Page 54 of Barbarous

Daphne considered what she should say. She couldn’t forbid Malcolm to see the boys without generating questions from her sons, but it made her flesh crawl to think of him anywhere near the boys. Getting away from him was yet another good reason to go to London—even sooner, now.

She met Bouchard’s nervous gaze and spoke in French. “My cousin leads a somewhat, er, debauched existence and I don’t wish to expose my children to him.” That was no more than the truth. “Of course, you are welcome to go where you please and see whomever you please.” She stared hard at him, hoping he would understand her true feelings on the matter.

He swallowed audibly. “Oui, madam.”

“I would appreciate it if you said nothing of this to my sons—or to Sir Malcolm.”

“Oui, madam.” He gave her a tentative, respectful, and nervous smile. Daphne would have laughed at how quickly she’d tamed Hugh’s notoriously unruly second mate if she wasn’t so sick to her stomach.

“You may go.” She turned her blank stare to her desk to indicate her dismissal and he left without a sound. Once he was gone, Daphne slumped in her chair, nausea pitching and roiling inside her. She had planned to wait for Hugh’s return, to confess face-to-face and be prepared to leave. But now that Malcolm had seen her sons—talked to them? No, now she must speed up her departure. She must leave Lessing Hall without wasting another minute.

* * *

Daphne left Lessing Hall three days later. The trip to London with two lively boys was every bit as brutal as Daphne had anticipated. Even stretched over two days, with frequent stops, she was ready to throttle her offspring by the time the well-sprung Davenport coach rolled up in front of the towering town house.

Davenport House had been built after the family’s original London residence burned down in the Great Fire of 1666. The seventh Earl of Davenport had not rebuilt in the same location, which had not been far from where Pepys lived. Instead, he’d chosen to build a newer, even bigger mansion not far from Burlington House.

Because he was screamingly wealthy, the seventh earl had employed the master of English Baroque, Christopher Wren, to design his new house: a house complete with a dome, à la St. Paul’s Cathedral and Castle Howard.

By the time Daphne had settled the boys in their quarters and shared a late meal with them, she was grateful she’d not told her formidable sister-in-law—Thomas’s elder sister Lady Letitia—that she’d be arriving until a few days later. That tiny fib would give her three days to become accustomed to the city before hordes of visitors began descending.

She spent most of her first day addressing the myriad domestic matters that awaited her after an absence of four years. Again she ate an early dinner with the boys and got a full night’s sleep.

The second day was for entertainment, and she and Rowena took the twins to a marvelous shop which sold kites, marbles, dissected puzzles, and an intricate paper theater for the boys to assemble and manage. Later they spent an enjoyable few hours at Astley’s.

The third day they made Hatchards their first stop and Daphne placed an order for two hard-to-find books and purchased several crates of new books for herself and her sons. Next they went for ices and after that a visit to Hyde Park—which was blissfully empty in the hours before the daily strut commenced—to test out the new kites.

They returned to Davenport House to find Kemal in the massive entry hall, surrounded by mountains of luggage and issuing orders, while Ponsby, Daphne’s intimidating London butler, stared daggers at the turbaned man. But Kemal had faced bloodthirsty pirates and was unconcerned by the frosty glare of a mere butler.

Kemal gave her a low, graceful bow. “Good afternoon, my lady.”

“You have only just arrived?”

“Yes, my lady.”

Daphne pulled off her gloves, taking her time and hoping he would elaborate, but it was Lucien who spoke.

“Is Mr. Boswell here?” Both boys were peering at the piles of luggage as if the monkey might be lurking within. “Or is he coming with Cousin Hugh?”

Kemal smiled, clearly amused by the notion of Hugh traveling with the devious monkey. “I am afraid not, Lord Davenport. Lord Ramsay is driving his new curricle and Mr. Boswell does not care for such travel.”

Daphne snorted and then composed her features when Kemal turned his calm, speculative gaze on her. She had come to like and respect the man during their brief time nursing Hugh. She also realized his sharp eyes missed very little and she would have sworn he was both aware of, and amused by, her infatuation with his employer.

She ignored his knowing look. “I daresay Cook would like to know if Lord Ramsay will be here for dinner.”

“Of course, my lady.”

It was not the answer she was hoping for, but Daphne refused to expose either her curiosity or infatuation any further than she already had.

“I will leave you to it.” She ushered the boys up the grand blue-and-gold breccia steps that led to her chambers and the schoolroom.

So, he would be here soon—perhaps even tonight. The thought released a swarm of butterflies into her chest and Daphne frowned at her body’s treacherous reaction. She squared her shoulders as if she was preparing for battle. Which she was—against herself.

* * *

As it turned out, Hugh did not appear for dinner that night.

Daphne rose early the following morning, determined to continue with the second draft of her paper, no matter how little sleep she’d had. Instead, she sat at her desk, stared into space, and assessed her moral dilemma with an energy and enthusiasm she usually reserved for academic conundrums.