If there was anyone Daphne could not stand, it was her cousin Jemma Crenshaw. At eighteen, Jemma was only two years older than Daphne, but liked to act as if she were so much more mature than she was. All because she had made her debut this year.

"It is really unseemly how you pant after Lord Cassius," Jemma sneered as she caught Daphne gazing out of the window to catch the sight of Cassius, who ought to be returning from his ride any moment.

Daphne was very well acquainted with his schedule, he rose up early for they were keeping country hours, he had his breakfast in the main breakfast room, and then he came down to the library where Daphne met him every morning for a game of chess. She fought with sleep every morning, it was a battle to even slip out from under the sheets of her very warm bed. Her mood would be incredibly poor, she often felt like chucking a chamber pot at Jemma's disapproving face, and it often rendered her entirely too sleepy by evening, when most fun things were happening.

But no sacrifice was too big when it came to her beloved. Sure, he treated her as one would a younger sister – he still brought her sweets, for God's sake! As if she were still in the nursery!- but Daphne knew that her body was no longer that of a child's. She was well on her way to becoming a woman; she had grown much taller in the last two years, her hips had become rounded, her cheeks had begun to lose the chubbiness of youth, and her breasts had grown considerably. No one could call her a child. In fact, some people even mistook her for being older than her true age.

As of late she had noticed the admiring gaze of young boys scanning her person, and she did not mind it too much, as long as they did not try to make any inappropriate jests or touches. She felt a sort of thrill from it, if she was being honest. It made her feel powerful, desirable. Feminine.

If only he would notice her as such. Then she would truly be satisfied. She would need no other man to make her feel desirable so long as Cassius Godwin desired and loved her.

"And I really do not think it is appropriate for you to be playing alone with him day in and day out," Jemma lectured her with that grating condescension that made Daphne want to gnash her teeth. "Why girls your age sometimes even make their debut. You must mind your manners and reputation. Isn't that right, Cecilia? Last thing you want is to be branded a loose woman."

In the many years since they had been playing together, over his breaks from Eton and then Oxford, Daphne had not yet won once.

Well, he had let her win on occasion when she had been younger for she'd had the incredibly bad habit of getting irritable and snappish when she was losing. Regrettably, Daphne could not say that patience and calmness were her virtues.

"Quite so," Miss Sherrill, a distant relation of both Daphne and Jemma's who had been taken in by Jemma's family after she had become orphaned, nodded like the good puppet that she was. Officially, Miss Sherrill was Jemma's chaperone, but at one and twenty and unmarried, Daphne doubted Cecelia was the right fit for the job she had been given.

Well.

She mustn't be rude. Everyone knew that Cecelia was a charity case, after all. It was either the Crenshaw's employment or the workhouse. And Cecilia and Jemma had become as thick as thieves, so that was a guarantee that Daphne could not stand her.

"Well, Jemma, it is perfectly acceptable for me to spend time with a friend," Daphne replied with a false smile. "You may be unfamiliar with the concept because you are an ugly, miserable old bad no one wants to be around. Not everything is nefarious."

Jemma let out an offended cry, her eyes filling with crocodile tears. It was a shame she couldn't pursue a career in the theater. She would earn accolades if she played some tragic character.

"Here I was, trying to help you," she sniffled. "As an older sister. I try and take care of you, and this is what I get in return? You are so rude to me without cause."

Ah, and here was yet another reason why Daphne could not stand Jemma; she was a sheer master at making herself the injured party in any given scenario. No matter what had happened or two had started it, Jemma would be the one wronged egregiously.

A perpetual victim.

Daphne could not count the number of times Jemma had picked a fight with her in their youth only to make her apologize with her martyr act. Daphne had caught on soon enough and now just doubled down and let Jemma have her hysterics.

And when she saw her hysterics did not impress Daphne in the least, she would turn mean.

"You think you're so special to him, don't you?" She jeered. "But you're not. He just thinks you're a child!"

Daphne rolled her eyes and stood to leave. Once Jemma got going, she did not stop until she got a reaction so that she could validate her own martyr act and Daphne was not interested in giving her the satisfaction she sought.

"We'll see how much he remembers you when he has beautiful European women surrounding him when he leaves at the end of the year," she continued. "Why would he pay any attention to a pathetic girl playing at being a woman when he is surrounded by Italians and Parisians?"

Daphne felt lead drop to the pit of her stomach.

"What are you talking about, Jemma?" She demanded, her body somehow feeling both too hot and too cold at the same time. Jemma's eyes glittered with triumph as she successfully found Daphne's soft underbelly.

"Oh? Aren't you supposed to be his friend?" Jemma lifted a smug little shoulder. "Then shouldn't you know he plans to leave on a Grand Tour with his friends from Oxford at the end of the year?"

Daphne's heart stopped beating.

It couldn't be true.

It couldn't.

Cassius was leaving England? For God knew how long?

Her throat grew thick and tears welled in her eyes.

She had to do something. How was she to live with him so far away? It had been bad enough when he was away from her at Eton!

Oh no, she couldn't allow this to happen! She had to speak with him immediately!