Chapter Fifteen

A pparently, despite being shot, Lord Eddleston was expected to make a full and speedy recovery. Which meant that Denzil, once he had ascertained that the shooter was in custody and that the attack had nothing to do with Hazburg, could turn his full attention back to Delilah.

He had seen that queer, difficult, unfocused look in her eyes, and knew, even before the broken glass, that a migraine was upon her. Suspecting with fresh shame that he was at least partly responsible, Denzil had dragged Dr. Lampton unceremoniously out of his clearly enjoyable conversation and pointed him directly at Delilah.

The Match woman and her avid cronies were too close for his liking, as was the rakehell Tranmere.

“She needs rescuing, doctor, now,” he’d all but snapped, adding before Lampton could speak, “I’ll only make it worse.”

Lampton, excellent fellow, had not replied, merely marched up to Delilah, ejected Tranmere, and guided her without fuss from the room. To his relief, Antonia Macy had hurried after them.

Lampton was not gone for long, but as Denzil made his way toward him, the doctor veered away toward old Lady Braithwaite, and from there, to his observant gaze, stemmed a whole flurry of activity.

As a result, when Delilah returned to the ballroom, managing somehow to look both frail and splendid, she was greeted by her host’s sister, Lady Torridon, who appeared to inquire solicitously after her health, giving Delilah her own chair. Thereafter, all the leaders of Blackhaven Society—including the vicar, the squire, the doctor’s wife, Lord Wickenden, whose wife was a native, and young Lady Braithwaite herself—made a point of speaking to her.

Denzil, who longed to, kept his distance. It was Elaine who told him what was going on, after the shooting of Eddleston had distracted everyone and the festivities had recommenced.

“That Match woman was telling everyone Delilah was drunk,” Elaine murmured, distaste in every syllable.

“Drunk?” Denzil repeated in disbelief. “If so, it was the fastest sobering up in the history of alcohol. It was she who rushed around her family making sure they all knew about Eddleston.”

“Also, Mrs. Match is spreading rumors that Delilah is Tranmere’s latest,” Elaine added, watching him with that sisterly understanding of which he was so wary.

Denzil snorted, which, for some reason, brought an approving expression to Elaine’s countenance.

“However,” she said, “it appears Blackhaven looks after its own. It has closed ranks around Delilah, and Mrs. Match is the one being left in the cold and made to look thoroughly ill-natured. Which she is.”

“What the devil does the woman have against Delilah in the first place?”

Elaine sighed. “For a clever man, Denzil, you can be singularly thickheaded. She wants you for her poor little daughter, and Delilah is in her way.”

For once, Denzil was silenced. He was so used to being judged on his work, most of it abroad, that he had forgotten his value on the English marriage mart. In fact, he had imagined everyone else had forgotten, too. But the Talbots had never been nobodies, and now there was the damned title to boost his attractions.

“Delilah herself said something similar,” he murmured at last. “But it’s silly. I barely know the woman or her daughter.”

Elaine tapped his arm with her fan. “We didn’t stay long enough in London for you to notice. But I did.”

Denzil’s smile was crooked. “Just think of the benefits of employing women in the diplomatic corp.”

“Oh, we are already employed,” Elaine said dryly. “We are just not paid or acknowledged.” She cast a quick glance around her and lowered her voice. “Denzil, what have you done to that girl? She barely comes near me now, and she won’t even look at you.”

He glanced away from her penetrating eyes. “I misjudged. With anyone else, it would have mattered less. I could have repaired the mistake more easily. But she is hurt too often. And I forgot that practiced charm cannot cure everything. And now I am afraid I have lost her forever.”

Elaine took his arm, walking him away from the couples forming a huge circle for the unmasking. It must be midnight. “Take heart, my dear. She loves you, you know.”

And curiously, he did take heart.

*

Delilah’s family made yet another splash across the evening at the unmasking when Major Roderick Vale announced his engagement to the earl’s youngest sister, Lady Helen. Delilah looked as stunned as the rest of the family, although they all rallied around. Oddly, the earl’s family looked less surprised, but although the match was hardly a brilliant one for Helen, they appeared to welcome it.

It was as he emerged from the cloakroom after supper that Denzil saw Miss Match all but cowering in an alcove at the entrance to the ballroom.

The Matches were hardly his favorite people, so despite a surge of pity for a girl under the thumb of such a mother, he would have passed on without acknowledging he had seen her. Only, she suddenly sprang up looking frightened.

“Oh! My lord! I…” She trailed off in blushing confusion.

Denzil bowed coolly and was about to walk on when the genuine desperation in her eyes caught his attention. He could no more leave her in distress than he could an injured puppy.

Inwardly sighing, he said, “Miss Match, are you quite well?”

“Oh yes! That is, no, not really. I mean, I am not ill. But I am afraid I… Mama wishes… I need to apologize for… Oh dear, I don’t even know how to…”

“I am not an ogre, Miss Match. And I don’t recall any crime for which you need to apologize to me.” The girl seemed in such an agony of embarrassment that genuine curiosity stirred.

“Mama is so strong and wishes always the best for us, only she misunderstands sometimes…” She gasped. “Miss Vale is your friend, I believe, and in this I know Mama is—was—wrong! She makes no difference to how you… I am a silly child to you, am I not?”

Yes, you are . But to say the words would be like kicking that injured puppy he had imagined earlier. “Of course not,” he said kindly. “We hardly know each other, after all.” He considered her, and the difference he might make through her for Delilah. “Perhaps, if you could bear it, we might dance together and talk about what is distressing you.”

Her eyes widened. “It would make Mama so happy,” she said na?vely.

“Oddly, that is not my chief concern.”

A fugitive smile peeped out. When he offered his arm, she took it, and they entered the ballroom together.

Couples were already forming for the waltz, which at least meant they could talk while they danced. As he led Miss Match on to the floor, he could imagine her mother’s expression of triumph all too easily. Deliberately, he did not look at her but at the wide-eyed, all-but-trembling girl in his arms.

“It must be overwhelming for you,” he said, “to be faced so young with the wiles and ambitions of the world.”

“Mama is ambitious for me,” she admitted. “For both of us, but though my brother Gerald is the elder, I need to be married first because I am a female and I am out .”

“Indeed. And naturally your mother wishes you to make a good marriage. Become a baroness, perhaps.”

“She is realistic enough to know we could never snare a duke.” Immediately, her face flamed. “Oh dear!”

His lips twitched. “Think nothing of it, but what on earth makes her imagine I would make you a suitable husband? Besides my being a baron, however newly minted.”

“You must know you are extremely eligible, my lord.”

“Not for a seventeen-year-old child. I am twice your age and spend years away from home at a time. Or is that the attraction? While I am abroad, you stay at home and spend my money?”

“Something like that,” she said unhappily. “But you must understand, she is a widow, my lord, and feels she alone is responsible for us. She is trying to do her best.”

“Does she know how much you hate this match of hers?”

“Oh dear! Of course I do not hate… That is, she knows you frighten me a little. But she is sure I will get over that once I know you a little better.”

“Only you never will, will you? Because we are totally incompatible.”

She nodded agreement, and yet she did not look relieved, let alone pleased.

“Be assured,” he said gently, “that while you are a charming and extremely pretty young lady, I will never be induced to offer for you. You are perfectly safe from me.”

She stared unseeingly at his waistcoat. “But not from Mama,” she whispered.

He frowned. “You mean she would punish you for failing to fix my interest? I really think you will have to explain to her that it is I who have failed to fix yours.”

She gave a choked little laugh. “You are quite right. I need to find my courage. Mama is just…like a runaway horse, you know? Unstoppable.”

“I assure you she is not. As she will discover if she again lifts a finger—or even utters a syllable—against Miss Vale. Can you manage to convey that to her so that she understands? Or must I do it? With rather less discretion that you could manage if you put your mind to it.”

Alarm passed over her face, followed by doubt, and then by a mild but definite determination.

“I shall try,” she said bravely. “I know she has been unforgivably unkind to…” She cast her gaze around the ballroom, stared for several moments, then swallowed hard and met his gaze once more. “My lord, I need to tell you…but I cannot here. People dance so close to us. Might we walk instead?”

Denzil did not mind. She was an uninspiring dancer. Although, to be fair to her, after his waltz with Delilah, he found all his dance partners wanting. He waltzed her to the edge of the dance floor, and again offered her his arm.

She seemed in a hurry now, which should have warned him, though at the time he attributed it to her need to get the words out before her courage failed her. He guided her toward the French windows, but she tugged him toward the passage and the antechamber on the right.

The door stood open, and the room was empty. She preceded him inside, breathing too quickly, and stopped by the door.

He walked past her. “Tell all,” he invited her, fighting flippancy. He realized he was bored.

To his surprise, she moved and closed the door. Then she burst into tears.

*

Delilah should have been strong enough not to watch him. Perhaps she wouldn’t have had he not been dancing with Miss Match. And Mrs. Match’s expression was one of ill-concealed triumph—too much surely for a mere dance, even a waltz, even with Lord Linfield.

So she ceased worrying about Roderick, and about poor Eddleston, and observed Linfield leading Miss Match from the floor. Delilah was not blind to the fact that the girl made the move to draw him to the passage—which was not even open to the guests, although she was sure Lucy had made use of it earlier to change out of her ridiculous costume and into something more demure.

And Mrs. Match went into immediate action. Not to follow her daughter before she could be compromised, but, presumably, to advertise that her daughter was not in the ballroom. She spoke to several women around her, who all gazed searchingly around the room.

Surely Linfield, a man of the world and quite up to snuff, was not about to be caught by that old trick? It should have been funny, even a suitable revenge, but it was neither. It was wrong. And Delilah was not about to hand anyone on a plate to the awful Mrs. Match.

She seized Antonia by the hand. “Come with me…” She was in time to glimpse the closing of the door, and dragged Antonia back again, almost running into one of Braithwaite’s married sisters—the gentle Lady Maria, who had been so kind to Lucy.

“My lady,” Delilah said without preamble, “is there another way into that antechamber than by the first door on the right?”

Lady Maria blinked. “Yes. Why?”

“Will you please take us there? One moment…” Delilah darted the few yards to Elaine Talbot, in discussion with Lord Wickenden. “Elaine, do me a favor and prevent anyone accompanying Mrs. Match from the ballroom.”

Elaine’s jaw dropped, but there was no time for explanations. Without waiting to see what, if anything, the woman would do, Delilah hurried back to Antonia and Lady Maria, who, looking intrigued, led them out of the ballroom, along a narrower passage and into another small room. She crossed the floor to a connecting door and threw it wide.

Inside were two people—Miss Match, weeping uncontrollably, and Lord Linfield, being clutched by the lapel, awkwardly patting her shoulder. His head jerked around, and the relief flooding his face was unmistakable.

“Delilah,” he uttered.

Miss Match spun away from him and, seeing the newcomers, cried harder.

“Oh, let him go, you witless girl,” Delilah said, marching across the room. “You’ll spoil his coat, and gentlemen hate that.”

Miss Match was so stunned that she obeyed. Her tears, however, were real, as was the alarm standing out in her eyes.

Delilah put an arm around her, pressing her down on the nearby sofa. “There, there,” she said, just as the main door flew open and Mrs. Match marched in with Elaine at her heels. A gaggle of people tried to follow, but Elaine closed the door on them and leaned against it.

Mrs. Match strode across the floor like a termagant, then was brought up short by the sight of her weeping daughter on the sofa, being comforted by Delilah, of all people, while Lady Maria, Antonia, and Lord Linfield looked on with apparent concern.

“Oh, Mrs. Match, I’m so glad you’re here,” said Lady Maria. “Your daughter is upset.”

One had to applaud Mrs. Match. She recovered quickly from shock. “Upset! I should think so, and I know exactly whom to blame!”

“Then you must tell me, ma’am,” Maria said, “because we can extract no sense from her.”

Mrs. Match pointed to Linfield with apparent loathing. “That man! He was seen luring her from the ballroom!”

“Luring?” Antonia said, amused. “She walked in here of her own free will.”

Mrs. Match bridled. “And I suppose she closed the door!” she said with heavy sarcasm.

“Actually, yes,” Antonia replied with aplomb, “but only because she saw we were here to chaperone her. Only then she burst into tears, and we are at a loss to understand why.”

“She seemed eager,” Lord Linfield remarked, “to apologize to Miss Vale for something.”

Miss Match had stopped crying by now and was blinking blearily from Linfield to Delilah and then to her mother. And there was no doubt at all as to who frightened her the most.

“That woman?” Mrs. Match said, her voice positively throbbing with emotion. “Unhand my daughter, ma’am. You are not fit—”

“And yet Miss Vale was here to comfort her in her distress,” Linfield said mildly. “Er… Where were you?”

“I am here now.” Forcefully, Mrs. Match dropped onto the sofa and snatched her daughter from Delilah’s hold. “And just as well! My lord, I trust you are going to do right by my daughter?”

“What a coincidence,” Linfield drawled. Delilah had never seen him look so disdainful. “I was about to say the same to you.”

She glared at him. “Sir, I expect your offer of marriage before these witnesses!”

He sighed. “Don’t be silly. Miss Match has no desire to marry me, nor I her.”

“What is more,” Lady Maria added, clearly understanding exactly what was going on, “she was chaperoned the entire time she was in this room.”

Mrs. Match glared at her. “I don’t believe that for an instant.”

“I’m not sure,” Linfield said, “that maternal anxiety excuses such a remark.”

“I am certainly unused to being called a liar,” Lady Maria said with unexpected hauteur. “I should rethink the accusation before you repeat it in this house or anywhere else. As for your other accusation, ma’am, you are not only mistaken but…really, what kind of mother insists on ruining her daughter when there is absolutely no need?”

Mrs. Match’s eyes widened.

Lady Maria smiled kindly. “Do you wish to take your daughter home? If so, I shall have your carriage summoned immediately. Or if you prefer, I shall escort you back to the ballroom with my sister’s other guests.”

There was nothing for Mrs. Match to do but snap at her daughter to dry her tears, then drag her from the room while her ladyship waited patiently by the door.

“Well,” said Elaine, when the door had closed behind them. She regarded her brother with tolerant amusement. “Who would have expected you to be caught by such a trick? And by such a chit of a girl.”

To Delilah’s surprise, color seeped along Linfield’s cheekbones. She hadn’t realized he could blush.

“I certainly did not,” he admitted. “And must accept the humiliation.”

“You owe Miss Vale a debt of gratitude.”

“Another one,” he said, suddenly meeting her gaze so that she could not look away. “Thank you once more for my salvation.”

“I would do the same for anyone caught in that creature’s wiles.”

“Of course you would,” Linfield agreed. “Oddly, I believe the daughter is her chief victim. She was waiting for me near the cloakroom with, I could swear, the need to apologize—to you as well as to me—and to explain that she did not really want to marry me, whatever her mother’s ambitions. I still believe that part was genuine. She is terrified of her mother.”

“Who could blame her?” Antonia murmured. “Detestable woman. God preserve us from interfering parents.”

Delilah cast her a quick, sympathetic smile.

Linfield frowned. “While we were dancing, something changed. Perhaps she saw her mother and received some silent order. Whatever, I was too slow in picking it up. I truly thought she had something more damning to tell me.” His gaze flickered back to Delilah. “I thought it was to do with you. I should have guessed when she was suddenly in such a hurry.”

“Yes, you should have,” Elaine said bluntly.

“Then she closed the door and burst into tears. I like to think I am better than most of my sex at dealing with weeping women, but she was inconsolable.”

“She had to be,” Elaine pointed out, “to be sure you kept your arm around her until her mother dragged all and sundry into the room to catch you in that compromising position.”

“I could swear the tears were genuine,” Linfield said.

Elaine and Antonia looked dubious.

“I think so, too,” Delilah said. “She was obeying her mother, but she didn’t like it.”

“One in the eye for my self-esteem,” Linfield murmured. “But I thank you, ladies, all the same.”

“You’re not out of the woods yet,” Delilah said, rising to her feet. “Mrs. Match will not give up easily on her best chance. She will still spread the lie, and we will not have been the only people who saw you leave with the girl. Mrs. Match will not hesitate to impugn her daughter’s honor if she can thereby force you to the altar.”

“She can’t,” Linfield said.

Delilah inclined her head before she could be drawn into his humorous gaze, back into the illusion of their alliance against the world. “You will excuse me,” she said, and let herself out into the passage.

Now, surely, this dreadful evening had ended and she could go home.

But before then, Cornelius called upon her to perform a very similar service for the earl’s sister, Lady Alice, who was on the verge of being compromised by a haughty and slightly sinister duke. Once more, Elaine was with her. And Lord Linfield added his weight to the proceedings, adding a light, diplomatic touch that prevented any quarrel.

He was, she realized, a true gentleman. Which did not fit with her angry vision of him as an arch liar and manipulator. The truth was never so simple.

As for Cornelius, it seemed he had a personal interest in Lady Alice. Delilah’s siblings seemed to be falling in love all around her.

*

Lucy had arranged to stay the night at the castle to be near Eddleston. The rest of the Vales piled out to their various carriages, squabbling over who would travel in which one, while Julius bade Antonia a tender farewell for the night.

When they parted, Delilah caught Antonia’s arm. “I meant to say thank you for summoning Dr. Lampton to rescue me. But you won’t tell Jul—”

“I didn’t summon him. It was Lord Linfield who noticed you were unwell and sent the doctor to you. As for telling, Delly— you should.”

Delilah was silenced by both answers.

On the journey back to Black Hill, conversation hurtled between the shooting and Roderick’s betrothal, while Delilah rested her head back against the squabs and closed her eyes, wondering rather pathetically what Linfield’s solicitude meant. Nothing, she was sure, and yet that he alone had noticed, and acted so quietly and swiftly, warmed her cold, empty heart.