Once Upon a Dreamy Match: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 5

  “Surely some arrangement can be made?” Benedict looked to the sky as if for an answer. Then meeting her gaze he asked, “Could you not take your father to London with you?”

  “Oh, that would not be sensible,” Daphne replied without hesitation. “Even if he were in good health, he is not a man that does well in the city. It makes him nervous. I believe too many years as a merchant has tainted his experience of London life.”

  Benedict released her arm, turning to face her. “I do not believe it right that you must miss out on the season because of your father and his wife. This is a grand opportunity and you are too young to let it go by! Let me help you, Daphne.”

  She considered his words. He was genuine, of course. He was always generous with his time and his attentions. If ever there was a man she could trust wholeheartedly, whose intentions she could always be sure were pure, it was Benedict.

  Did she dare to hope? “How, pray tell?”

  “I will find you a new housekeeper. Someone reliable and patient, with the correct temperament to contend with Mr. Blanton’s personality. I do not believe this will be difficult – I have good connections. I am confident that there will be a great many potentials. I will see to that immediately.”

  Daphne faltered. “Oh, Benedict, I could not ask you to do such a thing. You have so many duties to attend to here.”

  “You have not asked me; I have offered – and in fact, I insist that you allow me to help you. It would be such a shame for you to waste an entire season. It is a disservice. I will not allow you to place that upon my good conscience.”

  Daphne wanted to allow a smile to break out across her entire face, but something within her held back. Was it the words Lady Vivian had spoken earlier, or was she still uncertain about leaving her father? She knew that she wanted to go to London, of course, for the fear of never marrying. She clutched his hands in hers and thanked him earnestly, but said, “I appreciate it, Benedict, you know I do. However even if I were to attend London, I have no appropriate attire nor lodgings.”

  These were fair arguments, both. Arrangements for such travel was usually organised well in advance of the season. She knew of nobody that could be a willing host for her stay in London, for she had no other family beyond that which resided in Essex, nor any close friends who lived in or were also travelling to the city.

  Benedict thought on this a moment. “Dare I ask if your stepmother would host you? Would that be a possibility to consider? Since she is already departing for London herself, perhaps she would be willing company.”

  Daphne knew, unfortunately, that there was no semblance of hope or truth to this. “I fear there would be no chance of such a thing. My stepmother is resentful of me for reasons I do not quite understand. I must admit that I believe our relationship to be eternally tainted and entirely unfixable.”

  Roberta would not be a willing chaperone; Daphne could not even conjure an imagined scenario wherein she and Roberta would enjoy one another’s companionship. If ever a chance existed in the past, there certainly did not exist one now.

  “No matter then,” Benedict announced. “If that is the case, then I will host you myself.”

  Daphne started, so caught off guard by the pronouncement that for a moment her speech failed her entirely. She must have gaped at him so comically, for he broke out into laughter at her aghast expression. She tried in earnest to find the correct words to express how this offer made her feel – shock, elation, confusion, gratitude – but again, could not find the right expression within her vocabulary; she simply stood in front of him, eyes wide and full of her unspoken thanks.

  “My mother has been so insistent on my own travels to London for the season that this arrangement is perfectly logical. I will speak with her today and I am positive that she will be delighted to see us both involved in the festivities.”

  He said this so simply, as if it were indeed such an obvious arrangement. Yet it was not a concept she had even entertained. To spend the season in London hosted by none other than the Lord of Hedingham…it was something she could not have ever dreamed of. The thought of being amongst the revelry with her closest companion was so exciting. What an adventure it would be!

  She just had to ensure that this was not a jest. “Benedict – are you absolutely sure? If you mother wished for you to go, I do not wish to impose upon you or her.” Especially after the conversation that took place just an hour earlier. How would Lady Vivian truly feel about playing host to the merchant’s daughter in the wake of her earlier outburst? The woman liked Daphne well enough, but she was right to pay heed to their differences of class. This seemed a thing that Benedict must discuss with his Lady mother.

  But Benedict dismissed her concerns. “Nonsense, Daphne. It would be no burden at all. In fact, if you reject my generous offer, I will be highly offended.”

  Yet the inflection of his tone and the coy smile that tugged at the corners of his handsome mouth promised anything but offence. There was his jest, and Daphne relaxed at one. Here was a genuine offer, a resolution for all her woes and worries. She would be a fool not to accept, a fool not to take up the Lord of Hedingham on his suggestion of chaperone.

  “In that case, I accept. I would be delighted to accompany you to London. Pertaining the Lady Vivian’s acceptance as well, naturally.”

  “Naturally,” he agreed. “I will personally see to it that the both of us have an exceptionally grand time.”

  They continued along their route of the lake, all the time discussing the many adventures they planned to embark upon in the city. Daphne, energised by the new prospects and the favourable change of events as a result of her coming to Hedingham, began to craft an itinerary of the many particular shops and theatres and properties she would adore to pay visit too. Benedict, with his arm in hers, listened merrily, nodding at her fantastical ideas and adding his own opinions whenever she allowed him a chance so do so.

  “Remember, Daphne, that we must find time to fit in the balls as well.”

  She clutched him tighter as a jolt of excitement ran through her. “Oh, of course! Dancing will be simply delightful. Think of all the interesting characters we will meet!” A ball, with her dear friend – how immeasurably delightful.

  Benedict smiled at his lovely companion. “It will be our greatest adventure yet.”

  They returned to the horses and mount up once more to resume the day’s check of the estate. They continued their lively discussion and enthusiastic plans right up until the horses are returned to their respective stables and a carriage is arranged to return Daphne to her home down the hill. The route of the estate brought such wonderful enjoyment to both of them. She waved a broad goodbye to Benedict and spent the remainder of the short journey home daydreaming on all that was to come.

  Despite all the negativity that comprised a morning of despair, Daphne felt nothing now but the overwhelming excitement of what the seasons was to bring – both for herself, and for that of her dearest companion.

  Chapter 4

  A Merchant’s House in Essex

  Two days had passed since Daphne visited Hedingham Estate and arranged to journey to London with Benedict for the season. She had not yet spoken to her father about his wife’s travels to the city for she was still holding out hope that Roberta would send word of her return to them.

  Why cause her father to worry himself needlessly, especially he when was quite capable of working himself into a nervous state on his own? In the absence of their stepmother, Daphne had simply told her brothers not to bother their father and that Roberta would return to them soon.

  Naturally, Jasper immediately began to spin morbid tails of what he wished would happen to their witch stepmother on the road.

  “Perhaps she’ll be thrown from the carriage,” he had exclaimed, dancing about the yard and tossing a ball to his brother.

  “A road-side heist would be quite satisfactory,” Lionel had chimed in. “Oh, imagine how her face would look if she was to be accosted by a hi
ghwayman!”

  The two had carried on in such a fashion for a while. No amount of chastising them would settle their imaginations. Daphne resorted to allowing them to continue on with their discussion – at the very least it would keep both of them entertained as long as their words did not reach the ears of their father.

  In the meantime, Benedict had already set about looking for an appropriate housekeeper for them, and Daphne had shared this good news with the young maid. The relief Prudence expressed to her was abundant. It was apparent to Daphne that the maid was struggling to manage the house alone. Relying on her younger brothers for any sort of help was a fool’s errand. Daphne had endeavoured to keep house as best she could to assist Prudence, but it truly was a task too large for just the two of them.

  A knock at her chamber door roused her from slumber and after a moment of groggy uncertainty, she found herself awake immediately. Thinking that it was news of her father, she rose quickly and answered.

  “Good morning Miss,” Prudence said with a bob of the knees. “A letter has arrived for you.”

  Daphne took it at once, thanking her. “Is it from my stepmother?”

  “I believe so, Miss.”

  Daphne dismissed her and shut the door again. She brought the letter to her desk by the window, slicing it open and unfurling the folds with shaking fingers. It surprised her that the letter had arrived so quickly; she was not expecting word from Roberta so soon. Perhaps the woman had a heart after all.

  Her hope was quickly extinguished.

  Dear Miss Blanton,

  With this letter is my final correspondence with your family. I will not be returning to your father’s house on Hedingham Estate and will instead remain in London. There exists in me no wish to return to your father’s side as he has proven himself an unfavourable husband. For this reason, I will be seeking an annulment of our marriage.

  Please forward my remaining trunks and belongings to the below address without delay for I wish to begin this next chapter of my life immediately.

  Roberta Blanton.

  Daphne threw the letter onto her desk, wanting the wretched thing to burn in the sunlight. The audacity of the woman! Here Daphne was thinking that kindness may finally have taken hold of her stepmother, and still wanting to think that she had merely been taken away by some sudden business. But no, this was not the case, for the mentioned address below was that of a Baron Townsend. Roberta had left her father!

  Whatever was she do? How could she bring this news to her father, given his already vulnerable state? The news would shock him, she even feared it would stop his heart outright. And the nerve of that spiteful woman to demand her remaining belongings be forwarded to that address! Had she no shame? Was she so devoid of everything that would ever be considered good and decent?

  This would bring such scandal to her family – Walter Blanton’s second wife has left him for a Baron. They would be the joke of the entire Estate – no, the entire county! All of Essex would hear of such the dramatic turn of events and shun them. Daphne would never do well in London, would never secure a husband now, not with such a tale circulating in good society. In a single motion, Roberta had damned her entirely family.

  How would she ever tell her father? This was the thought she kept returning to for it was her most pressing and immediate concern. He did not even know that Roberta had left – Daphne had not told him and had ensured that Prudence would not attend to him for fear of letting the words slip. She had worked so hard to protect her father from this hardship, from this heartbreak, and it was all for nothing. It was over. Their lives were over.

  She knew that she must tell him, but how? How could she bear to be the one to bring the bad news to him? But she also knew that there was nobody else.

  Daphne rose and dressed, slowly and deliberately, all the while contemplating exactly how she would explain this horror of a situation to him. He was silly and stubborn to be sure, but he had a gentle heart. He was so tender, so delicate in feeling and so sensitive of heart. He was about to be utterly devastated, and Daphne had true fears for what such a feeling would do to this man.

  She departed her bedroom just as her brothers left theirs. After bidding their elder sister good morning, both boys bounded down the stairs, eager to begin their days. They were so completely oblivious to what was about to befall their family name. It was not just her father who was in danger of being ruined, nor Daphne’s own prospects, but the lives of her brothers as well.

  They were so young and careless, so busy being frivolous and enjoying their fleeting, uncomplicated youth. With this news, happy as her brothers would undoubtedly feel to be rid of their wicked stepmother, even they would be able to comprehend the strife that it would bring to the Blanton name.

  Daphne waited a long moment, standing alone in the hallway, before knocking at her father’s door. He answers from behind it, calling for her to let herself in. She was unsure whether she should have been glad or nervous that he was already awake. She would have been too struck with fear to wake him up this morning. To wrench him from his fretful dreams only to pull him into a nightmare would be a burden on her soul.

  He was not sitting up as she had urged him to, but Walter Blanton was awake. He laid back on his pillows, complexion still pale.

  Daphne paused in the doorway, accepting for the final time that their peace was about to be over. “Good morning, father.”

  “Good morning my Daffodil.”

  She draws his curtains back and then comes to his bedside, taking in all the familiar lines of his weathered face. A merchant’s life was a tiresome one and she knew how hard her father had worked to put her family into the position they had. He had formed a strong network and made friends in high places – one only had to look at the close relationship that the Blantons had with the Gildons to see the respect that Walter had strived to earn over the years. Was she about to dash all of those as well?

  Watching her father now, that new thought struck her like a lightning bolt in a ferocious storm. Her stepmother’s scandal would ruin their family name, and what would happen to their relationship with Lord and Lady Gildon? Could Benedict ever deign to be her friend if such a thing was to befall them and ruin her family’s name? She would not be able to travel to London with him! Lady Vivian, whose conversation of class and title two days prior had remained in Daphne’s thoughts, would cut them off entirely, to be sure.

  Not only would her son be hosting a mere merchant’s daughter, but one who had fallen from grace due to scandal. Lady Vivian was not familiar enough with the new Mrs. Blanton to understand the wiles of her scheme and the unsavoury manner of her personality. As friendly as Lady Vivian was with Walter, she had always been closer to his first wife, Daphne’s mother. Her opinions on the merchant were few and unspoken. This would not bode well for anyone, it seemed.

  “What is it, my daughter? You look troubled.”

  Her father’s voice brought her back into their current predicament. She tried to smile for him, hoping that it appeared genuine enough to allay his worry.

  “How did you sleep?” she asked him, gently brushing his hair from his brow. “Are you feeling better?” She drew him closer and adjusting his pillows to prop him into a sitting position. For the first time in a while, Walter allowed her to do this without argument or complaint, his eyes always studying his daughter’s face. He knew something was wrong – foolish as he could be, he was a perceptive man, a trait of his profession. And Daphne had always been a terrible liar.

  Mr. Blanton took his daughter’s narrow hand in his larger one. “Fitful, my dear. I woke many times in the night, all the time crying out. It is a wonder you did not hear my calls.”

  Daphne had indeed heard no such cries in the night; being as light a sleeper as she was, she did not doubt that if her father had truly made that much of a ruckus in this sleep, that she would have heard him and come to his aid. Regardless, she stroked his hand and nodded. Her attention today was not on the exaggerated nature of h
er father’s illness (if such an illness was still afflicting him at all) but on the news she had to share with him. If he were not sick now, he was bound to be after this morning’s conversation. Her stepmother’s letter was tucked into her pocket and felt to be stabbing at like a blade even through the fabric of her skirt.