The Last Duke (Thornton 1)

“I honestly don’t know, Timmy.”

“Would yer father be real mad if ’e did?”

“That’s a dumb question,” William retorted. “Of course ’e’d be mad. It’s ’is money, ain’t it?”

Eagerly, Timmy climbed over William to sit closer to Daphne. “If the bandit does rob ye, will ye tell us about it the next time ye come?” A worried pucker formed betwe

en his brows. “Ye are comin’ back, aren’t ye, Daphne?”

“Of course.” Daphne gave Timmy’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Very soon. And, to answer your question, in the unlikely event that the bandit should visit Tragmore between now and then, I promise to relay all the details to you.”

“We’d best be going, Snowdrop.” As if the mere mention of Tragmore had cast an ominous cloud over the morning’s jubilation, Chambers stood, frowning as he checked his timepiece. “It is fast approaching midday. Miss Redmund has barely enough time to complete her lesson.”

Daphne knew it wasn’t the conclusion of Miss Redmund’s lesson that worried the vicar. It was Daphne’s prolonged absence from Tragmore—and her father’s reaction to it.

“I suppose you’re right.” Amid moans and protests, Daphne arose, rumpling Prudence’s hair. “Your slates await you, my young friends. As my chores do me. But we’ll visit again next week, if it’s all right with Miss Redmund?” Daphne inclined her head questioningly at the schoolmistress.

“Of course.” Reluctantly, Miss Redmund abandoned the relaxing hearth of the fire, facing her students with all the enthusiasm one would expect from a prisoner facing a firing squad. “We shall look forward to it, shan’t we class?”

A roomful of eager nods and a chorus of yeses.

“Good. Then we’ll see Lady Daphne and the vicar one week from today.”

“And Russet,” Timmy added eagerly.

“Yes—and Russet.” Miss Redmund echoed with a distasteful shudder. “Now, say good day, children.”

“Good day,” the class responded.

“Oh! And Daphne?” Timmy scooted around the teacher, rushing up to tug at Daphne’s skirt.

“Yes, Timmy?” Daphne paused, waiting.

“If ye should ’appen to see the Tin Cup Bandit, would ye tell ’im we think ’e’s an ’ero?”

A soft smile touched Daphne’s lips. “I most certainly shall, Timmy. If I should happen to see him.”

3

“RUSSET, YOU SHOULD HAVE seen their little faces—so sad, so lonely, so hopeless.”

Daphne stroked Russet’s silky head, staring off into the surrounding woods. “How many times have I seen that look of futility? And still I can do nothing. Dolls and dresses won’t fill their bellies and a side of mutton can’t sustain them indefinitely. So what will become of them, Russet? Will Timmy, William, Prudence, and all those other precious children grow up to be like the men and women I saw at Newmarket yesterday? Oh, not like the ones in the fashionable boxes, but like the Gypsies telling fortunes in exchange for food and the homeless picking pockets to survive. Is that how they’re destined to live?”

Obviously lacking an answer, Russet stood, pacing in an impatient circle around Daphne.

With a tender smile, Daphne broke off her impassioned speech. “Yes, love, I know it’s nighttime and you’re feeling alert and vigorous.” She stifled a yawn. “But I’ve had a long, tiring day. Any prowling you do this evening, you do on your own.”

Rising from the cold grass, Daphne shivered a bit, wishing she’d brought her shawl with her. In the hour she’d spent in the woods, dusk and twilight had melded and were gracefully giving way to darkness. The air had chilled, and Daphne’s already depleted body now ached from a long day fraught with turbulent emotions: self-doubt upon facing the children, anguish at seeing their deprivation, fear that her overtures would be rejected, and ultimately, joy when she’d earned their acceptance.

And with every step back to Tragmore, her apprehension had grown.

What would she say to her father? How could she explain her prolonged absence? Could she fortify herself to withstand the beating that would doubtless follow?

God must have taken pity on her. The marquis was blessedly away from Tragmore at a day-long business meeting in London. Given her welcome reprieve, and with no intention of looking a gift horse in the mouth, Daphne spent the duration of the day in her room, venturing out only after she’d heard her father return; take his evening meal, and retire for the night.

Only when she was safe.

Intent on capturing Daphne’s attention, Russet shook out his luxuriant tail and waited, his features sharp.