“Vicar, don’t forget our visit to the schoolhouse Monday,” Daphne called over her husband’s retreating shoulder.
“I won’t. In the interim, you take care of yourself.”
“Really, Pierce, this is ridiculous,” Daphne demurred.
Her husband’s taut jaw told her she was wasting her time.
“Where the hell is Lily?” Pierce demanded, depositing Daphne on her bed.
“I gave her the evening off.”
“Fine. Then I’ll stand in as your lady’s maid.”
Daphne couldn’t suppress a smile. With his towering height, powerful build, and smoldering expression, Pierce looked about as much like a lady’s maid as an avenging Greek god. “Are you adept at braiding hair?”
“Very amusing.” He began unbuttoning the back of her gown.
“Pierce, I really am fine,” she said softly, stroking his arm.
“And you’ll be finer still once you’ve rested.” Systematically, he undressed her down to her chemise, then tucked her beneath the bedcovers. “Mr. Chambers seemed unsurprised by your fainting spell. In fact, he was even aware that you kept smelling salts. Why is that?”
With a resigned sigh, Daphne replied, “Because this has happened two or three times in the past, when I was particularly overwrought by an encounter with Father.”
“An encounter,” Pierce echoed bitterly. “You mean a thrashing. I take it that means you’ve shared the full extent of your father’s brutality with the vicar.”
“No.” Daphne shook her head, a troubled frown forming on her face. “The vicar knows only that Father strikes me when his temper overcomes his reason. But constant beatings? The scars on my back? Only you know of those, Pierce.” She gripped her husband’s forearms tightly. “If the vicar were privy to the whole truth, it would kill him. Not only for me, but for Mama.”
Privately, Pierce disagreed with Daphne’s assessment of the vicar’s insights. Perhaps the clergyman had never viewed Daphne’s or Elizabeth’s scars firsthand, but the anguish on his face when he’d spoken of Elizabeth’s torment, the resignation in his voice—no, Pierce was certain Chambers perceived only too well what transpired under Tragmore’s roof. And that perception, together with his own helpless inability to set things right, was tearing him apart.
“Pierce?” Daphne probed anxiously. “You won’t tell him, will you?”
“No, Snow flame,” Pierce assured his wife. “I won’t burden the vicar with any more than he already knows. What you’ve shared with me, showed me, will remain between us. However, I’m now thoroughly confused. You. just said your previous fainting spells were caused by episodes with your father. Yet, in order to keep the truth from Mr. Chambers I have to assume you didn’t flee directly to the church after your father’s assaults; that you waited long enough to compose yourself. Therefore, how could the vicar have been with you when you fainted?”
Daphne plucked at the bedcovers, attempting to explain something she wasn’t sure could be conveyed. “I didn’t compose myself. I was quite hysterical when I reached the church.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I know. But I believe you of all people can. For my most terrifying moments, like yours, were caused not by physical but emotional pain. The salvation I craved and that which the vicar provided, the times when circumstances seemed most unbearable, came not after Father had beaten me, but rather after days had passed when he hadn’t.” She shuddered. “I can’t begin to describe my mounting dread, lying awake, night after night, never knowing when my bedchamber door would burst open and Father would charge in, eyes ablaze, stick clenched violently in his fist.”
“You don’t have to describe that feeling,” Pierce broke in, assailed by dark childhood memories.
Daphne nodded and drew a slow, trembling breath. “I thought not. In any case, there were times the apprehension became unendurable. I dared not go to Mama. The consequences would be dire. So I raced to the church, and the vicar. He was all I had until you. And, in answer to your question, he demanded no explanation nor did I provide one. I wept, and he took my hands in his, offered me his prayers and his friendship. Several times that wasn’t enough. The combination of my nerves, which were long since frayed, and the frantic run to the village sapped my strength to the point where my body simply gave out.”
“And you fainted.”
“Yes.”
With painstaking tenderness, Pierce gathered Daphne to him, pressing her head against
his shoulder. “Never again,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “Never again will you be without the strength you need. When your own subsides, mine will replace it.” Softly, he kissed her hair. “But why tonight, Snow flame?” he murmured. “You were so happy. And you’re far away from Tragmore, un-threatened by your father’s rage. What caused you to faint?”
With a self-deprecating smile, Daphne leaned back in his arms. “Stupidity. Mingled with excitement. I was so caught up with the arrangements for tonight; and the arrival of our first dinner guest, that I skipped breakfast and didn’t eat all day. That wine I drank at dinner must have gone straight to my head.”
“You’re right,” Pierce retorted, nearly weak with relief. “It was stupid. Now go to sleep. And don’t scare me like that again.”
Daphne laughed, unfooled by her husband’s show of bravado. “You become more heroic by the day. Reluctant, perhaps, unconventional, for certain, but heroic.” She yawned, settling back against the pillows. “I’m not the least bit tired.” Her lashes drifted to her cheeks.
Seconds later, she was asleep.