Page 28 of The Prince’s Wallflower Wife (The Wallflower Academy #4)

C hristoph had obviously never had a father-in-law, and his relationship with his own father was nothing much to boast of.

He had looked forward to this dinner—but the awkward silences between each conversation would be enough to disquiet anyone.

Why was it so difficult to get talk going with these people?

‘So tell me,’ he said, over the clinking of cutlery and not much else. ‘What was Daphne like, as a child?’

‘A child?’ blinked the Earl of Norbury. ‘She…she was…’ His voice trailed off and the man glanced momentarily at his grown child, then back to his place. ‘I almost took her to the opera once.’

‘Almost?’ Christoph looked in turn at his wife, but Daphne’s own attention was fixed on her cutlery as she very slowly cut her food into smaller and smaller pieces. ‘How does one “almost”?’

‘I was a little late. A game of cards… I had not realised the time. She had apparently been waiting there, on the bottom step of the Wallflower Academy, for almost an hour,’ muttered the Earl of Norbury.

Christoph tried to smile. His lips felt tight and he purposefully did not look to his left, where Daphne sat, silently, unmoving. As unobtrusively as possible.

‘But you did arrive eventually,’ said the Countess of Norbury with a pat on her husband’s arm.

‘Oh, yes, eventually,’ said the Earl of Norbury with a nod. ‘But by that time the little mite had fallen asleep, all curled up at the base of the stairs, and I didn’t have the heart to wake her. So we left her there.’

Christoph’s jaw tightened as the story drew to a close and his father-in-law sipped one of his most expensive wines. ‘I see.’

It had been an evening of ‘seeing’.

The idea had been good—at least, his intention.

‘We really should have them over for dinner,’ he had said just two nights ago. ‘After all, it has been over a month since the wedding. We should host them.’

Daphne had looked uncomfortable and yet, unwilling to share her true thoughts, had said, ‘Whatever you think best.’

Try as he might, Christoph had tried to encourage her to speak her true mind. Those inside thoughts of hers, he wanted to know them. But Daphne had been circumspect. She would not speak the truth.

And now he knew why.

‘Tell Christoph the story of when you intended to take her to the ballet,’ the Countess of Norbury said ineptly. ‘You wanted to give her such a treat.’

Christoph tried to smile, he really did. But the dining room felt claustrophobic and taut, the tension all the more awkward because their guests did not appear to feel it. He certainly could. He would have bet his entire marital fortune on the fact that the woman seated to his left did.

Daphne had not looked up from her hands for almost five minutes. Clasped as they were in her lap, it was easy for her to avoid the attention of anyone else at the table. She had not spoken. She had not smiled. She had not laughed.

‘I don’t think…’ he began.

‘Yes, yes, I did intend to treat her,’ said the Earl of Norbury with a little more warmth. ‘So, I promised little Daphne that I would take her to the ballet.’

Christoph did not need to listen to the details.

He could already tell where the story was heading, the inevitable conclusion.

The Earl of Norbury had not taken his daughter to the ballet.

It was excruciating. Did the man have no sense?

Was it possible that he did not hear himself, that he did not realise just how awful it was to hear story after story in which he had disappointed his daughter—even as a child—in almost all these tales?

‘But of course, she couldn’t be found. Run off, hidden herself away. We looked for her for an hour.’

Christoph’s pulse throbbed at his temple.

He had thought the evening would be a pleasant one, perhaps even enjoyable.

After all, a father who owned his child, who had appeared during the wedding planning to have a modicum of respect for his child, was something Christoph had never experienced.

He had envied Daphne, though he had been loath to admit it.

‘And so we didn’t go,’ finished the Earl of Norbury before he gulped another large mouthful of Christoph’s wine. ‘Top up, please!’

Henderson stepped forward smoothly and filled up the Earl of Norbury’s glass.

Christoph sighed and leaned back against his chair.

Well, this has been a disaster. At least it can’t get any worse.

‘That’s the trouble with Daphne,’ the Earl of Norbury said with a shake of his head. ‘Too shy.’

Christoph bristled as he glanced at Daphne. Her head remained low. ‘I actually think—’

‘Oh, it was fashionable enough twenty years ago, but men don’t want wallflowers for a wife,’ the Earl of Norbury said vaguely, waving a hand about. Wine sloshed over the carpet. ‘I certainly didn’t expect a daughter who was a wallflower.’

Christoph’s jaw was getting tighter by the second and yet he could think of no way to head off the foolish man.

He was too in his cups, that was the trouble—and yet the Countess of Norbury was just sitting there!

Pink-cheeked, admittedly, and silent the last few minutes.

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? Silent.

Not that he was any different, Christoph thought wretchedly.

Okay. ‘I like Daphne’s—’

‘And it is very chivalrous for you to say so, Christoph, but you don’t have to be polite here, we’re family,’ the Earl of Norbury cut in with a hiccup. ‘Excuse me.’

What was perhaps most infuriating was just how nonchalant the cruelty was.

Oh, there was no malice in the man. Christoph had been around enough malicious men to know one when he saw it.

But that was perhaps worse. The Earl of Norbury did not intend to be unpleasant.

He just could not understand how precious his daughter was.

‘Christoph has heard more than enough of your stories,’ the Countess of Norbury said, patting her husband’s arm. ‘Let us discuss that horse you bought last week.’

Christoph shifted in his chair most unhappily.

Strange… He had told Daphne several times, until she had truly believed him, that he preferred just to be called Christoph, without any title.

Yet hearing his first name spoken so carelessly by Lord and Lady Norbury…

It did not feel right, somehow. Perhaps it was only Daphne to whom he wanted to give that particular privilege.

‘Oh, yes, a magnificent beast, at least sixteen hands,’ the Earl of Norbury said proudly. ‘Poor old Daphne would never be able to mount him—if she ever had the bravery to approach him!’

Christoph winced. How was it possible that the man was inadvertently able to slight his daughter even on the topic of horses?

It was agony. From the moment that the Earl and Countess of Norbury had entered their home, Christoph had watched Daphne slowly creep into herself, slowly retreat into her shell from which he had worked so hard to coax her. She had lost her brightness, the shine that he had seen.

Not that she had ever become loud. No, loud was not a part of her character, her temperament.

She was not a loud woman. She had stayed who she was, but the shame —that was it, the shame—had faded away.

Christoph had rejoiced in seeing more of Daphne, more of the woman who thought so boldly, even if she did not say the words aloud.

Now she was gone. Weeks of work, of cajoling, of encouraging, all wasted, after two hours in the presence of her father. And it was his fault for inviting them, for not seeing just how uncomfortable the presence of her father would make her.

‘I suppose a pony is more enjoyable to ride,’ Daphne said quietly, startling Christoph with her words. ‘A pony called Midnight, perhaps.’

Christoph managed not to let his jaw drop, but it was a close-run thing. She had remembered. She had truly listened to him. Why was that one of the most attractive things about her?

‘Now then, dear, you’ll embarrass your daughter,’ the Countess of Norbury said with a fond smile directed at her husband. ‘You have to remember, Daphne isn’t brave like you!’

And that was when Christoph said quietly, ‘How dare you speak of my wife like that?’

The dining room hushed to a silence.

Christoph swallowed, his mouth dry. The Earl of Norbury had frozen, one hand in the air in gesticulation. The Countess of Norbury’s hands were similarly still, halfway through cutting a piece of lamb. The two footmen’s cheeks were pink, their eyes averted, and Henderson, naturally, was smirking.

But it wasn’t any of them that he cared about.

Christoph looked at Daphne and saw her pain. Saw the tension across her brow. Saw her discomfort, her desperate wish to be somewhere, anywhere but here.

‘I mean,’ he said slowly, trying to feel his way through the sentence. Hell and all its devils, but he should not have been so rude. ‘I mean, Daphne is quite comfortable on a horse, in fact. We went riding just a few days ago, and I was impressed at her galloping, even through the rain.’

The smile he attempted was slightly forced, but then so was the cheery grin his father-in-law gave him. ‘She gets that from me, you know.’

It was not completely salvaged, but the conversation managed to totter on. Christoph leaned back in his chair and took a sip of wine, permitting himself one additional look at the beautiful woman sitting on his left.

Daphne raised her gaze just a fraction and met his eye. ‘Thank you.’

The words were not spoken but mouthed, yet Christoph felt as though they had been shouted from the rooftops of St James’ Court.

It was ridiculous, how swiftly he’d felt like a knight in shining armour—but was that not precisely what he was? A rescuer, a saviour, stepping in to protect his woman?

His woman. What was he thinking? Daphne no more belonged to him than…anyone did. Oh, she might do in the eyes of the law, but in his eyes Daphne was very much a free woman.

A woman for whom he cared deeply.

‘You know, I feel remarkably tired,’ said the Countess of Norbury suddenly. ‘My love, I think we should depart.’