Romancing Her Rival - Joanna Barker Page 0,19

where he’d left the books he’d been perusing the other day. A General Treatise on Cattle topped the stack. “Yes, well, that pertains to my occupation. Paid dullness, if you please. At least I do not willingly subject myself to it.”

She gave a huff, though it seemed playful in his mind. Wishful thinking, perhaps? “My friend recommended this to me,” she said, “so I am trusting her opinion.”

“Which friend? Isabel, I suppose?”

Daphne blinked. “Well, yes. How—?”

He waved her off. “You’ve chattered about them so much in the past, you can hardly be surprised.” Not to mention he was rather good at remembering things—especially when Daphne said them. “Phoebe is the planner,” he went on, “Lavinia the mother hen, Marah is practical, and Isabel is the bluestocking. It was rather easy to deduce which one might have recommended the book.”

Daphne stared at him a moment, her eyes filled with a strange confusion. But then she dropped her gaze. “I did not realize you were listening so well.”

“I always listen.”

She did not respond, her expression torn as if part of her wanted to fly from the room. He spoke before she could follow through. “Where is Aunt Hartwell this morning?” He sat on the chair beside the sofa. This was the first time their conversation had been even close to comfortable since she’d arrived. His work could wait.

“Meeting with the housekeeper.” Daphne frowned.

Cole raised an eyebrow. “Mrs. Neddleham is not so bad as you think.”

“Do you not recall her telling Aunt Hartwell that we were both ‘monstrous children’?”

“You can hardly hold that against her.” He leaned forward with a grin. “You were rather terrible.”

“Ha!” She leaned forward as well, eyes alight. His heart gave a stutter, then hurried to catch up. “You always dragged me into trouble.”

“Dragged? You seemed more than willing to catch frogs and slip them into Mrs. Neddleham’s room.”

“Only because she called us monstrous!”

Now he laughed and she laughed as well. Daphne had a soft, light laugh, like a summer wind rustling through the grass. He’d missed it.

“In any case,” he said, still chuckling, “Mrs. Neddleham is not nearly so fearsome as when we were younger.”

“I’m sure it helps that you are the steward now,” Daphne said. “And soon you’ll be—” Her voice cut out, and she stared at him a long moment before swallowing. “Soon you’ll be master of the house, of course. She can hardly treat you the same as when you were a pesky boy.”

Why did the blasted inheritance always have to come up? “No, I suppose not. But she is lucky, since apparently I might soon lose my position to a highwayman.”

She smiled, though the spark from a moment ago had faded. “I believe a gambler was also an option.”

“Ah, yes. And what helpful experience might a gambler bring?”

She thought a moment. “Sometimes taking risks can reap enormous benefits.”

“Right, so let me keep track. Aunt Hartwell could do worse than me, but highwaymen and gamblers are all suitable possibilities.”

“That seems to be the sum of it, yes.” She held her book to her chest and glanced at the door. She was going to excuse herself and then they would lose all the progress they’d made.

He thought quickly, desperate to keep their conversation going. “Will you be attending the Chesleys’ ball tomorrow night?”

Daphne furrowed her brow. “Yes, Aunt Hartwell seemed rather set on it. Will you?”

Her uncertainty was understandable. He’d never before attended the same social events as she had, considering their differences in stations. But since Aunt Hartwell had named him as heir, he’d received a few invitations to parties and the like. He had never accepted, always citing his demanding work schedule, but when he’d heard from Cheriton’s butler that Daphne would be accompanying Aunt Hartwell to the ball, there had been no hesitation in accepting that particular invitation.

“Yes,” he said, “though I will certainly look the part of a bumbling country steward far out of his depth.”

She shook her head. “Hardly. You fit in anywhere you go. You can talk to anyone and strike up a friendship.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Envy, more like.”

“Are admiration and envy mutually exclusive, then?”

Daphne shook her head with a smile. “Not in this case. I shall both admire and envy you as you charm everyone within an hour of arriving at the ball.”

Was she so oblivious to think that possible? There was a reason he had yet to attend any parties. Just from his visits to town, it was clear what Society thought of him. But he had to