Chapter Sixteen

T he morning after the ball, Delilah woke feeling different. At least, different from the last several days. She actually felt more like herself. The air of oppressive misery had lifted just a little. She did not look too closely as to why this should be, although she had the sneaking feeling it was because Linfield had sent Dr. Lampton to her last night. And even before she knew that, she had helped him extricate himself from Mrs. Match’s machinations, without a second thought.

More than that, he had thought he was helping the girl. It was his nature. Had she been too harsh in her judgment of him with respect to herself? Acting from the intensity of her own hurt than from the reality between them?

She refused to dwell on that, to talk herself into a new false happiness. Instead, she broke deliberately out of the pattern of the last week. She did not dash straight to work to stop herself from thinking. Instead, after breakfast, she went to the drawing room to write letters to old friends whom she had rather neglected recently.

She also hoped Roderick might find her there and talk about his sudden engagement. News came from Lucy at the castle that Lord Eddleston had spent a peaceful night and had so far avoided fever from his wound.

When the door opened again, it was not Roderick but Aubrey who entered, clutching a bundle of papers and looking uncharacteristically serious.

“Are you busy, Delly?”

“Not so busy that I wouldn’t like to be distracted.” She laid down her pen. “You missed breakfast. Is everything well?”

“I don’t know.” He came and thrust his bundle at her. “Would you do me a favor? Read this and tell me if it’s rubbish.”

Surprised, she took them from him. He nodded casually and strolled out again as if he didn’t care, only Delilah knew he did. There was a barely suppressed air of excitement about him, a serious sort of excitement rather than that which tended to accompany his pursuit of fresh mischief or a new girl. Aubrey, newly healthy after a lifetime of illness, had rather exploded into hedonistic rakishness, but his nature was too sweet for him to keep to such ways for very long.

With some interest, she looked through what he had given her. It was all in his handwriting. A description of Florence caught her eye and made her smile. Her hand crept to her cheek, supporting her head as she read and smiled some more. Aubrey had always had a clever and humorous turn of phrase, but she had forgotten how well he wrote. Having been confined to bed or the sofa for so much of his youth, he had entertained himself with journal entries and these light, evocative descriptions of places they had lived or visited. Sometimes he had only glimpsed them from the windows of houses and carriages. Sometimes he had walked or even, on rare occasions, explored and played.

Delilah was enchanted. When she had read all his vignettes, as she thought of them, she jumped to her feet and, carrying them with her, went in search of the author.

She found him in the kitchen, munching and getting in Cook’s way.

“Aubrey, these are brilliant!” she said at once. “What are you going to do with them? Put them in a book?”

Aubrey flushed, his expression eager. “You think they’re good enough?”

“More than good enough, but you must write more.”

“I have more. But it will be dull travel book without illustrations. I don’t suppose you still have your drawings, do you?”

Delilah blinked. She had almost forgotten that she had tried to sketch some of the glorious places they had been with Papa. It had been fun, but she had always recognized the limits of her skill. She could draw accurately, but not with soul, not the way Aubrey wrote. And so she had stopped. But surely, with her accuracy and Aubrey’s vivid writing…

“Come with me,” she said, and they marched up to her bedchamber, where Delilah drew the box of drawings from under her bed.

Aubrey seized the box from her and raked through them, pulling out several. After a little, he grinned up at her. “This is a start. Shall we make a book?”

She helped him find a few more of the places he had described, and he dashed off again, leaving her both excited and pleased for him because he was finding a genuine purpose in life, and he truly did have a talent.

She began to put the other drawings away, congratulating herself on having not destroyed them. As she tidied, her fingers came across a screwed-up piece of paper. A smaller drawing? She smoothed it out, to find only a word.

Please. D.

What on earth was that? Why had she kept such a thing?

Her breath caught with sudden memory.

Last week, when Lord Linfield called and she had refused to see him, he had given Betsy a note for her. At the time, she had been too blind to read it. She had crushed it in her hand and sent Betsy to show him out while she stumbled up the back stairs to her bedchamber and peace.

Barely knowing what she did, she had tossed the note into the box with her drawings. Why, she could no longer remember. She had meant to put it in the wastepaper basket. Perhaps on some level, she had wanted to keep it, to read what he had written to her. Only she had been so churned up with misery, so confused and in physical and emotional pain…

Please, he had written. Just please .

Why should that touch her so? It made no difference to what he had done, to the lies and deceit, and…

He had bothered to come, humbly, when he hadn’t needed to. He already knew she would help.

Please .

Somehow, the word told her he was in as much pain as she. Nothing was ever black and white. He had not known her when they met, and he had reason for suspicion. It might have been the reason he had approached her, even gone to the theatre, but it was not the reason for their friendship, for what had happened during the storm.

Her face was wet, and yet her whole being felt suddenly lighter, free of the oppression of self-doubt and anger. In its place came guilt, of course, because in the end it was she, not Linfield, who had behaved badly.

But she could make it right. He still cared enough to have helped her last night. And now she would help him.

Carefully, she tore around the note, around the single word and the letter of his signature. Discarding the excess paper, she folded the little note as small as she could. Then she reached inside her gown for the locket that had been her mother’s one gift to her. Opening it, she squashed the note inside, closed it, and touched it to her cheek before hiding the locket once more inside her bodice.

She drew a deep, not-quite-steady breath, and rose to return to her work. Today, there would be no migraine, no blindness. She would go over everything Mr. Charles had ever sent her, and she would work out who the assassin was and where he could be found. She knew it would be there somewhere, if she just looked in the right way.

She was thorough, pausing frequently to think about the names and descriptions used for possible meanings. So she had not got very far before she was disturbed again by Aubrey, who demanded that she accompany him to the pump room for his daily dose of the waters while they discussed their book.

Delilah was happy enough to do so while she let things settle in her mind. At the pump room, they matched a few more sketches to descriptions, arguing out the format the book should take. Here also, she was granted a glimpse into what had suddenly inspired Aubrey to such hard work.

Miss Henrietta Gaunt entered the pump room with her sister, who was expecting a baby, and Aubrey’s manner immediately changed. The papers were swiped out of sight. A hint of color tinged his pale cheeks, and his eyes could not hide his eagerness.

The lovely Miss Gaunt, however, looked nervous and anxious to escape. She and Aubrey had clearly quarreled. Just as clearly, he wished to make amends. He was serious about the girl and wanted a means to support her as well as impress her. First, of course, he needed her to speak to him, and this Henrietta’s sister, Lady Launceton, accomplished by insisting Aubrey escort Henrietta home while she and Delilah called on Miss Talbot.

Delilah, her heart drumming, almost refused. But in truth, she owed Elaine a visit, and she dearly longed to see Linfield again, to look into his eyes with her refreshed perception.

Being shown into the familiar sitting room, Delilah almost collided with the Match family being shown out. The younger Matches looked mortified. Mr. Match was tugging at his cravat, though he managed a civil nod of greeting. His sister’s face was crimson. Their mother, her expression furious, managed a grimace of a smile with her greeting to Lady Launceton. Delilah she cut, as usual.

“I am so sorry,” Miss Match whispered as she scurried after her mother.

Lady Launceton blinked and glanced inquiringly at Delilah, who shrugged.

“Oh, thank goodness!” Elaine exclaimed. “Friendly faces! I swear if I see that dreadful woman one more time, I will not be responsible for my actions! She had the nerve to come here demanding to see my brother, and when I assured her he was out, she accused me of hiding him! I’m sure she is already spreading her vile rumors about Denzil.”

“What rumors?” Lady Launceton asked.

“Oh, the pretense that Denzil compromised her poor daughter.”

Lady Launceton, who had apparently known the Talbots well in Vienna, regarded her in amazement. “Linfield? Besides being a perfect gentleman, what would he want with a terrified debutante?”

“Nothing,” Elaine said with satisfaction. “But I can’t bear such lies to damage him at all.”

“Oh, no one would believe such nonsense,” Lady Launceton said comfortably. “It’s her own daughter she will damage. Someone should tell her so.”

“Someone already did,” Elaine said. “Come, sit down and let us talk of other things. What brings you to see me this afternoon?”

“Actually, I have rather forced myself on poor Miss Vale,” Lady Launceton said happily. “I want to know all about her brother Aubrey.”

*

Denzil had spent the afternoon with the princess, making arrangements for her to receive her brother in safety. The siblings would have their discussions in private, while Prince Friedrich and Linfield would “entertain” whatever entourage Karl brought with him.

“Just don’t go anywhere with him without telling us first,” Linfield insisted.

When he finally obtained Irena’s agreement, he returned to the sitting room he shared with Elaine, wondering if he should ride out to Black Hill. The speed with which Delilah had come to his aid last night had given him hope, even if the incident set him in a poor light as far as common sense went.

But then, Delilah too had seemed to believe in Miss Match’s basic innocence. The mother was the malicious force. What sort of a life did she imagine she was obtaining for her daughter with such machinations? A hostile, grudging marriage at best. At worst, ruin and no marriage at all, ever.

“Ah, there you are,” Elaine greeted him. “You have just missed Miss Vale.”

“Oh, the devil !”

“On the bright side, you also missed Mrs. Match, although she is still determined on her course, so you may yet have a storm to weather.”

“How was Miss Vale?” he asked, totally ignoring the Match information.

“She looked a little better than last night—fielding Lizzie Launceton’s questions about her brother Aubrey, who is apparently courting Henrietta.”

“The world is courting Henrietta. I’m glad Delilah came to see you.”

“They usually go to church,” Elaine said casually. “The Vales. After all, half the service is taken up with the vicar calling the banns for various members of their family.”

*

To the surprise of Prince Karl, Blackhaven turned out to be a devout little town. Every man and his wife went to church on Sunday.

“The vicar is young and handsome,” Elise told him cynically as they stood behind the curtain of Karl’s dingy room and observed the throngs in their Sunday best heading toward the church. “And he is quite the orator in an understated way, much appreciated by those who tread the boards. See? There goes bloody Nell, with her pet Reggie, looking virtuous. Actually, they’re looking for hints to sharpen their techniques.”

“Then you had better go, too. You must not stand out as different until the deed is done.”

Elise regarded him with dislike. “These weeks have been a colossal waste of time. Your sister could be dead twice over by now and I could be in France, where a very lucrative contract awaits me. I could have been to Ireland and back and seen off a—”

“I don’t wish to know the sordid details of your life and work,” Karl snapped. “I pay you to complete this task properly.”

“Not yet, you don’t,” Elise said, crossing the room to the grubby mirror by the door. She straightened her hat. “Bear in mind that if I don’t see the money, my trigger finger will slip at the crucial moment.”

“Again,” Karl said nastily.

“You have made the business unnecessarily complicated,” Elise said. “God preserve me from amateurs.”

Karl stared at her. “I don’t suppose God pays a great deal of attention to the prayers of members of your profession.”

“Just imagine his opinion of those who employ us,” Elise said serenely, and sailed out of his room with impressive grace.

Karl scowled after her. He had the uneasy feeling she was right about everything. For a moment, he regretted coming to Blackhaven early, since it meant confining himself to this disgusting room to avoid not only his sister and brother-in-law, but also Lord Linfield, whom he blamed for Irena’s change of plans and the failure of the shot that should have killed her.

I should be the ruling Prince of Hazburg by now! I should always have been the ruling Prince of Hazburg! And if I have to stare at these four walls for much longer, I shall be the mad Prince of Hazburg…

The church bells began to ring, though it seemed the faithful of the town needed no physical summons to divine service.

The town was at church. Linfield would be at church, and Irena would not go out. For this hour, at least, he was free.

Seizing his hat, he all but dashed from the room, and from the building, striding toward the sea with massive relief.

He had just reached the harbor when he almost ran smack into Lord Linfield.

The man was leaning against the rail, hat in hand, gazing out to sea. Karl halted too suddenly, but Linfield never stirred. Stealthily, Karl began to walk backward.

The bells stopped ringing.

Linfield straightened, clapped his hat on his head, and strode toward the church.

Karl breathed again.

However, Linfield was a problem. Karl did not doubt his ability to get Irena to the theatre, where Karl’s own presence in her box would be his alibi when Elise shot her. But Linfield was just the sort of idiot to throw himself in the way, to charge after the assassin as he had done at the hotel, and if he caught her…

Elise would not stay silent if she could buy her life with her employer’s.

Which was why Karl had every intention of shooting Elise rather than paying her. But to reach that happy state, he really needed Linfield to be absent.

*

Although the rest of the week was somewhat fraught for Delilah and the Vales, she was not troubled by migraines. Which was odd, for she spent a good deal of time going over her translations, worrying about Roderick—who was being married by common license as soon as Friday!—and about her other siblings for various reasons. But the agony of her own personal misery seemed to have lifted with her determination to do something about it. Even the fact there was no opportunity to speak to Lord Linfield after church did not depress her unduly.

Worse was the moment she realized he had called at Black Hill and been sent away.

She was crossing the hall for tea on Wednesday when Betsy passed her with the teapot. “Oh, ma’am, that gentleman was here again.”

“Lord Linfield?” Delilah said, clutching her jolting heart.

“Yes, ma’am. I told him you weren’t at home. He seemed awfully disappointed.”

A spurt of rage almost annihilated poor Betsy, who had done nothing except obey Delilah’s orders. It was Delilah’s fault for not rescinding those orders, and that made her even angrier. Clamping her lips shut to prevent the explosion, she counted to five.

“I believe I am now prepared to receive him,” she managed, “should he call again.”

“Very good, ma’am,” Betsy said with a grin of clear approval.

“Should who call again?” Leona demanded, dancing past them both.

“The prince regent,” said Delilah.

By then, of course, they were in the midst of wedding preparations for Roderick on Friday, and Julius the following Tuesday. In between weddings was to be the card party at the town’s respectable inn, nominally hosted by the vicar and his wife but actually organized by Felicia and Bernard Muir, with whom she seemed to have become rather more than friends.

Roderick was rarely around in the week before his wedding, although he and Aubrey seemed to have gone into partnership to start up a local newspaper. He seemed to Delilah to be running himself ragged—far from good for his nerves, which, the whole family knew, had been badly shattered at Waterloo. He was talking now about returning to the army, and Delilah felt very strongly that he should not. Was he avoiding his bride?

Lady Helen was a very odd match for him. She was much younger, and from a noble family far above the Vales in rank. Delilah feared the pair were making a great mistake. They looked more anxious than overjoyed whenever she saw them, either together or apart, but Roderick was adamant the marriage was their choice.

And perhaps it was. Cornelius, it seemed, had a particular fondness for Helen’s only unmarried sister, Lady Alice.

Everyone’s mind was on love and marriage—except Delilah’s, which was full of dull documents, itineraries, and lists she had made from her translations of people, places, and times. Something began to niggle at the back of her mind, something that was not right. And then on Thursday afternoon, a new document arrived that made no sense at all. Unless…

She sprang to her feet, ready to dash off to Blackhaven and Linfield—only this was Roderick’s last night at home. Helen’s brother the earl had gifted them a charming little house in town, with views of the sea and a pleasant garden, and after tomorrow’s wedding, it would be his new home. She could not break up the warmth, the mingled sadness and happiness, of their last night together as a family in the family home.

Their healing idyll was over. Everyone was moving on and life was changing. Everyone felt it, the twins most of all. No doubt they had a hand in whatever machinations had brought Rod and Helen together, yet now they sat very close to Delilah, their constant in life since their father’s death.

Perhaps Lord Linfield would be at the wedding and she could speak to him then. One more night could make no difference when the princess was confined to the hotel.