Page 19 of The Prince’s Wallflower Wife (The Wallflower Academy #4)

Daphne could sense the panic rising. She was a princess, but what did that mean? Were they supposed to visit the royal court at St James’? Did she have duties, now she was a foreign dignitary? Should she…?

‘Daphne?’ Christoph said quietly. ‘What shall we do together?’

It was his quietness that calmed her, probably. He did not shout, or berate, or criticise. He’d just said her name.

Daphne swallowed. ‘I… This is a marriage of convenience. You do not have to spend any time with me.’

‘I know that,’ he said softly. ‘I want to.’

When she finally managed to bring herself to look up, Daphne saw a powerful look in his eye, rather as if he were saying, I wanted to do this to you the moment I first met you. I wanted to know how you felt, the depth of you.

Daphne’s mouth went dry. Well, she could not deny it: he had the same expression as when he had said those very words to her. Though they had both been significantly more naked at the time.

‘Daphne, I… Well, I think there is no reason why we cannot decide for ourselves what a marriage of convenience should be like.’ Christoph’s words were quiet, soft, gentle.

The import of them was belied by his casual tone.

‘We can be friends. There is nothing stopping us from enjoying each other’s company. ’

Enjoying each other’s company… Well, it would still be warmer than many marriages of the ton, as far as Daphne could make out from the scandal sheets. So many husbands and wives came together to create children—her stomach lurched—to host a ball or two over a year and for little else.

She had presumed that was what Christoph had wanted. Perhaps he had—but not anymore.

‘Well,’ she said awkwardly, looking away and flushing a deep, burning crimson. ‘Well. We…we could go for a walk.’

It was a most dull suggestion, and she hated that her mind could provide her with no better idea than that. A walk. A walk? Who wanted to go on a walk?

‘A walk sounds lovely,’ said Christoph, rising from his chair and throwing down his napkin. ‘I shall meet you in the hall in ten minutes. Prepare yourself.’

Prepare yourself.

Daphne could not help but smile as she selected a pelisse from the choice of three that her stepmother had gifted to her.

Prepare yourself.

There were times, whole stretches of hours and days, when she quite forgot that Christoph spoke English as his second language. And then he went and said something like that.

He was waiting for her patiently in the hall when she had dressed and come down the stairs.

‘I am sorry to have taken so long,’ Daphne said in a rush as she hurtled down the last few stairs.

His smile was genial, warmth clear in his eyes. ‘It has not quite been ten minutes. You are ready?’

Daphne nodded. A walk—fine. She knew how to walk, almost certainly. She could do some walking. Walking would be possible.

Hyde Park was not far from her father’s house— her house, Daphne tried to remind herself. Strange; it still felt as though she were visiting a friend who had momentarily gone out. It did not feel like home, any more than the Wallflower Academy had felt like home. Had anywhere felt like home?

No sooner had the thought flickered through her mind than Christoph said quietly, ‘London feels more like home than Niedernlein did in recent times.’

Daphne started, growing the distance between them from a few inches to almost a whole foot as they stepped onto a path in Hyde Park. ‘I beg your pardon?’

Christoph smiled. ‘I suppose it sounds strange but, well, I was not always happy there. I have found myself much happier here. In England.’

It did sound a little strange, yet it was a strangeness that Daphne quite understood. ‘I… I am sorry. Do you not miss it?’

‘I miss the country itself. The people. The opportunity to do good, champion justice. And Niedernlein is beautiful. I wish I could show it to you.’

He did not say, I will show it to you . He did not want to go back, then. Curiosity rose but it was quite clear by the expression on Christoph’s face that he would not welcome any questions. Which only made her curiosity sharper.

‘My father… You are fortunate, I think, in the father you have,’ Christoph said with a brief smile.

Daphne swallowed. It would not be ladylike, or polite, to give her real opinion on the man who had essentially ignored her until he’d realised she would be his only offspring. ‘Many others are less fortunate.’

Her husband glanced at her as they turned a corner on the path they walked along. There were laughing children playing a game with skittles on the grass, and a trio of gentlemen arguing vociferously about something that sounded like politics strode by them. And still Christoph said nothing.

Well, she would have to ask. They were married for convenience, but that did not mean they could not converse. ‘Your parents—what were they like?’

Christoph blew out a long breath before replying, and Daphne was in half a mind to tell him that it did not matter, before he said, ‘My father was a very harsh man. Very harsh. Cruel, even. But it did not start that way. He… When he lost my mother, when we lost her, my father changed. He was devoted to her, you understand, besotted. When she died, I think my father’s purpose for living died with her.

He became cold. Distant. Unfeeling. His worst was reserved for my brother, but my brother had always been cruel.

My mother’s death…it gave Anton an excuse to do precisely what he had always done.

Love, kindness, gentleness were no longer rewarded or encouraged. ’

Daphne looked at him as he spoke. There was pain there, deep pain. Agony. An estrangement, but one of his choosing, from what she could guess.

‘I thought… Well, I could see that love, that marriage, was for the weak. Or it made you weak… I do not know,’ Christoph continued in a low voice, a dark chuckle not quite reaching his eyes.

‘Love is a weakness. To open oneself up like that, to become so vulnerable, to place all one’s happiness in the life of another…

I swore then I would never do it. I have kept to that promise.

’ He breathed a laugh that sounded pained.

‘I cannot tell you how strange it is to tell you all this. I always vowed… I hate that you can see my weakness.’

‘You are not weak.’ Daphne’s voice was measured, low, but she sounded certain. ‘It takes great strength to face one’s past.’

Christoph’s laugh this time was dark and pained. ‘It goes against everything I know, everything I believe of myself!’

It was difficult to know what to say, so Daphne kept quiet. What could she say—that love was to open oneself to pain? That grief, perhaps, was only the other side of love? That would explain his reticence to speak of his brother for weeks now.

‘Soon everything was a competition between us brothers,’ Christoph continued with a bark of laughter that held no mirth in it. ‘And I was never good enough, always falling short.’

Never good enough? It was hard to reconcile that description with the tall, handsome, charming man beside her.

Without a thought, Daphne closed the gap between them and slipped her hand through his arm.

The instant she did, she realised what she had done.

She would have pulled away, her neck already burning with embarrassment, but in a smooth movement that held no self-consciousness Christoph placed a hand over her own.

‘I had to become resilient,’ he said quietly. ‘Strong. Controlled.’

‘And so…you do not miss your brother?’

‘No,’ came the immediate response.

Daphne started, colour darkening her cheeks momentarily.

‘I am sorry for making you jump,’ Christoph said with a wry smile. ‘It is…difficult. Siblings are not always the people we would have chosen, you understand?’

Daphne did not understand, having no siblings at all. She nodded all the same. ‘My friends are my family.’

‘Yes, they treat you like a sister—as a sister should be treated,’ amended Christoph, his smile softening. ‘And I am here now. Being in England makes me free. Free thanks to the distance and…and thanks to the money. I can support Laura with the money.’

My money, Daphne could not help but think indignantly. My father’s money.

And yet…distance. He had said the word with a heavy weight, but one of relief more than disappointment. This brother, he sounded unpleasant to be sure, but that was assuredly no reason to leave the country that Christoph so clearly loved.

‘But enough about me,’ her husband said with a heavy sigh and a plastered-on smile. ‘What about you? Tell me something you have never told anyone.’

Never told anyone?

That was hardly difficult. Daphne was accustomed to being the person that others spoke to, poured their hearts out to, expecting nothing in return but sympathy.

And Daphne always gave it. But then the moment moved on, the person wandered off to solve their own problems and there was no chance for Daphne to unburden her own soul.

She glanced up to see that Christoph was smiling.

‘I am your husband,’ he reminded her, his dark eyes so deep she could almost fall into them. ‘Come on—something you’ve never told a soul.’

Daphne took a deep breath. ‘I… When I was small—very small, before I went to the Wallflower Academy—I had a governess. She…wasn’t very nice.’

It was an understatement, but it was an understatement she had always clung to. To accept what Miss Donovan had done, to admit what had happened, would be to face those fears. She did not want to do that.

Christoph squeezed her hand on his arm. ‘Not very nice?’

Daphne shook her head. It was easier to talk if she just stared ahead, looking at the people of London who were out enjoying Hyde Park, not at the man by her side.

‘No, not very nice,’ she echoed. ‘I… Whenever I spoke my mind, I was punished. Those were “inside thoughts”, she said. Thoughts never to be spoken.’

His grip on her hand tightened and did not let go. ‘Punished?’

‘Oh, just silly things,’ Daphne said lightly. ‘Dousing me with water and not permitting me to get dry. Or warm. Making me stand on one leg until I fell. Pins. That sort of thing.’

Her arm jolted—she had continued walking but Christoph had halted. She finally forced herself to look at his face.

‘Daphne, that is cruelty beyond the extreme,’ he said slowly. ‘And you were how many years of age?’

She shrugged. If she gave it no weight, it couldn’t hurt her. Miss Donovan could not hurt her. ‘Four, five years, perhaps?’

He pulled her closer, so close that her breasts were pressed up against his chest, and Daphne could hardly think for they were standing right in the middle of a path in Hyde Park. Surely people would be staring?

‘Christoph,’ she managed.

‘I know I am not always so open with my thoughts, my feelings, as you deserve,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I know sometimes I am weak and I reveal my emotions, and then I pull back—’

‘That does not make you weak,’ Daphne said fiercely, hating the pain, the disappointment, in her husband’s eyes directed at himself.

‘But I want to hear your “inside thoughts”,’ Christoph continued.

‘No, you don’t.’

Her dismissal was roundly ignored. ‘Yes, I do,’ he said passionately. ‘I always want to know what you are thinking, Daphne, always.’

Her laugh was a little strained. ‘I—I don’t know if I can.’

Christoph’s eyes searched hers, and there was compassion there, the like of which she had never known before. ‘I know. I know I ask a lot of you, Daphne, but I… I want you to feel free. From now on, inside thoughts don’t have to stay inside. All thoughts can be outside thoughts.’

All thoughts can be outside thoughts? Daphne could barely breathe. She was intoxicated by his presence, his intensity, his determination to say things that could not, should not, be said.

‘From now on, inside thoughts are forbidden. All thoughts are outside thoughts.’

Then he released her. Christoph said nothing but he interlocked his hand with hers, his fingers strong alongside hers, and they continued to walk in silence, holding hands.

She was holding hands. Holding hands with a man!

‘Tell…tell me something you’ve never told a soul,’ Daphne said aloud, the silence too much to bear after such revelations.

She had never told anyone about Miss Donovan. Ever.

Her husband had a rueful smile on his face. ‘I always wanted to learn the violin.’

‘The violin?’ It was not the sort of thing she had expected. ‘Truly? I… I also.’

It was a beautiful instrument. It sounded like angels singing and the first time she had ever heard it…

‘There you go again.’

Daphne swallowed. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Inside thoughts,’ Christoph said, squeezing her hand and shooting her pulse to a most riotous rate. ‘Talk to me. Your thoughts are so important, so fascinating. I want to hear them.’

His statement was difficult to take in. Her thoughts, fascinating? And something swelled in Daphne, something she had either never felt, or had felt once so long ago that she could no longer recall it: pride. Pride in herself.

‘I was just thinking—’

‘Not just ,’ he said with a warm smile. ‘You were thinking.’

There came a flicker of confidence. An answering smile on her lips. Daphne tried not to beam. ‘I was thinking, a violin… I mean, when I first heard one played, I thought… I thought it was like angels singing.’

Christoph’s eyes widened, his expression one of surprise. ‘I… That is precisely what I thought as a child. My God, I… I did not think we would have that in common.’

He squeezed her hand again, heat radiating through her body from the touch of his hand, and Daphne thought, He is mine . Laura or no Laura, Christoph is mine. I will make him mine, somehow .

She smiled, her heart fluttering at the boldness of the words she was about to say. ‘Royal or illegitimate, perhaps we are not so different.’