The Last Duke (Thornton 1)

“Indeed.” Pierce tucked Daphne’s arm through his. “I almost hate to intrude.”

“Good morning, you two.” Elizabeth chose that moment to look up, smiling warmly as she greeted them. “We’ve been waiting for you. Cook’s clucking has gotten louder and louder. Evidently, our meal is getting cold. So let’s dash in and eat. Then we can all leave together for the schoolhouse.”

“You’re accompanying us, Mama?” Daphne blinked in surprise.

“Well, of course.” Elizabeth met Daphne’s gaze, her own pervaded by an inner peace until now unknown. “These past years I’ve been able to offer you assistance in only the most covert ways. Your cause means as much to me as it does to you. I relish the thought of translating my feelings into something more tangible, something that can truly help the children. Moreover,” she exchanged a teasing look with Pierce, “who else would ensure that you behave, if not I?”

“Mama…”

Chambers beamed. “I wouldn’t dream of trying to dissuade your mother, Snowdrop. I haven’t seen her so determined in two and twenty years.”

“I have no intention of dissuading her,” Daphne replied, seeing beyond her mother’s quip to the significance of her transformation. “Welcome, Mama.” Hugging Elizabeth, she whispered, “Evidently, I’m not the only Wyndham woman who’s been released from prison.”

“Evidently not.”

Daphne seized her mother’s hand. “Come. I suddenly find myself ravenously hungry.”

A quarter hour later a knock sounded, interrupting their meal. Daphne glanced quizzically at Pierce. “Are you expecting anyone?”

“No.” He broke into his second teacake. “Whoever it is, Langley will handle it.”

A moment later, the butler entered the dining room. “Pardon me, Your Grace. I hate to interrupt your meal, but you did ask me to advise you if a Mr. James Chapman should arrive. Well, the gentleman in question is in the hallway.”

Before Langley had completed his announcement, Daphne’s bowl of fresh raspberries had been abandoned. Like a bullet, she came to her feet. “James? Is that Sarah’s—”

“Yes.” Pierce rose as well, frowning at his wife’s unchecked ebullience. “Daphne, please, let me handle this. We still don’t know precisely why Mr. Chapman is here.”

Daphne bit back her reply, forcing herself to remember why Pierce’s attitude toward James was so severe. Having endured his own father’s abandonment, Pierce was staunchly trying to protect Sarah from hurt.

“What did Mr. Chapman say, Langley?” Pierce was questioning.

“He asked to see Miss Sarah, sir.”

“Did he?” Tossing his napkin to the table, Pierce headed for the door. “First, he shall see me. After which I’ll decide whether or not to tell Sarah of his arrival.”

“I’m going with you.”

Restraint cast aside, Daphne followed Pierce’s path, raising her chin as her husband turned to confront her.

“I know you don’t believe I’m objective,” she told him quietly. “And perhaps you’re correct. But, Pierce, you are no more objective than I. And, since our inclinations in this case lead us to draw

opposite conclusions, and since we both care about Sarah’s future and the future of her babe, I believe we should both be present to hear what James has to say.”

For an instant, Pierce hesitated.

“ ’Tis you who created this forthright wife,” Daphne murmured. “Did you not encourage me to emerge from my stifling cocoon?”

Pride warred with frustration and won. “Yes, Snow flame, I did,” Pierce conceded. “Very well, then.” He extended his arm. “Shall we meet with Mr. Chapman?”

Never had Daphne felt more proud—or more loved. “Yes. At once.”

James was pacing the length of the entranceway. When he saw Daphne and Pierce approach, he halted, hat clutched nervously in his hands.

“Mr. Chapman?” Pierce opened.

“Yes, sir. Are you the Duke of Markham?”

A nod. “I’m Pierce Thornton. This is my wife, Daphne.”