there’s no connection with the outside world.”
It explained so much, Daphne thought. And it might also explain why Mr. Witherspoon had hired her—a girl who had very little experience of the world herself, who wouldn’t be bringing in too many questions with her, or possibly be a spy for some newspaper or magazine.
“I’m sorry I made you talk about all of that,” Daphne said.
“It’s okay,” Ben said, but he seemed to be glad to be done with it. They resumed walking. “Someone had to tell you eventually. I wonder when Uncle Pete planned on telling you. He might be angry with me for jumping the gun, but I’ll explain to him, after everything you’ve been through today, it was only fair you knew.”
He paused, looking down at her.
“I hope it doesn’t make you leave us,” Ben said.
She smiled weakly up at him. “To be honest, I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
It was true. She couldn’t go back to Our Lady. Mother Angela would expect her to stick this out. To make the best of it. It was, she’d tell Daphne, her calling.
They entered the dining room. The others had already taken their seats around the table while a couple of servants, hunched old men with silver hair, served the food. The smell of the roast pork suddenly made Daphne hungry, despite everything that had happened today. She took a seat beside Ben at one end of the table, where she had a good view of the others. No one spoke much during dinner; obviously the fear of their old family scandal being dredged up again weighed heavily upon them.
As she ate, Daphne looked around the table. Louella was one of those women who, on first glance, didn’t seem particularly fat, but on second and third look, seemed to be barely contained in her clothes. As she reached across the table for another helping of mashed potatoes, a bowling ball of fatty flesh swung from her arm. Her wide bottom seemed squeezed into the chair. Yet she seemed pleasant enough, smiling up at Daphne now and then with lips smeared, not exactly evenly, with bright red lipstick. She certainly seemed far more amiable than her stern sister, Abigail, who, Daphne presumed, was upstairs polishing off that bottle of brandy.
Several times in the course of dinner Daphne noticed Donovan look up at her and smile. Once he even winked. She didn’t have a lot of worldly experience, and certainly she had none with men. She’d never had a boyfriend, even though the girls at Our Lady had all insisted she was the prettiest of them all. There just had been very little opportunity to meet boys. Occasionally, some of the boys from neighboring parishes came in for programs, and once, Daphne had become friends with a young man named Kevin O’Connell, a redhead with a smattering of freckles, and she’d thought maybe she’d felt the first stirrings of a crush. But that had been when she was eighteen. Three years had passed, and there had been no one else.
Yet no matter her inexperience, she knew one thing: Donovan Kent was definitely flirting with her.
She knew for sure from the surly looks his fiancée, Suzanne, kept giving her. Suzanne would notice Donovan smiling at Daphne and then turn her own steely-eyed stare onto the girl. Daphne thought Suzanne didn’t have to worry. Daphne might be pretty, but Suzanne was a knockout. Long, shiny black hair, the most intense black almond eyes, the perfect figure. Daphne figured Donovan was just one of those guys she’d seen on TV: an instinctive flirt. She was certain it was harmless.
Still, she had to admit that Donovan was perhaps the handsomest man she’d ever seen in her life. Tall, with thick wavy dark hair, he had deep-set blue eyes that danced when he looked at her. A strong jaw, a cleft chin, broad shoulders. The black T-shirt he wore under a blue blazer couldn’t disguise a well-worked physique. Donovan was so handsome, he could be a model.
As she finished the last of her dinner, she realized he might actually be a model. She had no
It explained so much, Daphne thought. And it might also explain why Mr. Witherspoon had hired her—a girl who had very little experience of the world herself, who wouldn’t be bringing in too many questions with her, or possibly be a spy for some newspaper or magazine.
“I’m sorry I made you talk about all of that,” Daphne said.
“It’s okay,” Ben said, but he seemed to be glad to be done with it. They resumed walking. “Someone had to tell you eventually. I wonder when Uncle Pete planned on telling you. He might be angry with me for jumping the gun, but I’ll explain to him, after everything you’ve been through today, it was only fair you knew.”
He paused, looking down at her.
“I hope it doesn’t make you leave us,” Ben said.
She smiled weakly up at him. “To be honest, I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
It was true. She couldn’t go back to Our Lady. Mother Angela would expect her to stick this out. To make the best of it. It was, she’d tell Daphne, her calling.
They entered the dining room. The others had already taken their seats around the table while a couple of servants, hunched old men with silver hair, served the food. The smell of the roast pork suddenly made Daphne hungry, despite everything that had happened today. She took a seat beside Ben at one end of the table, where she had a good view of the others. No one spoke much during dinner; obviously the fear of their old family scandal being dredged up again weighed heavily upon them.
As she ate, Daphne looked around the table. Louella was one of those women who, on first glance, didn’t seem particularly fat, but on second and third look, seemed to be barely contained in her clothes. As she reached across the table for another helping of mashed potatoes, a bowling ball of fatty flesh swung from her arm. Her wide bottom seemed squeezed into the chair. Yet she seemed pleasant enough, smiling up at Daphne now and then with lips smeared, not exactly evenly, with bright red lipstick. She certainly seemed far more amiable than her stern sister, Abigail, who, Daphne presumed, was upstairs polishing off that bottle of brandy.
Several times in the course of dinner Daphne noticed Donovan look up at her and smile. Once he even winked. She didn’t have a lot of worldly experience, and certainly she had none with men. She’d never had a boyfriend, even though the girls at Our Lady had all insisted she was the prettiest of them all. There just had been very little opportunity to meet boys. Occasionally, some of the boys from neighboring parishes came in for programs, and once, Daphne had become friends with a young man named Kevin O’Connell, a redhead with a smattering of freckles, and she’d thought maybe she’d felt the first stirrings of a crush. But that had been when she was eighteen. Three years had passed, and there had been no one else.
Yet no matter her inexperience, she knew one thing: Donovan Kent was definitely flirting with her.
She knew for sure from the surly looks his fiancée, Suzanne, kept giving her. Suzanne would notice Donovan smiling at Daphne and then turn her own steely-eyed stare onto the girl. Daphne thought Suzanne didn’t have to worry. Daphne might be pretty, but Suzanne was a knockout. Long, shiny black hair, the most intense black almond eyes, the perfect figure. Daphne figured Donovan was just one of those guys she’d seen on TV: an instinctive flirt. She was certain it was harmless.
Still, she had to admit that Donovan was perhaps the handsomest man she’d ever seen in her life. Tall, with thick wavy dark hair, he had deep-set blue eyes that danced when he looked at her. A strong jaw, a cleft chin, broad shoulders. The black T-shirt he wore under a blue blazer couldn’t disguise a well-worked physique. Donovan was so handsome, he could be a model.
As she finished the last of her dinner, she realized he might actually be a model. She had no
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