Free And the Miss Ran Away With the Rake by Elizabeth Boyle

you? Are you ready to risk England’s welfare and dance with Lord Henry a second time, or shall I stand warned that such a happening will most likely bring down the realm?”
    “You shouldn’t tease,” Daphne told her, though when Harriet said it, it did sound rather ridiculous. “The Seldons are an egregious lot. Any Dale would tell you so.”
    “Harrumph!” Harriet snorted. “However did this ridiculous feud get started?”
    “I haven’t the least notion,” Daphne replied. She actually did know, but it was a very private matter. And not spoken of. Not by Dale or Seldon.
    At least not in public.
    “Daphne! There you are,” Tabitha said, having appeared out of the crush. “My goodness, you’ve been difficult to catch up with. If I didn’t know better, I would swear you’ve been hiding behind that curtain—which can only mean you haven’t found him.”
    Oh, but I have, her errant and newfound desires cried out. He’s right over there.
    Daphne fixed her gaze on Tabitha and did not indulge in another glance across the ballroom.
    Tabitha, taking her friend’s silence and distraction all wrong, linked her arm in Daphne’s and began towing her along the edge of the ballroom. Harriet brought up the rear.
    While it may appear a sisterly and affectionate move, Daphne was not fooled. Her friends were herding her toward her next partner. The last dance on her card. The one she’d been ordered to fill with a solitary name—and rebelliously she’d left blank.
    The supper dance with Lord Henry.
    “Whyever must I do this?” Daphne complained.
    Heaving a sigh, Tabitha launched right in. It seemed she was quite prepared for this last protest. “Because it is Seldon family tradition. A sign that both families are in agreement over the marriage.”
    “Rather ironic, don’t you think?” Harriet mused. “The two of you leading the way—”
    “Yes, yes, very amusing,” Daphne shot back. “If Preston can scoff at the Kempton curse, whyever is he holding fast to this tradition?”
    Tabitha smiled. “It is considered a blessing, a sign of good luck on the marriage. Don’t you want that for me?”
    Daphne clenched her teeth. Oh, bother. Tabitha would have to say something like that.
    And now it seemed Daphne would have no choice. Even when she’d left the supper dance blank on her card solely because she had held out every last hope that when she discovered the identity of Mr. Dishforth he would take Lord Henry’s spot.
    Nay, demand it.
    Miss Dale, it is my privilege, my right to claim this dance. Save you from this knavish Seldon.
    At least that was how she’d imagined it.
    Unfortunately for Daphne, all she had to show for an evening of accepting one dance after another was a pair of sore feet. She’d quite worn out her new slippers.
    She took a moment to look down and mourn their loss. Daphne did so love a pretty pair of shoes.
    “Oh, dear!” Tabitha exclaimed. “It appears Lady Essex is over there badgering Lady Juniper again. Most likely about the buntings for the wedding ball. Do you mind? I must extract her from Lady Essex’s clutches before Preston intervenes—you all know what happened the last time he crossed swords with Lady Essex.”
    They all smirked. For the lady liked to remind one and all that the Duke of Preston had once kissed her.
    Though not in that way, she was wont to add.
    “No, I don’t mind in the least,” Daphne said, glancing over toward the garden doors.
    It would hardly be her fault if she missed her dance with Lord Henry because she needed a breath of fresh air. . . .
    “Don’t you dare, Daphne Dale,” Tabitha warned, having taken two steps and then turned back.
    “Dare what?” Daphne exclaimed, wrenching her gaze away from the lure that the open doors offered, the deep shadows of night enveloping the roses and graveled paths.
    “Go hide in the garden to escape your dance with Lord Henry. I will not have this evening ruined by your lack of attendance at the supper