Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE

“ Bonsoir, Capitaine Cavendish.”

Rafe was standing near the door of the drawing room, waiting while the other guests gathered before they all went into dinner together. He glanced over to see a young girl dressed in some sort of pink concoction of tulle and satin that looked like something a carnival performer would wear on stage. She was busily batting her eyelashes at him and spoke with a decided French accent. He looked twice.

“Good evening, Miss…?”

“Mademoiselle Montebanque. Mademoiselle Delilah Montebanque.” The French accent did not dissipate. No doubt the name was actually a solid English Montbank, but the way the girl pronounced it, Rafe was certain she’d added a few unnecessary letters. “Do forgive me, I know we should not speak as we have not been formally introduced.”

Rafe bowed over the hand she delicately offered. “I’m happy to correct that error now, Miss Montbank. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“I simply j’adore parties, do not you? Although I am not yet allowed to attend them. At present I am avoiding my governess, who is no doubt desperately searching for me.” She plucked at the large pink bow that sat on the top of her head.

Rafe couldn’t help but smile. Her beginner’s French was charming and he admired the girl’s pluck. “Forgive me for being rude, but are you related to the Swifts?”

“Oh, mon Dieu. Je suis désolée . How remiss of me not to explain. I am Lord Swifdon’s cousin. My mother’s sister is his mother’s sister. Comprenez-vous ?”

“I think so,” Rafe answered. “How did you know my name?

“Oh, how could I not know your name, Capitaine ?” the girl answered vaguely. Her dark eyes grew wide. “Vous ne parlez pas francais?”

Rafe coughed lightly into his hand. “I speak it, Miss Montbank. I merely don’t prefer it to my native tongue. I spent a bit of time in France, as you may know, and none of it was pleasant.”

“I’m so sorry, Capitaine .” Miss Montbank’s face fell. She immediately began speaking in English again. “I did forget. Please forgive me. J’adore my French studies but I must remember that not everyone is as fond of the place as I am.”

“No apology necessary. Your French is quite good, by the way. Have you been there?”

She beamed at him. “No, I have not. But I do so hope to rectify that as soon as possible.”

Rafe looked twice again. Had the girl just winked at him? He glanced around the room. No one else seemed to take notice of them. Daphne hadn’t arrived yet and Lord Fitzwell was busy dividing his time between the duke and the earl. Poor chap’s head just might swivel off given the amount of times he had to turn it to give them equal attention. Rafe turned back to his young companion.

“You know there is to be a dance here tomorrow night, Capitaine ?” she asked, spinning around in what Rafe could only guess was some sort of pirouette.

“Yes. So I’ve heard,” he answered, wishing his hostess would call them in to dinner where there would no doubt be wine. Lots of wine.

“I wish I was old enough for you to ask me to dance, Capitaine ,” Miss Montbank continued. “And then you could ask me to stroll with you in the gardens and I would slap your arm with my fan and say no, but then I might very well meet you there later.”

Rafe nearly choked. He pounded his chest with his fist. He had to smile. The girl’s honesty was downright refreshing if a bit overwhelming and slightly alarming. This was Daphne’s cousin? “How old are you, Miss Montbank?”

“Alas, I am twelve and am not yet in possession of a fan. Though I ask for one every Christmas. Aunt Willie prefers to give fichus that are often quite hideous.”

“I think I have seen her handiwork,” Rafe mumbled. To Miss Montbank, he said, “Even if you were old enough to dance with me, there is no music at present.”

The girl twirled again and then performed a perfect curtsy. “Oh, I wouldn’t let that stop me. I hear music in my head most of the time.”

Rafe smiled again. Daphne’s young cousin was a peculiar little thing. “Are you enjoying yourself so far then, Miss Montbank?”

“The truth is it’s unpleasant to be forced to elude my governess so often.” She smiled up at him. “But I had to meet you, Capitaine. I must ask you, why did you give Cousin Daphne a little ship?”

For the second time since he’d begun speaking with Delilah, Rafe nearly choked. “I, erm… She showed it to you?”

“ Oui. She asked me to open the box, actually. She didn’t tell me why you sent her a ship, though. She only said that being an adult is complicated.”

Rafe nodded. “That’s true.”

“But why a ship?”

Rafe rubbed his chin. “I thought she would like it.”

“I think there’s something you’re not telling me, Capitaine .” Delilah sighed. “But I’m used to it. No one ever wants to tell a child very much. Daphne says there’s a mystery here.”

Rafe lifted both brows. “She said that?”

“ Oui . I tried to guess why she refused to tell me why you would send her a gift and I declared it a mystery. She agreed. Well, at least she didn’t disagree with me. Comprenez-vous ?”

“I do, indeed.”

“I don’t mind, however,” Delilah said, pointing her small nose in the air. “I’ve grown quite adept at finding out things that adults don’t want me to know.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Rafe grinned at her. “Now, may I ask you a question, Miss Montbank?”

“I should be delighted.” She curtsied again.

Rafe scanned the room and found the baron still hanging on the duke’s every word. “What do you think of Lord Fitzwell?”

Delilah’s face crumpled into a scowl. “I don’t think much of him. Not at all.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s difficult to put it into words precisely, but I just feel as if the man never had a day’s fun in his whole life. Comprenez-vous, Capitaine ?” Delilah blushed beautifully. The pink in her cheeks matched the pink of her tulle skirt.

Rafe couldn’t help his answering grin. “I do indeed know exactly what you mean, Miss Montbank.”

“And it’s unfortunate that Cousin Daphne seems to be enamored of him. Aunt Wilhelmina and I are quite agog at it.”

Rafe lifted his brows. “Aunt Wilhelmina doesn’t approve, either?”

“It’s not that she doesn’t approve, exactly. Lord Fitzwell is quite eligible, after all. It’s just that he’s not particularly…”

Rafe leaned forward. “Yes?”

Delilah glanced around the room. “This is our secret, is it not?”

“Of course.” Rafe crossed his finger over his heart and leaned down to better hear her.

Delilah smiled at him. “He’s not particularly dashing?”

Rafe leaned back against the door beam and crossed his arms over his chest. He stared across the room to where Lord Fitzwell was conversing with Daphne, who’d just made her appearance in a gown of sunny yellow. Daphne looked positively bored. “Dashing,” Rafe answered. “What do you mean?”

Delilah giggled. “It’s funny you should ask that, Capitaine, as I find that you are the most dashing gentleman in the room.”

Rafe pointed at himself. “Me?”

“Of course. You are always off on an adventure, are you not? You see? Dashing.”

Rafe blinked. He’d certainly never thought of himself that way but he couldn’t help but smile at the girl’s description.

“Cousin Daphne is quite dashing as well. She’s so game and full of life. Why, she’s always willing to play hide-and-seek with me and go for long rides in the country and race and run and laugh. While Lord Fitzwell is decidedly un dashing. He’s always asking who someone is related to. Or pointing out who he is related to. It’s ever so dull. I simply cannot imagine Cousin Daphne living with that stuffy Lord Fitzwell.”

Rafe rubbed a hand across his chin. “Neither can I.”

Delilah sighed again. “I’ve been quite beside myself thinking of ways to stop the party.”

Rafe nearly laughed aloud at that. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, you know. I might come down with a convenient case of plague or the like.”

Rafe shook his head. “That doesn’t sound particularly convenient to me. And it seems difficult to manage, given your circumstances.”

“I agree,” Delilah answered with a resolute if unhappy nod. “Plague is far too dramatic. I continue to think upon it. The trick, of course, would be to get sick enough to send everyone home but not so sick that I cannot recover.”

“I see.” Rafe continued to smother his laugh. “And how exactly would you contract such an illness?”

“It’s not easy, obviously, or I would have done it by now. I am quite at my wit’s end. I’ve decided it may be more prudent to pretend I am ill than to actually be ill. I was in the library earlier reading about cholera and scurvy.”

“I doubt very much you could claim a case of scurvy.”

“You’re quite right. I’ve eaten at least three oranges today and Cousin Daphne’s seen me with two of them. Cholera seems an unpleasant business altogether and anything involving pox requires far too much work with a rouge pot.”

Rafe had to press his lips together hard to keep from laughing at the earnest young lady. “I beg your pardon.”

Delilah fluttered a hand in the air. “I’d settled on a megrim but I somehow doubt that would stop the party. I believe they would merely send me to bed and all that would accomplish is my not being here to keep Lord Fitzwell from proposing to Daphne.”

Rafe nodded sagely. “It does seem as if you’re in quite the bind.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Capitaine. I have a trick up my sleeve. Sacrebleu, there’s my governess. I must go.” Delilah winked at him for certain this time and scurried from the room, just before the dowager countess announced that they would all go for dinner.