Chapter Nine

S he saw Lord Linfield almost at once. He stood in a blink of sunshine with the dramatic Lord Launceton and a group of children who appeared to be entertaining him. Her heart turned over.

He glanced up suddenly, and their eyes met. She forgot to breathe, for there was no hesitation in his smile, and the sun caught his glinting eyes.

He remembers .

Her chief fear had been that he would have forgotten all about her, or, even worse, regret their unexpected intimacy in the storm. She had therefore steeled herself to be ignored or treated with polite distance. But in that one brief glance, the warmth of relief flooded through her, before she was distracted by Lady Braithwaite’s welcome and the demands of civility.

She reminded herself that her main task today was to support Julius—and Antonia, if she truly needed help.

Walking by Julius’s side, it took a surprising amount of time to reach the great hall where Lady Braithwaite had told them they would find refreshment, art, poetry, and music. Many people greeted them and paused to talk—Mrs. Grant, Dr. Lampton and his wife, Miss Muir and her nephew, Mr. Winslow, the squire and magistrate, and his daughter Lady Sylvester, and others who looked familiar but whose names she had forgotten.

At the entrance to the great hall, the Earl of Braithwaite himself greeted them cordially, and right behind him, as though on their way outside, stood Antonia on the arm of Mr. Dunnett. Lord Braithwaite even turned and introduced them.

“My betrothed,” Mr. Dunnett said as soon as Mrs. Macy’s name was pronounced. He looked squarely at Julius as he said it, too, a smug smirk on his face.

Antonia’s smile, on the other hand, was fixed and brittle. Tension radiated from her—unsurprising, perhaps, when she was faced with the man whom she had jilted twice, while in the company of her new betrothed. But this time, regarding her without the prejudice of the past, Delilah saw more. The woman was held together by a very fine thread. Delilah needed to talk to her very badly.

She squeezed Julius’s arm to show she understood. As he handed her a glass of wine, Miss Talbot appeared, greeting them with apparent pleasure.

“I saw your twins with the Launceton children, being very kind to little Edward Macy,” she said. “You must be very proud of them.”

“We are,” Delilah said, “though not very many people agree with us! They run a little wild.”

“It is good for their self-confidence,” Miss Talbot said, linking arms with Delilah. “Have you seen Lord Tamar’s pictures?”

“Not yet.”

As they walked together toward the stairs leading up to the gallery, Delilah wondered if she was about to be warned off. What had Linfield told his sister about her? Did she even know to whom her clothes had been lent? Should she bring the subject up? Or was Linfield keeping it secret?

“Have you recovered from your adventure in the storm?” Miss Talbot asked.

Delilah willed herself not to blush, though she wasn’t sure she was entirely successful. “Oh, yes, thank you. I was most grateful to Lord Linfield for rescuing me.”

Miss Talbot looked intrigued. “Did he? He never told me that part.”

So Delilah told her briefly about her difficult clamber over the rocks to avoid the encroaching tide and his help in finding the shelter of the cave.

Miss Talbot looked pleased rather than shocked. “I am very glad to know he was of such use. It is like him, of course, but he rarely tells such things.”

“I have to thank you also for the loan of your clothes,” Delilah said quickly. “Without them, I fear I might not have avoided a severe chill. I did not send a servant to return them in case it caused any unwelcome speculation.”

“Oh, there is no hurry. I’ll tell you what, call on me on Monday and bring them with you. Then we may have a comfortable chat at the same time.”

Talk of the clothes brought back the other niggling mystery. “May I ask you something, Miss Talbot?”

“Of course.” She looked intrigued.

“Do you perhaps help your brother in his duties?”

She blinked. “I make him comfortable on his travels and act as his hostess or companion when he has need.”

“No, I mean more practical help, such as with documents in need of translation or organization.”

“Oh, no,” Miss Talbot said, clearly shocked. “That would be most improper. Denzil is most careful of Foreign Office documents. They are entirely confidential. Besides, he has mastered several languages and has little need of translators. What on earth gave you such an idea?”

They had reached the gallery, but instead of moving toward the pictures on display, Delilah led the way to a group of chairs in the other direction and opened her reticule.

“This,” she said as they sat down in as much privacy as possible and she passed over the scrap of brown paper.

Miss Talbot took it, frowning at it with clear incomprehension.

“I heard it rustling in the gown I borrowed,” Delilah explained. “I was about to throw it away when I recognized the writing.”

Miss Talbot looked at her blankly.

“It is mine,” Delilah said. “I undertake such work for a client in York. He is a merchant, nothing to do with the Foreign Office, but still. I could not understand how the wrapping of my parcel came to be in your possession.”

“I don’t understand it myself,” Miss Talbot said. “The gown is old and comfortable, and I do not normally wear it in company, only for—” She broke off. “In public places like hotels, I have a habit of tidying as I notice things out of place or fallen on the floor. If it is rubbish or something I don’t know what to do with immediately, I stuff it in my pocket. If I have one.”

Miss Talbot smiled triumphantly, clearly grasping a memory. “ That’s what I did with that paper. It was on the sitting room floor under the table, and I picked it up. My brother and I share the sitting room, have meals there and entertain guests.” Her frown came back. “Mind you, I still can’t understand how it came to be there.”

“Perhaps you had a visitor? A Mr. Charles?”

Miss Talbot shook her head. “No, it’s not a name I recall at all. You should ask Denzil.”

“I will.” Delilah shrugged. “It scarcely matters. It could have been walked in on the sole of someone’s shoe.”

“Or it came to grief being loaded onto the mail coach.”

“Most likely of all,” Delilah said, hoping the package had managed to reach Mr. Charles in the end. She hesitated, wondering how to ask about Antonia.

“Shall we look at the pictures?” Miss Talbot suggested, rising to her feet.

*

A quarter of an hour later, Delilah strolled outside alone. Lucy walked right past her as though she didn’t see her, which was another concern. Lucy was up to something, and Roderick thought she had met a man at the assembly room ball. Perhaps Delilah had not been paying enough attention to Lucy. After all, her gift for assessing character could only be trusted so far when she was still so young.

Almost immediately, Delilah was distracted again, this time by a little scene in the distance. Antonia was with Dunnett while Edward tugged at the man’s hand. Dunnett shook the boy off like a rat, his whole stance one of angry distaste. Antonia stepped between them, but Edward suddenly ran off, hurling himself at Julius, whom he had clearly just spotted.

Julius hugged the boy briefly, glancing over his head toward Antonia and Dunnett. A moment later, he walked off with Edward and a group of older children.

Delilah shifted her attention back to Antonia, who abruptly dropped Dunnett’s arm and strode after Edward and Julius. Then, abruptly, she halted, and Delilah soon saw why. Dunnett was walking away from her back toward the great hall, but Timothy Macy was striding from her left with the clear intention of intercepting her.

Antonia was like trapped prey, a prisoner, unable to do anything or go anywhere, even to her son, without either Dunnett or Macy at her side. Anger swamped Delilah. Julius was right. Something very nasty was happening here, and Antonia was undoubtedly the victim. Well, Delilah would not allow it.

She got to Antonia first. “What can I do?”

Antonia’s head jerked around, startlement clear in her face. “Do?” she repeated, as though confused by Delilah’s unexpected offer.

“I am not blind,” Delilah said, “though perhaps I have been. Someone is coercing you.”

Antonia inhaled sharply, a fleeting surge of desperation in her eyes.

“Julius will help,” Delilah said intensely. “Tell him the truth. And tell me what I can do.”

Antonia stared at her, searching her face. “Help him,” she said in little more than a whisper. “Whatever happens, I know it is over, but I would spare him whatever pain—” She broke off, swallowing convulsively. “Excuse me.”

Antonia fled to catch up with the waiting Dunnett. Delilah looked after her with serious concern.

“A penny for them,” said a light voice beside her, causing every nerve in her body to thrill.

“We have to get Mrs. Macy away from him.”

“I’m glad you agree.” Lord Linfield’s gaze was warm, not distant at all. “What changed your mind about her?”

“She cares for Julius. She trusts him with her son as much as she does not trust Mr. Dunnett. He is coercing her, somehow, and her brother-in-law is part of it.”

He offered her his arm. “Then let us play our part in protecting her.”

“You already do that, don’t you?” she asked shrewdly.

“She is my sister’s friend.”

“What can we do?”

“In the short term, prevent him tormenting her. In the longer term, I believe Sir Julius may take matters into his own hands.”

The twins raced past her, pausing only to grin over their shoulders at her.

A noisy game of pall-mall was taking place on the lawn, and in the marquee, some children were dancing to the music of a trio of musicians. One of the earl’s sisters was joining in.

“I believe Lady Braithwaite has engaged a wonderful pianist to play for us. Would you care to listen?”

“I would,” she said, her heart singing because he was choosing to spend time with her.

In the hall, Antonia and Dunnett were together, talking to a group of people near the refreshment tables. Lucy dashed by with a glass of wine in one hand and an extremely rakish-looking young man on the other, a feverish glint in her eyes.

“Daxton,” Linfield murmured. “She is safe enough with him. These days he is devoted to his estates and to his wife.”

“She is upset.” And not in the mood to let anyone near her. A worry for another day.

Some chairs had been set up in rows near the very grand pianoforte. Linfield handed Delilah into a seat at the front and went off to fetch refreshment. When he returned, he handed her a glass of punch and sat next to her. Her worries seemed to disintegrate, leaving only happiness.

Frederick Baird, the young pianist, was indeed excellent. His music soared, seizing Delilah’s excited emotions and tying them in knots. At one point, she had to stare straight ahead of her in case a tear squeezed out of her eye. To her amazement, Linfield’s warm, strong fingers closed around hers, just for an instant, as though he understood.

Delilah joined in the rapturous applause and spilled out her thoughts to her companion, who shared a few of his own before the next performer sat down at the instrument—Lady Alice Conway, the earl’s sister. After the delight of Baird, Delilah was in no mood to listen to a young lady’s so-called accomplishment, which more often than not turned out to be sadly lacking. But Lady Alice surprised her. While she might have lacked Baird’s technical polish, she had an undeniable talent that went far beyond accomplishment, her music touching Delilah’s heart.

“I feel I have been wrung out,” Delilah confessed as they finally stood up.

“Clearly, you need fortifying. I believe we are to be supplied with tea before an informal dance. And there go the young people.”

The twins and Edward Macy were among those leaping upstairs to where, no doubt, a less civilized tea would be served by the earl’s busy servants.

To her surprise and secret delight, Linfield stayed with her, perhaps as an excuse to keep his eye on Antonia and Dunnett. While the little orchestra moved from the marquee to the great hall, Lady Braithwaite welcomed new arrivals—a very dignified lady only just on the right side of forty and her amiable-looking husband.

Feeling Linfield’s eyes upon her, she glanced up at him.

His lips quirked. “Come,” he said, setting down his teacup. “There is someone I’d like you to meet.”

He led her over to the newcomers, who were now greeting Mrs. Lampton, the one-time Princess of Rheinwald.

“Lord Linfield,” the strange lady said, smiling and offering her hand to Linfield, who bowed over it and then shook hands with the husband.

“Allow me to present Miss Vale. Miss Vale, Mr. and Mrs. Harris, who are also staying at the hotel.”

Delilah curtseyed. “How do you do?”

Mrs. Harris smiled very graciously. “Delighted to meet you, Miss Vale. My husband and I are so enjoying your pretty town, and already the waters improve my health.” She spoke with a very slight foreign accent that Delilah, for all her travels, could not quite place.

“I’m very glad to hear it,” Delilah replied. “My brother has also noticed the benefits.”

She felt Linfield’s gaze upon her and glanced up at him to see why this introduction was so important. But Mrs. Lampton was already whisking the couple off to find them seats and refreshment.

“Who are they?” Delilah murmured.

“Oh, just travelers. I thought you might like them.”

“I do, as far as I can tell from such a brief exchange.” She noticed that Antonia was still being towed about the room by Dunnett. Her shoulders were so tense, they almost touched her ears. Miss Talbot intercepted her.

“Good for your sister,” Delilah approved, and suddenly remembered her last conversation with the lady. “Oh, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Shall we take a stroll before the rain comes on again?”

“Why not?” She was not being discreet spending so much time with him, but who would notice or care? Only the matchmaking mamas out to attract his attention, and they would hardly consider her a threat. It was a lowering thought, but she refused to let it trouble her. The present was intoxicating.

“What did you want to ask me?” He drew her hand into the crook of his arm as they strolled past the marquee.

The ground was damp, and most people were inside, giving the illusion of privacy. Lord Linfield was on leave from his main duties, but it had struck her that he might well have a mountain of minor documents to deal with that were neither important nor sensitive. Much like those she had been working on.

“Are you Mr. Charles?” she blurted.

*

Denzil, in danger of falling completely under Delilah’s unique spell, had forced himself to introduce her to the Princess of Hazburg, just to gauge her reaction. The name Harris had been in the documents she had translated, but she never batted an eyelid at the introduction.

In truth, he hadn’t expected her to. Delilah was undoubtedly involved but in all innocence. She had no notion what the translated documents signified, and she was no more the assassin than he was. This he knew beyond doubt.

And then, out of the blue, she asked if he was Mr. Charles.

Surprise and guilt hit him with a thud. And then a tiny shoot of suspicion returned.

“Not the last time I spoke to my parents,” he said lightly. “Who is Mr. Charles?”

“My employer. The man I have been translating and arranging documents for.” She released his arm and delved into her reticule. A moment later, she produced a tiny, crumpled piece of brown paper. “I found this in the pocket of Miss Talbot’s dress.”

Puzzled, he took it from her. Only when he saw the few letters did he recognize it. Part of the wrapping of the parcel he had intercepted. He had opened it in his hotel sitting room. The string had torn off a piece of the paper. He must have missed a bit when he cleared up and Elaine had found it instead. Careless… But what were the odds of Delilah herself discovering it?

“But this could be anything,” he pointed out.

“No, it’s in my hand.”

“I don’t see how you can be so sure. It’s such a tiny fragment of writing.”

She frowned. “Then you are not Mr. Charles. It is very odd. I’m beginning to wonder if my work ever reached him. Try as I might, I cannot believe this was walked back all the way from York to your hotel sitting room. I shall have to ask at the mail office—”

“You and I need to talk,” he interrupted. “About many things. But not today.”

He took her hand, drawing her behind the marquee. No one was in sight, not even children.

“Why not today?” she asked.

A pulse beat at the base of her throat, and he brushed his fingertips over it before sliding his palm around to cup her cheek.

“Because today I want to kiss you,” he said with perfect honesty.

Her eyes darkened. Her lips quivered, parting for him, and he lowered his mouth to hers.

God, she was sweet and trusting… Her need thrilled through him, matching his own. There was a strange recognition in kissing Delilah, a knowledge that this was right . She moved him as no one ever had. Desire growled, and he deepened the kiss. Her tongue tangled with his, seeking, learning as he slid his hand down the front of her dress, hearing her soft moan of pleasure. She would be such a sweet, passionate lover… He yearned for that day.

But it was not today.

He released her mouth, gazing down into her beautiful face. Her eyes were closed, her lips still parted.

I love you, he thought in wonder as her eyelids fluttered open. After all these cynical years, I am finally caught. And you are the one.

Madness. He had known her little more than a week.

Music drifted to his ears. Dancing was beginning in the great hall.

He swallowed, drowning in her eyes. “We should go back.” Was he trying to convince her? Or himself?

“Antonia,” she said determinedly, giving herself a little shake. She drew back from him, and his arms felt empty.

But this was not the right place to talk, let alone to court or to plan. He searched wildly around for the next time to see her. “Your theatre tickets—what evening are they for?”

“Monday. It is the opening night of the play. Oh dear, is it raining again?” She took his arm without his offering, which made him ridiculously proud, and they hurried around the marquee to the covered walkway that joined it to the doors into the great hall.

“We can dine before we go,” he suggested. “In private, perhaps, though Elaine and Mrs. Macy will be present, of course.”

“I need to return Miss Talbot’s clothes,” she replied.

“Should I ask Sir Julius’s permission?”

“I am hardly of an age where I need my brother’s permission to attend the theatre.”

“Then it is settled.” It felt wonderful to have their next meeting agreed.

Until he remembered. According to the documents he had taken from Delilah, Monday was the day scheduled for the assassination of the Princess of Hazburg.

*

The fact that Lord Linfield had accorded her no more than a pleasant smile and a bow was something of a relief to Miss Marjorie Match. She felt proud to have his genuine smile without any of his difficult conversation.

Mama, however, was furious with her for not insisting on greater attention. She only let up in her angry litany of complaints when the wandered into the great hall to hear the music. The earl’s sister, Lady Alice—who, like Marjorie, had been one of the Season’s debutantes—was playing on the pianoforte, and Mama was suddenly rendered speechless by the sight of Lord Linfield seated beside the lovely Miss Delilah Vale. Afterward, the pair even went outside together.

Marjorie was just thinking rather wistfully what a striking couple they made, when Mama exploded in her ear once more.

“Well! I call that shabby! Very shabby indeed!”

“I thought she played beautifully,” Marjorie ventured.

Her mother blinked uncomprehendingly, then uttered in withering tones, “Not Lady Alice, you silly goose! Lord Linfield! To pass you over for that… I cannot believe that Lady Braithwaite would even invite her!”

“Well, she obviously has,” Marjorie pointed out, greatly daring. “In fact, I saw the Vale twins playing with the earl’s own children.”

To Marjorie’s surprise, this observation seemed to choke off her mother’s anger. She merely sniffed. “I suppose the aristocracy needs to pay less attention to the rules of respectability followed by the rest of us lesser mortals. Unless…”

Mama’s eyes began to gleam, and Marjorie’s heart sank. “Unless?” she asked doubtfully.

“Unless the girl has some other flaw in her virtue.”

“But she doesn’t, does she?”

“By the determined way she is setting her cap at your Linfield, you may wager your best gown that she does!”

“He is not my Linfield!” Marjorie whispered, glancing around her to be sure no one else had heard.

“Only because you have not tried to fix his interest. Well, I shall do it for you.”

“Oh, no, Mama—”

“By detaching him,” Mama continued ruthlessly, “from that hoyden. A word or two in the right ears, a scene before the right eyes… Go and fetch your brother.”

Marjorie obeyed, trailing her heels and finding the idea of a home of her own—perhaps even abroad, anywhere well away from Mama—increasingly appealing.

Gerald was discovered drinking and making silly wagers with Lord Tranmere and his friends. For a moment, Marjorie wondered why Mama should not have made efforts fix Tranmere’s interest, but she had always dismissed him as too young and unsteady and destined for the devil. In some ways, it was a pity, because he was very handsome, never talked down to her, and wasn’t remotely frightening to Marjorie.

The young men all rose as she approached, obliging Gerald to stand up too.

“Mama wants you,” Marjorie said morosely.

“Am I in for a scold?” Gerald cast an apologetic smile at his friends and ambled beside her back toward the hall.

“No,” Marjorie said with a sigh. “She just wants you to do something despicable. You couldn’t see your way clear to not doing it, could you?”

“Depends if it’s amusing,” Gerald replied. “If it’s boring, I’ll forget.”

The trouble was, he didn’t find the idea boring at all.