Daniel sat next to Miss Hamilton, a friend of the bride who barely raised her gaze from her plate, let alone sought meaningful conversation. The opposite was true of the elderly matron to his left who raised her monocle more than a handful of times to study him.
“What did you say your name was?” The white-haired lady frowned as her curious gaze scanned his face. Why could she not leave him alone? There were other guests to prod and poke. “My memory is not what it was.”
“Mr Thorpe,” he replied respectfully before popping a piece of ham into his mouth. There wasn’t a person alive who could lay claim to a family connection when using that name.
“Are you family?”
“No, simply a friend of the happy couple.” It was a slight exaggeration but better than saying he was the person responsible for catching Lord Harwood’s blackmailer.
“I could have sworn you were a relative. You look so familiar.” The lady’s shrill voice sent a shiver shooting through him. She muttered his name to herself and shook her head numerous times. “Have I seen you before? Who is your father?”
“Bloody hell,” he whispered. He suddenly wished Pulborough was here. At least he could punch the pompous lord when he refused to be quiet.
The matron cupped her hand to her ear. “Sorry, who did you say your father was?”
“My father died before I was born.”
The evasive reply was sure to rouse pity and distract from further prying. He glanced across at Daphne. From what he could hear of the conversation, she was educating the bride’s brother-in-law, Max Roxbury, in the telltale signs often displayed by liars. She looked so comfortable in the grand house. The country air had brought a glow to her cheeks. The lines often apparent between her brows had disappeared in the relaxed environment. Daphne deserved to live a peaceful life full of love and laughter. She did not deserve to be cooped up in a room above a shop, too scared to sleep at night.
“Was it an accident?” The matron at his side continued to probe him. “For he must have been in his prime when he died. Tragedy often strikes the young.”
Daniel swallowed down the lump in his throat and took a sip of wine. “He fell off his horse and broke his neck.”
The matron gasped. “Monstrous beast of a thing, was it? Forever chomping at the bit?”
Did the lady not know when to change the subject? “I believe the blame lies firmly with the arrogance of the rider.” It wasn’t true. But resentment was easier to live with than regret.
“Your poor mother.” The lady tapped his arm. “So tragic to lose a husband at such a young age.”
“Indeed.” His mother lost a lover, not a husband. And therein lay the problem that had plagued him his entire life.
“And she died young too I fear. When one suffers loss, pain is always evident in the voice. It doesn’t matter how long…” The matron continued talking, but Daniel stopped listening.
This was precisely the reason he’d refused to attend. Someone was bound to recognise him. Someone was bound to remember the scandal. One derogatory word about either of his parents and he was liable to bring the house tumbling down around them.
It was much easier to stay away. In the back streets of London, no one bothered him. No one cared. He controlled events. They did not control him.
Daniel stared at the pristine tablecloth, at the polished silver cutlery, the lavish gilt fruit bowl, at all the fancy trimmings that spoke of wealth and excellent breeding. The blood that flowed through his veins was as good as any of the men seated at the table. But not everyone saw it that way.
“You don’t have to answer.” The elderly woman at his side placed her frail, wrinkled hand on his arm. “You’ll find your way out of the darkness. We all do eventually.”
“In the darkness, we can be anyone we want to be,” he murmured.
The lady smiled. “No matter how hard you try, you can never run away from yourself.”
Daniel swallowed down the lump in his throat. How the hell had he ended up having this conversation? Thoughts of the past swamped him. He’d spent a lifetime running, and the past was yet to catch up with him. Thoughts of the future left him equally dazed. His feelings for Daphne robbed him of breath, made running that much harder.
He turned to the matron. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m in need of air.”
Before he had a chance to drag his napkin off his lap, Anthony stood and hit his crystal goblet with a knife. The high-pitched ching caught everyone’s attention. “As it’s a little early for port, gentlemen, and because I have no intention of letting my wife out of my sight, I suggest we all retire to the drawing room.”
Relief coursed through Daniel’s veins. Moving to another room would give him an excuse to sneak outside. The grounds were vast. One could easily get lost. Even if he couldn’t persuade Daphne to accompany him, he’d go alone.
“Move?” the matron grumbled. “Oh, can that boy not sit still for five minutes. I’ve hardly touched a morsel.” Had she not spent so much time talking it might have been a different matter. She grabbed Daniel’s arm. “Help me up. There’s a good fellow. Now where did I put my walking stick? The staff always offer to take it,” she said, gesturing to the liveried footmen standing as still as statues by the sideboard, “but I feel better knowing it’s at my side.”
Though the urge to flee was still upon him, it would be rude not to offer the lady assistance. And he was a gentleman, even though he frequently denied the fact.
“Your cane is propped against your chair.” Daniel stood and helped the elderly lady to her feet.