And the Miss Ran Away With the Rake - By Elizabeth Boyle Page 0,98

have Lord Henry Seldon dragged and tried through the courts until he’s—”

“Aunt Damaris, this is not helping,” Crispin told her.

And wonders upon wonders, she stopped and bowed her head slightly in deference, though she hardly looked pleased at being interrupted.

Then Harriet Hathaway, who up until now had been watching the drama play out from the grand staircase, waded into the fray. “Daphne hasn’t run away with Lord Henry but with Mr. Dishforth.”

“Dishforth?” they all said in a loud chorus.

Especially Hen, whose eyes went wide at the mention of the man’s name.

The duke cringed. Oh, demmit, this was going to be the devil’s own puzzle to explain.

Not that he had an explanation to give. He was of the same mind as Damaris Dale and inclined to send Bow Street after Henry. Or some sturdy hands from Bedlam.

“How the devil—”

“Who the devil—”

“When I catch this rogue!”

Everyone set up a clamor demanding answers, save Preston and Hen. And Tabitha noticed. “What do the two of you know of this Mr. Dishforth?”

Hen and Preston shared a guilty look.

“Preston!” Tabitha said in a tone that would stand her good stead once she was his duchess. “Who is this Dishforth?”

“There is no Dishforth,” Preston admitted, while Hen threw her hands up in the air and began pacing in tight circles as if she was trying to unravel all of this.

“But there must be,” Harriet insisted. “Daphne has been corresponding with him. Mr. Dishforth placed an advertisement in the paper seeking a wife. And Daphne answered it. They have been exchanging letters ever since. Here is one of the letters he wrote just recently.”

Hen rushed forward and took the paper from Harriet. After a quick glance, the color rushed from her face. “Oh, no! This cannot be. Not Dishforth! The demmed rogue.”

“Why, he seemed quite respectable when I met him,” Damaris’s bespectacled companion piped up.

When all eyes turned on the girl, she blushed deeply, already regretting her hasty words. “I warned Daphne this would all turn out bad,” she said in her own defense. “Tried to convince her—”

“We will discuss this later, Philomena,” Damaris told her.

Hen, meanwhile, had turned back to Preston and was shaking the note under his nose. “You know what this is, what this means.”

“What does it mean?” Tabitha asked, her solemn question lending a moment of calm to the rising panic in Hen’s voice.

“It’s Henry’s handwriting,” Preston told her, told all of them.

“Oh, I knew it all along!” Harriet declared. “Lord Henry is Mr. Dishforth. How perfect!”

Though as it turned out, no else seemed to be sharing her joy.

Especially not Damaris Dale. She rounded on Preston. “Now, Your Grace, explain all this. Immediately.” Her cane came down with a sharp rap.

Preston didn’t have time, for Hen, having added it all up, now turned on him, fury in her eyes. “That abominable advertisement of yours! This is all your doing,” she blasted, wagging an accusing finger at the duke. “You and Roxley.” She cast a disparaging glance at the earl, who was lounging on the stairs.

Roxley shrugged, as if he hadn’t the slightest notion of what she was saying. But he also did so as he took two steps back up the stairs, distancing himself from this growing scandal.

And then Preston explained all he knew—about the ad, about Henry’s part in all of it—with Tabitha, Harriet and Philomena filling in Daphne’s portion.

“I should have known you had a hand in this disgrace.” Lady Damaris wagged an aggrieved finger at Preston, sparing Roxley just a shuddering glance for his part. “Now tell me once and for all, where has your uncle taken my niece?”

“Gretna Green, I imagine,” Preston told her.

Damaris’s eyes widened, then narrowed into two tight slits. “I should have known. This is all my fault for turning a blind eye to Daphne’s stubborn determination to keep such company.” This was followed with a scathing glance at Tabitha.

“Never fear, Aunt Damaris,” Crispin told her, taking her hand. “I shall get our Daphne back.” Then he turned to Preston. “And woe be it to Lord Henry when I get my hands on him.”

“Is that necessary?” Preston demanded. “After all, we have every reason to believe they are in love.”

Honestly, he had no idea if that was true or not, but it was a far sight better than unleashing another civil war between their families.

Besides, the Seldons were sadly outnumbered.

“Love! Harrumph!” Damaris wagged a bony finger at them. “Be well reminded of what happened to Kendrick Seldon when he lured Miss Delicia Dale into an ill-advised