Page 22 of The Prince’s Wallflower Wife (The Wallflower Academy #4)

S omething was wrong. Something was different. Daphne knew it the moment she opened her eyes, but precisely what was wrong, she did not know.

She blinked. The ceiling looked the same. The four-poster bed appeared the same. The curtains were still drawn, autumn sunlight weakly attempting to make its way around the edges of the fabric. The flowers…

Daphne sat up. There were flowers beside her bed. A smile drifted across her lips. Flowers… Beautiful ones, too—dahlias. They were arranged delicately in a pretty vase, and they had not been there when she had gone to sleep.

Where had he found them?

The moment Daphne reached out and touched a petal, she realised the truth. Christoph would not have placed them here. He was a prince—he had servants to do that. It probably hadn’t even been his idea.

Daphne lowered her hand to the bed and tried to fight the disappointment.

Perhaps she was falling in love with her husband.

Drawing her knees up, Daphne sighed as she tried to put the thought from her mind, but it was impossible.

Foolish woman that she was, she was making the ultimate mistake when it came to an arranged marriage: she was starting truly to like her husband.

Not that she was forced to dislike him. Not at all.

But this was nothing but a convenience for him.

A means to an end, the end being money. A chance for him to live with his sister again.

Daphne, please tell me that I told you that Laura is my sister?

Daphne chuckled into the emptiness of her room. The weight that had been lifted in that moment was extreme. How could she have thought even for a moment that Christoph would move a mistress into their home?

Her fingers tingled and her stomach swooped most strangely. Christoph: she wanted to see him.

It did not take long for Daphne’s maid, with whom she was starting to grow an awkward friendship, to dress her. Within twenty minutes Daphne was trotting down the staircase, her spirits high and her hope to spend some time with Christoph undiminished.

He was often very busy, it was true. Now she knew the preparations were for her sister-in-law, not a rival, Daphne felt a little better about them. But, still. Time with Christoph was precious, somehow. Rare, but desirable, because it was so…enjoyable.

Daphne swallowed as she hesitated outside the breakfast room. She had never enjoyed time spent with another person as she enjoyed time spent with Christoph. Which was ridiculous. She could not go round falling in love with her own husband!

Turning the handle, she entered…the empty room.

Henderson was grinning. ‘Morning, miss.’

Daphne bit back the retort which would have been most unladylike, though she desperately wished she had the boldness to say it.

How dare you speak to me in that manner? If you cannot be civil, then you should leave this house. I am Princess Daphne, and if…

‘There you are!’

Daphne twirled on her heels and beamed at the incoming Christoph. ‘Good morning.’

‘A splendid morning it is about to be,’ said the grinning Christoph, almost bursting with visible excitement. ‘We are going on an adventure! Oh—after you have breakfasted, of course.’

‘I don’t actually want breakfast,’ Daphne said honestly, her stomach twisting at the thought of eating this early in the morning. I want you.

The last three words were not spoken aloud. They were merely thought, very loudly, in the privacy of her own mind. Still, she rather thought that Christoph could hear them, for his grin softened and became a truly attractive smile.

‘An adventure?’ Daphne repeated as her husband stepped into the hall and she followed him. ‘I… I am not sure what you mean, but—’

‘Oh, it’s an adventure, all right,’ Christoph said brightly, grabbing a pelisse and holding it out. ‘Come on!’

A fluttering of excitement percolated through Daphne’s whole body. This was…different. And, at the same time, completely expected. Christoph had these moments, these exuberant moods in which he wanted to do nothing more than sing from the rooftops and dance through the streets.

He had his melancholy moments too. Daphne was starting to spot them from a distance, see them creeping up on her husband. Soon, she hoped, she would know how to ward them off. How to comfort him.

It is merely a case of spending time together, she told herself sternly. Nothing more.

‘Right, last thing…’ Christoph said cheerfully as Daphne adjusted her bonnet. ‘You’ll need to put this on.’

For a moment, she had no idea what he was talking about. He was holding out a ribbon, of sorts, though it was much thicker than anything she had seen before. A…cravat?

‘It’s a blindfold,’ said her husband with a grin.

Daphne took a hasty step back. ‘N-no.’

His expression faded almost at once. ‘No?’

‘Absolutely not,’ she said firmly, pulse thundering, palms sweating.

The very idea of… No. No, she would not blind herself in the presence of anyone. She would not restrict her vision, allow herself to become vulnerable, just as when she had been forced into that cupboard all day, in the dark, no light, no sense of time.

‘Daphne… Daphne, whoa, there.’

There was pain…pain in her chest, and Daphne was scrabbling at her bodice in an attempt to loosen it. She couldn’t get air, and there was a hand on her décolletage. A hand pressed gently between her breasts. A hand…and a voice accompanied it.

‘Daphne, I’m here…’

The voice was coming from a long way away but it was strength, an anchor in the storm in which Daphne had found herself. Vision started to blink back into existence. The darkness started to fade and before her was the concerned expression of Christoph von Auberheiser.

Daphne took in a jagged breath. ‘I won’t—I won’t wear—’

‘It is forgotten; we never have to mention it again,’ Christoph said in a rush. ‘I am sorry, I did not… My intention was not to…’

‘I know.’

Oh, she must look the complete fool. What woman started to lose consciousness because of the mere suggestion of a blindfold?

Yet the memory was potent, stark, in her head. Daphne could not force it away but it faded, slowly, Christoph’s hand on her bodice slowly encouraging her back to steady breathing. She had never felt more vulnerable in her life. But he had not laughed. He had stayed. He had helped.

Daphne blinked. Her vision had returned.

Taking a step back, and ceasing the physical connection between them with some regret, she blinked again. She would not let tears fall. ‘I am sorry. You will not want to… The adventure: you won’t want to—’

‘The adventure was not about the blindfold, it was about taking you somewhere, showing you something and…and spending time with you.’

For some reason Christoph looked most miffed—though not with her. With himself?

‘I am sorry. I did not mean to tease.’

Daphne swallowed. It was not his teasing that was the trouble. ‘I…the governess, Miss Donovan… A cupboard—I was there all—all day.’

And she could say no more because Christoph had pulled her into such a tight embrace that speech became impossible, her face flush against him.

But communication was not impossible. His arms around her, strong and protective; his warmth; the very solidness of his body: it all spoke of a shield Daphne had never felt before.

She clung to him, her palms splayed against his chest and her eyes closed as she inhaled him. Was that a kiss pressed against her hair? She could not tell.

Within another heartbeat, Christoph had released her, looking mightily apologetic. ‘If you do not want to go…’

‘On an adventure?’ Daphne tried to laugh. ‘I think I have earned it.’

His smile was tender, his hand outstretched—not his arm, but his hand. ‘Then come with me.’

She tried not to think too much about the way his fingers interlocked with hers.

They remained holding hands in the carriage, as it rattled along the London streets, taking a route she did not recognise. Why should she? She hardly knew London, and besides, almost all her concentration was focused on the gentle pulse that could be hers, or could be his; she did not know.

When the carriage finally drew to a stop, Daphne peered out of the window expectantly. ‘Where are we?’

‘We have arrived at the Regent’s art gallery,’ said Christoph, stepping down from the carriage without letting go of her hand after the door had been opened by a footman. ‘It is newly opened. I thought we could explore it together.’

Daphne smiled as she stepped onto the street and looked up at the tall redbrick building. ‘An adventure indeed. I have never been to an art gallery.’

‘Never—never been to an art gallery?’ Christoph sounded incredulous as they walked forward into the building. ‘Truly?’

He didn’t have to sound so astonished. Had she not been clear enough? The Wallflower Academy hardly existed to allow its inhabitants to live. It was…a waiting room. A waiting home. She had waited and waited…and now she had him.

‘I have no idea, truly, just what we will find in here,’ Christoph said quietly as they stepped into the first room. ‘Oh, my.’

Oh, my, indeed. Daphne could not help but gasp as she stared up at the lantern light in the centre of the roof that allowed warming sunlight to soar through the room. The paintings in this room were huge—several feet across, perhaps more, all showing elegant landscapes that did not look English.

At least, they did not look like the route between the Wallflower Academy and London, which was all Daphne had seen of the country.

‘This one looks like Niedernlein.’ Christoph stepped towards one with a shining smile. ‘Look at the mountains!’

Daphne followed him, staring. ‘I’ve never seen mountains before.’

He turned to her with some surprise. ‘What, never?’

‘When would I have seen mountains?’ she said with a smile, staring up at the painting. The mountains looked beautiful—snow-capped, with either a sunrise or sunset pouring gold upon them. Trees were scattered on the mountain sides, but not trees she knew. Was that what a pine looked like?