stand out all the more. They’d created a sort of friendship, but it could never be any more than that.

  He’d tortured himself by coercing her back into the music room. Memories were here. Memories that were certainly beyond friendly.

  Her music washed over him, and his gaze stayed locked on her, watching the emotion cross her face as it flowed from her fingers.

  This was madness, and it had to be stopped.

  He’d received a letter from Derek Thornbury stating that his work at Oxford had finished and he was available at any time. William had put off writing back, knowing the dinners would cease as soon as the scholar arrived. But William would write back to Derek in the morning, informing him that he could begin assessing William’s art at his leisure. Perhaps he’d word it so that it implied sooner was better.

  Daphne bit her lip as she played through a series of lilting notes.

  Then again, perhaps William should send Pasley to collect the other man directly. Tonight if possible.

  More people had knocked on the front door of Haven Manor in the past six weeks than in the previous twelve years, but it still made Daphne jump every time the brass knocker sent an echo rumbling through the central halls. Every knock had ended up being a life-changing moment for Daphne, so it was with more than a little trepidation that she watched as Cyril opened the door.

  The man who walked in was as far from threatening as Daphne had ever seen.

  He was slightly taller than average, with a pointed chin, a pointed nose, and a flop of brown hair falling over his forehead. He wore round black spectacles, and his brown coat and tan trousers were as nondescript as clothing could be.

  And he wasn’t paying a bit of attention to Cyril by the door or Daphne across the hall.

  Instead, he was examining the doorframe.

  “Corinthian columns on the portico and a definite Palladian influence across the front.” His gaze swooped from the door across the walls. “He’s got an Albrecht Dürer print. And oh, look, I do believe that’s a painting by Joshua Reynolds.” He stopped as his eyes connected with Daphne’s. He smiled. “Oh, hello.”

  “Good afternoon. You are Mr. Thornbury?” She truly hoped this was Mr. Thornbury because if he wasn’t, Daphne wasn’t sure what to think of him.

  And if he was, then he was far more threatening than he appeared. She’d known her happy bubble of dinners and conversation would eventually pop, but she’d thought she’d have a bit more notice.

  “Yes.” He gave a bow and another smile. “Derek Thornbury at your service. And you are?”

  Now, that was an excellent question. She wasn’t sure she knew anymore. “I am the housekeeper, Mrs. Blakemoor.”

  Every time she introduced herself now, a sliver of panic curved around her spine. William had refused to call her Brightmoor so she’d had to drop the name when the new servants were hired.

  Now, she had only to live in fear of the day her father came back for another business visit. At that moment, though, she had bigger concerns than her father’s possible future return.

  She had a scholar set to rip her world apart.

  “A pleasure.” His gaze crawled across the walls again. “This is going to be a fascinating house to go through. Such an eclectic collection.” He whipped out a small notebook and a pencil and then dropped his bag. He started walking about the room, making notes.

  “Mr. Thornbury?” Daphne followed him.

  “Hmmm?” he asked before he began to mumble, “Mid-Baroque. Possibly a student of Rembrandt, but not the master himself.”

  Daphne raised her voice and waved a hand in the air, as if she could somehow pull his attention from the wall. “I believe his lordship wanted me to show you to your room, then have you brought to the library once you’d had a chance to rest from your trip. Cyril will bring up any bags you have.”

  “Oh yes, excellent. Well, that won’t take much time, but I would like to freshen up. Please lead the way.”

  Daphne shook her head and led the man up the stairs to one of the smaller bedchambers. Daphne called it the blue room because there was a giant statue in the corner of the room veined with blue.

  Jess, who somehow or another always seemed to know what was going on in the house despite staying tucked away belowstairs, entered behind them with a tea tray.

  “Oh, how nice. Biscuits.” Mr. Thornbury took one and bit into it. “Excellent. Sugar, eggs, flour, obviously, and rosewater. Have you ever tried adding a liqueur syrup?”

  Jess’s eyebrow twitched, but she otherwise remained as expressionless as she always did when she wanted to appear unremarkable. “I’ll take it under advisement.”

  “Not necessarily advisement,” he said as he poured himself a cup of tea. “These are excellent traditional Naples biscuits, particularly with tea. Syrup would let them stand alone. A variation, if you will.”

  Jess’s shoulders stiffened the slightest bit and Daphne tried not to laugh. She wasn’t sure which was bothering Jess more: being told how to cook better or being told she’d done something traditional.

  Best get her out of there before she decided which.

  “When you’re ready, sir, I’ll be in the front hall and will show you to the library,” Daphne said.

  “Yes, thank you.” He wandered over to look at the furniture. “And thank you for the tea.”

  “You’re welcome,” Jess clipped out.

  Daphne pushed Jess out of the room before nearly collapsing into giggles.

  “How can you possibly find that funny?” Jess grouched.

  The grin on Daphne’s face was wide enough to stretch her cheeks. “It isn’t often someone dares to correct you,” she said, rather proud that she managed to get out the sentence without actually laughing.

  There was no reply as the two women walked down the stairs. At the door to the stairs leading down to the kitchens, Daphne stopped Jess, an inkling of concern worming into her. “Jess, what are you thinking?”

  Jess didn’t say anything, simply looked off to the side for a moment before sighing. “I’m wondering if we have any syrup.”

  Twin swords of guilt and relief stabbed through William when he looked up to see Derek trailing behind Daphne. It had be
en a bit cowardly—and possibly rude and irresponsible—not to tell Daphne he’d arranged for Derek to arrive today, but as difficult as it was to see the calm, meek mask Daphne was wearing over her emotions, it would have been ten times worse to watch it appear.

  If she were truly his housekeeper, he’d be ignoring her in favor of his guest.

  So that was what he did.

  “Derek, welcome!” William came around the desk and extended his hand.

  “Chemsford, always a pleasure.” Derek ignored William’s hand entirely, already looking around the room instead. His hands rubbed together with the glee of a child told he could leave a candy store with as much as he could carry.

  “Have you been able to look around any?” William asked.

  “Fascinating place you have.” Derek ran a hand gently over the carved legs of the enormous globe. “Why didn’t you mention it?”

  “I didn’t know about it.” William considered smothering his grin, but the art scholar wasn’t going to pay the least attention to other people until he’d gotten the full scope of the room, so he gave his lips permission to curve.

  “A hidden treasure, then? Even more fascinating.” Derek moved on to examining the desk. “I’ve only managed to see a few rooms. Is the rest of the house this way?”

  “Some rooms are even more crowded.” William nearly laughed at Derek’s stunned expression. “I hope you plan on staying for a while.”

  Derek walked over to the bookcase and ran a finger along the book titles.

  “I see you can’t wait to get started,” William said, allowing a slight chuckle. Once Derek had a chance to complete a basic perusal of the house, he’d be much less distracted, though not so observant as to notice the underlying tensions in the house.

  He was the perfect choice to bring much-needed balance to the house and the controls William very much needed in place.

  Derek moved farther down the bookcase. “This collection has just been sitting here? Unappreciated? Unused?”