27. Old Friend

"She knew she was by him beloved- she knew,

For quickly comes such knowledge,

That his heart was darkened with her shadow."

-Lord Byron

Father and I promenaded through the palace's royal garden together. High-society mothers were there with their daughters, drinking tea and gossiping. Father had no interest in any of that, so we merely spent the afternoon strolling aimlessly. The garden was particularly full that day; Lady Featherington and her girls were there, as was unfortunately Cressida and her horrible mother. They gave me a look as we walked by, something I was grateful Father missed. I frowned and kept my gaze forward, trying my best to ignore their judgemental sneers. I caught Cressida whisper something to Lady Cowper from the corner of my eye; I felt a little sick inside when her mother chuckled sinisterly and nodded her head.

Thankfully Father was too eager to distract me with his light-hearted, rapid conversation. Well, he was conversing; I was more so listening attentively. He let out a contented sigh. "Ah, I'm going to miss this. Nothing compares to an English garden." "Huh? Oh, yes Father." "But I'm sure they have lovely gardens in Prussia. Don't you think so, dearest?" "Of course," I grinned back at him, giving his arm a squeeze. God, I love this man. I couldn't imagine living in a separate country away from him- not even for an instance. He smiled back my way. "You must be getting excited for the move. We haven't been to the continent for many years now." My eyes then drifted downwards slightly. "Yes, I am excited," or at least I suppose I am; I really haven't thought about it that much…. Living abroad and away from everyone and everything I know here. It was Father's turn to give my arm a reassuring squeeze. "Do not worry, sweetheart. I'll be with you every step of the way, and you'll have your new husband there too." "Oh….. Oh yes, I know," I partly forced a smile this time. I still wasn't physically attracted to Prince Friedrich yet, but that would come in time. Or so I assured myself….

I was still looking down when a familiar, unwelcomed voice unexpectedly shrilled through the air. "You who! Viscount Bridgerton!" We paused to glance, only to see Lady Featherington waving a little too merrily at my father. He didn't hide his dismay, rolling his eyes dramatically. "Ugh, her…" Was all he said about that. He next turned his attention back to me, giving my hand an apologetic squeeze. "I'm sorry, Daphne. Permit me five minutes to go….. converse with her ladyship." Sensing his distress, I couldn't help but smile at him lovingly. "Certainly, Father. Take your time; I'll wait right here." "Thank you, my dear," with one last grin, all traces of delight disappeared from his face as he went to approach the excited-looking Lady Featherington. I think she was happy I wasn't accompanying my father over to visit her. Instead I stood there, patiently waiting and taking in the scenery. Father's right, it is a beautiful garden…. I hope the gardens in my new home are just as nice.

As if the fates aligned, my head twisted in such a way that I was now peering down one of the other southward paths. The queen was sitting down there somewhere, having a good afternoon tea with her ladies-in-waiting. But that wasn't what drew my immediate- and absolute- attention. I looked, and I saw something; or rather someone. I knew as soon as I saw….. For the first time since my childhood, I saw a beloved face and figure. My jaw literally dropped, my eyes opened to the size of dinner plates. All attention to decorum and manners went out the window for a second. I saw her, and I had to go to her. I HAD to go over to her.

"Mary!"

My voice echoed throughout the area, not that I noticed nor cared. Mary's head instantly spun in my direction, and her expression mirrored mine completely. "Daphne?!" She cried back. "Mary!" Before I knew what was happening, my feet were running towards her. My dear friend's did the same, and soon we sprinted across the cultivated grass colliding into each other. Our arms flew around the other as we pulled ourselves into a tight embrace. "Mary….. Mary…" Closing my eyes for a second, I repeatedly whispered her name as tears dripped down my cheeks. Mary was crying now too. "Oh, Daphne! Daphne, my dear friend! Look at you! Just look at you! All grown up!" "And you! You're absolutely radiant, Mary. You've grown so beautiful," pulling away slightly, we were able to examine one another's faces. Mary was just as lovely and prim as I remembered her, and I wholly adored her. Her head came in closer to press her forehead against mine. She let out a soft giggle, shutting her eyes. "I can't believe it's you….. I didn't know if I'd ever see you again." "I know. It's been what? Eleven years?" "Yes, we haven't seen each other since we were girls, back when our mothers were still….." "Oh, Mary; I've missed you. I've missed you and Mrs. Wollstonecraft so much….." "I've missed you too. How I wish you could have been at my wedding back in Switzerland this winter."

"Yes, how is Mr. Shelley?! How is he doing?" I asked elatedly; I'd never actually met the man before. Mary smiled that lovely smiles all women have when they're in-love; I saw it several times back on the mainland. "He's fine; just fine! He's helping me to publish my book, you know." "Yes, that wonderful book! It's very good, Mary; I thoroughly enjoyed it cover to cover. You have a gift, my friend; a real gift for writing. Heh, just like your mother." "Do you think she would have liked it?" Mary asked with a hint of hope. I smiled at her, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "She would have loved it; she'd be so proud of you." "Heh, well maybe not with me eloping to Europe with Percy…" I waved my hand dismissively. "Bah, you were in-love. Your mother, of all people, would have understood your decision." Mary smiled back my way, taking my hand in hers. "Thank you, Daphne. That means a lot to me…. to hear." "Mary…" I breathed, closing my eyes again.

"How about yourself? I've heard that you're engaged!" "Ah, well it's a long story," my shoulder shrugged. "You must tell it to me over tea soon!" "Yes, lets! We have to make up for lost time. Oh, but I don't want to distract you if you and Mr. Shelley are still busy arranging your affairs….." I hesitated but she shook her head. "Not at all. That letter you sent to me- the Regent's- solved everything. Thank you so much for doing that, by the way. Percy and I wouldn't have been able to come back to court without your help. We're indebted to you, Daphne." "No! It was nothing! I would have done anything I could to assist you getting his majesty's pardon. Though it was not I who procured the Regent's letter." "Which reminds me….." Mary stopped here to fiddle around in the large bag she was carrying. I watched her pull out a small brown package and hold it out for me to take.

"I had hoped I'd run into you here this afternoon. A heh, mutual acquaintance bid me to give this to you. He'd do so himself but uh….. Well, he's back with the Regent now." "He?" My eyebrow raised suspiciously. Could she mean Percy Shelley? But I'd never met him before….. Curious, I took the parcel and carefully unwrapped the twine and paper. Inside was a little cardboard box. With another gaze to Mary, I pulled off the lid. There was a white cotton handkerchief and small note with some elegant handwriting. What alarmed me most was the handkerchief. This was a gift suitors gave to ladies they fancied or courted. It was a VERY intimate present and not one I was comfortable receiving. Mary's face said it all. She glanced into the box and rolled her eyes. "That's so like him," she muttered with evident annoyance. Apprehensive to take out the "gift" and indirectly expose myself, I discreetly covered it using the lid of the box as I picked it up. On one corner was initialled "G.G.B." in light blue stitching. I had no idea who this "G.G.B" mystery man could be. Wait….. Didn't that strange man who originally gave me Mary's letter call himself "George"? Uh oh…..

The note in the box wasn't a note at all; it was a poem. One entitled "Child Daphne". Well whoever gifted me the possessions in this box certainly knew who I was…. and wrote a poem about me. That also didn't sit well with me. A million thoughts immediately zoomed through my mind. What should I do now? Should I tell Father? What would he say? What would he do…..? And never mind him. What about Anthony? What about the prince?

What about Lord Hastings?

With shaky hands, I immediately shoved everything back into the box and slammed the lid shut. I all but thrusted it back upon Mary, who blinked in surprise. "Daphne?" "I-I'm sorry, but I can't accept this! Tell….. Tell whoever sent me this that while I…. I appreciate the thought, I cannot possibly accept such a….. personal present from a strange man. My fianc-…. er Father would disapprove." Mary blinked again in astonishment. "Are you sure, Daphne? It's from one of the most famous lords in all of Europe." "Y-Yes…. Yes, I'm sure. It was a very uh, sentimental gift, but I can't….. You know I can't, Mary," I said, meeting her stare straight on. After watching me a minute, she nodded her head agreeing. "Quite right. I told him to write a simple, impersonal "thank you" note, but that's not George's style. I won't destroy the poem though, unless…" "Oh, please do. No one must ever read that," I begged. "But what about your brother? The artistic one? What's his name again?" "Benedict?" My eyebrow raised and her head nodded again. "Yes, him. Wouldn't he be interested in reading this, even if it is poetry about his sister?" I thought about it for a moment, humming a little and bringing my finger up to my lips. "Well yes, he would, but…" "And this will worth quite a bit of money one day- one day soon. It was written in his hand, after all….." Mary pressed, waggling the paper in the air. "It is?" Well, that might change things. I don't know who wrote it, but it might be worth enough to fund Benny through art school without him asking Father for the money…

Very, VERY reluctantly, I took the paper back from Mary. I quickly folded it and stuffed it into my glove, not even wanting to read it. I'd give it to Benedict the moment I got home and never think about it again. That seemed like a good idea…. didn't it? And even if it's not a good idea, it'll at least help my brother out financially someday. That's the most important thing. Though, heh, I can't imagine why a romantic poem about me written by some man I barely know would be worth anything to anyone. Perhaps this "George" fellow is more well-known than I'm aware of. And I know that Mary didn't know what was contained in the box when she delivered it to me; she was just following her own instructions. I looked at her, organically smiling ear-to-ear again. No, nothing could blemish her in my eyes. She was one of my dearest childhood friends; I was the only one she wrote to once she eloped. We were close….

And we'd remain that way until the day Mary died, thirty-two years later.