And the Miss Ran Away With the Rake - By Elizabeth Boyle Page 0,68

he was a devilish rake to bait the old girl so, and at the same time, her heart beat a little faster to hear him do so.

It was almost as if he was defending her right to be here.

Almost.

“What was your sister thinking?” Zillah demanded.

“Hen?” he asked, feigning innocence.

Daphne had seen him do the same thing, acting as if he hadn’t a clue what one meant, but he didn’t fool her any more than he was deceiving his elderly aunt.

“Of course, Hen. What other sister do you have?” she snapped, then reached over to flip the music sheet herself, glaring up at him as she did. “I would expect better of Henrietta. She’s a rare woman with refined taste, and I daresay this invitation to a Dale was not to her liking.” She cocked a brow at him, as if to dare him to naysay her.

Instead, Lord Henry remained his usual composed self. “Miss Dale is Tabitha’s dearest friend, and Preston speaks quite highly of the chit.”

Daphne waited for him to add his vote for her, but there was none forthcoming.

Not that she had expected as much. Not really.

Well, perhaps a little.

Meanwhile, Lady Zillah was off and running at such a challenge. “Bah! Preston’s opinion, indeed! Not that I give much countenance to what he thinks—he’s spent the last five years dallying about like a second son.”

“If you recall, Cousin Zillah, I’m a second son, and I don’t see you giving me such short shrift—in fact, weren’t you just singing my praises a moment or two ago?”

“I was,” she warned him. “That is until I saw you return from that carriage ride with that girl looking quite tumbled—”

“She was drenched from the rain,” he protested. “As was I, something no one seems to have noticed.”

I did, Daphne would have told him. I noticed. His shirt plastered to his chest, his breeches tight against his . . .

Inside the music room, Aunt Zillah remained unimpressed. “If I say she looked tumbled, then she looked tumbled, Henry Seldon! And don’t tell me what I did or didn’t see, because I know what I saw! Just as I did last night.”

“Oh, why can’t she leave off on last night,” Daphne whispered to Mr. Muggins, who had given up hope that they would continue on to the kitchens and now lay on the carpet with his head atop his paws.

“Rather than berate my luck at having to partner with Miss Dale for the scavenger hunt, you might try being civil to the gel and get to know her.”

Lady Zillah’s fingers stopped, sending a discordant note jarring through the room. “Be civil to a Dale? You are mad.” She shook her head, turned her attention back to her music and played a few bars before stopping again.

Lord Henry wasn’t done. “I think you would find you have much in common.”

“With a Dale?” Lady Zillah squawked.

“With her?” Daphne whispered furiously.

“Never!” they both said in varying tones.

“I disagree,” Lord Henry said, picking out a few notes. “Miss Dale is an opinionated and spirited lady. Rather like you, my dear aunt.”

“Bah! She is nothing like me,” Lady Zillah replied, but this time she didn’t sound as offended.

Lord Henry continued. “She’s also loyal to Tabitha. Helped Preston win her hand. And has risked much to come here for their wedding. As a Seldon, you should be able to respect such loyalty.”

Lady Zillah pushed his hands aside and began to play again, as if thinking over the matter.

Daphne considered his words as well. “He thinks I am spirited and loyal,” she told Mr. Muggins.

Don’t forget opinionated.

The music stopped again. “I don’t care if she cured the king of his madness, I cannot be civil to a Dale. Not after the way Dahlia Dale behaved at my debut ball!”

“Good heavens, Zillah, that was how many years ago?”

“Don’t you be impudent with me! Why, I remember it like it was yesterday! I was nearly betrothed to . . . nearly betrothed to . . .” Lady Zillah’s fingers pounded down on the keys. “Botheration, what was his name?”

“Lord Monnery,” Lord Henry supplied. “And here—this is how you do the bridge. I’ll make a note here on the sheet.”

Daphne glanced inside to spy him writing notes on the sheets.

“Yes, yes, Monnery,” Lady Zillah said, glancing over at the notes and nodding her thanks. She played through the portion, this time perfectly, before she stopped again. “Harrumph. Nearly engaged I was, until that toothy bit of muslin Dahlia Dale came along and quite stole