Chapter
6
It was a morning in late autumn when Daphne tumbled out of bed in her funnel nightgown, glanced around for her slippers, then headed for the door. She crept downstairs with Rayne, the double doors leading into the dining hall were wide open, and she breathed in deep the delicious aroma of cinnamon tea, peppermint and chocolates. Barnaby was baking all sorts of pies and cookies for her thirteenth birthday.
She'd grown a few inches over the course of that year, her limbs had become thin and dangly, though her face and body were still clinging onto its baby fat. She was going through what Barnaby called, 'an awkward stage of adolescence'. Harriett was much more polite than the old butler however, and reassured Daphne that soon she would grow to be just a lovely as her mother, Viviane, had been.
“Thank all that is good that your hair isn't an unruly carroty clutter of coils like mine was at your age,” she'd say. Though Daphne suspected that part the old nurse had to be playing at. Harriett out of everyone knew that her raven hair was an untamable mess.
The warmth of the massive fireplace within the dining hall heated the floor when she entered. She heard the voices of Harriett, Annett and Barnaby proclaim all at once, “Happy birthday!”
She loved the word ‘Birthday’, it meant she could have all the sweets she wanted without having to eat ‘good food’ first.
“I hear her ladyship is having very special visitors today!” exclaimed Annett.
“Oh, aye! They should be arriving soon. Come, child, we must get you dressed!” Harriett began ushering her out of the hall.
“What about my cake?” Daphne protested, dragging her feet.
“It’s baking as we speak, Daffy,” Barnaby reassured her. “But I made these appetizers for the time being.”
He placed something with a crumbly texture in her palm, and Daphne took a bite, analyzing its taste of a chocolate and walnuts.
“Mmm!” she hummed, gobbling the cookie up.
“That’s enough treats for now. You’re going to give the poor girl a stomach ache,” said Harriett.
“Oh, come, Harry, it’s her birthday.”
“Barney, how many times have I told you not to call me that!”
Daphne reached up the table, feeling the platter full of treats, and scooped up a handful of the cookies; she wanted Rayne to taste them as well. She dashed out of the hall, arms full, Barnaby’s laughter and Harriett’s reproof ringing behind her.
Rayne awaited her on a dimly lit chandelier in the foyer outside. She descended to her shoulder when Daphne emerged, and they settled into a corner and eagerly partook of the cookies together until there was nothing left but crumbs, and Daphne licked the chocolate from her fingers.
The long oaken doors at the front entrance flung open, and a whirling gust swept inside, putting out the candles. A mass of storm clouds were assembling over the countryside. The days had grown grey and dreary and cold this time of the year – they were Daphne's favorite.
She neared the threshold as Rayne went soaring outside. She observed two young men below riding swiftly up to the manor house.
Both riders wore their hair long, and it was tossing wildly about in the air as they galloped. The rider gaining ahead had pale blonde hair and was vibrantly laughing by the time he reached the front steps. He dismounted effortlessly off his white horse, while his companion of golden-brown hair jumped off his beautiful polka-dot stallion with an equal amount of grace. The pale-haired man bid Vincent to take the reins, and the two came laughing up the steps of the front porch.
Rayne made it back just as they entered into the house and were coming down the hallway toward Daphne. She stood stiffly, entranced. The long, pale blonde hair of the first man fell loose about his shoulders in delicate waves. He was dressed in the finest of clothes; a deep grey frock and velvet waist coat with matching breeches and lace spilling out of the sleeves, white stockings that reached his knees, and red heeled shoes. He walked with such refinement, his face was striking, his grey eyes gleamed in the shaded hallway, narrowing at Daphne as he passed her by, a smirk touching the corners of his generous mouth.
The other young man followed behind him. His tawny hair fell just passed his shoulders, the long bangs were parted in the midsection of his head and reached his cheeks. He was clothed in less formal attire; a white silken tunic that hung loose on his slender body, bronze colored breeches with white socks pulled up to his knees, short laced brown riding boots, and a dark red cloak that hung about his right shoulder. He looked younger than the first by a few years, and even more beautiful than his companion. And though Daphne couldn’t glimpse him at a closer angle, she was almost certain that she recognized him from somewhere.
A soft smile curved his lips as he took her hand in both his, lifted it to his mouth, and pressed a gentle kiss upon it, his lustrous emerald eyes lifted from beneath the smooth eyelids and gazed up at her through the curl of thick eyelashes.
Rayne fluttered from the chandelier to land on Daphne’s shoulder and watched them until they disappeared down the hall.
After she was dressed for the evening, Daphne went to stand outside the dining hall. The double doors were shut, and she pressed her ear against them, listening to the muffled voices on the other side. She inched open the door and Rayne flew inside, into the dim corner, out of sight, where she surveyed the area.
Spread across the elongated table was a banquet. Daphne glimpsed her Aunt Valerie at one end, while the pale haired man was seated beside her. Neither took the slightest notice to her intrusion as they conversed between themselves.
His golden-brown haired companion was seated next to him, and his emerald eyes stared right at her.
Daphne stiffened in the doorway.
"Ah, Daphne, come in. We were just discussing politics." Valerie at last regarded her, holding out her slender hand toward her.
Daphne went to take her hand, and climbed onto the empty chair beside her, opposite to the pale haired man. His grey eyes slid from Valerie to her, and he straightened himself in his seat, offering her a quaint smile.
"Daphne, this is my stepson, Crown Prince Alistair Beaumont of Artigo," said Lady Valerie, referring to the pale haired man beside her.
Harriett had told her stories of the Feylands of Artigo and Berzee off the coast of Adagio. Millennia ago, the sneaky little sprites would slip into the beds of unsuspecting humans which resulted in halfling offspring.
Alistair was too tall to be a fairy and he didn’t have butterfly wings either, Daphne observed with disappointment. Though, he had a princely air about him. His jaw was strong, his cheekbones were high, his porcelain hands with the sharp fingernails looked more like claws pouring out of the lacey sleeves, were folded on top of the table.
"And the young man beside him is Ambrose D'Archer,” Valerie continued.
The golden-brown haired youth appeared shy at her announcement. His emerald eyes lowered, the thickness of his eyelashes cast shades over his smooth cheeks. Daphne thought she’d never seen anything more beautiful than him.
Alistair studied her a moment, then looked inquiringly at his stepmother. "Is she blind?" he asked, disregarding Daphne's presence entirely.
"Alistair, there’s no need to be so rude," Valerie reproved him coolly.
A faint smile curled Alistair’s sensuous lips as his grey eyes slid to Daphne. "Do forgive me, little one," he purred, not looking at all repentant. "How do you like living here with my stepmother?"
“It’s wonderful, though I miss my brother dearly,” Daphne muttered.
Alistair arched an eyebrow quizzically at her, and Valerie laughed.
"Isn't she splendid?" Daphne detected her sharp fingernails gliding delicately down her cheek. "Don’t you think she is simply beautiful, Alistair?" Valerie teased.
"Indeed, she is very beautiful," Alistair agreed. Then as if requiring a second opinion, he asked, "What do you think of her, Ambrose?"
 
; Daphne felt a flush rise hot in her cheeks.
Ambrose said nothing, only stared at her, the ghost of a smile curving his lips.
Valerie sank back in her chair as she continued to pet Daphne.
"Well, darling, how is life back in Artigo?" she asked the prince.
"Oh, gods!" Alistair cursed under his breath, his composed demeanor suddenly changed into one of pure aggravation. "Everyone is at odds in that damned keep! Don't ask me why I put up with them." He swallowed a glass of wine, placing it with care on the table, and admired the crystal for a fleeting moment.
The remainder of the evening was spent with Alistair talking and Valerie laughing. He was pouring complements about this and that particular actor he'd recently seen in the theatre, about life in that 'miserable keep' as he described his castle in Artigo, and how he detested his stepsiblings and their irritable habits – and something about how Rosalynde changes a lover everyday like she changes her clothes. 'Those damned gowns her deceased husband spent a fortune on'.
He was truly a vibrant man, one would easily believe he was the life of all the parties he spoke about. Daphne laughed as she listened to his extravagant tales, something he seemed to appreciate and he smiled at her whenever she did.
Sometimes she watched his golden-brown haired friend who remained silent throughout most of their dinner. When he did speak it was as if there was poetry in his words. He had such a soft and pleasant voice, and a laugh that made Daphne smile every time she heard it. She watched his lips as he spoke, feeling pleasurable flutters in her stomach. He had the most beautiful mouth, the upper lip was just slightly fuller than the bottom one.
Then Alistair began talking of the city. Daphne sat up with enthusiasm that was swiftly diminished as he ranted on about the riots and plague and blood-drinkers running rampant, of whining peasants and their delusions for a better world.
"I heard a rumor that Jockos Osborne is parading with the revolt," he said with a frown. “Those damned heathens are now marching on our beloved Mordric’s mansion.”
“And who is their leader?” Valerie asked, subtle ire flickering in her dark eyes.
“A witch of some sort, though the fanatics are claiming she is a Goddess. One thing is for certain, while there are mad people, the zealots will never be in short supply of their army.”
"Let them burn Phaeton to the ground for all I care.” Valerie lifted her chin. “I’ve already claimed my inheritance with this house.”
“You best be wary, they might march on Mayfalls next,” Alistair cautioned.
“I beg to differ. You see, my dear Alistair, the vagabonds have no quarrel against the goodly, deceased Melina Osborne,” Valerie said sweetly, and he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it.
Daphne watched the two of them with fascination, marveling at the familiarity between them.
Harriett entered sometime later. “Bid your ladyship goodnight, dear,” she told Daphne.
Daphne wanted to object, she couldn’t bear for the night to end so soon.
“Must I go?” she pleaded to Lady Valerie.
“Mostly certainly. We can’t have you missing your lessons in the morning,” Valerie shortly dismissed her.
Daphne frowned, rising from her seat, and she let Harriett take her hand.
“Good night, little one,” Alistair said, before returning to his conversation with Valerie.
Ambrose D’Archer’s eyes followed her as she was led away, and lingered on the door long after she’d left the dining hall.