The Last Duke (Thornton 1)

“Mrs. Frame made a huge side of mutton last night. No one could finish it, not even Father. So I brought all that was left with me. There’s enough for at least a dozen portions.” Carefully, she set aside the food. “I also pilfered two mince pies from the kitchen. I don’t think Mrs. Frame saw me, but even if she did, she’d never tell a soul.” Daphne sat back on her heels, her eyes glowing. “Now for the best part. Look!” Joyfully, she held up a neatly folded pile of clothing: pants, shirts, dresses, and aprons of various sizes and design.

“Where on earth did you get these?” the vicar asked in amazement, reverently touching the gingham frock atop the pile as if it were gold.

“I made them,” Daphne confided in a whisper. “Mama ordered material from town so the maids could sew new uniforms for themselves and the footmen. The materials were sent for while Father was in London on business.” Daphne gave the vicar a secret smile. “Mama made certain the order was a substantial one.”

“God bless Elizabeth,” Chambers murmured, his voice laden with emotion. “And God bless you for your hard work.”

“ ’Twas no work, but a blessing,” Daphne countered with a mischievous grin, rising to her feet. “You know how much trouble I have sleeping at night. My lantern and I worked most efficiently until the sun’s light arrived to offer its assistance. Just think how many children will benefit from this, Vicar.” She seized his forearms. “And there’s more. A delivery of coarse wool is due at week’s end, to make blankets for the horses. Their old blankets have quite a bit of wear left in them so I’ll be able to make shawls to protect the children through the winter.” Daphne’s brows knit in a frown. “I haven’t yet devised a way to get boots for them, but that is the only problem I have yet to surmount.”

“I beg to differ with you, child.” The vicar enfolded Daphne’s fingers in his, his gentle features taut with worry. “You have a much larger, more daunting problem to face, as does Elizabeth.”

Daphne’s lips quivered. “Father.”

“If he should find out—”

“He won’t.”

“But if he should, child, there would be no limit to his wrath.”

“I cannot allow myself to dwell on that.” Daphne turned away, her expression set in that familiar contradictory blend of resigned determination. “Mother and I both know the risk we’re taking. But it’s something we must do, each to the extent that we’re able.”

“At all costs?”

“Yes.”

“Snowdrop.” Lapsing into the familiar term of endearment he’d given Daphne as a child, Chambers placed work-worn hands on her shoulders. “Your mother has endured one and twenty years of pain and fear. I remember her as she was—a radiant, vivacious young girl. But she’s weakened now. Her strength is gone. I fear she’s withstood all she can.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Daphne replied with quiet resolution. “Should Father learn what we’ve—I’ve—been doing, I will deny that Mama had any knowledge of my actions. The responsibility and the consequences will be mine to bear.”

“Lord alone knows what Harwick will do.”

“All he can do is beat me. He can do nothing to my spirit. He expended that power years ago.”

“I’ll do everything I feasibly can to prevent—”

“No. You’ll do nothing.” Daphne pivoted to face her friend. “He’s my father. By law, you have no right to interfere with his treatment or his punishment of me. Please, don’t endanger yourself or your role in the parish. The village needs you too badly.” Briefly, Daphne lay her hand on the vicar’s jaw. Then, she stooped to repack her basket. “The sun is up. The schoolroom awaits us.”

With a deep sigh, he nodded. “Very well. Let’s go, my tenacious snowdrop. At the very least you can see the joyful faces of the children your generosity is nurturing. My only prayer is that you’re not gambling with consequences too dire to withstand.”

An enigmatic smile touched Daphne’s lips.

“And what, might I ask, is so amusing?”

Daphne rubbed her palms together, a gesture the vicar had long-ago learned indicated there was something significant on his young friend’s mind. “Well?” he prompted. “I voice concern that you perpetually risk discovery by your father and you find my worry humorous?”

“No, of course not. Your worry is loving and sensitive, and I’m deeply grateful for it. It was just your choice of the word gambling. It reminded me of something. Someone,” she amended softly.

Chambers blinked in surprise. “Is this someone a gentleman, by any chance?”

Daphne’s lips twitched. “I think not. A gambler, a rogue, and a cha

rmer. But definitely not a gentleman.” Recalling the way Pierce had restored her dignity following her father’s censure, she amended, “Except those times when he chooses to be.”

“I see. And where did you meet this complex stranger?”

“At Newmarket. He joined Father for the races.”

“He’s a friend of your father’s then?” The vicar couldn’t keep the dismay from his voice. He’d hoped that someday Daphne would meet a man worthy of her, not a cad of her father’s ilk.