The Lady In Question (13 page)

“Superstitious nonsense,” Grandmother muttered.

“Not at all,” Georgina said with a long-suffering sigh. “Some of the most advanced thinkers of our time acknowledge the influence of the stars on our lives.”

“Utter poppycock,” Grandmother said.

Georgina glared at her mother-in-law. Georgina’s superstitious nature, particularly her dependence on astrology, had always been a bone of contention between her and the rest of the family. Delia’s father humored his wife, as did her children, but Grandmother and the other Effingtons thought Georgina’s passion for astrology and various other forms of foretelling the future absurd. Especially as Madame Prusha, Georgina’s astrologer, was not at all what anyone would think of as a seer. She was a friendly, apple-cheeked woman who lived in a pleasant cottage in a quiet village just outside of London.

“The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars but in ourselves,” Aunt Grace murmured.

“Perhaps, but the stars have a great deal to do with those faults,” Georgina snapped.

“Nonetheless,” Grandmother’s voice rang in the room, “we do not allow scandal, dishonor, nor all the heavens above to come between family.”

Georgina nodded at the dowager. “You’re right, of course, but then you always are.”

Grandmother cast her an affectionate smile. “I know, my dear.”

The room released a collective sigh of relief.

“Now then.” Grandmother gestured at the gathering. “If you would all be so good as to take your leave, I have a few things I should like to discuss with my granddaughter.”

The ladies hesitated for the length of a heartbeat or two, the inevitable reluctance of natural curiosity to miss something that might be quite interesting, then stood, murmured their resigned good-byes and filed out, snippets of conversation trailing behind them.

“I must say, I’m rather disappointed,” Pandora said to Marianne. “This is the first time I’ve been included in this particular gathering and I was expecting something a bit more exciting.”

Marianne shrugged. “Perhaps the next scandal will be more impressive.”

“There is always Cassie to give us hope.” Gillian grinned at her cousin.

“I shall try to live up to your expectations,” Cassie said wryly.

Georgina hugged Delia once again. “We shall talk later, dear heart.” She nodded at her mother-in-law, then followed the other women. Aunt Katherine was the last out and closed the door firmly in her wake.

“You have made a mess of things, haven’t you?” Grandmother nodded for Delia to be seated. Delia returned to the settee and sank into it. “You could say that.”

The older woman raised a brow.

“Yes.” Delia heaved a heavy sigh. “I have made a mess of it.”

“Thanks to your sister’s efforts, your impulsive behavior is now being seen as quite romantic. And you as a rather tragic heroine.”

“Yes, well…” Delia plucked at the fabric of the love seat. She wasn’t at all sure she liked the idea of the rest of the world thinking she was something she was not.

“Such a shame, really, to go through all of this. The scandal and mourning and all.”

“Perhaps,” Delia murmured. It was a sort of penance and she probably deserved it. Still, Grandmother was right: It was a shame and it did seem to last forever.

“It would be different if you had loved the man.”

Delia’s gaze jerked to her grandmother’s.

The older woman continued without pause. “Because then, of course, you’d be devastated.”

Delia chose her words with care. “What makes you think I’m not devastated?”

“My dear child, you may well be able to fool the rest of the world with this story of irresistible love, but you cannot fool me. I know you too well.” Grandmother folded her hands primly in her lap. “First of all, your eyes are not reddened, therefore any tears you have shed are long since past.”

“I did cry for him,” Delia said indignantly.
Or perhaps for what we might have had.

“Of course you did, my dear, I would have been surprised if you had not. The death of anyone we know diminishes each of us in some way. But when one loses a love, there is an empty, lost area in one’s soul and grief does not ease in — how long has he been dead?”

“More than six months now.” Even as she said the words, Delia realized how little time had passed.

“That long?” her grandmother murmured, saying without words that six months was scarcely any time at all when one had lost a love. “Second, I know your mother well and she is a good person, if a little peculiar when it comes to fate and the stars and whatnot. A mother knows when her child’s heart is engaged. She would never have been so unyielding had she thought you were truly in pain.

“And third, while you are willing to admit to your mistake you have never once blamed your actions on love. You have never so much as mentioned the word.”

“Perhaps I simply do not care to flaunt my emotions?”

Grandmother smiled in a tolerant manner.

Delia sighed. “Very well, I admit it: I wasn’t devastated by Charles’s death, although I would not have had it happen.” She rose to her feet and paced the room. “He probably deserved better than a wife who can’t seem to find it in her heart to truly mourn him. I feel quite horrible about it all.”

“That you didn’t love him?”

“Yes.” Delia wrapped her arms around herself. “I didn’t even know him. Not really.”

“Many people start marriages barely knowing their spouse, without love. It comes in time.”

“That’s what I was hoping, but we had no time, and…” She shook her head. “I don’t really know what happened, Grandmother, one thing led to another, and…” She met her grandmother’s gaze directly.

“It’s difficult to explain.”

“And it has been a very long time since I was two-and-twenty and courted by very proper young men without so much as a glimmer of excitement in their eyes or a touch of adventure in their souls,”

Grandmother said in a matter-of-fact manner as if indeed she spoke from memory. Delia stared.

“You needn’t look so surprised. Young people always think they, and their circumstances, are unique. That no one in the world has ever experienced what they have. You are perhaps unusual in that you have not confused lust for love but you are not the first young woman to long for excitement or look for adventure in the arms of a handsome rake.”

“Grandmother!” Delia gasped.

“Surely I haven’t shocked you.” Grandmother narrowed her eyes and studied her carefully. “But perhaps it wasn’t like that at all?”

“No, no, it was exactly like that,” Delia blurted. Heat flashed up her cheeks. “It just sounds so very odd to hear a discussion of such things from you.”

“I am old, dear child, but not yet dead. Often, I remember the days of my youth better than I remember last week.” She fell silent, obviously remembering days long passed, then grinned in a most ungrandmotherly manner. “I had a very good time.”

Delia laughed and sank down on the sofa beside her grandmother. “I made a dreadful mistake.”

“Of course you did, my dear. But you did marry him, and in this world, one can make no end of mistakes and will be forgiven as long as one rectifies them by conforming to the rules society lays down for such things. Young women who seek illicit adventures —”

“Grandmother,” Delia murmured, again feeling the heat of a blush on her cheeks.

“— must pay with marriage. In point of fact, it is one rule that serves women better than men, so we cannot protest too loudly.” She patted her granddaughter’s cheek. “As for the scandal, even at the time it wasn’t nearly as big as it may have seemed to you. And there are all sorts of juicier bits of gossip popping up like spring flowers. Why, just today Abigail told me of an incident in London involving that poor, dear Lord Bromfield and the widowed Lady Forester, who has far too much wealth for her own good and no idea what to do with it. Which reminds me.” Grandmother stopped and her brow furrowed.

“From what I have ascertained, Wilmont left you quite well off.”

Delia nodded.

“I see.” Her grandmother considered her for a long, thoughtful moment. “You have wealth, you have independence and you have youth. It is a potent combination. One fraught with all manner of danger and temptations.”

“Grandmother, I —”

“I would encourage you to use the intelligence that is your birthright in navigating the waters that lie ahead. Do be careful, my dear.” Grandmother’s gaze searched hers and she smiled wisely. “Although you won’t be, of course.”

“Have you joined Mother in foretelling the future?” Delia teased. “Why would you say such a thing?”

“Because you remind me a great deal of myself.”

“I thought Cassie reminded you of yourself.”

“Whether you realize it or not, your likeness to your sister goes well beyond your appearance. Cassandra has always had a sense of her own spirit. It has just taken you longer to find yours. I see myself in both of you.”

Grandmother smiled ruefully. “And heaven help us all.”

Chapter 7

Tony had never particularly given much attention to the question of conscience; he’d never particularly considered that he had one. Yet, at the moment, it was that annoying facet of mind or soul that nagged at the edge of his thoughts day and night.

He adjusted the intricately tied cravat an Effington valet had arranged for him and grimaced at his reflection in the mirror in the room he’d been assigned to at Effington Hall. He had long ago given up the services of a valet as both unnecessary and intrusive. Still, if he were going to move about in society, he had best conform to its edicts. It struck him that this world, which he’d had no interest in up till now, went hand in hand with the inheritance of the title he’d also had no interest in. But at some inevitable point, it would
be
his world.

This was, in truth, the first public appearance of the new Viscount St. Stephens. An odd frisson of nerves skated up his spine. Ridiculous, of course. He had faced any number of perilous situations in the past in which one wrong word could cost him his life and had never experienced so much as a twinge of apprehension. This was nothing more than a mere country ball.

Oh, certainly,
she
would be there.
Delia.
No matter how he tried, he could no longer think of her as Lady Wilmont. They might well come face-to-face tonight without disguise or pretense between them. Well, not as much pretense.

He’d missed yesterday’s famous Roxborough Ride. It had taken far longer than he’d anticipated to make certain all the arrangements for his absence were taken care of. The department had had no difficulties arranging for men to follow Delia’s coach and infiltrate the ranks of Effington servants at the hall. Indeed, Lord Kimberly had managed to procure for Tony not only entree to the dowager’s ball, but a personal invitation to stay in the guest wing at Effington Hall as well. With the apparent ease Lord Kimberly had displayed, Tony couldn’t help but wonder why he simply hadn’t done the same thing with Wilmont and circumvented any need to court Delia in the first place. Why, this whole nasty marriage mess could have been avoided. The woman could have been left alone to pursue whatever life she had pursued up to Wilmont’s intrusion in it. His jaw clenched. She hadn’t deserved the hand she’d been dealt. And she deserved far better now than his deceit. At some point she would learn the truth and he refused to even consider her reaction. At least the truth would not come out tonight. He studied his image in the mirror. If one knew what to look for, one might well think Lord St. Stephens and the butler Gordon bore a vague resemblance, particularly around the eyes. But the mustache he wore as Gordon well concealed his upper lip, the cotton jammed in front of his back upper teeth distorted his jaw, the powder in his hair effectively hid its natural dark color and the eyebrows and spectacles obscured his eyes. In addition, it was his experience that people rarely looked for that which they did not already expect to see. No, Delia would never recognize him.

Not that he planned to go anywhere near her. He would observe, nothing more. He drew a deep breath, adjusted the cuffs of his coat and started toward the door. Tony had had a long discussion with Lord Kimberly and suggested perhaps the time had come to give up the ruse. Or at the very least inform the lady in question as to Tony’s true identity and his real purpose for being in her household. He’d pointed out that save for the ransacking of her house, there was no indication of anything further, nor was there any sign she was indeed in danger. To his credit, Lord Kimberly had listened and admitted Tony might well be right. But for now, Tony was ordered to stay precisely where he was, as a precaution if nothing else.

At this point, Tony was certain Delia had no knowledge of Wilmont’s work, the Effington Papers or the missing notebook. She was an innocent in this whole affair. Still, that alone would not cause conscience to rear its ugly head. No, it was the woman herself who made him question his duty. She was so bloody nice. She treated him, her butler —
a servant,
for God’s sake — as if he had worth beyond the service he provided. As if he were a valued member of her family. As if she cared about him. What kind of woman cared about those in her employ for less than a month? She was either a complete fool or the kindest creature he had ever met. And she was no fool. He started down the long corridor toward the main section of the house. Another guest might well feel the need of a guide, but Tony had noted every turn and doorway and landmark when he was first shown to his rooms.

How would she feel when she knew the truth? About her husband? About her butler? And about Viscount St. Stephens?

She would hate him and he could not blame her. Not that it really mattered. When all this was resolved, she would go on with her life, her grand adventure, in whatever form it might take, and he would go on with his. Their paths might well never cross again.