Madcap Miss

* * *

Lady Daphne had not heard what her brother and the young lady whose hands were in his had just said to one another, but upon seeing him apparently well and comfortable, her outrage knew no bounds.

She stomped her foot hard as she viewed the scene with growing indignation. Her hands went to her hips as she strode forward, stopped, and stomped her foot again. She exclaimed in outraged accents, “Well! And so my brother has taken to the role of duke, has he, and is so far above all others that he forgets his duty? Is this the duke, the all-incomparable duke doing whatever he wants regardless who he leaves floundering? So, I have found you!”

The duke, who rarely became flustered, appeared momentarily stunned, which pleased his sister as she folded her arms across her chest and made a show of just how she felt at that moment.

Daphne gazed at the young woman at his side, and her eyes narrowed. The girl appeared to be young, far too young for her libertine brother. Just what was he doing? This was worse, so much worse than she had surmised. She could see that the girl was startled by her entrance, and well she should be. Where was her duenna?

“Daffy!” her brother said as he apparently had found his voice. “What are you doing here?”

This outraged her ladyship to the point of spluttering incoherently. “What am I doing here?” she returned as she then took to wagging a finger at him, much as she had when they had been youths. “How dare you! Let me tell you that I have spent the most dreadful days of my life on your infamous errand. Dutifully, obediently, I went to Easton to meet and care for your ward. Did you keep your promise? Did you come? No, and what must I find?” She stopped there to recoup, and she could see the young lady eyeing her with keen interest at this point, but she was heedless of the girl’s presence. Her nerves were frazzled beyond logical consideration. She meant to have at her brother regardless of an audience.

He frowned. “I do beg your pardon, Daffy, did you not get my letter?”

“Your letter? What do I care for your letter? We have a situation, I tell you, and one I have been at pains to scotch.”

“What are you saying?” he puzzled at her, but as he reached to touch her shoulder she yanked away from any contact.

“Do not touch me, you dreadful, dreadful boy. You may be a duke, but you are still my younger brother and have ill-used me.”

“Daffy … do be calm and tell me—”

“Be calm, he says,” she told the young woman eyeing her with keen interest. “He does that well, does he not?”

The young woman apparently had nothing to say on the matter, and Daffy once again looked her up and down before turning back to her brother. “Well, your ward has run away!” She eyed him, satisfied with the shock that froze his features. “That’s right. There I was with this squire berating me as apparently she has run off with his son, and God alone knows where they have gone. I thought they must have eloped, but he says they are like brother and sister, so what was to be done? Did you arrive to help me? No, you did not … because here you are having a jolly good time, while scandal threatens at the door.”

She turned to the young woman, who looked ashen, and felt a moment’s sympathy. “Oh, I am sorry. I know you must be loath to lose my brother, but I feel I must steal him from you for a moment or two.”

* * *

Felicia was at first amused at Ashton’s sister’s arrival. She immediately supposed that he had been on his way to meet her somewhere and that the lady was outraged at being kept waiting.

Understandable.

But she had called him a duke? Not understandable.

And then, the world collapsed around her ears.

She was stunned into immobility. She felt sick to her stomach. She thought the air from her lungs had been sucked out and dispersed, as she could not retrieve it and could not breathe.

She watched Ashton take his sister’s arm and hurry her out of the parlor in stunned silence before she was able to recoup, pick up her skirts, and hurry up the stairs, wishing she could take them two by two.

Her life was over. He was a liar … a supreme liar. Had he known all along who she was? How could he be the duke? He wasn’t an old fidget. He couldn’t have known her father … gone to school with him?

He had not told her he was a duke. She had not told him who she really was. Their entire relationship to this point had been filtered through a lie.

Did the lie matter? Did it matter to her that he was a duke? He was a duke, but not just a duke; he was the duke who was also her guardian.

She had been the one that instigated their night of passion. It was on her.

She had been a wanton woman in his arms. How, now, could she be his ward?

All the dreams she had enjoyed—dreams where he truly loved her and needed only a push to declare himself—were now thoroughly shattered. He was her guardian …?

What was she to do now?

Scott! She ran to Scott’s room, her mind in co