Free The Lucky One (Brethren Of The Coast #6) by Barbara Devlin Page A

gift?”
    “Of course.” With great care, the housekeeper draped the gown over Daphne’s head and shoulders. “Give me a shimmy, my girl.”
    “The way I did as a child?” Daphne giggled and wiggled her hips, and the skirt dropped into place, with a whispery shush. “Oh, Mrs. Jones. I feel so regal, like a princess.”
    “Hold still, while I tie your laces.” A familiar chorus of grunts and groans signaled the battle had commenced, as Mrs. Jones pulled Daphne left and then right, in an awkward tug of war. “Exhale, Miss Daphne.”
    “This is so unfair.” She hugged the corner of her four-poster. “I wager men have never suffered such degradation in the name of fashion.”
    “All right.” The housekeeper retreated. “Turn around and let me have a look at you.”
    “What do you think?” Daphne rotated. “Will Sir Dalton be pleased?”
    “Perhaps.” Narrowing her stare, Mrs. Jones frowned. “Wait right here.”
    Alone, Daphne stepped into the new slippers, walked to the center of her chamber, extended her arms, and whirled. An imaginary world, straight from a fairy story, materialized, with brilliant pastorals, azure skies, and mischievous cherubs, as she hummed a little ditty and squealed with delight. When the door opened, she skidded to a halt.
    “Did you find what you sought, Mrs. Jones?” Daphne inquired with a hastily mustered air of ennui.
    “Yes.” The housekeeper loosened the ties of a velvet bag. “I think these will suit the color of your dress.”
    “Mama’s pearls.” In a flash, visions from the past composed a staccato of precious moments. Sewing tutorials, history lessons, lute practice, stillroom organization, and charitable visitation. Her mother had always indulged Daphne’s insouciant dreams of independence and then taught her another recipe or household management skill. “Dare I wear them?”
    “Mrs. Harcourt always intended you to have them.” Mrs. Jones secured the necklace in place, as Daphne donned the matching earrings. “And there is no better time than the present.”
    “But she had saved them for my wedding day.” She trailed her fingers over the delicate orbs. Standing before the long mirror, Daphne did not recognize the woman in the reflection. “Do you think Sir Dalton will find me satisfactory?”
    “Oh, I say.” Mrs. Jones snorted. “If he can summon a coherent comment, upon spying you, I will eat my old purple bonnet.”
     

CHAPTER FOUR
     
    The sun rested below the yardarm, and Dalton stowed his lucky coin and checked his pocket watch, as the coach halted before Courtenay Hall. As usual, he was punctual. After a quick assessment of his black formalwear, which he had summoned, along with his valet, from London, he descended to the graveled drive and then skipped up the front stairs.
    “Good evening, Sir Dalton.” Hicks bowed. “Miss Daphne awaits your presence in the ballroom, as we will use the separate side entrance for the guests. If you will follow me, I will take you to her.”
    “Excellent.” For some odd reason he could not fathom, his palms dampened, and his pulse raced. He wondered if Daphne favored the garment he had sent or if he had insulted her with his well-intentioned gift. When he passed through the double doors and spied his lady, he clenched his gut, sucked in a breath, and an invisible but nonetheless potent lightning bolt seared him, on the spot.
    “Sir Dalton, how handsome you look.” The source of his strange affliction cast him a shimmering smile, and she bestowed upon him a radiant countenance. “And I cannot thank you enough for the beautiful gown.”
    In that instant, she rotated for his inspection, and the one-eyed marauder below his belly button woke with a vengeance. Numerous polite compliments and even more not-so-nice propositions echoed in his brain, as he fought to maintain composure.
    “There, now.” The housekeeper, Mrs. Jones, grinned, as she elbowed Daphne. “What did I tell you?”
    “It appears your old