Romancing Her Rival - Joanna Barker Page 0,24

candles too bright. The music began then, quite thankfully, and they found their places. Daphne made herself take a few deep breaths, avoiding Cole’s eyes across the line. How was it that the more time she spent with him, the more difficult it was to engage her anger and determination? He’d taken away Cheriton. She should have simply let Miss Rosalie be cruel to him.

But as Cole took her hand to lead her through the motions of the dance, Daphne could not bring herself to regret defending him—if one could call it that. Because since she’d arrived, he’d been nothing but kind and thoughtful. If that was his way of getting ahead in the world, well, there were certainly worse ways he could go about it.

Cole turned and smiled at her, his gray eyes sparkling in the light from the chandeliers above. Daphne smiled back, tentative. Could she put aside her plans for one night? Could she enjoy just being Daphne and Cole, as it had always used to be?

She had to release his hand at the next count, turning about the young lady to her right, and then moved to her next partner, who was, of course, none other than Mr. Chesley.

“Miss Windham,” he said, taking her hand as they traveled up the line of dancers. He did not look at her as he spoke.

“Mr. Chesley,” she said as greeting. “Are you enjoying the dancing?”

“For the two minutes it has been ongoing? Certainly.”

Daphne’s smile faded. If Cole had said those same words, she would have known he was teasing. But Mr. Chesley’s tone was mocking.

“Yes,” she somehow managed. “I suppose that was a silly question.”

He did not respond, only focused ahead. Well, he could be as rude as he wished, but she would not descend to his level. “Are you returning soon to Cambridge? My aunt said you were here for only a short visit.”

As the words left her mouth, something slim and cool slipped down the back of her dress. She tripped in her steps. What had that been? But then as she made a turn, a long curl fell from her coiffure and twisted around her neck. Daphne swallowed. Oh, no.

“Yes, I expect to leave in two days’ time,” Mr. Chesley answered, though Daphne was barely listening. She went through the steps of the dance, trying not to move her head and no doubt looking quite the fool in the process. But it was no use. More and more locks of her hair slipped from their pins and landed about her shoulders, bouncing with her movements. She counted at least three pins as they fell to the floor, immediately lost amid the dancers’ feet. Oh, that Jenny! Daphne should not have trusted that she could execute such a hairstyle with no experience.

Mr. Chesley, at least, did not appear to have noticed, since he had yet to look at her directly. She could return to Cole in just another minute.

But as they moved back the way they had come, Mr. Chesley glanced at her and blinked. He cleared his throat, a sad attempt to hide a laugh. “Miss Windham,” he said, “I don’t know if you have noticed—”

Of course she’d noticed.

“—but your hair—”

“I am quite aware,” she said shortly. “Thank you.”

Then Daphne was back in her place along the line of dancers, finally able to stop for a moment and consider her options. She tentatively reached up with her gloved hand and winced. Her entire coiffure was sagging, pins loose and curls in complete disarray.

She glanced up and down the line. There was no possible way to escape without upsetting the entire dance—Cole would be left without a partner. She would have to see the dance through to the end. And of course, now Mr. Chesley was partnered with Miss Rosalie, and they were whispering and glancing her way with amused smirks.

Tears pricked painfully at her eyes. She tried to breathe, but it felt like the warm air in the room had turned to thick mud, clinging to her lungs.

And here she had thought she no longer cared what anyone thought of her.

Cole watched Daphne dancing, concern growing inside him with every second. He’d overheard her first bit of conversation with Mr. Chesley, and the man had not seemed as if he was trying terribly hard to be a gentleman. But then as they came back his way to return to their places in line, he spotted something even worse: Daphne’s red-brown curls, always so prim and proper,