Andrea Kane by Last Duke Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Last Duke
read an account of the bandit’s most recent crime. Tragmore was indeed a likely place to strike, given her father’s wealth and blatant enmity for the poor and the bandit’s propensity for targeting both. Inevitably, the philanthropic thief would strike her home, and the prospect left her both terrified and exhilarated.
“Daphne?”
“Hmm?”
“Do ye think the bandit will rob yer Ouse?” Timmy repeated patiently.
“I honestly don’t know, Timmy.”
“Would yer father be real mad if ’e did?”
“That’s a dumb question,” William retorted. “Of course ’e’d be mad. It’s ’is money, ain’t it?”
Eagerly, Timmy climbed over William to sit closer to Daphne. “If the bandit does rob ye, will ye tell us about it the next time ye come?” A worried pucker formed between his brows. “Ye are comin’ back, aren’t ye, Daphne?”
“Of course.” Daphne gave Timmy’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Very soon. And, to answer your question, in the unlikely event that the bandit should visit Tragmore between now and then, I promise to relay all the details to you.”
“We’d best be going, Snowdrop.” As if the mere mention of Tragmore had cast an ominous cloud over the morning’s jubilation, Chambers stood, frowning as he checked his timepiece. “It is fast approaching midday. Miss Redmund has barely enough time to complete her lesson.”
Daphne knew it wasn’t the conclusion of Miss Redmund’s lesson that worried the vicar. It was Daphne’s prolonged absence from Tragmore—and her father’s reaction to it.
“I suppose you’re right.” Amid moans and protests, Daphne arose, rumpling Prudence’s hair. “Your slates await you, my young friends. As my chores do me. But we’ll visit again next week, if it’s all right with Miss Redmund?” Daphne inclined her head questioningly at the schoolmistress.
“Of course.” Reluctantly, Miss Redmund abandoned the relaxing hearth of the fire, facing her students with all the enthusiasm one would expect from a prisoner facing a firing squad. “We shall look forward to it, shan’t we class?”
A roomful of eager nods and a chorus of yeses.
“Good. Then we’ll see Lady Daphne and the vicar one week from today.”
“And Russet,” Timmy added eagerly.
“Yes—and Russet.” Miss Redmund echoed with a distasteful shudder. “Now, say good day, children.”
“Good day,” the class responded.
“Oh! And Daphne?” Timmy scooted around the teacher, rushing up to tug at Daphne’s skirt.
“Yes, Timmy?” Daphne paused, waiting.
“If ye should ’appen to see the Tin Cup Bandit, would ye tell ’im we think ’e’s an ’ero?”
A soft smile touched Daphne’s lips. “I most certainly shall, Timmy. If I should happen to see him.”
3
“R USSET, YOU SHOULD HAVE seen their little faces—so sad, so lonely, so hopeless.”
Daphne stroked Russet’s silky head, staring off into the surrounding woods. “How many times have I seen that look of futility? And still I can do nothing. Dolls and dresses won’t fill their bellies and a side of mutton can’t sustain them indefinitely. So what will become of them, Russet? Will Timmy, William, Prudence, and all those other precious children grow up to be like the men and women I saw at Newmarket yesterday? Oh, not like the ones in the fashionable boxes, but like the Gypsies telling fortunes in exchange for food and the homeless picking pockets to survive. Is that how they’re destined to live?”
Obviously lacking an answer, Russet stood, pacing in an impatient circle around Daphne.
With a tender smile, Daphne broke off her impassioned speech. “Yes, love, I know it’s nighttime and you’re feeling alert and vigorous.” She stifled a yawn. “But I’ve had a long, tiring day. Any prowling you do this evening, you do on your own.”
Rising from the cold grass, Daphne shivered a bit, wishing she’d brought her shawl with her. In the hour she’d spent in the woods, dusk and
“Daphne?”
“Hmm?”
“Do ye think the bandit will rob yer Ouse?” Timmy repeated patiently.
“I honestly don’t know, Timmy.”
“Would yer father be real mad if ’e did?”
“That’s a dumb question,” William retorted. “Of course ’e’d be mad. It’s ’is money, ain’t it?”
Eagerly, Timmy climbed over William to sit closer to Daphne. “If the bandit does rob ye, will ye tell us about it the next time ye come?” A worried pucker formed between his brows. “Ye are comin’ back, aren’t ye, Daphne?”
“Of course.” Daphne gave Timmy’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Very soon. And, to answer your question, in the unlikely event that the bandit should visit Tragmore between now and then, I promise to relay all the details to you.”
“We’d best be going, Snowdrop.” As if the mere mention of Tragmore had cast an ominous cloud over the morning’s jubilation, Chambers stood, frowning as he checked his timepiece. “It is fast approaching midday. Miss Redmund has barely enough time to complete her lesson.”
Daphne knew it wasn’t the conclusion of Miss Redmund’s lesson that worried the vicar. It was Daphne’s prolonged absence from Tragmore—and her father’s reaction to it.
“I suppose you’re right.” Amid moans and protests, Daphne arose, rumpling Prudence’s hair. “Your slates await you, my young friends. As my chores do me. But we’ll visit again next week, if it’s all right with Miss Redmund?” Daphne inclined her head questioningly at the schoolmistress.
“Of course.” Reluctantly, Miss Redmund abandoned the relaxing hearth of the fire, facing her students with all the enthusiasm one would expect from a prisoner facing a firing squad. “We shall look forward to it, shan’t we class?”
A roomful of eager nods and a chorus of yeses.
“Good. Then we’ll see Lady Daphne and the vicar one week from today.”
“And Russet,” Timmy added eagerly.
“Yes—and Russet.” Miss Redmund echoed with a distasteful shudder. “Now, say good day, children.”
“Good day,” the class responded.
“Oh! And Daphne?” Timmy scooted around the teacher, rushing up to tug at Daphne’s skirt.
“Yes, Timmy?” Daphne paused, waiting.
“If ye should ’appen to see the Tin Cup Bandit, would ye tell ’im we think ’e’s an ’ero?”
A soft smile touched Daphne’s lips. “I most certainly shall, Timmy. If I should happen to see him.”
3
“R USSET, YOU SHOULD HAVE seen their little faces—so sad, so lonely, so hopeless.”
Daphne stroked Russet’s silky head, staring off into the surrounding woods. “How many times have I seen that look of futility? And still I can do nothing. Dolls and dresses won’t fill their bellies and a side of mutton can’t sustain them indefinitely. So what will become of them, Russet? Will Timmy, William, Prudence, and all those other precious children grow up to be like the men and women I saw at Newmarket yesterday? Oh, not like the ones in the fashionable boxes, but like the Gypsies telling fortunes in exchange for food and the homeless picking pockets to survive. Is that how they’re destined to live?”
Obviously lacking an answer, Russet stood, pacing in an impatient circle around Daphne.
With a tender smile, Daphne broke off her impassioned speech. “Yes, love, I know it’s nighttime and you’re feeling alert and vigorous.” She stifled a yawn. “But I’ve had a long, tiring day. Any prowling you do this evening, you do on your own.”
Rising from the cold grass, Daphne shivered a bit, wishing she’d brought her shawl with her. In the hour she’d spent in the woods, dusk and