Love and Larceny by Regina Scott Page A

the faint light
from Daphne’s candle, he saw Lady Rollings gazing back at him from
only a few feet away, white ribboned cap settled on her golden
hair.
    “I’m only a little dusty,” she assured her
daughter. “Please do as Mr. Fairfax asks and come down before
something worse happens.”
    At the moment, he could not think of much
worse than crashing through the ceiling and landing on the bed of
the mother who had all but demanded he leave her daughter alone.
But he was thankful Daphne disappeared at last.
    So did the light, but only for a moment. He
heard the rustle of bedclothes and felt the bed shift as Lady
Rollings must have climbed out. Then the bedside lamp flared,
highlighting her aristocratic cheekbones, darkening her eyes.
    Wynn tried to move, and pain lanced through
him.
    “Be still, Mr. Fairfax,” she advised, lifting
the lamp. “You’ve had a nasty fall, and I suspect you are not
thinking clearly.”
    That he could well believe. But what amazed
him was how clearly she seemed to be thinking.
    “I’m terribly sorry, your ladyship,” he said
as she calmly moved to the bell pull and gave it a tug to summon a
staff member.
    “For compromising my daughter, putting her in
a dangerous situation, or nearly landing on me?” she asked, going
to the wardrobe and pulling out her quilted satin dressing
gown.
    Guilt poked at him. “All three. Though I
admit I didn’t understand the full danger of those passages until
tonight.”
    “So you’ve used the passages more than once.”
She returned to his side, giving her sash an extra pull.
    “Yes,” he admitted. “Daphne and I share a
love of adventure.”
    “And a decided lack of common sense.” She
brushed debris off the bed, wrinkling her nose as if no more than
miffed at the mess. “Of my daughters, Mr. Fairfax, I worry about
Daphne the most.”
    Wynn could not help his frown. “Why? She is
amazing.”
    He thought he saw a smile tugging at that
stern mouth. “She is indeed. She never walked; she ran. She rode
her first pony at age four, began begging me to learn to fence at
age five. Where other young ladies had sore fingers from learning
to embroider, she had bruised knees from attempting to climb the
trees in the orchard. I used a store of bandages and ointment
raising her. With her capacity for love and loyalty, she has the
potential for a brilliant future, with the right fellow, a
gentleman who can appreciate her and harness her unique talents. I
am concerned you lack the strength of character.”
    So was he at the moment.
    The door flew open then, and Daphne rushed
in. “Is he all right?”
    “That remains to be seen,” her mother said.
Then she nodded to the maid who had answered her ring and stood
wide-eyed in the doorway. “Alert Lord Brentfield that there has
been an accident. We will need a doctor, fresh linens, and a
carpenter, in that order.”
    “Yes, your ladyship,” she said before
scurrying away.
    Daphne approached the bed. “Oh, Wynn,” she
said, lower lip trembling. “Are you badly hurt?”
    He tried to sit, ignoring the pricks and
aches that shouted for his attention. Out in the corridor, he
thought he heard other voices, as the remaining guests in the west
wing must have been roused from their sleep by the sound of his
fall.
    Daphne hurried to help him, her hands gentle
on his shoulders. “No, no. Lay still until the doctor arrives.”
    “I’m fine,” he assured her, but he had to
admit leaning back felt much better. “A few scrapes and bruises, I
imagine. But nothing seems to be broken.” He knew what broken felt
like.
    “Thank the Lord for that,” Lady Rollings
said, joining them. “Daphne, help me clear off the rest of this.
Watch for nails and sharp edges.”
    Was it because she had raised Daphne that she
remain so composed? His mother and sisters would have gone into
such hysterics the doctor would likely have had to treat them too.
And surely clearing the debris off him was the job for a
servant.
    Yet Lady