Page 18 of A Bachelor’s Lessons in Love (Bachelors of Blackstone’s #1)

Chapter Eighteen

I t had taken far too little effort for Daphne to convince Edward to take her to Hatchards. He could not say no to visiting London’s most popular bookshop, a most respectable establishment. As the carriage left his country home and he observed her genuine enthusiasm, Edward wondered if she might possess more excitement than the literary pursuit merited. Perhaps Hatchards was too respectable, as it gave her an easy excuse to request an outing under the guise of wishing to read more.

Perhaps he should have said no.

But the way his ward’s face had lit up when he agreed had kept him from thinking anything was amiss, at first. It was rare that Daphne made requests so earnestly, and he had thought there could be no harm in it.

When they arrived, and she practically skipped through the shop door, Edward’s suspicions grew. He did not have any true reason to suspect her of more than wishing to leave the house, did he? He was being overly cautious, something Felicity had in her way attempted to warn him about. Surely that was all.

As Daphne drifted deeper into the shop, moving past the polished wooden shelves with the delighted ease of a young girl granted unexpected freedom, Edward could not quiet the unease settling in his chest.

She had been so keen to come here. Was it truly for the books? Or was she meeting someone?

Edward exhaled, flexing his hands at his sides. Felicity had been very clear—Daphne deserved trust. So why not test that theory? He would hang back, allowing her to move freely through the shop. He would let her wander without shadowing her. And he would see exactly what she did with her freedom.

Moving to the front of the shop, he set himself up near a shelf of periodicals where he could observe her without being too obvious. His back to the front door, he watched her go through a doorway farther back in the shop. Daphne browsed the rows of books, seemingly utterly absorbed. She lingered over a table stacked with poetry volumes, laying her hands on the slim books with quiet reverence. One could paint a portrait of her in the moment and capture a true reverence for the written word.

For a moment, he felt foolish. And then, the door chimed. Edward turned enough to see who entered from the corner of his eye.

Mr. Montague.

The young man entered, utterly at ease, glancing toward the counter before striding purposefully into the shop.

Edward’s pulse picked up. So. Here was the truth of it.

Young Montague had not looked around for books, he had not drifted among the shelves like a man intending to browse. No. He had walked straight through the front room, straight past Edward without giving him a second glance, and?—

Straight to the clerk.

Not through the door to the back room, toward his ward. What was this, some predetermined signal? Had Daphne and Montague arranged to meet here, in this shop, believing themselves clever enough to outwit his watchful eye—or to feign an accidental meeting to petition for an afternoon in one another’s company?

Edward shifted, readying himself to intercept them if necessary.

But Montague did not glance toward the bookshelves, nor did he look toward the back room where Daphne still wandered. Instead, he exchanged a quiet word with the clerk, placed a few coins on the counter, and accepted a pre-wrapped parcel.

As swiftly as he had come, he left.

Edward’s hands uncurled. Montague had not so much as glanced around the shop; he had not lingered, nor even noticed Daphne. The entire exchange had been utterly innocent.

The realization settled over Edward like a slow, creeping wave of shame. His eagerness to catch Daphne acting deceitful or manipulative had overcome him to such a degree, he had almost forgotten that he was here to care for her, not trap her in wrongdoing or suspect the worst of her. He had built an entire dramatic encounter in his head, like a man directing a play, but none of the principal actors within it had even known the roles he cast them in.

What the devil was wrong with him?

A few moments later, Daphne emerged from the back rooms, a book tucked cozily beneath her arm. She spotted him, her smile lit up her expression, and she hurried to his side.

“I found exactly what I wanted,” she said, holding up the volume. “It’s a collection of essays on ancient history. Aunt Felicity recommended it to me—she believes my classical history is somewhat lacking.”

Edward exhaled slowly. He had been ready, eager even, to catch her in some deception. Instead, she had done exactly what she had claimed she would. She found a book to read.

He was a distrustful fool.

Daphne tilted her head, examining him with mild curiosity. “Is something wrong, Colonel?”

Edward studied her for a long moment. Then, at last, he relaxed his stance. “Not at all. Are you certain that is all you need? I know there are quite a few collections of poetry you might enjoy, too.”

She held her book to her chest. “I may get another book?”

“You may get an entire stack of them, if you wish.” He chuckled and took the one she held. “We have a library to fill up, you know.”

She took his arm, to his surprise, and pulled him eagerly along behind her. “Oh, then you must help me choose. I have a few I would very much like to add to the shelves at home.”

Now both she and her aunt had referred to Briarwood as home. The last of Edward’s unease melted away, and he submitted himself to Daphne’s whims, letting the young woman put book after book in his arms as she chattered away about how much she enjoyed reading this author or that subject. Almost as though they were…family.

They left with several brown paper packages, almost all they could carry, and Edward had put in an order for several more to be delivered to his home later.

The street outside was bustling with carriages, gentlemen, and finely dressed ladies making their way along Piccadilly. Edward kept Daphne close to his side as they began the short walk to where he saw his carriage waiting, his grip on his wariness loosened.

After a moment of debating with himself, he finally spoke. “I saw Mr. Montague enter the shop.”

Daphne looked up at him in surprise. “Did you?”

“Yes.”

She frowned, clearly puzzled. “Oh. But I didn’t see him.”

Edward nodded slowly. “No. You did not. You were in the back, absorbed in your exploration of books.”

Daphne let out a small laugh, and her amusement made his own resurface. “Then I assume that means he was not there searching for me?”

Edward did what he could to keep his visage unchanged. “No. He was not.”

A pause stretched between them, and then?—

“I like him,” Daphne said, tone steady and expression calm.

Edward slowed and raised his eyebrows at her.

She glanced up at him, her expression open and thoughtful. “Mr. Montague, I mean.”

“I assumed that is who you meant.” Edward kept his voice carefully even as his chest tightened. “In what manner?”

Daphne smiled a little at that. “I do not know yet.” She looked ahead to the waiting carriage. “I enjoy his company. He is kind. He is intelligent, and he makes me laugh.”

Edward listened carefully, his mind already pulling at arguments about forming too quick an attachment, about her youth, about young Montague’s prospects?—

His ward’s voice softened. “But I am young, and I have much to learn still. I would prefer not to form any serious attachments. Not yet.”

A flicker of something unfamiliar came to light in his chest, a warmth that was equal parts relief and pride. Daphne was not reckless. Nor was she na?ve. She was a thoughtful, capable young woman. How could she be anything else, with Felicity as her guide?

Perhaps it was time he started seeing her as she was, and not what he imagined her to be.

Daphne stepped lightly along the bustling pavement until they stood in front of his carriage. Edward, having finally shaken the worst of his guilt over doubting her, allowed himself to relax. Just slightly.

The conversation about Montague had been unexpected, to be sure; but what had struck him most was Daphne’s self-awareness, with her admission that she wasn’t ready for a serious attachment. That she had time. She was not rushing toward some reckless decision.

It unsettled him in a way he hadn’t expected.

“Perhaps we need not return home yet.” Daphne, with a curious little smile, glanced sideways at him. “I have been thinking,” she said, her voice carefully light as her words trailed away.

Edward arched a brow. “A most dangerous pastime.”

She giggled, nudging him with her elbow. “You sound like Aunt Felicity.”

He pressed his lips together and cleared his throat even as his ears warmed. He hoped they hadn’t turned pink.

Daphne did not seem to notice his reaction. Instead, she pressed on. “I only mean that you and I speak often about my future.”

Edward made a low sound of agreement. “That is my purpose, as your guardian. To think on your future.”

“Yes, but…” His ward tilted her head slightly. “But we never speak about Aunt Felicity’s.”

Edward’s brows drew together. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” The young woman hesitated, perhaps choosing her words with care. “Well. What will she do when I marry?”

Edward exhaled slowly. This again. “That is not something for you to worry over, Daphne. Nor is it my business.” He handed the books to the coachman, who had opened the door for them, though he had the feeling they were not going home, though. “Your aunt is not without options,” Edward said carefully. “She has an adequate inheritance. She may choose to establish a home of her own, or travel, or?—”

Daphne huffed, cutting off his weak listing of ideas. “You make it sound so simple.”

Edward shrugged, though some of his frustration had returned. Not at the girl, of course. “Is it not?”

“No,” she said, exasperated. “Aunt Felicity has been looking after me nearly my entire life. And if I do not need her anymore…” She trailed off, but the meaning was clear.

Edward let out a slow breath. This was more than simple concern; this was guilt. Daphne felt responsible for Felicity’s happiness.

Well, he could not blame her. He had felt responsible for others before and burdened himself with their well-being even when it was not truly his duty. But he would not let Daphne bear that same weight. She was so young; let her stay young, while she could.

“She will always have a place at Briarwood,” he said evenly.

Daphne stole a glance at him, her expression thoughtful. “That is kind of you to say,” she said, her voice carefully neutral. “But it would not be appropriate for her to stay, or even visit, without me present. Would it?”

Edward considered. “No. I suppose not.” They already skirted the bounds of true propriety with the living arrangement they maintained. Had Felicity been widowed or considerably older, less pretty, Society would have nothing to say on the matter.

Because Society was run by hypocrites.

Besides, Felicity was fiercely independent. She had fought to remain part of Daphne’s life, and once her charge no longer needed her, she would undoubtedly seek a new purpose. Perhaps elsewhere—at a cottage by the sea, as he had heard her say before. Alone.

The thought was most unsettling.

Daphne, watching him closely, hid a knowing smile—not before he caught sight of it, though.

He glanced at the coachman. “I think we are going to walk for a few more minutes.”

“As you say, Colonel.” The coachman touched the brim of his hat, then climbed back into his seat.

They walked in silence for a few paces before Daphne said, with studied nonchalance, “It would be nice if she had a reason to stay nearby, would it not?”

He raised his eyebrows at that, looking down at the slip of a woman on his arm. “Are you not reason enough, child?”

“Well. Aunt Felicity will not wish me to feel smothered. She has said as much. Brides need to make their home and their life their own. Or so I have been informed.” She batted her eyelashes innocently. “It is such a shame. I should like to keep her close. I doubt I would feel smothered. Especially if she lived in a place familiar to me.”

Edward snorted. “Daphne.”

“What?” she asked, voice sweet as honey.

“You are many things, but subtle is not one of them.”

She grinned. “I do not know what you mean, Colonel.”

He gave her a look.

His young ward, utterly unfazed, continued speaking while looking directly ahead. “She is very fond of you, you know.”

Edward sighed. Honestly! “I should have left you in the bookstore to live out your days, especially if you are going to start plotting romances.”

She laughed, seemingly utterly delighted. “No, you should not have! But if I am to plot a romance…”

Edward shook his head, hiding a small smile.

Daphne had struck him as clever from the first, but it had been smothered by grief. This was a new level of mischief. She continued to smile teasingly as she turned her face toward the sun, as though the afternoon were too lovely for serious conversations.

Edward, however, was still considering her earlier words. It would indeed be nice if Felicity had a reason to stay. The thought lodged itself in his mind, stubborn as a burr; but Felicity was not a woman who waited for things to happen. She would stubbornly stick to her word. She would not linger where she was not needed.

If Daphne no longer needed her, she would go. It could be in a matter of months, or a matter of years. A time he had no control over.

Edward frowned. Felicity was right about him resenting a lack of control…but how could he help it when he thought of her leaving? He simply did not like where that thought led.

Daphne glanced at him from the corner of her eye, clearly waiting for him to say something.

Instead, Edward changed the subject. “We should return home before the streets become too crowded. You must be tired.”

The young woman made a thoughtful sound in the back of her throat. “Or,” she said slowly, as though weighing the thought carefully, “we might make one more stop.”

Edward cast her a wary glance. “One more?”

The smile he received was far too sweetly. “My seamstress is only a few streets from here.”

Edward arched a brow. “And?” Surely she had everything she needed at this point. Felicity had presented him with meticulous notes with each purchase, partly he rather thought to justify the expense. She was quite thorough on all matters concerning Daphne’s needs.

“And,” his ward continued, “I thought perhaps you might like to visit my seamstress, Madame Bisset.”

Edward’s suspicion deepened. “For what purpose?” He would not mind buying her fripperies, if she asked for them, but dancing around the subject did not seem like her.

Daphne lifted her shoulders in an exaggeratedly careless shrug. “You are always saying that my gowns are ‘lovely.’ I thought you might wish to see where such loveliness is crafted. And, you know, Aunt Felicity had her gowns made by the same seamstress, though they are certainly not as lovely, given how dark they are.”

Edward gave her a long, level look. Daphne’s smile did not falter. He sighed. “I do not see why I should like to meet Madame Bisset when—” That was when a new thought struck him.

The seamstress had Felicity’s measurements.

The idea formed so quickly, so completely, he had no time to question it. Daphne had given him an opportunity. Yet it would not be seemly, surely? He ought not to act on it. And yet….

Edward adjusted the cuff of his sleeve. “I suppose a visit would not be entirely unwarranted.”

Daphne’s smile brightened but he was not fooled. She had intended this from the start, perhaps even when she had suggested the visit to Hatchards…and he had happily played directly into her hands.

He gave his ward a crooked grin. “Miss Daphne Price, you would make a most excellent battle advisor, I think.”

“Oh?” She laughed and squeezed his arm. “Thank you, Colonel. But I think I should much rather leave that to soldiers.”

“A pity.” He looked back down the street and signaled to the coachman to follow them along the road. “Let us go meet Madame Bisset, so I may thank her for her fine service.”

And, of course, commission something new.