And the Miss Ran Away With the Rake - By Elizabeth Boyle Page 0,55
Phis of the family were left to wrestle for the affections of family leftovers, such as the Right Honorable Mr. Matheus Dale.
And while Daphne had spent most of her years dreaming of a lofty marriage to a man with an equally elevated income, it had taken Tabitha’s engagement to, of all people, the Duke of Preston to make her realize it wasn’t rank or money that made a good marriage.
Just one glance at how Preston looked at Tabitha quite stole one’s breath away.
Then along had come Mr. Dishforth, and Daphne had stopped worrying over her lack of dowry or connections. She could only hope that one day, when they met, he would look at her as if she was his entire world. Never mind that she was only poor Daphne Dale of the Kempton Dales, or that she came with naught but a hundred pounds; he would love her for who she was, who she dreamed of being.
Yet it was nigh on impossible not to feel that familiar stab of jealousy, that niggle of worry that Miss Nashe and her money would steal away the only thing she had left: the pending affections of Mr. Dishforth.
That didn’t seem so much to ask. Just to let her find her Dishforth.
Miss Nashe, now having moved to the very center of the room—for certainly someone in the corner might not be able to see her if she remained sitting on the settee—continued her discussion with Lady Essex on the virtues of the various gentlemen.
“What of Lord Astbury?” Lady Essex asked. “How lucky for you to be paired with him today. And to win so quickly. Why, it was almost as if he couldn’t wait to bring you back.”
Miss Nashe turned slightly and smiled. “The marquess is ever so clever and was most determined to win. For my sake. And of course he was most conscious of my social standing. I believe he could drive to China and back without getting lost.” She shot a speculative glance in Daphne’s direction.
Daphne didn’t rise to the bait.
What was it Harriet always said? Just because someone throws a hook in the water doesn’t mean you have to bite.
Daphne had no intention of paying Miss Nashe any heed, let alone biting at anything she tossed out.
“Such a lovely prize,” Harriet rushed in to say. “A pearl necklace.”
Miss Nashe fingered the strand around her neck. “Yes, quite quaint. Mother insisted I wear it.”
Daphne glanced over at Tabitha, who had chosen the prize. Don’t bite. . .
“Now Lord Astbury can choose whomever he wants for the unmasking ball,” Lady Alicia enthused, having missed the undercurrents around her. She smiled at her friend, confident that Miss Nashe would be that cherished prize.
“But remember, only from the available ladies,” Miss Nashe said with a coy flutter of her fan, implying that she would not be among that group.
And neither will I, Daphne vowed. I’ll find Mr. Dishforth. Tonight if I must. Even if I have to stand up and demand he step forward.
Which she hoped she didn’t have to resort to.
“I find it all so romantic,” Lady Alicia continued. “Especially how Lord Henry and the Earl of Kipps were vying over you at dinner.”
While nearly always the picture of composure, Miss Nashe snapped a dark glance at her dearest bosom friend. One could only assume that Lady Alicia had let spill a confidence: that the heiress had set her cap for one of them.
Lord Henry or the Earl of Kipps.
But like any Bath-educated heiress who hoped to rise quickly in society, Miss Nashe recovered quickly. “I do so prefer a man who is handsome and well turned out.” She paused to make sure everyone was looking at her when she said, “I thought Lord Henry looked quite dashing tonight, while the earl is so . . . so . . . strikingly noble.”
“Most decidedly,” Lady Essex agreed. “If anything, it simply becomes a matter of whether a lady prefers the security of wealth and connections—”
Meaning Lord Henry.
“—or the addition of a coronet to one’s jewel case.”
Which would make the lady the next Countess of Kipps.
Miss Nashe didn’t so much as nod in agreement, but let a sly smile tip at her lips. She had made her decision as to which man she wanted, but she was keeping her choice a closely guarded secret.
Yet given the gleam of avarice in the girl’s eyes, Daphne could make a good guess as to her intentions. To catch the earl’s eye and his hand.