Henry Colburn was to see me again the other day and asked to have a look at my memoirs. I wouldn’t want him to find out about it. There are some parts of her life a woman wants to keep to herself—or share with only a precious few. You are the only one outside myself who knows the story, and it is not to be repeated. I shan’t say a word about Standington in print, either.”
“I wouldn’t turn the diaries over to Colburn. When did he ask?”
“He has been hinting since his first visit. I ripped the pages out the first night of his visit, but a few days ago I let him scan some of the later books. He wants me to put in things I don’t want to. I’m not even sure I’ll bother writing the book. We don’t seem to have much time for it now since we are going about to parties. Only fancy, Beau Brummell coming to call this afternoon. How I regret Mr. Pealing couldn’t be here to meet him. The hours he spent with his valet trying to get his collars starched up, and Beau could tell him exactly how to go about it for sure. It was Beau who started all this starching business. They do say he has his boots polished with champagne, but Mr. Pealing tried it and says it is all a hum.”
Effie exulted in her famous caller, and Daphne had a little exulting to do herself. If the Duke of St. Felix chose to come storming in again, she would be hard put not to laugh in his face. But Effie had asked her not to repeat a word and that would be very hard to do.
“Does the St. Felix family not know about the late Duke’s involvement with you at all, Auntie?”
“The mother knows. He had given her warning what he meant to do. Such a gudgeon-like thing to do, go telling her. But the others don’t, unless she told them. I daresay the older girls might have an inkling.”
“It was the Duke I was thinking of.”
“He wasn’t even born at the time.”
“Well, if he comes speaking of blackmail again, I might just give him an inkling,” Daphne said, to see what her aunt would say.
“Well, maybe just an inkling,” Effie said with an arch smile. “But I shouldn’t tell him about the duel, dear, for he will feel a perfect fool and we wouldn’t want that.”
“Oh, yes we would.”
"That’s no way to go about winning a fellow’s affection, goose.”
“I am not interested in his affection, I promise you."
Brummell paid his promised call, standing on his feet like a gentleman. His carriage, without reinforcement, proved to be up to Mrs. Pealing’s and his own combined weight, and with a face betraying to the world nothing but delight in his companion, he drove through Hyde Park, down to Bond Street, then back to the barrier of Hyde Park, to make sure he was seen and recognized. He stopped four times, to make Mrs. Pealing known to Lords Alvanley and St. Clare, Ladies Blessington and Sefton, and two other groups of untitled notables. Lest this very public gesture should not be sufficient, he also asked permission to accompany the ladies to Lady Melbourne’s small rout a few evenings hence.
Daphne still mistrusted his intentions, but no more than her aunt did she wish to pass up the honour of being seen with him. While Mrs. Pealing rode in the Park with Beau, Daphne went with Mrs. Wintlock and Stephanie to a pic-nic at Richmond Park. She was collecting a circle of admirers, and when she went into public with the Wintlocks, the circle was swelled by Miss Wintlock’s beaux, as well. Though the girl was not a beauty, she was a considerable heiress and making a small splash.
Daphne was surprised to see that St. Felix made up part of the group. He was older than the other beaux present but clearly not counted amongst the chaperones as being of their number. She tossed him a bold smile, which he ignored completely, turning his back after a mere glance to speak to another lady.
“Do you know St. Felix?” Miss Wintlock asked.
“I have met him. He is very disagreeable,” Daphne replied with relish.
“Yes, holds himself