Page 26

It felt silly now, how much effort she had put into preparing for the evening, imagining for a moment that he might look at her with something more than just courtesy.

"Lovely music, isn't it?" Richard said, oblivious.

"Very lovely," Daphne replied, trying to match his tone.

"I've always appreciated a good quartet," he continued.

"Indeed," she smiled softly, hoping to encourage more conversation, but he merely nodded and returned his gaze to the musicians.

"Are you comfortable?" Richard asked.

"Yes, quite," she replied, forcing a smile. "Thank you for asking."

"Good, good," he murmured, his attention already drifting away again.

Daphne sighed inwardly, folding her hands tighter in her lap as she turned her gaze to the quartet.

Her attention shifted slightly when the Dowager entered the hall, followed closely by the Duke. Daphne glanced at the empty seat next to her.

This was her chance to speak to the Dowager. It was clear enough that she did not have much to chat with Richard, but perhaps the Dowager could serve as the link between the two and facilitate a better conversation.

Besides, it was always a wise thing to maintain a strong relationship with ones mother in law to be.

She fully expected the Dowager to come sit next to her and Richard, but it appeared that the older woman had a different plan. She made a small gesture toward Ambrose, and before Daphne could fully register what was happening, Ambrose was walking toward her.

Daphne tensed, trying her best to hide her discomfort. She hadn't spoken to him since the hunt. In fact, she had gone to great lengths to avoid him altogether. Seeing him walk up to her now made her stomach twist in nervous anticipation.

"Lady Daphne," Ambrose greeted her. "Brother," he nodded at Richard, who only acknowledged him with sparse interest.

"Your Grace," Daphne said quietly, making sure not to meet his gaze as she uttered the words.

"Ambrose, my dear," the Dowager said, "Why don't you sit here with Lady Daphne? I shall sit next to Lady Fawn – it has been a great deal since we got to enjoy a quartet together."

Ambrose looked like he was about to argue, but the Dowager turned to Daphne before he could even get a single word in edge-wise. "That is alright with you, is it not, Lady Daphne?"

Daphne blinked. "Oh... yes, of course," she replied quickly, feeling suddenly off-balance. She glanced at Richard, who seemed entirely unbothered by the whole exchange, and before she knew it, Ambrose had taken the seat next to her.

Gulp.

She could feel his presence immediately, even though they weren't speaking or looking at each other.

For a fleeting moment, Daphne tried to convince herself that nothing had changed, that the rapid beat of her heart and the shallow rise of her breath were merely a figment of her imagination.

It's not that you have to speak to him. Or even look at him. He has only come to sit next to you. That is normal.

But it was a futile attempt. She kept glancing in his direction, all too aware of him. So much that she had all but forgotten that Richard was there, until he coughed lightly.

Once again, Daphne was focusing her energy on the wrong brother. Perhaps if Richard was as infuriating as the Duke, she would have an easier time giving him the same attention.

Her gloved hands fidgeted restlessly in her lap, twisting and untwisting the material. She knew she should be listening to the music, focusing on anything other than the man sitting beside her, but it was hopeless.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Ambrose glancing at her, as if he were just as distracted as she was. She bit the inside of her cheek, silently scolding herself for being so obvious and began to fondle the fabric of her glove once again.

Until a firm hand descended upon it, locking her hand in place.

" I beg your pardon? " the words came out as an urgent whisper as she eyes widened in surprise. Looking down, she saw Ambrose's hand covering hers, stopping her nervous fidgeting.

"You must stop that immediately," he leaned over to whisper in her ear, his voice low but laced with annoyance. "You are distracting me."

Her breath caught in her throat, and she quickly turned her head to the side, her eyes widening in surprise. His face was close—far too close.

"I'm distracting you?" she whispered back, her tone incredulous.

"Yes. The fidgeting."

Daphne opened her mouth to retort, but the words seemed to falter on her tongue. Instead, she whispered, "I didn't realize you were paying such close attention."

His hand tightened just slightly on hers, and she felt the heat rise to her cheeks. She knew she should pull her hand away, that someone could easily see them, but she couldn't seem to bring herself to move.

And for some reason, neither could he. So they just sat there, hand in hand.

The music played on, but for her, it was nothing more than background noise now. All she could think about was the way his fingers felt against hers. His hands were much larger than her small, delicate ones. But somehow, they seemed to fit each other.

They sat there in silence for a few moments, the tension between them growing thicker with every passing second.

This is wrong, she told herself. And yet, it was as though someone had poured lead over her hands. She could not pull away. Beside her, Richard did not even notice what was going on between the two of them.

He's not very observant, Daphne noted to herself with some disdain.

But even so, it should be Richard whom she should be sitting with like this.

Richard, the man she was supposed to be courting.

But it was Ambrose whose hand she couldn't pull away from, Ambrose who made her heart race in a way that left her utterly confused.

"I wasn't trying to distract you," she whispered back after a long pause, her voice barely audible.

"Somehow, I find that difficult to believe," he breathed, his tone exasperated but there was a hint of amusement in it, too.

Like he could also not understand how he had managed to get into this situation with her.

Daphne shot him a sidelong glance, her irritation bubbling up despite herself. "Well, I wasn't."

His grip only tightened, and a slight smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "You were fidgeting. If that is something you wish to do in the privacy of your chambers, by all means. But here, there should be some decorum."

Decorum? Daphne should hardly believe her ears. Was he really going to turn this into a lesson on manners?

"Tell me, Your Grace, is holding onto my hand as tightly as you are also considered good decorum?" she shot back, expending the last of her energy into ensuring that her voice does not raise much.

She did not want to draw too much attention on herself, after all .

"It is when it serves a purpose," he shrugged, though Daphne could tell by his expression that her question had challenged him. "And the purpose here was to prevent it from fidgeting. If anything, I am doing everyone here a favor."

She blinked, aghast. He left no stone unturned when it came to winning in an argument.

"You must think so highly of yourself," she quipped. "You believe that you are saving everyone here from some tremendous tragedy."

The upper corners of his lips curved into a smirk. "You see, My Lady, that is where you are wrong. I know I am saving everyone from the horrors of your fidgeting hand."

Finally, she turned her head fully to look at him, their faces only inches apart. "If that is the case, then I shall not fidget anymore. Let go," she whispered, though her voice lacked conviction.

Ambrose raised an eyebrow as if to challenge her. "Are you sure you want me to?"

Her heart stuttered, and for a moment, she forgot how to breathe. She could feel the intensity of his gaze, the way his dark eyes seemed to be searching hers for something more.

She had not expected him to say this in response. It caused her mind to fly into an infinite number of directions, all at once. But as she contemplated, Ambrose's grip loosened, and he let go of her hand.

The feeling of loss that followed was immediate, and dramatic. Like a sharp stab with a knife on the chest. Without thinking, she brought her hand to her chest, as if to stop the proverbial bleeding.

They did not utter a word to each other again until the quartet began to play their next set. It was Ambrose that broke the silence.

"You shouldn't have my attention like this."

Shouldn't? Daphne's fingers twitched around her glove but she restrained herself, not wanting to fidget in front of him again.

"If that is the case, then I express my deepest condolences for inconveniencing you, Your Grace," she pressed her lips together in a thin line, mustering all her energy to not let her mask of composure slip. "I did not know that it was such an issue."

At this, Richard turned to look at her. Her pulse quickened. Had he been privy to their conversation all this time? They had made sure to speak only in hushed tones. But the next moment, he turned away.

Daphne breathed a sigh of relief, and then shot Ambrose a glare. No more, she wanted to communicate.

But it would not be Ambrose if he did not push her to her last limit. "You should be more careful."

Daphne opened her mouth to speak, but somehow could not conjure an apt enough response. She was nothing more than an inconvenience to her. It had not changed for him, despite what she had wrongly assumed.

Her insecurities gnawed at her, louder than the music that filled the room. How foolish she had been to think... to hope, even for a second, that there was something more behind his gestures.

As soon as the last note of the quartet lingered in the air, Daphne stood up swiftly, and without a word to Ambrose or Richard, she excused herself to return to her sister and friends.