Through Gypsy Eyes (11 page)

“Oh.” Delilah dropped her hands to her lap. “So, I am naught but a political agenda. No one is concerned about what I want or need.”

“That is not true, Delilah. I care about what you want and need. I know you want some romantic notion of love but there is not time for months or years of searching for a true love that may never be found. After all, most men and women live happily in their marriages without love at all, that is the way of it.”

“As you pointed out, my lord, I am not like most women.”

“Indeed you are not.” The earl stood and squeezed her hand. “If you will excuse me, I have some pressing business matters to attend.”

The dried leaves crunched beneath his feet as he moved in the direction of the house.

Delilah leaned back on the bench. Why did that have to be the way of it?

Delilah rolled over the morning of her wedding and groaned. Hours of strange dreams made her toss and turn until the wee hours, leaving her tired and out of sorts. Flopping onto her back, she assessed the situation. Since the incident on the horse there were no other unusual occurrences, for which she was grateful. Still, the strain of expecting one wore her nerves raw.

Perhaps she was too rash in accepting the baron’s suit. Maybe she could still back out. She frowned as the downstairs clock struck ten, its forlorn chimes echoing throughout the great house. The wedding guests would be here in mere hours. With a sigh she rang for Teresa. There was no turning back now. It wouldn’t be so bad. After a few days at the baron’s to accomplish the ruse, she could return to her former life.

The door opened with a click. “You must hurry and dress, Miss Daysland,” Teresa chirped, far too merry for Delilah’s resigned mood. “His lordship did say to let you sleep in this morning, but I’ll not be responsible for you being late.”

Was the earl trying to sabotage the wedding? Delilah almost wished he would. How romantic would it be if he called a halt to the proceedings and announced his everlasting love just like in some of the romantic poems her father wrote? She frowned.
Good Lord, I am as noddy as everyone else believes. As if it would ever happen.
“Let us get on with this.” Swinging her legs over the side of the bed she got up and counted the steps to the dressing table. With little enthusiasm she waited while Teresa fastened her corset in place and tugged the laces. “Not so tight, Teresa, I should like to be able to breathe.”

The maid giggled. “Yes, miss.”

When she finished Delilah sat so the maid could fix her hair.

“Shall I pin your hair with the seashell combs your mother left you?”

Delilah shrugged. “Do as you please.”

It didn’t take long. With a sigh Teresa gave it one last pat, her tone well pleased with herself. “Perfect. Now which dress would you prefer to wear today?”

“What difference should it make to me? This day is designed to get my life back, the cut and color of my gown will not change it.” When the maid sighed Delilah relented. “You decide what will flatter me most, Teresa.”

“Hmm … I should think the deep violet muslin, for it matches your eyes so beautifully.”

Delilah tried to recall the exact shade of her eyes, but the color eluded her memory. “A good choice, Teresa.” Standing, she held up her arms to be clothed with the delicate gown. “I feel like I am being cheated, like I’m cheating myself.”

Teresa’s gentle hands guided Delilah to turn around and then she began to do up the tiny row of buttons along the back of the gown. “How so, miss?”

“One’s wedding day should be filled with excitement and anticipation. I cannot help but wish I was marrying some handsome young man who spouts poetry to my loveliness and makes my heart flutter. It sounds silly I know.”

“It does not sound silly at all. The baron is not unhandsome, if you’ll permit me saying, miss.”

“Perhaps, but this is hardly the day of my dreams. If my father were still here … ” Delilah squared her shoulders. “Listen to me pining on about silly dreams. I agreed to the arrangement because it is practical and accomplishes my goal.” When Teresa fastened the last button Delilah turned around and favored her with a weak smile. “It is almost time.”

• • •

The clock downstairs didn’t finish striking twelve when the knock Delilah was dreading came. She turned to face it as the maid hurried to open the door. Goosebumps rose along her arms from the slight draft as it opened.

The earl cleared his throat. “You look lovely, Miss Daysland.”

“I shall have to take your word for it,” she snapped. “I am sorry, my lord, thank you for the compliment. I am nervous and did not mean to be short.”

His footsteps whispered across the carpet and then ceased before her. “That is perfectly understandable. Perhaps on such a momentous occasion we can dispense with the formality? Call me Tyrone.” Warm fingers closed over hers and then he placed a wide flat box on her palm. “I brought you a wedding gift.”

She ran her fingers over the textured surface. “What is it?”

“Open it and find out.”

Curious, she fingered the clasp and lifted the lid. Following the line of the box, she slid her hand down to rest on something smooth and cold, tracing the object in a circle with her fingertips. It was a necklace she realized, with tiny teardrop stones dangling at regular intervals along its chain. “Thank you, Tyrone. I am sure it is lovely.”

“Here, I will put it on you.”

She pivoted so he could slide the cool gems around her neck and couldn’t help shivering when his rough fingers brushed her nape as he fumbled with the clasp.

“They match your eyes, you know.”

“Violet?”

“More dark like your eyes when you are angry.” He finished with the clasp and placed his hands on her shoulders, turning her back to face the door.

Her heart fluttered in her chest as his hands remained lightly on her shoulders. She should be angry at his comment, but instead a sense of breathless anticipation tightened her chest. Attraction to him was foolhardy. He was the enemy. Wasn’t he?

“I never lie.”

The echo of a slamming door broke the moment and he stepped away. “Come, the guests await you in the chapel.” He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and escorted her downstairs.

Her chest grew tighter as she was overtaken by a moment of sheer panic. The closer they got to the estate’s chapel, the louder the guests’ voices became. Her palms grew moist with sweat. Little by little her distress increased. The struggle for air became more difficult as the panic attack intensified.

“Delilah?”

The concern in Tyrone’s voice gave her something to cling to, to focus on in order to stay afloat in the tidal wave of fear engulfing her.
What if I have made a mistake? What if Augustus does not live up to his word? All these people … watching … staring … witnessing my fate.
Her fingers clawed his arm.

“Delilah? Are you all right?”

“I need to sit.” Her knees buckled and she sagged against him.

Tyrone’s strong arm encircled her. “Right here? Now?”

“Yes,” she gasped, her head beginning to spin.

He lowered her to the grass and pressed her head between her knees. She struggled to take slow, deep breaths. Unmindful of her delicate dress scrunched in her clammy hands, she willed her mind to relax.

“Is there something I can do, some way I can help?”

Delilah shook her head. “No.”
Those hated crowds of people. Always watching, whispering … waiting for me to make a fool of myself.
As her chest began to tighten again she forced the thoughts from her head. Squeezing her eyes shut she concentrated on taking deep breaths, exhaling slow and steady until the spinning sensation stopped.
I can do this. All I have to do is walk down the aisle, repeat the simple vows, and it will all be over.

A familiar nicker gave her hope. “Jester.” At the soft clip clop of his approach she held out her hand until his leg brushed it. With a grateful smile she pulled herself to her feet using his harness. “Jester will take me the rest of the way.”

“Jester cannot give you away.”

She snickered at his disgruntlement. “Yes he can. Jester, chapel.” The pony shuffled forward. As she stepped into the chapel the rumble of voices hushed. Forcing the smile to remain on her lips, she continued on to the front of the room.
This is just a formality. In a few days my life will go back to the way it was. Forever.
Tyrone’s footsteps fell into step behind her.

The preacher’s voice startled her from her inner thoughts and Jester came to a halt. “We are gathered here today … ”

• • •

Delilah paused on the threshold of the ballroom. Crystal clinked over top the laughter and soft music playing. Her light-headedness returned when she realized there must be close to a hundred guests in attendance to celebrate her supposed joyful union. She tightened her grip on her new husband’s arm but he strolled on, oblivious to her alarm.
Is everyone staring at me? Oh, how I wish this night were over.
Augustus deposited her in a chair and left to procure a glass of champagne on her behalf.

Fighting a sense of abandonment, she perched on the chair toying with the ruffles on her skirt. Why did there have to be a celebration ball anyway? No one here knew her, or in all likelihood cared who she was; besides, their marriage was a sham to foil Tyrone’s plans. The orchestra began to play a light, fanciful waltz. She tried to lose herself in the forbidden melody, her fingers taking up position on an imaginary keyboard of their own accord. Playing as part of the orchestra would be much preferable to sitting here as the object of every gossip’s attention.

“I have brought you refreshment.”

Stilling her fingers she sought the glass Augustus held. A cool crystal goblet was pressed into her hand. Wrapping both around the delicate vessel, she raised it to her lips and sipped the contents, more for something to do than out of thirst. The tangy champagne bubbles teased her taste buds before sliding down her throat.

Augustus cleared his throat. “I suppose to complete the ruse of an adoring couple, we should dance.”

Delilah almost choked at the idea and lowered the glass in haste. “To a waltz? I am surprised you allow such an inappropriate dance.”

“I hear it is all the rage in France.” Augustus sniffed. “And I make the effort to keep up with all the current trends.”

No doubt it accounts for his need for money.
She sighed. Why should she care what he did with her father’s blunt once she returned home with her dowry? “If we must dance then let us get it over with.” Truth be told she loved to dance, though the prospect was far from thrilling with one of the Augustus’ ilk. Tyrone, she surmised, was apt to be a skilled dancer. She rose and held out her hand. Biting her lip she chastised herself for allowing her thoughts to wander in such an unacceptable path. Tyrone didn’t want her any more than any other man. Delilah tried to concentrate on copying her husband’s steps rather than her present situation.
One, two, three. One, two, three.
The overpowering stench of his cologne made her eyes water. His arms were like iron bars, imprisoning her against his bony chest. She fought the urge to revolt and flee.

“Excuse me, may I cut in?”

Relief flooded her limbs at Tyrone’s request.

Augustus stiffened beneath her hand.

As if sensing his displeasure, Tyrone added, “I would have this dance with my charge before I return to Westpoint to pack.”

Her partner released her. “By all means, Lord Frost. You must of course have the honor before you leave.”

“Very considerate of you, sir. Miss Daysland — I beg your pardon, Lady March, will you do me the honor?”

Left with little choice in a room crowded with onlookers, she tipped her head in an acquiescent nod. “Of course, my lord.” His sleeve slipped beneath her fingertips, warm and soft. He rested his hand at the juncture of her waist, his other cupping her fingers in a gentle grip. Together they picked up the strains of the fanciful waltz, he leading and her gliding along with more grace at Tyrone’s direction.

“Are you well pleased with the baron, Delilah?”

“As pleased as one who is forced to wed can be, my lord.”

“Hmm. You seemed to be in a hurry to attend your nuptials for one so reluctant to marry.”

In response to his observation her steps became unsure and she faltered. “You were the one in a hurry to marry me off and return to London.”

“I only sought to do the right thing by you, nothing more.” His gruff answer didn’t quite cover the remorse in his words.

Tipping her nose with an arrogant sniff, she rebuffed him. “And who are you to decide what is the right thing? I was content to go on as I was before you.” If it wouldn’t have drawn undue attention she would have left him standing in the middle of the floor, though in truth she was at a loss as to the way back to her chair.

He sighed as if dealing with a naughty child. “And allow you go on fooling yourself into believing all was well? Once those blasted servants of yours drained every asset from beneath your nose, what would you have done?”

She bowed her head in defeat. There was nothing she could do in fact. But her total loss at what to do with the situation was not something she cared to admit to him or anyone else. Fumbling for anything to satisfy him, she lifted her chin and scowled. “I would have fired the lot of them and hired ones whom I could trust to be loyal.” His snort of disbelief didn’t help bolster her flagging self-esteem.

“It is hard to instill loyalty and trust in servants when they know they have the undeniable advantage, my dear.” His observation was neither mocking nor sympathetic.

Tears welled up despite her resolve to face him with distance, and she blinked them away lest he see. “How dare you! I existed just fine in my own world, until you came along. You pretended I was desirable with your teasing lips, and then dashed my confidence with rejection.” She wrenched from his grasp.

When she would have struck out on her own through the crush of warm bodies he stayed her with his hand. “Forgive me, Delilah. I had no intention of promising you anything with a few misplaced kisses. It was unfair of me. I regret misleading you.”