Chapter Seventeen

S ince the masquerade ball at the castle, Marjorie Match had grown to loathe leaving the inn where the family put up. When she accompanied her mother, she had to listen to Mama’s embarrassing half-truths and innuendos about Lord Linfield, and her cheeks burned with embarrassment at what people must think of her. When she slipped out alone or with Gerald, she imagined everyone was staring at her because she was compromised and ruined. Or might be. No one had cut her yet, not even Lady Maria, who had lied to stop Mama forcing Lord Linfield’s hand in marriage.

In truth, the real lie was her own and Mama’s. And that upset her more than anything.

Dragged for a walk with her mother on Friday, she tried to keep her shoulders straight and a smile on her lips, when her instinct was to cringe. Especially when they passed the church and discovered a crowd waiting outside.

Many of the crowd were ordinary townspeople and country folk, though a few were more gently born, including visitors to the town to whom Mama inevitably gravitated.

“Good day, Mrs. Colinton,” she greeted one of her favorite gossips. “What on earth is everyone waiting for?”

“Lady Helen Conway, of course. She is being married to Major Vale as we speak. Such a beautiful bride. I caught sight of her entering the church with her brother the earl and her sisters…”

“I own that I am surprised his lordship countenanced such a match,” Mama remarked. “So condescending.”

“Oh, the Vales are a very old and respected family, I believe.”

“But somewhat ramshackle,” Mama responded in a stage whisper. “I suppose they will all be there, the base-born mingling with respectable, decent people.”

“Hush, Mama,” Marjorie begged in an agony of embarrassment, for she had seen some of the stunned, outraged, and contemptuous glances thrown at them.

Mama sniffed. “Well, I am more careful myself, but then, I have always been a high stickler, as you know, Mrs. Colinton…”

The church door was thrown open and Mr. Grant emerged, smiling as he stood aside and turned to allow the newly married pair to emerge.

Major Vale was one of those tall, commanding men who overwhelmed Marjorie. Fortunately, he never noticed her, so she was able to admire him from a distance, so handsome and distinguished in his military uniform, his lovely young wife on his arm, looking dazed and serene.

“What a beautiful couple,” she blurted.

Mama patted her arm. “It will be your turn soon. It all seems rather rushed to me. Lady Helen is not even out.”

Marjorie tried not to cringe. Really, had Mama no idea of the reverence surrounding the earl’s family? But of course, to her, they were mere throwaway remarks. Her real target, Lord Linfield, strolled out of the church after the families of the bride and groom, his sister on his arm.

“You see my problem, Mrs. Colinton? The association of the Braithwaites—such a noble and respected family—with such a man as this Linfield . Especially after what he has done.”

Marjorie seized a breath and, greatly daring, blurted, “The Talbots are also a very old and respected family. I have always found Lord Linfield a perfect gentleman.”

Her pinched flesh under her mother’s cruel fingers promised that she would pay for that. But Mama was never easily defeated.

“Oh, my poor child,” she declared sadly. “So innocent and deluded! So wronged! You do not recognize the wiles of a man of the world. But be assured he will do right by you. I shall see to it.”

Marjorie, her face burning to the ears, wanted the ground to rise up and swallow her. Or perhaps her mother.

*

Despite the haste of the wedding, Lady Helen’s family provided a magnificent breakfast, with many distinguished guests from among their own family and friends as well as Roderick’s. Delilah, who had initially been terrified of encountering Linfield among the guests, was now highly relieved to see him there. Only too aware of his tall, distinguished figure, she had to remind herself of necessary discretion to avoid rushing at him.

In the end, she went to Elaine first, and felt his gaze on her, burning her skin. Longing rose, fierce and wonderful, and yet it took courage to meet his gaze.

He had veiled his eyes. And yet there was warmth and hope in the faint curve of his expressive mouth. She gave a quick smile, hoping it did not look as nervous as she felt. And to her immense relief, he moved toward her and bowed.

“Miss Vale, a pleasure to meet you on such a happy occasion.”

“Likewise, my lord.” She moved a little away to an empty space on the floor and came straight to the point. “He is here.”

He blinked. “Who?”

“Karl. Another document for translation was delivered yesterday, only it did not come from York.”

“How do you know?” he asked at once.

“Because although it was collected from the inn with the other post for Black Hill, it was too uncrushed, too pristine, to have come across the country in sacks of mail. I think it was added in Blackhaven. And besides, it is in German from Mr. Charles, instructing his servant to close the house.”

“Is it, by God?” he said softly. “And why would he put such an instruction in writing if he were still there? And, moreover, send it by you? In fact, I cannot understand your receiving such a document at all.”

“That’s the thing,” she said, trying to keep hold of her excitement. “Many of these documents, especially the later ones, are pointless. What if they are only sent from York to prove his presence there? The crime should have been committed last Monday, only you prevented the princess attending the theatre and pursued the assassin. Karl could have been here all along, while this servant in York kept sending me increasingly pointless documents—until this final one, which I probably was not meant to receive at all. The servant made a mistake, just because he was used to sending me drivel, and perhaps there is a genuine language problem between him and Karl. But the important thing is, Karl is probably in Blackhaven.”

“He is not expected officially until Monday,” Linfield said slowly. “He is certainly not at the hotel. More to the point, what the devil has he been doing here all this time?”

“He could not resist being here to savor his moment of victory. Perhaps his servant would have been ordered to travel here from York, when Karl would take his place, loudly mourning his sister. We’ll never know that part. But if he is still here, surely he still means to carry out his murder by alternative means.”

“I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.”

“No… But at least he seems to be…inept.”

A breath of surprised laughter escaped him. “The silver lining to our cloud. If it were not Major Vale’s wedding, I would ask him to keep watch on various members of the theatre company, especially Mr. Hemmel.”

“Well, they are not planning a wedding journey. They will remain in Blackhaven, and besides, Roderick has a partner, Captain Skelton—who, in fact, is staying at the inn.”

“Indeed? I shall have a word with him if I can. Thank you for this, Delilah.”

Her name on his lips once more caused a delighted little frisson. Although it was so much less than she desired, it was more than she had expected.

He glanced around then returned his suddenly intense gaze to her face. “I did not doubt you, you know, not after our first meeting.”

“It was I who doubted you,” she admitted, her heart hammering.

He reached toward her. “Delilah—”

“Breakfast is served!” announced the stately butler, and everyone began milling upstairs to the formal dining room.

Once more, she was separated from Linfield, just when they might have reached some kind of reconciliation or at least understanding. She ached for that. Especially when she glimpsed Roderick in an unguarded moment, watching his new wife, and realized that whatever the reasons behind the haste of the wedding or the bride’s tension, there was no lack of love on Roderick’s part, at least.

As for Helen, she was so young to be taking on a man like Roderick, damaged by war…

“She is right for him,” Lucy murmured in Delilah’s ear. “Just what he needs. And she adores him.”

“I’m glad,” Delilah managed, suddenly choked with emotion. It never entered her head to doubt Lucy, who had the rare gift of understanding people almost as soon as she met them.

Lucy gave her an affectionate nudge and flitted off to be sure that her betrothed, his arm romantically in a sling, had everything he needed.

*

For some reason, Felicia set huge store by her charity card party the following evening. Delilah suspected it had something to do with the charming Bernard Muir—until Julius told her, “Waller Harlaw will be there.”

He sounded so uneasy that Delilah focused her attention with a frown.

“Who on earth is Waller Harlaw?” she asked.

“Everyone regarded him as Nick Maitland’s friend, though, trust me, he was anything but. Most of the debts we settled after Nick’s death were debts of honor to Harlaw. He is the chief reason we had to sell Felicia’s house and use most of our inheritance money.”

Delilah stared at him. “Does Felicia know?”

“She has always known. My worry is, she thinks to take revenge in some kind of retaliatory card game.”

“That is madness! She will lose whatever she has left!”

“She’s no fool, Delly. And we can’t stop her. All I ask of you is that you keep an eye on her.”

And then, at dinner, Felicia told them what she meant to do.

*

The likely presence of Delilah at the charity card party ensured that Denzil would look in. And the event’s hosting by the vicar and his wife meant that he was happy to escort Elaine and Mrs. Macy there too.

For such an apparently relaxed and good-natured event, raising money for the local hospital and other charities, there was an air of excitement and expectation. He could see it in Delilah, when they played at the same table and when they were at opposite sides of the room. She barely seemed to notice the presence of young Mr. Match, though Denzil spotted him right away.

In fact, he kept a close eye on the boy, for several of his disreputable friends were present, too, including Lord Tranmere. None of them approached Delilah, who played only at the lower-stakes tables, although Match certainly watched her, a puzzled expression on his face, as though trying to equate the graceful, ladylike Miss Vale with the creature his mother was trying to discredit for her own ends. He must have wondered why those above reproach, like Mrs. Grant the vicar’s wife, Lady Braithwaite, and Mrs. Winslow treated her with such friendliness and respect. Hopefully, he would learn from the experience.

Denzil was not a great gambler by nature. He played to be sociable and enjoyed the fun surrounding games in good company. So he played both high and low stakes, winning a little and losing slightly more, paying his dues to charity, until he realized more and more people were being drawn to a single game of piquet between Delilah’s sister Felicia and one Waller Harlaw, whom Linfield vaguely recalled from the Season in London. And Felicia was wiping the floor with him. All her siblings were watching closely.

Beside Denzil, Aubrey Vale murmured in excitement, almost as if he were unaware of it, “She’s got you.”

And she had. A large pile of notes, coins, and vowels lay at her elegant elbow. Bernard Muir, who had helped organize the event, stood at her side, his eyes blazing, and yet watching not Felicia but Harlaw. She had won everything from him except his townhouse, which was his current stake. And then Bernard’s hand shot out and he discovered the card hidden in Harlaw’s sleeve.

It was masterful—the villain responsible for Felicia’s poverty revealed as a cheat. The Vale brothers moved discreetly to the exits while Harlaw desperately tried to pretend he was not cheating, that Felicia was, that a mere woman could not have beaten him by any other means, an accusation laughed to scorn by the Vales.

Sir George, Denzil recalled, had been terribly proud of one of his little girls who could beat any of his adult male colleagues or guests at the embassy…

And there was no doubting the pride of her siblings as Harlaw was removed. Oddly, it made him feel an outsider. Quite suddenly, he longed to be part of the Vales’ large, chaotic family, standing firmly at Delilah’s side. For they were part of her.

He stepped back, letting everyone else in to congratulate Felicia. He saw Delilah’s hand grip her sister’s shoulder for an instant, and the quick smile of mingled triumph and gratitude as Felicia glanced up at her.

“I have missed all the excitement, no?” said a familiar voice in Denzil’s ear.

He whirled around to face Prince Friedrich, his blood running cold. “Please tell me you have not brought Mrs. Harris here.”

“Of course I have not,” Friedrich said indignantly. “She rests and reads, ready to face her brother on Monday. I escape only for a few moments.”

“I’m sorry,” Denzil said. “Of course, this must be as hard on you as on her.”

“Harder, for I don’t even believe in the outcome. She would never be safe with K—her brother back in the country.”

“She knows your view?”

Friedrich sighed. “And still she hopes. Now, I play.”

As the prince sat down at a card table, rubbing his hands together, Denzil’s eye was caught by Delilah, sitting alone and very still in a shadowy corner. Concern and sheer yearning to be with her sent him across the room to sit beside her.

“What is it?” he asked quietly.

She blinked, her head snapping around as though she hadn’t seen his approach. Color seeped into her face. Her eyes were full, and she blinked rapidly, hastily dashing the back of her hand against her cheek.

“Lord Linfield,” she managed.

“Has someone upset you?” he asked.

“Oh, no. I’m just so proud of Felicia, and you know, she did it for us? Nick left her in so much debt—most of it to that Harlaw creature—that we all contributed what we could, and now she insists on paying us back, and there was no need…”

“Perhaps there was to her.”

A faint noise escaped her, part sob, part laughter. “You are right, of course. And she has won back her self-respect. I didn’t realize how badly it was missing until this evening. I-I’m sorry, you have caught me at a bad time. I shall be more coherent in just a—”

She jumped to her feet, but he caught her hand.

“Please. Stay a moment.”

Her eyes refocused on him, not in fear or outrage, but otherwise impossible to read. “Please,” she repeated incomprehensibly, and sank back down.

He released her hand reluctantly. “Are we friends, Delilah?”

“We seem to be,” she said, so low that he had to bend nearer to hear her.

“Then you forgive me?”

She swallowed. “I’m not sure there is much to forgive. It is I who—”

“Miss Vale.”

Denzil glared at Mr. Match with something approaching fury. The young man, however, was gazing only at Delilah. He bowed stiffly.

“Mr. Match,” she said, her expression smoothing while Denzil’s fists itched.

“I owe you a profound apology,” he said with unexpected seriousness.

“I believe you already made it, sir.”

“Under threat and grudgingly. I apologize for that, too. I was laboring under a totally false impression, but nothing excuses my behavior.” He tugged once at his cravat. “You must know that my mother has spoken unfairly against you. I will do what I can to mitigate…to stop her.”

Delilah looked as stunned as Denzil felt. A moment longer, Match stood there, as though waiting for the retaliation to fall on his head and knowing he deserved whatever anger or opprobrium they chose to heap upon him.

“That is a very gracious apology, Mr. Match,” she said, clearly surprising him in return. “I appreciate it and I accept it. Excuse me.”

She rose and hurried away. Denzil would have followed her, except that Match dropped into her vacated chair.

“We owe you apologies, too. I think it’s time I exerted my status as head of the family and took my mother and sister home.”

“I think it is,” Denzil agreed.

Match cast him a quick look. “In a feeble effort to make up for my undoubted sins… I should tell you some sinister character is hanging about the inn asking about you.”

Denzil’s eyebrows flew up. “About me? What sinister character? Is he still there?”

“Let’s go and see,” Match said at once.

Denzil was no fool. From experience, he was suspicious of sudden volte-faces and would not have been surprised if some ambush awaited him outside the inn. But in fact, apart from the Vale twins lurking just outside the front door and a couple embracing in the shadows, no one else was there.

“He must have gone,” Match said, clearly disappointed.

“When did you see him?”

“Just before I spoke to you and Miss Vale. I was outside—working up my courage, if you want the truth—and this fellow came up to me, asking if you were at the inn. He called you by name.”

“What did he look like? Sound like?”

“Smallish, slight, hat pulled low, cloak gathered close. Very quietly spoken, but normal enough.”

“English?”

“So far as I could tell.”

“A gentleman? Or someone of the lower orders?”

Match frowned, thinking about it. “Not sure, to be honest. A gentleman, I think. Is it important? Is he important?”

“I think he might be,” Denzil said grimly, already turning to go back to the inn and collect his hat.

Smallish, slight, and cloaked sounded very like a description of the gunman he had chased down the alley opposite the hotel. And it was late enough that the play should be over. After a quick word in Friedrich’s ear, he bolted around to the hotel to be sure the princess was safe and that no one who shouldn’t be was lurking nearby.

Then he ran to the alehouse near the theatre where, he had already established, the cast and stagehands often drank after the performance. Reginald Miller was there. So, Denzil was disappointed to see, was his understudy, Hemmel, with no cloak about his slight person. Had he got rid of it? Or was Denzil completely wrong and it was someone else entirely?

As he strode back to the inn in order to escort Elaine home—and hopefully resume his interrupted conversation with Delilah—he wondered why the assassin should be looking for him. Afraid of his interference protecting the princess? Or was the assassin now after him too?

The back of his neck prickled. But he was as sure as he could be that no one followed him.

When he returned to the inn, Delilah had gone home.