Unless he was a pirate.
Angelique and Delilah exchanged a satisfied glance.
Daphne glanced toward the doorway at thesound of clinking. Dot was approaching at a stately pace, bearing a rattling tea tray laden with a pot and porcelain cups.
Delilah cleared her throat. “Your ship, Mr. St. Leger. Are you a...”
Dot froze like a statue on the threshold. Her breath appeared to be held.
“A privateer, Mrs. Hardy. For nigh on three years.”
(It was a crestfallen Dot who delivered the tea tray, which rattled more profoundly on descent, but did not crash.)
It seemed ridiculous to feel relieved that her fake husband was not, in fact, a pirate, but she needed a blessing to count.
She knew what privateers did. It was piracy of a sort, sanctioned by the crown, supplementing the work of the navy. Capturing enemy ships for cargo and ransoming crews. Dangerous. And often very, very lucrative.
“And do you travel with your husband, Mrs. St. Leger?” Mrs. Durand set about pouring and handing cups around.
Daphne went still.
Mr. St. Leger had just said his ship had docked. Her heart picked up a beat.
“I have indeed traveled with him,” she said carefully.
One hundred entire feet, unless one also counted the air distance from the crates to his chest.
Surely it was unseemly to feel triumphant each time she managed to tell a lie that wasn’t a lie.
She wondered if this indelicate instinct for survival at any cost had simply lain dormant until it was needed.
“Life on a ship with your husband!” Angelique exclaimed. “How thrillingthat must be.”
Daphne smiled at her. “It is unlike anything I’ve ever before experienced.”
“She’s surprisingly resourceful in risky situations.” St. Leger sipped his tea. The little white teacup looked as crushable as an egg in his big hand.
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Delilah said stoutly, thereby surprising Daphne. “Perhaps you already know this, Mr. St. Leger, that Daphne was the lady of her house from the time she was...”
“Eleven years old,” Daphne completed.
“Isn’t it remarkable?” was what St. Leger smoothly chose to say. “I suspect it’s how she became so resourceful.”
Daphne turned to Angelique. “My mother passed away then, leaving just my father and me and my brothers.”
“I’m so sorry. I lost my mother at a young age, too,” Angelique told her.
The warmth of commiseration bound them all for a moment.
And then Delilah surprised her again. “My mother always pointed you out as an example of fine young ladyhood I should strive for.”
“How delightful for you,” Daphne said dryly. “I’m so sorry.”
Angelique and Delilah laughed.
“Everyone admired Daphne for being soclever when we were younger,” Delilah, who had been admired for being beautiful, added wistfully.
The compliment made Daphne flush. “I didn’t realize. It isn’t always particularly valued in a woman, cleverness.”