And the Miss Ran Away With the Rake - By Elizabeth Boyle Page 0,54
with his aristocratic bearing; Kipps, who was hailed as the most charming and dashing Corinthian who had ever graced a London ballroom; and even Lord Cowley, who was known more for his academic leanings but still had a poet’s bohemian air about him.
All of them fit Phi’s nearsighted description of the elusive Mr. Dishforth. Even worse, Daphne supposed she would also have to include Lord Henry on that list—for he was also handsome.
Too handsome.
Still, it wasn’t as if he could be Dishforth. . . .
But don’t you wish he were, a wry voice had whispered in her ear as she’d recalled that dangerous kiss in the folly.
Thud. Thud Thud. Lady Zillah Seldon pounded her cane to the floor, bringing Daphne’s attentions back to the sitting room. “In my day, I was considered quite the catch, just as you are, Miss Nashe. Best not waste your opportunities. Another Season, gel, and you’ll be on the shelf.”
“My lady, I have no idea what you mean,” Miss Nashe demurred, her fan fluttering delicately even as her eyes narrowed.
Lady Alicia came to her friend’s rescue. “Miss Nashe has a way of stealing the heart of every man in the room. She cannot help it.”
Daphne tamped down the urge to gag. Truly? This is what they taught at the Bath finishing school these two had gone on and on about while at the table?
A Bath school offers a lady a chance to shine above all others, Miss Nashe had said, letting her gaze fall on the ladies who hadn’t had the privilege.
Which had singled out all the guests from Kempton. Save Lady Essex. But then again, Lady Essex had gone to her finishing school in the previous century. And not in Bath, but a perfectly respectable establishment in Tunbridge Wells, not that Daphne would expect Miss Nashe to agree.
“You could hardly miss Lord Henry,” Lady Essex said in her forthright manner. “He was clearly vying for your attentions.”
“Oh, yes, my dear,” Mrs. Nashe enthused. “And the Earl of Kipps couldn’t tear his gaze away from you.”
“You quite held every man’s attention, my dear,” Lady Clare said, a slight pinch to her nose as she said the words.
“They are all such excellent gentlemen,” Miss Nashe preened ever so slightly now that she had the notice of the entire room.
“Most excellent,” Lady Alicia echoed in fervent agreement.
Daphne glanced over to where Harriet and Tabitha stood, and then at the large vase of pink and white roses on the table beside them. Oh, wouldn’t Miss Nashe look so much better with a bit of a soaking?
Harriet glanced at the vase as well and covered her mouth to keep from laughing, while Tabitha gave a slight shake of her head. That would never do, Daphne.
Ever the vicar’s daughter was Tabitha.
But then again, Tabitha had stopped Daphne on more than one occasion from doing much the same thing—dashing something over a lady’s head. Make that most Thursdays, at the Kempton Society meeting, where the horribly well-to-do Miss Anne Fielding was always preening and prancing about Lady Essex’s salon, what with her new hat, or travels to Bath, or the well-appointed carriage her father had promised.
Daphne’s gaze narrowed as she measured this latest incarnation of her old nemesis. Either the room was not lit as well as it should have been, or good heavens, Miss Nashe bore a startling resemblance to Miss Fielding.
It was one of those moments that every lady of modest means and limited connections knew only too well.
When she realizes she is doomed to be surrounded by the Miss Fieldings and Miss Nashes and the rest of their ilk forever.
For there it was. Daphne’s Achilles’ heel. Raised a Dale on stories of her family’s lofty place in society, in England’s history, and yet . . . the Kempton Dales were hardly considered fashionable.
For the most part, they were overlooked and oft-forgotten.
Still, she’d come to London with such grand plans—and a bit of pin money her mother had set aside over the years. With a few new gowns, and the right introductions, she would find her chance to shine bright, to show one and all that she was a Dale worthy of recognition.
But in London she found herself shuttled to one side and then the other as just another girl from the country with no dowry and a lack of good connections.
Nor were her Dale relations much help. Whyever would Great-Aunt Damaris put Daphne forth when there were cousins aplenty with hefty dowries to dangle over Society?