Chapter Thirteen

D enzil frowned out of the carriage window, churning with guilt and worry and the sheer enormity of this catastrophe—so trivial in the perspective of the world’s problems, and yet the need to make it right overwhelmed him.

His fingers drummed relentlessly on his knee. All he could see was the moment of realization on her face, the sheer pain in her eyes that he had caused. If it could have helped, he would have punched himself. He would certainly have struck anyone else for hurting her so. He had always regarded himself as an honorable and considerate man. He was not used to feeling like an utter scoundrel, and it made him shift restlessly in his seat. But mostly, his concern was for her.

She had not believed he could be interested in her. She had imagined at one time that he was pursuing her sister. The chase had been sweet and rewarding for him, watching her open so gradually to the possibilities of friendship and love and passion. Tonight, he was sure he had won her. She would have married him.

And then he—the great diplomat who had rescued so many dubious, difficult, and downright dangerous situations—had made a colossal mess of his confession. She might have been too quick to jump to the conclusion that he had lied his way into her affections, but that too was his fault, something he should have foreseen because he knew only too well her self-deprecating nature. Behind all the bluntness and the prickles was a vulnerable woman, hurt all her life by those who undervalued her or misjudged her. He never had, and yet to her he was the worst of all because he had understood her, won her trust, and then destroyed it.

But by tomorrow, surely, she would have had time to reflect, to realize the truth. He might have begun their acquaintance to find out about Karl’s correspondent in Blackhaven, but the rest was all pursuit of her .

Only how could she realize that? Half the time, he had not. He had stolen her documents, taken advantage of her behind her family’s back, and been so unforgivably clumsy—and late—in his explanation.

Shame on you, Talbot, for a fool and a scoundrel …

He would do anything to take away that awful, betrayed look from her face, to undo the hurt. It was worse even than the contemplation of his own loneliness if he could not persuade her to forgive him and trust him again.

She loved him. This was not beyond his ability to fix…

In the meantime, he had his duty, although it was hard to focus on such matters when Delilah’s face kept intruding.

At the hotel, he went straight to the princess’s rooms and knocked in the precise rhythm they had agreed upon. Her maid opened the door and ushered him quickly into the sitting room.

The curtains were closed now, the princess seated at her desk, studying papers.

“Lord Linfield,” she said at once. “I got your message. Did something happen at the theatre?”

“Not at the theatre, no.” Quickly and calmly, he told her about the gunman, spotted by mere chance and chased away.

She stood up, her complexion pale. “And it was definitely my window?”

“Without doubt.”

“I did look out several times.” Her fingers twisted together. “But we do not know it was my brother.”

“Highness, we have so many links to him that it would be foolish to discount him.”

She sank onto the sofa, rubbing tiredly at her forehead. “I suppose so. What is life for, my lord, if we cannot trust our own blood?”

Or our own love, he thought ruefully. “It is your brother’s nature to want everything without earning it,” he said gently. “It is not a personal hatred, I’m sure.”

“I cannot hate him in return.”

“That is to your credit, not his. Highness, I have to advise you not to go out, except by carriage and with great care, until this meeting with your brother is over. Or until we uncover his assassin.”

“And so he wins by making me a virtual prisoner?” she snapped.

“You could cancel the meeting. Return to Hazburg.”

She sighed. “We have already discussed the need to bring this into the open one way or another. No, we will stick to the plan. Is Friedrich safe? Does he know?”

“I’m going to speak to him now. Goodnight, princess.”

“Goodnight, my lord.”

He was almost at the door before her voice stayed him. “Is he here, Linfield?”

“Prince Karl? I would doubt it.” Though he could do with some help to find out…

He went downstairs again and into the large hall at the back of the hotel where the gaming club was held. The tables were crowded, the patrons a vast array of types from card sharps and courtesans to aristocrats. He spotted Lord Braithwaite there, and Lord Wickenden and his brother-in-law Bernard Muir— who appeared to be in the company, interestingly enough, of Delilah’s sister Felicia Maitland.

Friedrich was playing roulette and good-naturedly losing small amounts. He was not difficult to distract, and to his credit, looking both grave and anxious, he left immediately to return to his wife.

Denzil, feeling flat and oddly helpless, had nothing else to do but retire to his own room and determine to do better tomorrow.

*

In the morning, he hired a horse and, ignoring the threatening rain clouds, rode out to Black Hill. A one-armed man who walked with the rolling gait of a sailor ambled around from the stables and took his horse. Denzil knocked at the front door.

It was opened by the same pretty, smiling maid he remembered, who led him straight to Delilah the first time he had called. Unfortunately, she seemed to have learned from her mistake, for she asked him to wait while she found out if Miss Vale was at home.

Denzil, left kicking his heels in the hall, found his heart drumming with nervous anticipation. He had to find the right words to convince her. Surely, in the light of day, she would see his honesty, his love. He longed to convince her, to bring back her smiles, her happiness, to make her his wife, his life’s beloved companion…

The maid came back. “Miss Vale is not at home, my lord. She is not expected for the rest of the day.”

Denzil caught and held her eye. He recognized a polite fiction when he heard it. “It is a matter of vital importance that I see Miss Vale now.”

Her eyes slid away. “I’m sorry, sir. Would you care to leave a message?”

Denzil considered brushing past her to find Delilah for himself. For her sake as much as his, he needed to convince her of the truth. But force was not the way to go.

“Yes,” he said, “I’ll leave a message.”

“Here you are, sir.” She showed him the paper and pen on the table beneath the mirror, and he wrote simply, Please. D .

He folded the paper and handed it to the maid. “I’ll wait,” he said.

She opened her mouth to argue, then turned and hurried back the way she had come. So frustrating! He could see exactly which room Delilah was in, and yet he could not get to her without breaking every courtesy known to him.

It was not yet that time.

The maid did not take long. “Miss Vale is not at home,” she said woodenly. “I have left your message for her. I’ll show you out, my lord.”

Denzil was not so easy to get rid of. “Perhaps Mrs. Maitland is at home? Or Sir Julius?”

“Mrs. Maitland is not yet up. Sir Julius went out early.”

Denzil sighed. “Are any of the family receiving?”

“You seem to have called at a bad time, sir.”

“I do, don’t I?” Well, there were other ways to meet, to talk. It might be harder than he had imagined, but he would not give up.

As he left the house, the sky was promising rain. He walked around toward the stables in search of his horse, and found the twins feeding it.

“Well, you’re at home,” he remarked by way of greeting.

“We don’t count yet,” Leona said, stroking the horse’s nose. “Won’t Delilah see you?”

He met bluntness with bluntness. “No.”

“What did you do?” Lawrence asked. The boy’s voice was mild, but his eyes were not.

“I made a mistake.”

“We made one of those recently,” Leona admitted. “It doesn’t feel good, even when utter disaster is averted.”

Denzil took the horse’s reins, glancing from her to her brother. Old eyes in innocent young faces. “I would very much like to avert utter disaster. I need to speak to Delilah.”

“Are you asking for our help?” Lawrence asked.

Denzil considered. “I suspect I could do worse. So, yes, I am.”

The twins exchanged looks.

“We don’t know what you’ve done,” Lawrence said frankly. “Or what you would do.”

“I would make it right.” For the first time, terrifyingly, Denzil began to doubt that he could make this right. “I love her,” he blurted. He did not even feel ridiculous admitting the fact to two precocious children.

He was rewarded by identical dazzling smiles.

“Then don’t push her,” Leona advised.

“There will be opportunities,” Lawrence added. “If she wishes to take them.”

“Does she?”

“How would we know?” Leona asked innocently. “Goodbye!”

They ran off, leaving him to mount and ride drearily back to Blackhaven. It had indeed begun to rain.

*

Denying herself to Linfield when he called would probably have been harder had she not been suffering one of the migraines that so disoriented her from time to time. It had come upon her just as she had sat down at her desk and pulled toward her the pile of papers that contained her first drafts of “Mr. Charles’s” translations. Letters danced and disappeared before her eyes, making it impossible to work.

Well, there was nothing she could do in any case. Linfield had seen everything and understood better than she did what it all meant. She could not help. She could not even think properly.

Although she didn’t truly expect Linfield to call, she had already decided she would not see him. Whether or not she would have given in to the note she could not even see to read, she did not know. But she could not allow him to observe her in this weakened, vulnerable state. Not now. And so she had denied him.

She had even said to Betsy, “I am never at home to Lord Linfield.” And that felt so sad she had almost wept. She did weep—again—when she heard him riding away.

By the time the twins bearded her, she had recovered both vision and calm, though a dull headache had begun to haunt her.

“We met Lord Linfield in the stables,” Leona said cheerfully. “He seemed to think you were not at home.”

“He understands the polite fictions as well as anyone else,” Delilah said.

“We think he likes you,” Leona said. She could not have known how much that hurt.

“His lordship would never be so impolite as to give any other impression,” said Delilah.

“Why would he come if he didn’t like you?” Lawrence asked.

“You had best inquire of his lordship,” Delilah said unwisely.

“Good idea,” Lawrence said.

Don’t! Delilah pressed her lips together to prevent the word escaping.

“We all make mistakes,” Leona said, ambling around the room, twitching at cushions and curtains.

“I know. I have made many in the last couple of weeks.”

Lawrence said, “Lord Linfield claims he wants to make his mistake right.”

It was much too late for that. “He can’t,” Delilah said, forcing lightness into her voice.

“I expect he’ll be at the masquerade ball on Friday,” Leona said.

“What masquerade ball?” Delilah demanded.

“At the castle. Lucy was desperate to go until she discovered her friend Tyler was the unspeakable Eddleston. He’s here, by the way.”

“What?” Delilah was so confused she thought her migraine must be returning. She knew, of course, that Lord Eddleston, Lucy’s betrothed, had upset her by turning up in Blackhaven without warning, but she had been so caught up in her own overwhelming relationship that she had lost the thread somewhere. Guilt niggled at her. She must pay more attention to her siblings.

For one thing, the twins needed more structure and discipline to their day. Lawrence at least should go to school, though the idea of separating him from Leona did not feel right. There must be a decent school in Blackhaven or Whalen, only a few miles along the coast. An investigation for another day.

She shooed the twins away and tried to return to her papers, only to be interrupted again by Lucy rushing into the room looking utterly enraptured.

“Delly, Delly, I’m going to be married!” she exclaimed, seizing Delilah’s hands and dancing her around the room.

As Lucy’s story tumbled out, Delilah could only be delighted for her. And if there was a small, hard knot in her heart for what she herself had dreamed of and lost, she refused to acknowledge it.

*

The following day, fresh torture arrived in the form of Lord Linfield’s sister.

Elaine had been so kind to her that Delilah could not refuse her, at least not after Betsy had assured her that Miss Talbot was alone.

She did wonder if Linfield had sent his sister—only why would he bother?

“So sorry to call without any warning,” Miss Talbot greeted her, taking her hand and smiling. “I hope it’s not too inconvenient.”

“Of course not. I’m very glad to see you. Betsy will bring tea. Please, sit down. How are you?”

“Very well.” Miss Talbot’s perceptive gaze was on her face as she took a seat in the nearest armchair. “But you are looking a little under the weather, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“I have been troubled a little with a minor headache,” Delilah said, without mentioning that it had been yesterday. On the other hand, she could almost feel the beginnings of a new one.

“I hope Denzil is not the cause of it.”

With difficulty, Delilah kept the smile on her face. “I can’t imagine why you should think so.”

“Because he is like a bear with a sore tooth himself. I cannot work out why, for he said your theatre outing was most enjoyable.”

“And so it was,” Delilah said pleasantly. “You should see the play if you can.”

“Perhaps I shall take Antonia before she deserts me for your brother.”

Betsy brought the tea in then, and Delilah hastily changed the subject to that of Lucy’s engagement to Lord Eddleston.

“How lovely,” Miss Talbot said, accepting a cup of tea from Delilah and helping herself to an iced tea cake. “Will they be married in Blackhaven?”

“I believe so. The banns will be called on Sunday—along with Julius’s! But at the moment, Lucy seems more interested in the masquerade ball at the castle on Friday. She and Felicia are up to something.” She did not say that she felt excluded. She knew that was just the way she was feeling—excluded from everything by unhappiness. Besides, Lucy and Felicia had some air to clear between them.

“Then you will be there, too?” Miss Talbot asked casually.

“Felicia accepted for all of us, so yes. Will I see you there?”

“Of course.” Miss Talbot sipped her tea. “I hope Denzil did not offend you at the play.”

Her unexpected return to the subject almost threw Delilah. “Of course not,” she said, summoning amusement. “I cannot believe he offends anyone very often.”

“Never without intention,” Miss Talbot said. “Forgive me—I know he has something on his mind, and I am trying to find out what. I don’t like to see him unhappy.”

“Is he?” Delilah hoped she didn’t sound as wistful as she felt. And how awful to wish anyone unhappy. She was merely grasping pathetically for any possible sign of his affection.

Miss Talbot set her cup and saucer on the table. “Allow me to be frank. My brother is a sociable man. He enjoys people, and though I shouldn’t know it, let alone admit it, I know he has enjoyed the attentions of women in the past. And yet I have never seen him as he is with you.”

Suspicious? Determined on a distasteful course? Delilah kept her gaze on her untouched tea. “You are mistaken if you believe any attachment could ever exist between your brother and me.”

“I shall be very sorry if that is true.”

Delilah, who had imagined she was offering comfort, could not resist a quick, surprised glance.

Miss Talbot leaned forward. “My dear Miss Vale—oh the devil, may I call you Delilah? I am Elaine. Delilah, if my brother gave offense, it was not intentional. I know he always seems to cool and suave, but that is not who he is. The man beneath is idealistic and passionate. If he overstepped, it was from an excess of feeling, not any kind of ill nature.”

Oh God, can this get any worse? Delilah must have jerked her hand in distress, for there was tea in her saucer.

“No such thing,” she managed. “You completely misunderstand.”

“I’m certainly failing to understand something,” said Elaine, sighing. “But since neither of you will tell me what, I cannot help.”

“There is nothing to help, I assure you.”

“But you will call on me soon?”

“Of course,” said Delilah, crossing her toes inside her slippers. She would never call on Elaine while Linfield was in Blackhaven. Another friendship lost.