Page 29 of The Prince’s Wallflower Wife (The Wallflower Academy #4)

Finally , thought Christoph wearily.

It was not a very fair thought; they were quite within their rights to stay for dessert, then drinks and further conversation. Thank goodness the Countess of Norbury had suddenly got the hint.

‘Tired?’ blinked her husband.

‘Tired,’ repeated the Countess of Norbury firmly. ‘Call the carriage, will you, Christoph?’

Gritting his teeth, and hoping she did not notice as he tried to smile, Christoph inclined his head. ‘Certainly. Call the carriage, Henderson.’

The two young stable hands had the Norbury carriage ready for departure within five minutes, a span of time in which Christoph attempted to say how pleasant the evening had been without lying. He would have to remember to tip the lads.

‘A good dinner with good company is one always to be repeated,’ he said jovially, absolutely not pointing out that the dinner had been good but the company somewhat lacking.

His father-in-law beamed. ‘Oh, I quite agree! We shall have to invite you to dinner, Christoph, even if Daphne would prefer to stay at home on her own!’

And, chortling once again at a joke made once again at his own daughter’s expense, the Earl of Norbury and his wife departed.

Giving a distinct sigh of relief as the door closed behind them, Christoph walked into the drawing room, ordered out the footman who was carefully picking up abandoned glasses, and shut the door firmly behind him.

Only then could he relax.

‘That,’ Christoph said darkly, ‘was awful.’

Daphne’s laugh was not forced, thank God. She was seated on the sofa by the fire, and had started to let down her hair, pins collecting on the console table beside her. ‘It wasn’t that bad.’

‘It was worse than bad,’ Christoph said, striding across the room and dropping into the armchair next to her. ‘I cannot believe it—I cannot understand why that was so impossible!’

‘My father is an acquired taste,’ came his daughter’s unduly generous remark.

Christoph snorted rather than giving voice to his true feelings. It was unfathomable that such a gentle and conscientious woman such as Daphne could have come from a man like that ! A man who seemed only to seek praise when he was criticising others. His own daughter included!

‘However hard it was for me to sit through that nonsense,’ he said quietly, ‘I can only imagine how difficult it was for you.’

Christoph winced as Daphne laughed with a casual shrug. It was far too casual.

‘Oh, you know how it is.’

‘I don’t think I did, until this evening,’ he admitted. ‘I mean, you have told me often of the difficulties, the distance between you and your father. You have given me plenty of cause to believe you. But I did not think it could be that…that appalling.’

The beautiful woman before him smiled, most of her blonde hair now cascading down her shoulders. ‘It is just his way.’

She was being too generous. Far too generous. ‘Daphne, you are allowed to dislike your father.’

‘I do not dislike him.’

‘He was not kind to you.’ Christoph hated how strident his voice had become, his deep-rooted need to protect this woman, even from herself, overpowering his sense.

‘You are allowed to say that you did not enjoy tonight’s dinner.

You are allowed to say “I told you so”. You did warn me, in your way, not to extend the invitation. ’ If only he had listened to her.

Daphne was watching him, serious in her silence.

But this was not like the silences of before, when they had first been married.

No, these days it was quite different. They were warm, welcoming, comfortable silences.

Silences in which they could both sit and think.

Sometimes they would read, sometimes she would do some embroidery, sometimes he would read the newspaper.

Whatever they did, they did it in a silence that embraced them both.

‘You are a prince,’ Daphne said faintly, breaking this comfortable silence. ‘You grew up in a palace. Why is it so important to you that I accept the difficulties of my past?’

It was an excellent question, and not one he particularly knew the answer to. Christoph swallowed, his voice hoarse. ‘I…’

When Daphne looked at him like that, with those bright eyes and heady smile, it was rather difficult to think. So difficult, in fact, that Christoph did not think. He just spoke the truth.

‘I was never encouraged to be open about my feelings,’ he said simply.

‘As a child, and a young man, my family valued pride and stoicism more than anything. And yet, I find… I look back and I see pain—pain I felt—and yet I do not think it has gone through me like a river. I think I am a lake. A dammed stream. I think the emotions I feel build up with me.’

Daphne did not interrupt him, but merely sat there, listening. It was a marvel, the way she was able to listen.

‘And now I am older and I do not know what to do with many of these emotions, save permit myself to feel them,’ Christoph admitted with a wry laugh.

‘It is difficult, being away from my country. Not knowing when I will go back.’ If I will go back .

‘Being apart from my sister. It is isolating, being a prince.’

‘I cannot imagine it was that difficult,’ Daphne said lightly, something that could have been a flicker of mischief in her eyes. ‘A title—a royal title—wealth, and grandeur, always getting what you want.’

‘Perhaps it is so for wealthy royal families,’ Christoph said with a cynical smile.

‘Perhaps it is so for eldest sons. Perhaps I am the only one who feels this way. I do not know. What I do know is, it is lonely. No one else is on your level of rank, which means that other than your siblings there is no one appropriate to play with. You are watched, observed and judged from the moment you can walk and talk. Nothing you do or say is ignored, it is picked apart and critiqued, and your family, your whole family, suffers if you make a mistimed step.’

Where these words were coming from, Christoph did not know. The more he spoke, the better he felt. There was something cathartic about telling Daphne; whether it was the telling, or her generous listening, he did not know.

Christoph blew out a heavy exhale. ‘I must sound ridiculous, no? A prince, complaining about his life.’

Daphne’s laugh was gentle. ‘A little ridiculous, perhaps.’

He had to laugh at that, incredulity in his voice. ‘Daphne von Auberheiser, you are telling me what you really think!’

Her cheeks were pink. ‘I am. And I will tell you what else I think. I think we had a similar experience.’

Now that was something he had not expected. Christoph could not help it; he leaned forward, eager to be closer to this woman. ‘How so?’

‘I am not saying I was born a princess—quite the opposite,’ she said lightly.

‘But, just as no one was able to rise to your level, no one wished to stoop to mine. I was watched and judged too, at the Wallflower Academy, constantly terrified that if the criticism grew too much then my father would be told—or, worse, that news of my existence would get out.’

Christoph’s eyes widened. ‘I… I see.’

And he did. She was not wrong; they had had much the same experience. From different ends, perhaps, but the loneliness, the fear, the terror that one would ruin one’s family, had all been the same.

Daphne was smiling softly, and a rush of affection for the woman soared through him. ‘And now you are here,’ she said softly.

‘Yes, now I am here, far from Niedernlein,’ said Christoph quietly. ‘And I am happy.’

Now that appeared to be something she had not expected. Daphne flushed, shifting in her seat on the sofa before saying in a whisper. ‘Are you?’

How could she doubt it? Could she not see the difference she made to his life? Was it so hard to believe that she brightened his days, improved his evenings and haunted his nights?

Christoph swallowed. He had never intended this.

This had not been the plan, and the plan had been perfect.

But Daphne was more perfect. She was more…

more everything. More beautiful than he had predicted, more gentle than he had hoped, more passionate than he could have believed, more elegant than anyone had any right to be.

And he had fought it—by God he had—but he could not keep denying himself. He could not keep this secret to himself. He could not pretend he did not feel a deep affection for her.

She deserved to know.

Daphne watched him with curious eyes, eyes without judgement, and Christoph loved her all the more for it. Damn, he did not deserve her.

‘Daphne,’ he said slowly.

There came a tilt of her lips, just for a moment. ‘Christoph.’

He gave a laugh, the tension suddenly melting away. Why was he afraid of telling her this? She was his Daphne. Perhaps she would want to hear it. Perhaps there was a chance, a small chance, that she felt it too.

When he had brought her to climax at the dining table days ago, he should have entered that particular encounter with more than just the physical—he should have told her how he felt.

But maybe the perfect time had not been then, it was now.

‘Daphne, I… This was, is, an arranged marriage for our mutual benefit.’ Christoph tried to grasp hold of himself. This isn’t going right . ‘You aimed to escape the Wallflower Academy and I aimed to gain access to a fortune.’

Daphne’s smile appeared brittle now.

Damn it, man! ‘What I’m trying to say,’ Christoph continued, readying himself for the rejection that he knew was a possibility, ‘is that, despite saying we should not, we could not, fall in love, despite the plan not involving anything so emotional as affection, despite knowing that I have no claim on you, not in this regard, despite—’

‘Christoph.’

She was holding his hands. Christoph almost choked; Daphne was holding his hands, her soft fingers entwined in his.

‘I have grown to care for you,’ he blurted out in a rush. When he looked up, Daphne was looking deep into his eyes. ‘I care for you, Daphne. I hope, one day, you can care for me.’