Page 34 of The Prince’s Wallflower Wife (The Wallflower Academy #4)

D aphne had one thought, and one thought only: get away.

The glare of the autumnal sunlight was dazzling but her legs propelled her forward, determined not to slow down in case Christoph caught up with her.

She could not speak to him. She could barely look at him.

A carriage was forced to swerve, its driver shouting obscenities after her, but Daphne did not heed him.

She didn’t have to listen to him. She didn’t have to listen to anyone.

Her head was pounding, her pulse throbbing, her mind was spinning and all she could do was put one foot in front of the other.

She had to get away. And though the Wallflower Academy called out to her—a place of safety, a place she had always been able to retreat to—she had no carriage, no money to secure one and no other method of conveyance.

She could hardly walk the several miles out of London into the countryside towards it.

Besides, she had just told Christoph that was where she was going.

It would be the first place he would look.

No, there had to be another option. There just had to be.

It took her about twenty minutes to reach the steps.

Daphne had been forced to double back on herself once, her sense of direction lost, and once at a crossroads she had breathlessly asked a woman for the name of the street.

She had managed it quite well after that, and now she was banging on the front door of one of the few places in London where she would be welcome.

A butler opened the door. ‘I am afraid the Duke and Duchess are not at—’

‘They’re at home for me,’ Daphne gasped, hardly able to believe how forward she was. ‘And, even if they’re not, they won’t mind.’

‘But, my lady, what on earth are you…?’

Firmly ignoring the butler, she pushed past the servant and into the hallway.

She had been here once before, and knew the way to the drawing room, but she was not interested in entertaining or being entertained.

No. She had to escape all prying eyes, all questions, all the sympathy that her marriage had fallen apart so quickly, everything.

‘But my lady, where are you…?’

Continuing to ignore the butler as best she could, Daphne staggered forward, hardly sure how her legs were carrying her. She had heard Gwen talking about it, she was certain it was here…

When she tried the door, it was with relief.

She had found it: the Orangery. It was just like the Orangery at the Wallflower Academy.

There was something intensely comforting about such a place; perhaps the warmth, the stillness, the delicious scents or the knowledge that no one would think to look for her here.

Daphne stepped inside, shut the door quite resolutely in the face of the butler, who had followed her, and slipped off the main path of the Orangery to sit silently behind one of the huge terracotta pots.

The door opened again. ‘My lady?’

Staying very still, attempting to keep her breathing calm—no easy feat, after almost running here from her home, or rather the house her father had given her husband—Daphne waited.

It did not take long. The butler evidently believed she had continued through the Orangery and into the garden, so stepped back into the house. Perhaps he would send a gardener after her. Perhaps he would not. It did not matter. All she wanted to do was stay here.

The tears came swiftly. It was a miracle that Daphne had only wept a few of them in the library during her conversation with Christoph. They swelled, multiplied and now poured down her face, the outward evidence of the inner heartbreak.

Eventually she stopped crying, wiping her eyes with the shawl around her shoulders.

There was no point in moping. So, her husband was in love with her and she had panicked and run away. A completely normal reaction.

It would be simple enough. Eventually she would speak to Gwen. Gwen and Percy would send over some servants for her things and she would live apart from her husband. It happened, even in the best families. She just…couldn’t face him. She wouldn’t face him.

The door opened again and Daphne instinctively shrank back behind the pot. There was no possibility of talking. Absolutely not. She didn’t want to.

‘There you are,’ said Gwen softly.

Daphne did not look up. Her friend’s shadow covered the feeble sunlight and there was a sense of someone waiting for an answer. Well, she could keep on waiting. She didn’t want to talk—she didn’t want to say anything.

Slowly, with a quiet creaking of her stays, Gwen lowered herself down and sat next to Daphne.

Her friend said nothing. Her presence was welcome, and her silence even more so.

As the minutes ticked by, Gwen remaining completely silent, the tension in Daphne’s shoulder blades started to lessen, melting away, leaving her feeling nothing but exhausted.

Eventually Daphne lowered her head onto her friend’s shoulder.

Her shawl slipped but she did not move to pick it up.

A tear trickled down her nose. Still Gwen said nothing.

She just sat there, allowing Daphne to feel the weight of emotions she still did not totally understand, hoping beyond hope she would not sniffle.

After what felt like at least half an hour, Daphne breathed out a long sigh and lifted her head from her friend’s shoulder. ‘Aren’t you going to ask me about it?’

Gwen shrugged. ‘If you wanted to tell me, you would.’

Daphne could not help but smile. It was a very caring and compassionate response from her friend and, in a way, she had expected nothing else. Still, Gwen was a curious woman. She must wonder. The fact she had not interrogated her was nonetheless much appreciated.

‘Besides,’ added Gwen, a light smile on her face. ‘I have not been sent by Miss Pike. We are not at the Wallflower Academy here, Daphne. We can do whatever we want, and that includes keeping secrets.’

Daphne tried to smile, but felt so wretched she thought she would fall apart from the pain of it.

A father who thought so little of her. A husband who had lied to her and had stolen her from his own brother.

A husband who said he loved her, but surely could not—surely would not?

—else he wouldn’t have lied to her for so long.

A sister of his who she had to trust was not instead a mistress—at least, who she’d trusted was not a mistress, but how could she believe anything Christoph had ever said now?

And a child; a child was coming, but into what sort of family? With a long, deep sigh, Daphne attempted to collect her thoughts, but all she was able to manage was, ‘Christoph… He wasn’t who I thought he was.’

Gwen nodded sagely. ‘He is a brute, then.’

‘What?’ Daphne moved to face her friend, utterly perplexed. ‘No!’

‘Oh. It’s just, you said—’

‘I said he wasn’t who I thought he was,’ Daphne repeated, still confused as to how her friend could think such a thing. ‘Why did you think—?’

‘Well, because what I thought was that he was a charming, devilishly handsome prince from some country which name I can’t remember, who is painfully devoted to you,’ Gwen said with a wry smile, a smile which only seemed to grow as Daphne’s cheeks pinked. ‘Am I wrong?’

Gwen raised an eyebrow with her question, a question that Daphne was not entirely sure how to answer.

Because he was charming. Oh, Christoph was charming.

She had never been so charmed in all her life.

And he was devilishly handsome. It was most unfortunate, because it had blinded her to the fact that she knew so little about him.

And he was a prince. At least, Daphne had no reason to believe he was not. The letters certainly appeared to suggest that it was true.

As to whether he was painfully devoted to her…

I love you.

Daphne bit her lip. ‘He…he told me he loved me. It’s unbelievable.’

‘And what gave you that idea?’ Gwen prodded gently. ‘Did he snap at you? Offend you? Was he cruel, or remark unpleasantly on your body, or speak ill of someone you cared about?’

Daphne swallowed. ‘No.’

No. No, all in all he was marvellous. She could not have dreamed up someone like Christoph even if she had been given the rest of her life to try.

Here was a man who, each and every time he learned something new, seemed to like what he’d discovered about her. He looked at her and…liked what he saw.

‘He cannot love me,’ she whispered.

‘It sounds like you do not want him to,’ Gwen said with another rising eyebrow. ‘As though you cannot believe he would love you.’

Daphne swallowed. Yes , she wanted to say.

Yes, he can’t love me. It shouldn’t be allowed—it wasn’t possible.

Men like him—charming like him, handsome like him, kind like him—did not fall in love with wallflowers.

And, if they did, it was with wallflowers like her friends.

Like this Laura. Prettier women, cleverer women: charming women, women with better family connections or sparkling reputations as painters or pianoforte players.

Not women like her: plain, old, reliable Daphne.

Quiet, and shy, and now only useful for her money.

‘All…all these years, I have feared being loved, I think,’ she said slowly, trying to untangle in her mind any of what she felt.

‘It was easier to hide away, to tell myself it did not matter that my father ignored me, that my mother was lost to me, that there was always a wallflower at the Academy with better looks or a wittier character. Oh, Gwen…’

That was the crux of it, wasn’t it? Christoph had deceived her about so many things, it was the easiest thing in the world to believe that his love could be a lie too.

Her friend squeezed her hand, saying nothing, allowing Daphne’s thoughts to fill the silence.

Eventually she had to make them audible, even if she did not like how they sounded. ‘I have been so guarded for so long. I don’t know what to do with these feelings now. I don’t… I don’t know how to face his love.’