Daphne swallowed the laughter bubbling in her throat, and endeavored to keep a straight face. Unlike her, who had always been offhand about her clothes, her baby sister had been concerned with her own from the moment she could express an opinion. Diedre, their eldest sister, called Dulcie “a little madam,” and in the most disparaging tone, and avoided her as much as she could.
“And what is the special occasion?” Daphne asked in a loving voice, crouching down, so that her face was level with her sister’s.
“I’m having lunch with Papa,” Dulcie announced in an important tone. “In the dining room.”
“Oh, isn’t that lovely, darling. I am too, and so is DeLacy.”
Dulcie gaped at her, a frown knotting her blond brows. “Nanny said I was having lunch with Papa. She didn’t say you were, and DeLacy.”
“Well, we will be there. But I do have to agree with you about the dress,” Daphne now said quickly, wanting to placate the angry child. “It simply isn’t appropriate, not for lunch with Papa. You’re absolutely right. Let’s go and find something more suitable, shall we?”
Instantly the stormy expression fled, and a bright smile flooded Dulcie’s face. “I knew I was right,” she exclaimed, and took hold of Daphne’s hand, her normal happy demeanor in place.
Together the two sisters went down the corridor to the stairs leading up to the nursery floor. At one moment, Daphne leaned down, and said softly, “You must be grown-up about this. Just tell Nanny you do like this dress, but that it’s not quite nice enough for the special lunch. And you can say I agree with you.”
“I will.”
“You must say it sweetly, you mustn’t be rude, or angry,” Daphne cautioned as they mounted the stairs together.
“I’m not angry, not now,” Dulcie murmured, looking up at her adored Daphne, her favorite sister. She liked DeLacy, and they were good friends, but she was wary of Diedre. Her eldest sister constantly looked and sounded annoyed with her, and this puzzled and worried the child.
Nanny was waiting in the doorway of the nursery, and exclaimed, “I was just coming to look for you, Dulcie!”
Dulcie was silent.
Daphne said swiftly, not wanting the nanny to scold, “I think we’ve solved the problem.” She smiled warmly, then gave the nanny a knowing look, and added, “It’s not often Dulcie has lunch with Papa, and it’s, well, rather a special occasion for her. And I do think she could wear a more appropriate dress. Something perhaps a little smarter. I’m sure you agree?”
“Of course, Lady Daphne, whatever you think is best.” The nanny opened the door wider, and they all went into the nursery sitting room.
Dulcie explained, in an earnest tone, her expression solemn, “I do like this frock, Nanny, but I really want to wear the blue one with the white collar. Can I?”
“Of course you can, Dulcie. Let’s go and look at it, and won’t you join us, Lady Daphne?”
“I certainly will.”
Dulcie was already halfway across the floor, making for her bedroom. “Come on, Daphne, come and look at my best frock. Mrs. Alice made it for me.”
As she followed her sister, Daphne smiled to herself. She had long ago learned that the best way to handle her rather stubborn and independent youngest sister was to immediately agree with her, and then negotiate.
* * *
“Oh, there you are, Hanson,” Lord Mowbray said, walking into the dining room. “I was just about to ring for you. Dulcie is joining us for lunch today, a special treat for the child. So would you please add another place setting.”
Hanson inclined his head. “Of course, my lord.” He excused himself and hurried into the adjoining pantry.
The earl swung on his heels and returned to the library, where he sat down at his desk and perused the list of guests he and Felicity were planning to invite to the annual summer ball in July. He added a few more names, and then sat back, pondering, wondering who had been left out, who they may have forgotten.
It was at this moment that he saw a pair of bright blue eyes staring at him. They were just visible above the edge of the huge partners desk. Then a moment later the whole face appeared, and he knew Dulcie was standing on her tiptoes.
She said, “I am here, Papa.”
“So I see,” he responded, laughing. “So come along, Dulcie, let me have a look at you.”
She did as he asked and he swung around in his chair and held out his hands to her. “You look very lovely this morning.”
“Thank you, Papa. Mrs. Alice made this frock for me. It’s new. It’s my favorite.”
“I can see why,” Charles answered, pulling her to him, bringing her closer. She truly was the most lovely child, with her almost violet eyes, and mass of blond curls. Her pretty little face was still plump with baby fat, and she reminded him of a Botticelli angel. But one with a will of iron, he reminded himself. None of his other daughters were as stubborn.
Dulcie leaned against his knee, and looked up into his face. “Can I have a horse?”
Her request startled him. “Why a horse? Isn’t a horse a bit large for you, darling?”
“No, I’m growing up fast, Nanny says.”
“I agree, but you’re still not quite ready.”
“But I can ride, Papa.”
“I know, and you’ve enjoyed your little Shetland pony. I have an idea. I shall buy you a new pony. A better pony. Just until you can handle a horse better, when you’re a bit older.”
Dulcie flushed with happiness at this suggestion, and nodded. “Thank you, Papa! What shall I call my new pony?”
“I’m sure you will think of the right name. In the meantime, we must join your sisters for lunch, and by the way, let’s keep the new pony a secret, shall we?”
“Oh yes. It’s our secret, Papa.”
She clung to his hand as they went out of the library together. I do spoil her, Charles thought. But I just can’t help it. She’s the most adorable child. As they crossed the vast hall together, hand in hand, Daphne and DeLacy were hurrying down the grand staircase.
Both girls ran to greet him, and then DeLacy bent down, kissed her little sister on the cheek. “I like your dress, Dulcie,” she murmured, smoothing a loving hand over the child’s golden curls.
Dulcie smiled back and opened her mouth to speak, and then immediately closed it. The news about the new pony was a secret, her Papa had said, and she must keep it.
Eight
After the special lunch, as Dulcie called it, the five-year-old was taken back to the nursery by DeLacy. Their father went off to the library to finish his correspondence, and Daphne, with nothing to do, decided to walk over to Havers Lodge.
The Tudor manor house was on the other side of the bluebell woods, and was the home of the Torbett family, old friends of the Inghams. Daphne and her sisters had grown up with the three Torbett sons, Richard, Alexander, and Julian. It was nineteen-year-old Julian who was Daphne’s favorite; they had been childhood friends, and were still close.
Crossing the small stone bridge over the stream, she glanced up at the sky. It was a lovely cerulean blue, and cloudless, filled with glittering sunlight. This pleased her. The weather in Yorkshire was unpredictable, and it could so easily rain. Fortunately, the dark clouds which usually heralded heavy downpours were absent.
There was a breeze, a nip in the air, despite the brightness of the sunshine, and she was glad she had put on a hat, as well as a jacket over her gray wool skirt and matching silk blouse. She snuggled down into the jacket, slipped her hands in her pockets, walking at a steady pace.
Julian wasn’t expecting her this afternoon, but he would be at the manor house. He always practiced dressage on Saturdays. He was a fine equestrian, loved horses, and aimed to join a cavalry regiment in the British army. In fact, his heart had been set on it since he was a young boy. He would be going to Sandhurst at the end of the summer, and he was thrilled he had been accepted by this famous military academy. He had once told her that he aimed to be a general, and she
had no doubt he would be, in years to come.
Daphne wanted to tell Julian that her father had given her permission, over lunch today, to invite Madge Courtney to the summer ball at Cavendon. The Torbetts always came, and were naturally invited again this year. Her father had now thought it only proper and correct to include Madge. She and Julian were unofficially engaged, and when he graduated from Sandhurst, several years from now, they would be married.
Off in the distance in the long meadow, Daphne saw the gypsy girl, Genevra. She was waving; Daphne waved back, then veered to the left, walking into the bluebell woods, which she loved.
They were filled with old oaks and sycamores and many other species, magnificent tall trees reaching to the sky. There were stretches of bright green grass and mossy mounds beneath them and bushes that were bright with berries in the winter, others which flowered only in the spring.
A stream trickled through one side of the woods. Rushes and weeds grew there, and when she was a child she had parted them, peered into the clear pools of the water, seen tadpoles and tiddlers swimming. And sometimes frogs had jumped out and surprised her and her sisters.
Occasionally Daphne had seen a heron standing in the stream, a tall and elegant bird that seemed oddly out of place. She looked for it now, but it was not there. Scatterings of flowers could be found around the stream, and in amongst the roots and foliage. And of course there were the bluebells, great swathes now starting to bloom under the trees; they made her catch her breath in delight.
All kinds of small animals made their homes in the woods … down holes, in tree trunks, under bushes. Little furry creatures such as voles and dormice, the common field mouse and squirrels … she had never been afraid of them, loved them all. But most precious to her were the birds, especially the goldfinch. She had learned a lot about nature from Great-Aunt Gwendolyn, who had grown up at Cavendon, and it was she who had told her that a flock of goldfinches was called a “charm.” The little birds made tinkling calls that were bell-like and pretty. Her great-aunt told her they actually sang in harmony, and she believed her aunt.
Once, her mother had called the tops of the tall trees a “shady canopy” where their branches interlocked, and Daphne had used that phrase ever since. Bits of blue sky were visible today and long shafts of sunlight filtered through that lovely leafy canopy above her.
Their land was beautiful and she knew how lucky they were to live on it. Just to the left of these woods were the moors that stretched endlessly along the rim of the horizon. Implacable and daunting in winter, they were lovely in the late summer when the heather bloomed, a sea of purple stretching almost to the sea.
But as a family most of their time outdoors had been spent in the woods, where they had picnics in the summer. “Because of the shade, you know,” Great-Aunt Gwendolyn would explain to their guests. She was a genuine stoic, the way she cheerfully trudged along with them, determined never to miss the woodland feasts or any of their other activities. And the ball was her favorite event, one she would not miss for the world, she would say, explaining she never had, since being a young woman. “I was always the belle of the ball, you know,” she would add.
Daphne’s thoughts settled on the summer ball. For a split second, she thought of the ink stains, and the image of herself in the gown was spoiled. Then almost in an instant it was gone, obliterated. She was absolutely confident Cecily would make the gown as good as new, and she would wear it after all.
Over lunch, DeLacy had told their father about the terrible accident with the ink, which had been her fault. He had been understanding, and he had not chastised DeLacy. Although he had said she should have known better than to play around with a valuable gown.
The one thing he had focused on was the way Cecily had behaved, how she had been willing to take the blame to protect DeLacy. “She is a true Swann, instantly ready to stand in front of an Ingham. Remember our motto, DeLacy, Loyalty binds me. It is their motto as well. The Inghams and the Swanns are linked forever.”
It is true, Daphne thought. It always has been thus and it always will be. And then she stared ahead as the trees thinned, and she found herself crossing the road and walking onto Torbett land.
* * *
Daphne approached Havers Lodge from the back of the house, and she couldn’t help thinking how glorious it looked today. Its pale, pinkish bricks were warm and welcoming in the sunlight. The Elizabethan architecture was splendid, and there were many windows and little turrets, as there always were in traditional Tudor houses. And some privet hedges were cut in topiary designs.
The long stretch of manicured lawn was intersected by a path of huge limestone paving stones, which led up to the terrace. Once she reached this, she turned the corner on the right, and walked toward the front door. It was made of heavy oak, banded in iron.
She had only dropped the iron knocker once when the door opened. Williams, the Torbetts’ butler, was standing there, and he smiled when he saw her.
“Lady Daphne! Good afternoon. Will you come in, please, m’lady.”
She inclined her head. “Thank you. Good afternoon, Williams.”
After he had closed the door, he said, “Shall I tell Mrs. Torbett you are here? Forgive me, but is she expecting you, my lady?”
“No, she’s not, Williams. I stopped by to see Mr. Julian. If you would be so kind as to let him know I’m here.”
“Oh dear! He’s gone out, Lady Daphne. He didn’t say how long he’d be. But he didn’t go riding. I saw him walking.”
Daphne gave the butler a warm smile. “Just tell him I was here, Williams. And please ask him to come over to Cavendon in the next few days. It’s nothing important, just an invitation I want to extend.”
“I will, m’lady.” The butler walked her to the door and saw her out, and he couldn’t help thinking she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Going to marry a duke’s son, she was. At least, that was what he had heard.
Nine
Daphne had been walking along the woodland path for only a few minutes when she heard a strange rustling sound. Looking around, she saw nothing unusual, and simply shrugged and went on at her usual pace. Squirrels playing, she thought, and then came to a sudden stop when she saw the heron at the edge of the stream, standing high on its tall legs in the shallow water. It was such an elegant-looking bird.
A smile of delight flitted across her face. This was such an odd place for it to visit. She couldn’t help wondering why it kept coming back, but then perhaps it liked the stream and the woodland setting. Maybe it feels at home—
This thought was cut off when something hard struck her back, just between her shoulder blades. She pitched forward, hitting her head against a log as she fell to the ground. She lay still for a moment, stunned and overcome by dizziness. Realizing she had been attacked by someone, she endeavored to stand up; she managed to get onto her knees, was about to scramble to her feet, when she was unexpectedly pinned to the ground from behind, and with brute force.
She struggled to free herself but the weight on top of her was heavy, and then she was suddenly turned over somewhat roughly, and laid on her back.
Daphne stared up at her attacker, the man who was pinning her down with such strong arms. He had wrapped a dark gray scarf around his head and face, and all she could see were his eyes. They were hard, cruel, and because of the scarf she had no idea who he was. And she was terrified.
Understanding that she had no chance of escaping him, she began to shake, apprehension overwhelming her. In one last valiant effort, she pushed at him hard, but it was impossible to throw him off.
When he brought his hand close to her neck, she cringed and held herself still. She thought he was going to strangle her. Instead he ripped the front of her blouse and bent over her; he found her breasts, began to fondle and then pinch one of them harder and harder. He hurt her, and she screamed. This he immediately stopped by putting his hand over her mouth. With the other he lifted her skirt.
Rigid with fe
ar, knowing there was no escaping him, understanding his intentions, Daphne snapped her eyes shut and prayed to God he would not kill her when he was finished with her.
He raped her.
The wild, rampaging man forced himself on her again and again. He was hurting her; pain flowed through her and she felt as though her insides were being ripped apart. She knew that to scream again would be useless, and gritted her teeth, turned her head to one side, straining away from him. There was nothing else she could do … except to shut it out.
All of a sudden the man began to move against her very quickly, shuddering and gasping. With a long groan he finally stopped moving, fell against her, all of his weight on her. And his body went limp.
In that instant Daphne seized the moment. She reached up, grabbed at the scarf around his face, tugged at it hard. When it came away, and she saw his face, she gaped at him in astonishment, horror, and disbelief.
The man who had just raped her was Richard Torbett, Julian’s older brother. Still stunned by the violent attack, aghast that someone she knew had done this to her, she was unable to speak.
As for Torbett, he was infuriated that his identity had been revealed. Bright color flooded his face as anger took hold of him.
He leaned down, brought his head close to hers. Against her ear, he hissed, “Speak of this to anyone and they will be killed. Your baby sister and your mother. I know men who’ll do the job for a few pounds. Not one word. Understand?”
Shock and genuine fear rendered Daphne speechless. She could only nod.
He pushed himself to his feet, stood looking down at her. “Remember, keep your mouth shut.”
Daphne closed her eyes. She heard him rustling through the bushes, obviously not wanting to be seen on the path. She felt as though her whole body had been bludgeoned. And so she lay very still, trying to breathe normally, hoping to get her strength back, wondering if she would be able to walk. She wasn’t even sure she could get up. Tears seeped from underneath her eyelids and trickled down her cheeks, as she continued to lie there dazed, unable to focus, hurting all over. He would not return, of that she was certain. He had taken what he wanted.