Page 10

The compliment, though polite, felt hollow—almost as if it were a line he had rehearsed rather than a genuine sentiment. It left her feeling oddly detached.

Daphne forced a smile in response.

Her mind was whirling with conflicting thoughts.

On the one hand, Richard was everything she had ever wanted—kind, caring, and gentle.

The sort of man any woman would dream of marrying.

But then there was Ambrose, with his constant taunts, his maddening arrogance, and the way he had affected her so deeply with just a few words.

He is so irritating. Once again, Daphne found herself consumed with thoughts of the wrong brother.

"I'm glad to hear that, my Lord," she replied, her voice soft. "You've been... wonderful."

"Perhaps we can go for a stroll in the gardens," Richard suggested.

Daphne nodded, trying to shake the lingering tension from her mind. "I'd like that."

"Lovely. Then, I shall meet you in the gardens in a short while," he nodded before being pulled to the side by one of the other men to smoke an after-dinner cigar.

Most of the women made their way to the drawing room, while the men stayed in the dining area to smoke and drink brandy. Just as Daphne was about to leave the dining room, Ambrose appeared at her side, startling her.

"Oh–," she sounded alarmed, bringing one of her hands to her chest, "Your Grace, I did not see you there."

"Yes, I'm well aware that you're not particularly observant."

Daphne glared in his direction, "Are you here to insult me once more?"

"Not at all," he smirked, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "I am here as a friend. Only to offer you a word of advice."

"A friend?" Daphne resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Surely, he was baiting her again, and she had no intention to fall into another one of his traps.

"Yes. One that offers you a sincere word of advice," he nodded, "Perhaps you should hire a tutor. It might help you avoid any... further embarrassments."

Daphne's cheeks burned with indignation, and she turned to face him, her eyes flashing with anger.

"Perhaps you should pay more attention to the ladies sitting next to you, Your Grace, instead of distracting yourself with me."

Ambrose's lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile, and he leaned in closer, his breath brushing against her ear as he spoke. "Oh, Lady Daphne, you're far too interesting to ignore."

A shiver ran down Daphne's spine, and she could feel her heart racing in her chest. She wanted to retort, to say something sharp and cutting, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, she stood frozen, caught in the intensity of Ambrose's gaze.

For a moment, neither of them moved, the tension between them crackling like firewood And then, just as quickly as he had appeared, Ambrose stepped back, his expression once again unreadable.

"Good evening, Lady Daphne," he said smoothly, before turning and walking away, leaving Daphne standing there, her heart pounding and her mind spinning.

What had just happened?

The evening passed by in a blur after that. When Daphne reached the drawing room, she felt as though she was in a daze.

"My Lady," Rosalie, Daphne's trusted lady's maid, called out to her, "Are you feeling well? Your complexion looks to be a bit... pale."

Daphne shook her head, dismissively. "Do I look pale now?"

"Yes, my Lady. If you would allow me.... It's almost as though you have seen a ghost..."

"Perhaps I have," Daphne shrugged, trying to push the memory of Ambrose's whispered words from her mind. She couldn't let him get under her skin—she couldn't let him affect her like this.

"Shall I fetch you a glass of water?" Rosalie asked.

"No, no," Daphne bit down on her lip. She was still thinking of what Ambrose had said to her, “Rosalie, may I ask you a question?”

“Of course, my Lady. I am here to assist you in whatever way you require.”

Daphne bit down on her lip, “Do… you.. well, do you think I am interesting?”

Rosalie seemed surprised by the question at first. “I am not sure if I understand. Interesting in what way, my Lady?”

Daphne rubbed the side of her face. That was exactly what she was trying to figure out as well. What had Ambrose meant by his comment? “Well, do you find that I’m the sort of person others might find… interesting?”

Rosalie tilted her head, regarding Daphne thoughtfully. “My Lady, I believe anyone who spends even a moment with you would be hard-pressed to forget you.”

“So is it a compliment?” Daphne asked. “Being interesting?”

Daphne had always thought that it was. But when it came from the duke, it was hard to decipher the true meaning on top of the fact that she did not think it was possible for him to ever compliment her.

“I would say so,” Rosalie nodded.

Daphne felt a strange feeling arise inside of her.

“Has Lord Richard said that to you?” Rosalie asked, smiling.

The question was enough to remind Daphne of what she should be focusing her attention on. Once again, she was thinking about Ambrose when she should be thinking about Richard.

"You should accompany me to the garden. I was to meet Lord Richard there,” she said abruptly.

Rosalie nodded, and began to follow Daphne out to the garden. Daphne straightened her back, annoyed at herself for being so distracted.

This was an important moment. For all she knew, this could be the moment that Richard finally proposes marriage to her.

But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop thinking about the infuriating Duke, about the way his breath had felt against her ear, the shiver that had run down her spine, and the smile on his face as he had walked away.

Perhaps you should hire a tutor...

His voice echoed in her mind, and the shiver she had felt earlier returned.

Why does he affect me so? she wondered, her frustration mounting. I should be angry with him. I despise this man.

But now was not the time for such thoughts. She pushed them away, unwilling to let them cloud her mind.

Instead, she focused on the man who stood before her as they entered the garden—Richard.

"Lady Daphne," Richard greeted her softly, extending a hand. "I've been waiting for you."

Daphne took his hand. "I'm sorry if I kept you," she said, though she knew he would never fault her for such a small thing.

"Not at all," he replied, his tone as gentle as ever. "Shall we walk?"

She nodded, grateful for the quiet peace of the garden, and allowed herself to fall into step beside him.

For a few moments, they walked in comfortable silence, the gravel crunching under their feet.

"I dare say, my lady, you appear to be quite distracted again," Richard noted, "Was this perhaps not the right time to take a stroll?"

Daphne's eyes widened. "No, no, no. This is the right time," she assured him.

"You can tell me if something is gnawing at your mind...."

Daphne bit her lip, searching for the right words. "Well... there is something that I am curious about," she admitted.

She felt safe in Richard's company. She knew that he would not snap at her, or chide her for saying the wrong thing. It was the exact same kind of comfort that she felt in the company of Violet, or Isadora.

Those that she considered to be... a friend.

"It is about your brother, the Duke..."

Richard seemed to perk up, amused. "What about him, then?"

"Has he always been..." She paused, struggling to phrase her question without sounding accusatory. "Has he always had such a... formidable nature?"

Richard chuckled softly, "Formidable is one way to put it," he conceded. "My brother Ambrose has always been... intense, even as a boy. He's always had strong opinions and a strong will."

They stopped walking, and Richard guided her to sit beside him on a wrought-iron bench nestled among the bushes.

Strong opinions. That was something that her sisters often told her about herself. Could it be that she had more in common with the Duke than she thought?

No. Of course not. He is insufferable to the core, and we share just about the same similarities as a crow to a horse.

"Does he ever... relax?" Daphne asked, her curiosity piqued.

Richard's expression softened into a wistful smile. "Rarely," he admitted. "But yes, there are moments, though they're seldom seen by anyone outside our immediate family. Ambrose can be quite different when he feels secure, when he's away from the pressures of his title."

Daphne nodded, absorbing Richard's words. She hadn't expected to hear that side of Ambrose—the one that wasn't consumed by his duties or masked by arrogance. It intrigued her, though she quickly realized that her curiosity about Ambrose had led her down a path she hadn't intended to tread.

Why was she spending so much time thinking about Ambrose when she was here, walking beside Richard? This was her opportunity to deepen her connection with him, not his brother.

She straightened, willing herself to shift the focus of the conversation. "I didn't mean to ask so many questions about Ambrose," Daphne said, offering Richard a gentle smile. "I suppose I'm just trying to understand the dynamics between the two of you."

Richard gave a soft chuckle, his brow lifting slightly in amusement. "Don't worry about it, Daphne. Ambrose has a way of dominating conversations—even when he's not here."

Daphne smiled at his understanding but felt a pang of guilt. Richard had been nothing but attentive and kind, and here she was, dragging the conversation into complicated territory. She owed it to him—and to herself—to redirect the evening back to where it belonged.

"Let's talk about something else," she said brightly. "I feel like I've hardly gotten to know you outside of these social settings. What do you enjoy when you're not busy with formal dinners and family obligations?"

"Well, when I'm not attending to the usual social affairs, I spend a fair amount of time reading. Art history, literature... I find solace in books."

Daphne nodded, appreciative of his intellectual pursuits but still feeling an invisible distance between them. "That sounds lovely," she said, though her voice lacked the enthusiasm she hoped to convey. "Books are always a good escape."

"Indeed," Richard replied, though his tone seemed to mirror hers—polite but lacking any real spark. "I've also been trying my hand at painting lately."

"Painting?" Daphne raised an eyebrow. "That's unexpected. What do you paint?"

"Oh, landscapes mostly," Richard said, his voice modest but somewhat flat. "Though I wouldn't call it art. It's more of a hobby, really."

Daphne smiled, but it felt strained. "I'd love to see your work someday. I imagine you're much better than you give yourself credit for."

Richard returned her smile, but it didn't stir anything within her. "Perhaps."

There was a lull in the conversation, the silence growing a little too heavy for Daphne's liking.

She could feel the ease that normally came with a good conversation slipping away, and despite her best efforts, it felt like she and Richard were just..

. going through the motions. Polite, friendly, but without the energy or connection she had hoped to feel.

Why is this so hard? she thought, glancing at Richard, who seemed equally aware of the awkwardness creeping in.

She tried again. "Well... do you have any other interests? Hobbies outside of painting and reading?"

Richard thought for a moment, but the response that followed was slow, as if he, too, was searching for something to say. "Well, I enjoy horseback riding from time to time. It's relaxing."

Daphne nodded, though she had heard the same thing from countless gentlemen before. Relaxing. Of course.

"That sounds... nice," she replied, feeling her smile tighten a little. They had run out of things to say, and the conversation felt as though it had hit a wall. She wanted to feel more—wanted to connect with him, but no matter how hard she tried, the chemistry just wasn't there.

Shouldn't it be more than this? she wondered.

"Shall we continue our walk?" Richard suggesting, perhaps motivated by the lull in their conversation.

"Yes, of course," Daphne got up at once. This time, a strange feeling nagged her.

Even if she became the perfect lady, would it be enough to spend a lifetime together? Was this what love was supposed to feel like?

For all the commotion, it certainly did not live up to the hype.