To Con a Gentleman (Dalton Family 1)

The duchess stood from her seat to cross to Carver. She tapped him under the chin. “Oh my boy, you are the foolish young buck.” She smiled mischievously again and passed through the room to the door. “Excuse me, children. I must go find your father and demand that he remarks on the beauty of my eye color.” Her Grace looked over her shoulder and winked at Rose.

Carver turned his eyes from his mother back to Rose. “Why do I get the feeling this bit of gossip has something to do with me?” She felt the urge to squirm under his gaze until she remembered one important fact. The family was present, which meant he was not looking at Rose, he was looking at Daphney. Knowing she could hide behind the persona made her breathe a little easier. But did the feelings she was experiencing belong to Rose or Daphney?

“Because it was about you, brother,” said Elizabeth with her own attempt at teasing. “Daphney has been filling us with jealousy because our eyes will never resemble anything so wonderful as your favorite drink.”

Rose’s cheeks burned.

Carver crossed his arms over his chest and feigned a glare at Rose. “I see, she’s taken you all into her confidence has she?” Suddenly, something in his expression shifted. The teasing vanished and was replaced with an intense and somehow also sad look. “That is something even I have yet to manage.”

The air closed in. The girls continued to talk and tease but Carver didn’t look away and in some way, Rose knew that what he said was a message just for her. Did he want to be in her confidence? Yes. She knew he did. But why? No good would come of that.

Had she not made it perfectly clear last night and again this morning that if she were to stay, her private life simply without question had to remain private? If Rose wished to keep any sort of emotional distance between herself and the man with the handsome grey eyes, she had to keep herself hidden.

Besides, if he truly knew who she was, he would wish that he didn’t.

“Yes, and now you are decidedly in the way, my dear brother,” said Mary moving away from the window for the first time. She walked to Carver’s side and threaded her arm through his. “Walk me back to my room so your little sisters can prod Miss Bellows with all of the romantic questions their blooming hearts desire.”

Carver’s face softened as he looked at his sister. His regard for Mary was beyond evident, as was her’s for him. “Very well, I’m not too thick-headed to know when I’m not wanted. We will leave you women to your chat.” He turned once more to face Rose. “Daphney, my darling,” Rose noticed in that moment that Carver had not used such flamboyant endearments one time while they were alone. Apparently, that flirtatiousness was part of his facade. Why was she beginning to wish it wasn’t? “Do not tell anything horribly embarrassing or I’ll be forced to throw you into the stream.” He winked, and Rose refused to acknowledge the jump in her heart.

Chapter 17

“Do you like her?” The words broke out of Carver’s mouth before he had time to stop them. Why should it matter if Mary liked Daphney? Daphney would be gone in a week and neither he nor his family would ever see her again. Although he was keeping the woman around in order to secure Mary’s peace, so maybe it would be good to know her opinion.

But when Mary did not respond immediately, he found himself wishing he hadn’t asked. “She’s a surprising match for you.” Surprising good or bad? He decided not to reply right away in hopes she would continue. She did. “Miss Bellows seems a touch…” Oh, great. Here it comes. He should have known better than to try to hide something from Mary. “Meek for your taste.”

If there had been a drink in Carver’s mouth, he would have absolutely spat it out. Memories of Daphney, holding a pistol to his head, dashing off on his horse while riding astride, laughing merrily as he threw her over his shoulder and paraded her to the stream, all flew through his mind. If there was only one real thing that he knew about Daphney it was that the woman was anything but meek.

“I think the more you get to know her, the more she will surprise you.”

As he and Mary continued walking, an uncomfortable realization prickled him. If they kept walking the way they were going, they would pass by the alcove that held too many memories for him to bear seeing it. But he wouldn’t be able to get Mary to go the long way around without raising her suspicions or having to tell her why he was avoiding it. And that would cause her anxiety. There was nothing for it. He would just have to try to pass it quickly and not let his thoughts wander.

Mary pulled in closer to Carver hugging his arm, the way she had their entire life. Particularly when something was bothering her. “I’m sure you’re right. It’s just…” she hesitated.

“What is it, Mary? You can always tell me anything.”

She bit her lips together clearly trying to debate her next words. Finally releasing a breath she hurried through her thoughts. “I just always imagined that you would end up finding someone with a little more spirit like—,”

He groaned cutting off her words and regretting his encouragement for the conversation. He didn’t realize it was going to lead to that particular conversation. “Why does everyone suddenly feel the need to talk about Claire?”

Mary’s eyes flashed to Carver’s wide and unbelieving. “You said her name.” And it hurt like the devil. But he wanted to ease Mary’s burdens. And if he had to pretend he was okay with Claire’s death to help her relax, he would.

“You can thank your obnoxious husband for that.”

“Robert? What did Robert say?” What did Robert not say?

Carver stopped walking to look at Mary. “He said a few things I needed to hear. And a few things I wished I’d learned sooner.” He allowed his look to grow more pointed.

Mary’s eyes darted away and to the ground. She fidgeted with the fabric of her dress. “We are not talking about you anymore, are we?”

Carver lifted Mary’s chin, still seeing the strong vibrant girl that he’d grown up with rather than the tired and mournful mother she had become. “Why didn’t you tell me about what happened, Mary?”

Unshed tears hovered over her lashes. She blinked them away forcefully. “I—,” she slumped and her defenses all lowered. “It was simply too hard. And you were too far away. I didn’t want to tell you in person, let alone write the words on paper.” Each part of that statement settled heavier and heavier on his chest.

You were too far away. That had been intentional on his part. He had wanted to be as far away from Kensworth Park as possible. And if he were being honest, he had wanted to be as far away from Mary as possible, as well. She had a way of cutting right through his facade and exposing the raw bits of him that he simply couldn’t stand to examine after Claire’s death.

“And to be honest, I didn’t want to add anymore pain to your heart. I was afraid you couldn’t handle it.” Wait. Wasn’t that what he was trying to do for her? Trying to keep her from worrying on his behalf?

He let go of her arm to turn and cradle her face. “Mary, love. I always want you to share your burdens with me. I am strong enough to handle them. And as for everything else…Well, I’m sorry I’ve stayed away so long. But I’m here now—and I’m not as broken as everyone seems to think.”