The Major's Faux Fiancee Read Free

less fortunate. It would be easier to accomplish had she been born wealthy, male, and titled, but one did what one could with what one had been given. In her case, the power of words. No one knew who stood on the other end of a quill pen.
    Yes, very well, perhaps the daughter of a vicar shouldn’t falsely imply she was a reclusive landowner of middle age and deep pockets, but if a wee misrepresentation here and there reduced the occurrence of disease or circumvented injury or saved the lives of innocent children, then it was precisely what she should be doing. What anyone with a brain or a heart ought to do.
    She dipped her quill in the standish and began to write.
    Moments later, another knock sounded upon her door. Not the hamfisted pounding of Captain Steele—he’d stormed off some minutes earlier. This knock belonged to a lighter hand. A friendly hand.
    “Come in, Esther. ’Tis unlocked.”
    Which might be proof that Captain Steele wasn’t one hundred percent irredeemable. Or that he’d decided to grant Daphne’s privacy now, because in another few days she wouldn’t have any. Her shoulders tightened. Either she’d become betrothed to a man who refused to let his wife dedicate her life to something so vulgar as charity work… or she’d find herself on an extensive holiday in Bedlam.
    Unless—
    “You’ve a visitor,” came Esther’s rushed whisper from the open doorway. “It’s Major Blackpool.”
    The quill tumbled from Daphne’s limp fingers, splattering her careful script with specks of ink. Her breath caught as her pulse galloped wildly. Major Blackpool. She splayed her trembling hands atop her escritoire and pushed to her feet. He’d come. He’d truly come! Her heart sang. For the first time, she dared to let herself feel… hope .
    “Where is he?”
    “In the entranceway. He says he won’t take another step until he sees your face.”
    She tossed her spectacles onto her correspondence. “Then I mustn’t leave him waiting.”
    Daphne slipped from her bedchamber and glanced both ways. No sign of her guardian. The corridor was empty. Captain Steele was undoubtedly interrogating the new arrival.
    She ran a hand through her hair and hurried toward the front door.

Chapter Three

     
    Daphne pulled up short the moment she saw Major Blackpool. She couldn’t help it. Her limbs had frozen in place. For a moment, she even forgot how to breathe. Her heart was the only part of her that still moved, and it was clamoring loud enough to tumble right out of her chest.
    Ten years. That was how long it had been. Ten years .
    The last time he’d seen her, she’d sported a pinafore and pigtails. And the last time she’d seen him…
    There had been two of them.
    He and Edmund had been inseparable. Indistinguishable. Always playing tricks and trading places with the other. She’d been one of the few who could tell them apart, although it didn’t matter anymore.
    Now there was only one.
    “Tolly,” she breathed.
    The corner of his mouth quirked. “Laughy Daffy.”
    Her heart thundered. His voice was so deep. So… manly. Like the rest of him. She tried not to blush. She couldn’t help but drink him in.
    He was taller than she remembered. Her heart beat faster. Of course he was taller. She’d been ten or eleven years of age, and he’d been, what? A lad of fifteen, perhaps? Of course he was taller. And older.
    The years had been more than kind. His brown hair was longer. Wilder. His crystalline blue eyes now had laugh lines at the edges, although she doubted he’d found much humor recently. His face was more chiseled, more defined. A faint hint of stubble darkened the line of his jaw.
    That brief little quirk was already gone from his lips. She missed it.
    He didn’t look like Tolly, puller of pigtails. He looked like Major Bartholomew Blackpool. Soldier. Survivor.
    Everything about him was more than she’d expected. His youthful reediness was gone. Broad shoulders and thick muscles filled out a coat