Chapter Fourteen

B y the day of the castle masquerade ball, Delilah felt she was living on her nerves.

The effort of maintaining a normal facade before her siblings seemed to use up all her strength, even when she wasn’t worrying about them. With some nostalgia, she remembered the days of their childhood, when their problems had been easy to fix with just a little effort and imagination. Now that they were all grown up, she didn’t even know what their problems were most of the time, let alone how to improve things for them. And remembering her previous missteps with Antonia, perhaps this was just as well.

Even the twins were no longer really children but asserting their own independence and slipping through her fingers.

On some level, it all added to her uncertainty, her feelings of no longer being useful. Antonia would soon be mistress of Black Hill, and no matter how good-natured she was proving to be, she could not really want quite so many of Julius’s siblings in the house. Delilah knew she should bring forward her plans to make her own home, or to travel in someone’s employ. The trouble was, Mr. Charles had been the employer offering such a future, and he was a liar and a murderer. She did not doubt Linfield’s interpretation.

Nor did she have enough money of her own. Like her siblings, she had given most of her small inheritance to help free Felicia from her late husband’s debts, and she had not yet earned anything like enough to live independently.

Two new packets of translation work had reached her from Mr. Charles in York—so at least he was not in Blackhaven. She had rewrapped them and had them delivered by hand to Lord Linfield. He returned them to Black Hill in person, though she had not been at home to him. He requested that she translate everything as normal and return it to Mr. Charles.

This, however, was slow going, because all too frequently when she sat down to work, she was plagued by vision problems and headaches.

In all, the last thing she wished to do was attend a ball where she was bound to encounter not only Linfield but people like Mrs. Match, and no doubt the drunken young men who had imagined she was fair game at the theatre. She never gave in to such disrespect as a rule, but right now, she did not feel strong enough to relish the fight.

She was tired, miserable, and saw no end to it.

However, she put a good face on it, and wore a favorite ball gown of lilac silk with fresh trimmings. Felicia gave her a domino cloak and half-mask of almost the same shade, both sewn with occasional pearls.

“Well, they’re glass,” Felicia admitted, “but I do think they look quite effective, and the whole is splendid on you.”

“Don’t you want to wear them yourself?” Delilah asked.

“Oh, no, my task this evening is to blend in behind Lucy.”

“What is she up to, Fliss?”

Felicia grinned. “Just fun. But trust me, you’ll know her when you see her. If you ask me, it’s all for Eddleston’s benefit. The pair of them are mad as fruitcakes.”

Delilah couldn’t help laughing, which lifted her spirits somewhat. And when she glanced at herself in the mirror, she was further encouraged by the realization that a mask was just what she needed. And indeed, she looked very well. The masquerade was curiously liberating.

If Linfield even recognized her this evening, he would never know her pain.

Braithwaite Castle had made an exciting setting for the garden party a week ago. For the ball, it was magnificent. The great hall was decorated with flowers and greenery and what must have been thousands of candles, the French doors thrown open to the brightly lit terrace. Lanterns lit the paths of the formal gardens.

Delilah was dazzled. The luscious costumes, many glittering with jewels, created much more color than most such events, since even the gentlemen tended to eschew their formal black and white for outrageous costumes—or at least domino cloaks—of every possible shade.

At first, she did not recognize anyone, which surprised her, for Blackhaven was not a large town and the gentle families even fewer in number. But there were always enough visitors, it seemed, including Lady Braithwaite’s own staying guests, to add bewildering variety. All the earl’s sisters were present, from as far afield as the Scottish Highlands and the southwest of England.

Oh yes, Delilah could lose herself here easily enough. She need never even see Lord Linfield.

Except that she entered the ballroom with Julius, and he seemed to have some magnetic link to Antonia, who stood with Miss Talbot and the vicar. Julius’s gaze found her immediately, and Delilah foolishly followed. In the same group, elegant and inadequately masked as he smiled down at his female companion, stood Lord Linfield.

Pain and pleasure jolted through her, depriving her of breath. Somehow, she drifted away before he noticed her and lost herself in the milling crowd who seemed to be having a wonderful time either recognizing each other or guessing identities.

Among others, she noticed the eccentric Launcetons, whose youngest family members had made friends with the twins. Lady Launceton’s sister was the extraordinary beauty being pursued by Aubrey and appeared to be the cause of his restlessness. She wasn’t just lovely, either. She was delightfully kind and good-natured, and yet funny at the same time. Aubrey, Delilah thought, could do a great deal worse.

Not that she wished to pair off all her siblings. In fact, it was rather a lonely prospect, but life was always changing and moving on. It would for her, too.

The orchestra had struck up the first waltz when Lucy made her entrance. In eighteenth-century hoops and wig, she wore a ridiculous headdress that she could barely balance as she walked. Somehow, she managed to make it elegant, perhaps because Felicia was supporting her, but even behind the mask, she could not hide the irrepressible laughter in her sparkling eyes.

Responsive amusement caught at Delilah’s breath, especially when she saw Eddleston stride toward her.

“Madam, may I have this dance?”

The light male voice startled her, vibrated all her taut nerves with that now-familiar mixture of pleasure and pain. She didn’t even know if he recognized her. Slowly, hiding her own recognition, she turned to face Lord Linfield.

She had always seen how he veiled his eyes. It should have warned her. Instead, she had wanted to believe in the warmth he let her see, the softening she had imagined was something deeper, like her own. She had never been able to read him, and she certainly couldn’t now. Yet still, she melted.

She might have felt helpless as she gazed up at him, but, thank God, she was not.

“Thank you for the honor, sir,” she replied distantly. “But I do not dance.”

“On the contrary—you dance delightfully.”

Oh yes, he had known her all along. “Allow me to correct myself. I shall not dance.”

For an instant, something changed in his eyes. She could almost have imagined it was disappointment. “Then perhaps I might persuade you to walk instead? We could find some refreshment on the way.”

Part of her, the cowardly part, wanted to run from him as quickly as possible, but guilt as well as duty compelled her to say, “Of course. We have matters to discuss. How is Mrs. Harris?”

“Bouncing off the walls,” he said, and her breath caught on laughter she didn’t want, “in frustration at her enforced isolation.”

“And her family?” Delilah asked.

“Still in York, I believe. Have you heard more from your correspondent there?”

“I have not. But then, the previous work is not yet complete.”

She could have sworn he looked surprised at that, but she was not about to tell him of the increase in her migraines, which were happening sometimes twice in one day now. He plucked two glasses of champagne from the tray of a passing footman and presented one to her.

“How are you?” he asked.

She could almost imagine he truly cared for the answer. “Well. Lucy is engaged to be married.”

“To the scamp with her now?”

Eddleston was indeed leading Lucy in a waltz made somewhat precarious by her enormous headdress, but the pair were clearly having a whale of a time, especially when a small dog peeked out of the headdress and leapt straight into Eddleston’s arms.

Delilah was surprised into laughter. So was Linfield.

“No one in your family is dull, are they?” he said.

“No. Have you discovered the man we saw at the hotel on Monday?”

He paused, as if adjusting his thoughts back to business. “No. My best guess is the young actor who is Reginald Miller’s understudy. John Hemmel. He is new to the company and has worked abroad. But nothing is known against him. At least there have been no further…incidents. The play will go on into next week.”

“Will Mrs. Harris attend?”

“Not unless I know who to watch and have some means of protecting her.”

“My brothers will help. Roderick is an excellent guardian. In fact, he is making a career out of it.”

“I may well have to call on him, but at the moment, discretion is still too important.”

“Of course,” she said distantly. Clearly, he did not trust anyone who had anything to do with her.

A frown quirked his brow, and his lips parted, as if he would say more. And then his gaze moved beyond her, and though his expression did not change, she was sure somehow that something or someone had surprised him.

How odd that in some ways she knew him so well, while in others he was a complete mystery. How could she have fallen so deeply in love with someone she knew so little?

Imagination, she told herself.

“Excuse me,” she said, and, giving in to cowardice, fled. The trouble was that the pain came with her.

*

Denzil had just seen the woman who could, if she chose, solve several of his problems. He had known her in Paris as Lady Lewis, and in Vienna as Madame de Delon. On both occasions she had been a source of extremely valuable information.

And she had seen him.

She strolled around the ballroom and stepped out onto the terrace. Denzil followed.

“Even masked,” he said lightly, “I would know you anywhere.”

“Only if I chose to reveal myself.” She sounded amused.

“Probably. Were you looking for me?”

“No. Though I’ve no objection to finding you.”

Denzil offered her his arm, and after the faintest hesitation, she laid the tips of her fingers on his sleeve. Together, they walked down from the terrace to a garden path where they would not be overheard.

“Perhaps your business in Blackhaven is to do with Hazburg?” he suggested, hoping the government had sent her to him.

“Actually, no. I’m pursuing a Bonapartist conspiracy. Some fools just won’t lie down.”

“If you have the time or the inclination, a certain Mrs. Harris at the hotel, visiting from Hazburg, needs to be protected, probably from someone currently at the Blackhaven Theatre.”

As always, she took it in her stride. “I can’t promise you. But we’ll keep our eyes open.”

“I know you will. You look well.” He was surprised how pleased he was to see this mysterious young woman who had only ever flitted briefly in and out of his life, distant, useful, and oddly trustworthy. She had a husband, too, somewhere, just as elusive and charming.

“So do you, my lord. I had forgotten what an exciting place Blackhaven can be.”

She spoke as if she knew the town with affection, which was another surprise. He barely noticed her fingers slipping from his arm as she floated back toward the ballroom. She was clearly engaged upon another matter, but he was still glad of any help she could provide.

*

Delilah had seen him follow the beautiful woman outside. She supposed the new pain was jealousy, an emotion she was not entitled to when she had dismissed him. She sat for a little beside Aubrey and Roderick, and then by Julius and Antonia. Usually, she sensed when her siblings sought her out for the calm and comfort of the familiar. Tonight, she was the seeker. When Julius and Antonia rose to dance, she watched them somewhat dreamily, mainly to stop herself looking for Linfield.

Someone slid into the seat beside her. A masked young man with something the look of a satyr. She was sure she had not seen him before, but he was smiling like a man sure of achieving his own way.

“I cannot believe my luck to find you all alone,” he said.

She cast him a look of sardonic amusement but saw no need to reply.

“May I hope for this dance, madam?”

“No, sir, I thank you, but I do not dance.”

“Why ever not? It is a ball, is it not?”

“My reasons are my own, sir.”

“But you intrigue me.”

She would have sparred with him, since he chose to waste his time with her, only a woman’s stage whisper reached her from seats nearby.

“Will you look at that? She has Tranmere dangling after her now. She is shameless. At least Linfield must have extracted himself from her rapacious clutches.”

Mrs. Match, with a couple of gossiping biddies. What had Delilah ever done to inspire such venom? She knew, of course. She had attracted Linfield’s interest. Which was laughable. If only Mrs. Match knew it.

Delilah would have got up and walked away, only the mention of Linfield had floored her by its sheer injustice.

“Really?” said one of Mrs. Match’s companions. “Who is she?”

“One of those Vales. Wrong side of the blanket, of course. Like mother, like daughter, it appears.”

Delilah’s lips thinned. Tranmere, however—if that truly was the name of the young man beside her—laughed.

“Wait, are you Aubrey’s sister?” he asked. “What has the Match harridan got against you?”

“Nothing,” Delilah said, rubbing her forehead. “She misunderstands a great deal.”

“Not least of which is daring to criticize the guests of one’s host. Even I wouldn’t do that. Old Lady Braithwaite scares me to death. Come, dance with me to spite the old bat.”

She could not help enjoying his descriptions of Mrs. Match, though she shook her head. “Thank you, but no. Don’t let me keep you, sir.” She cast a quick glance toward Mrs. Match and instead saw her son, and one of the others who had annoyed her at the theatre, smirking right at her.

It did not help that they would not have dared had Linfield been present. Nor that they were using Mrs. Match to pour scorn on her by way, presumably, of revenge on Linfield, whom they dared not attack.

On top of everything, it suddenly seemed too much. And as if on cue, she realized she could only see parts of Tranmere’s face, like a partially completed jigsaw. Oh damn, she thought wearily.

“Ma’am, are you well?” Tranmere said uneasily. He rose, snatched a glass from a waiter, and thrust it at her. “Here, drink this, it will—”

“Look at her!” spat Mrs. Match. “Blind drunk!”

Merely blind . Delilah reached for the half-seen glass, misjudged, and knocked it out of Tranmere’s hand. It shattered on the floor, causing a sudden silence around her.

“Well!” uttered one of Mrs. Match’s cronies.

And Delilah, who had managed complicated social occasions for her father since she was eighteen years old, had no idea what to do. She knew people were staring at her, but she could not see her family. She could not see the glass to clear it up, and the malicious disapproval of the Matches and their companions seemed to pound into her.

I want to go home. I should never have come.

The blood sang in her ears.

“Move,” said a brisk voice, and Tranmere vanished. “It’s me, Lampton,” the doctor said softly. “Take my arm and we’ll find a quiet space.”

She had never been more grateful for anything or anyone.

With no idea how she got there, she found herself in a quiet room, on a sofa, with Dr. Lampton, only partially seen, examining her eyes, taking her pulse, feeling around her neck.

Antonia was there. Antonia, to whom she had once been so unkind and to whom she was now pathetically grateful.

“Have these attacks become more severe?” Dr. Lampton asked.

“No. Just a little more frequent,” Delilah replied.

“How much more frequent?”

“Every day, since Tuesday.”

He still seemed to be looking at her.

She swallowed. “This is the second time today.”

“Are you reading too much? Concentrating too hard?”

“I try to, but then this happens and I have to stop.”

“You are anxious,” he said bluntly. “Your neck and shoulders are stiff with it. I can give you something stronger to help you relax, but if possible, you need to remove yourself from the stress.”

“Thank you, doctor.” She didn’t know what else to say.

“I’ll fetch Julius,” Antonia said, “and we’ll take you home.”

“No, please, there is no need,” Delilah protested. “It is already passing. I should be fine now for the rest of the evening. Oh dear, I left all that glass…”

“Long gone,” Dr. Lampton said. “The Braithwaite servants are excellent.”

“Was everyone staring at me?” Was Linfield? Why did it matter?

“Hardly anyone noticed,” the doctor said.

“The orchestra struck up,” said Antonia. “Honestly, it’s so warm in there this evening, no one will be surprised you seemed to faint.”

“Someone said I was drunk,” Delilah whispered, and was appalled by the threatening tears.

Dr. Lampton stood up. “That rumor will be quashed immediately. Mrs. Macy, if you would stay with Miss Vale until she is quite well and then escort her back to the ballroom, all will be well.”

Famous last words.

Of course, all was not well. Before the evening was over, Lucy’s Lord Eddleston had been shot and Roderick was engaged to marry Lady Helen Conway, who looked anything but pleased about it.