Delilah’s frown intensified. “The Duke of Hunt—Thomas? Are you mad? Thomas isn’t eligible. Well, to be precise, he is, but … he’s not looking for a wife this Season. I have it on the best authority.” But even as she said the words, she had the sinking feeling she might be wrong. Or worse, that while Thomas might not be looking for a wife, by the size of his ever-growing crowd, a wife might well be looking for him this Season.
Lady Rebecca smoothed a hand over her elegant dark chignon. “Nevertheless, he’s more handsome than the Duke of Branville, he’s richer than the Duke of Branville, and his family is older than the Duke of Branville’s. That makes him more eligible.”
Delilah blinked at her. Everything Lady Rebecca had said was true, but still … they were talking about Thomas. Why was this happening? How had her perfectly ordered world become upended this Season?
“I was hoping you’d introduce me to him,” Lady Rebecca continued with a sly smile.
Delilah glanced over to where Thomas continued to hold court with a bevy of gorgeous young ladies. Something small and unhappy unfurled in her chest. What, precisely, did she like about Lady Rebecca again? “I … well … I suppose I could do that. Someday.”
Lady Rebecca’s mouth fell open as Delilah marched away from her without another word. She made her way directly to Thomas’s court, pushed through the small crowd, and settled herself by his side. She even found herself giving the ladies a tight smile. What was happening to her?
Thomas glanced down at her and smiled. “Delilah? There you are. How was your dance with Branville?”
Delilah scrunched up her nose. “I didn’t exactly … dance with him.” That admission hurt.
“No?” Thomas grinned. “Too popular, was he?”
Delilah waved her hand in the air and glared at a young woman who seemed to be trying to push her out of the way to regain her position by Thomas’s side. Too bad for the young lady, Delilah was skilled in the judicious use of her elbows. “Something like that.” She lifted herself up on her tiptoes to get closer to Thomas’s ear so he could hear her over the din of the annoying ladies twittering. “I’d love to dance now, however.”
Thomas did not mistake her meaning. He inclined his head toward her, offered his arm, and excused himself from the ladies. A series of long sighs and unhappy murmurs followed them as he escorted Delilah to the floor.
A waltz began to play, and he bowed to her before they began their dance. He’d always been a lovely dancer. As a result, he’d always made her look like a much better dancer than she was. When she forgot a step and landed on his foot, he had a way of making it look as if it were planned. He always maneuvered her back into the proper steps without missing more than one beat.
“I thought perhaps you’d stay at Branville’s side longer,” Thomas said, as they stepped together in the familiar pattern they’d practiced for years.
Delilah swallowed. She’d got a whiff of Thomas’s cologne, and if she didn’t know any better, she’d swear it smelled better than whatever the Duke of Branville had been wearing. She forced herself to push that unwelcome thought from her mind and concentrate on what Thomas had said. “Lucy said I shouldn’t overstay my introduction. Meet and elude, or something like that.”
Thomas grinned. “Ah, so you’re being elusive?”
There was no doubt about it. Thomas smelled good. Mon Dieu. “Trying to, at least,” she forced herself to say. Delilah glanced over to where Branville remained talking to his entourage. This time, she noted with some pique, the crowd around him included the lovely Lady Emmaline. “Lady Emmaline obviously doesn’t know about being elusive. She’s been at his side all evening.”
“All evening? I only saw her go over there a few minutes ago.”
Delilah arched a brow. “You’ve been watching Lady Emmaline?”
Thomas laughed and shook his head. “Lucy did ask me to distract her.”
“Oh, yes.” Delilah bit her lip and glanced away. “I suppose you should be doing that instead of dancing with me.”
His grin widened. “Should I abandon you here, then, directly on the dance floor?”
Delilah fought the urge to stick out her tongue at him. Instead, she glanced over his shoulder to Branville’s crowd. “I wonder if he will ask Lady Emmaline to dance.”
“Well, if you’re the one being more elusive, you should have the upper hand, according to Lucy.”
Delilah scrunched up her nose. “Do I have the upper hand, or am I being shortsighted?”
Thomas inclined his head. “What would you tell a lady you were trying to matchmake?”
Delilah pursed her lips. “I’d tell her to be elusive.”
“Then surely you should take your own advice.”
“I am.” She shook her head. “But I don’t have to like it.” She forced herself to smile, then contemplated her next words before deciding to go ahead and say them. She wanted to see his reaction. “My friend Rebecca asked about you.”
He was gazing across the ballroom and hardly seemed to give a toss. “Rebecca who?”
“Lady Rebecca Abernathy.”
He frowned. “She asked about me?”
“Yes. And she said you were”—Delilah cleared her throat. She wasn’t entirely certain she should say this next word—“eligible.”
Thomas pressed his lips together and arched a brow. “What do you think? In your expert opinion, am I eligible?”
She lifted her chin. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you’re eligible. You’re an unmarried duke, aren’t you?” She’d meant it to sound nonchalant, but she suspected that it sounded petulant. Mon Dieu again.
“But not as eligible as Branville?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows at her.
Delilah stepped on his foot. Perhaps on purpose. He grinned at her and swung her easily back into the steps before she said, “On the contrary, according to Rebecca, you’re more eligible.”
“Ah, is that so?” He blinked his ridiculously long, dark eyelashes at her.
“Don’t be smug. After all, there is a large difference between you and Branville.”
Thomas’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? What’s that? Hair color?”
She wanted to step on his foot again. “No,” she answered primly. “Branville is looking for a wife, and you are not.” She wanted to add, Are you? but that seemed the slightest bit too interested.
“But do you agree? Am I more eligible than Branville?” he prompted.
Delilah did not like this conversation. She didn’t like it one bit. It made her uncomfortable discussing Thomas’s potential eligibility with him. How had they even got into this—Oh, right. She’d been the fool who’d brought up what Lady Rebecca said. “Who am I to say which duke is more eligible than the other?” she replied, still doing her best to sound nonchalant.
The waltz ended, and Thomas bowed to her again before escorting her off the floor.
They’d barely made it to the sidelines when Lucy came floating over to them.
“Let’s ask the duchess,” Thomas continued. “What do you think, Lucy? Am I more eligible than the Duke of Branville?”
Lucy blinked as if momentarily surprised by the question. Then she narrowed her eyes and tapped her finger against her cheek for a moment. “Yes, without a doubt.”
“Lucy!” Delilah exclaimed, plunking her hands onto her hips.
“What?” Lucy shrugged. “I’m merely being honest. Thomas’s family is older, his estate is greater, and his looks are certainly comparable.”
“Only comparable?” Thomas asked with a mock-offended gasp.
“Depends upon whether one prefers the dark sort or the blond sort,” Lucy replied with another shrug.
“Ah, so you prefer the blond sort,” Thomas said to Delilah.
Delilah scowled at him. “Think what you’re saying. It’s you. I’ve known you since you were a boy. The Duke of Branville is…”
Thomas batted his eyelashes at her. “What? A blond god?”
“No.” She crossed he
r arms over her chest. She continued to detest this conversation. “I was going to say … he’s not my friend.”
Lucy fluttered her hand in the air. “Yes, well. I’ve come with news. I’ve had a chance to watch Lady Emmaline at work.” Lucy leaned in and lowered her voice. “She’s good. Quite good.”
Delilah bit her lip.
“I’m afraid we’re going to have to employ all the tricks of the matchmaking trade to accomplish this feat,” Lucy continued.
“Dare I ask what the tricks of the matchmaking trade are?” Thomas said.
Lucy used her fingers to count them off. “Being elusive, pretending you aren’t interested, and most important of all, employing a bit of competition.”
“I’m not certain I’ve got much competition, Lucy,” Delilah replied.
“Not at the moment, dear, but you will before I’m finished with you. By the by, these same methods will work for Lavinia’s match too.”
Thomas inclined his head toward Lucy. “I’m pleased to hear it. The sooner Lavinia is matched, the better.” He turned toward Delilah. “Now, I’d like you to introduce me to your friend, Lady Rebecca. Perhaps it is time I find my own match this Season.”
Once again, the tiny anvil sunk to bottom of Delilah’s belly.
CHAPTER TEN
“All right, everyone, gather round. We’ll begin with the scene where Nick Bottom turns into the ass,” Jane Upton called to the group at rehearsal the next night in Lucy’s library.
The center of the large library had been transformed into a woodland arbor at night, dominated by a foot-high wooden stage that Derek and Christian had erected. The furniture that had previously been in the center of the room had been moved out. The large desk had been pushed into a corner where it served as the location for the costumes. The other corner was filled with Cass and her canvases. There were small groups of players practicing their lines in groups of two or three throughout the room, while Jane stood in the center directly in front of the stage, raising her voice to be heard above the din.
It turned out Jane was a formidable stage manager and director. No one dared cross her, and she knew the text as if she’d memorized every word. Delilah secretly suspected she had. Jane kept everyone in line and on time for their rehearsals, and thanks to her excellent organizational skills and directorial talents, the production was coming together quite nicely.
The play was perhaps the only thing going well of late, as far as Delilah was concerned. She’d been out of sorts all day after spending the night tossing and turning, unable to erase the feeling of uneasiness caused by last night from her mind. First, the crowd of ladies surrounding Thomas had irked her. Thomas had never had a crowd before. Why did one suddenly appear last night? Then, Rebecca’s comments had made Delilah want to stamp her foot. It was ridiculous of Rebecca to say Thomas was the most eligible bachelor of the Season. Everyone knew Branville was the most eligible. Finally, after announcing that he might indeed be looking for a wife, Thomas had trotted off in Lady Rebecca’s direction, leaving Delilah no choice but to follow him and make the introductions.
The resulting scene had been nothing but awkward, with Rebecca nearly swooning over Thomas, and Thomas enjoying it like an ice at Gunter’s. Rebecca giggled and Thomas preened, and then the two of them went off to dance, leaving Delilah standing alone with her half-empty champagne glass and a frown on her face. Worse, she’d been forced to contemplate, for the remainder of the evening and the entire day today, why, precisely, she was so offended by the notion that Thomas was not only eligible, but seemed to be enjoying the company of other ladies for the first time in … well, forever. Not to mention the fact that he should have been trying to distract Lady Emmaline from Branville, instead of dancing with Lady Rebecca.
After a great deal of introspection, Delilah came to the conclusion that she wasn’t jealous. No. She was not. She’d examined the feeling a hundred different ways and decided resolutely that jealousy was not the emotion she was experiencing. She still didn’t know what the emotion was, exactly. But it couldn’t be jealousy. That would be preposterous. It was more like … offense. Yes. That was it. She’d known Thomas was a wonderful person and an excellent man for years, why were other ladies only noticing now? Besides, she’d been spoiled all these years by having his company to herself, essentially. As for Lady Rebecca, Delilah simply didn’t appreciate being told that her closest friend was more eligible than the man she’d set her sights on. That was all. Nothing more.
Delilah stared out the window into the gardens behind Lucy’s house, plucking at her lip while such thoughts churned over and over in her mind. As if she’d conjured him, Thomas came strolling up next to her, his script in his hand. He glanced over both shoulders before grinning at her. “I don’t see Branville here.”
Delilah’s hand dropped to her side, and she turned to face him. “He, er, he said he’d be here. It’s not yet eight o’clock.”
Thomas leaned a shoulder against the wall and stared down at her. “Ah, is that the hour of his stately arrival?”
“That’s when Lucy invited him.” Mon Dieu. Why couldn’t she stop sniffing Thomas’s cologne? It was madness.
Thomas nodded. “He’s playing Hermia’s father, eh? I suppose he’ll be especially handsome with a long, white beard.”
Delilah pursed her lips. “Don’t be smug. It doesn’t become you. Besides, how did you manage to extricate yourself from all those ladies last night? I feared I’d never see you again.”
He sighed. “It was difficult, but I managed.”
“Meet anyone you fancy?” She couldn’t stop herself from asking. “Lady Rebecca, perhaps?” She hated herself for asking that last part.
His smile softened a little. “Not to worry, my lady, you’ll be the first to know if I meet anyone I fancy. By the by, I brought Lavinia with me tonight as Lucy instructed.”
Delilah glanced around. “Where is she, then?”
Thomas shoved a hand in his pocket. “Last I saw her, she was in the foyer, rebuking one of the servants for stepping on the hem of her new gown.”
Delilah nodded. “That sounds like Lavinia.”
One moment later, the woman in question came sweeping through the doors of the library. She wore a gorgeous yellow silk gown that was obviously expensive, and her dark hair was piled high atop her head. She glanced around the room until her blue eyes lit on Thomas, then she marched over to him.
“Good evening, Lady Lavinia,” Delilah said as she loomed closer. She’d done her best throughout the years to keep her distance from Lavinia, but they’d met upon occasion. Lavinia had never been particularly nice to Delilah, but then, she wasn’t particularly nice to anyone.
“Lady Delilah,” Lavinia intoned. “My brother tells me you and the Duchess of Claringdon are sponsoring a play.” She sneered the word play as if it were a curse word.
“We aren’t only sponsoring it. We’re acting in it. It’s entirely for charity, of course. Lucy and I were hoping you would join us, actually,” Delilah added, hoping she had made the offer sound enticing enough.
One haughty eyebrow lifted. “Join you? Are you mad? The daughter of an earl, in a play?” Lavinia stared at her aghast.
Delilah did her best to squelch her smile. “I’m the daughter of an earl, and I’m doing it,” she pointed out.
“I suppose there’s no accounting for taste.” Lavinia tilted her nose in the air. “Time was when birthright meant something.”
Delilah pressed her lips together and glanced at Thomas who merely winced and shook his head behind his sister’s back. They’d had many conversations about Lavinia’s waspishness. The woman was beyond preposterous and insulting, but from living with her mother, Delilah had plenty of experience dealing with angry women who said mean things. Besides, Delilah had forgotten the most important aspect of dealing with Lavinia. One must always let Lavinia know what she stood to gain.
Delilah shared another quick commiserating look with Thomas and turned her attention back to
Lavinia. “We also have three dukes and a duchess in our performance. I’d say you’d be in excellent company if you’d join us. There are several eligible gentlemen in the performance as well.”
Lavinia glanced around as if sizing up the company. “Well, I do try to do what I can for charity, of course.” She turned in a circle and crossed her arms over her chest. “And there are several members of the Quality here, I see. What part would you have me play?”
“We thought you’d be an excellent Hippolyta,” Delilah replied.
The barest hint of an actual smile tugged at Lavinia’s thin lips. “Hmm. The duchess? That sounds like me.”
Delilah was about to open her mouth and agree with Lavinia when Lucy swept into their circle. “Lady Lavinia, there you are. It’s lovely to see you.”
“Your Grace,” Lavinia intoned, nodding regally toward Lucy.
Lucy glanced over both shoulders and lowered her voice. “Thomas tells us you’re in the market for a husband this Season.”
Lavinia raised one dark brow. “Did he?”
Thomas cleared his throat and glanced away.
“Yes,” Lucy continued, “and I have to say I’m delighted. You know I fancy myself a matchmaker, and so does Lady Delilah.”
Lavinia’s narrowed gaze darted to Delilah. “Do you?”
Lucy nodded. “Yes, in fact, I’d love to introduce you to my friend Lord Stanley. He’s just over there.”
Lavinia’s face lit with obvious interest, and Lucy twined her arm through Lavinia’s and led her off toward Lord Stanley.
Thomas turned to Delilah. “I do hope she hits it off with the chap.”
“So do I,” Delilah replied. “Lord Stanley is a nice man.”
Thomas winced. “I’m not certain nice is the best fit for Lavinia.”
Delilah smoothed her hands down her sleeves. “We’ll see. These things take time.”
“Ah, but your courtship of Branville is on quite a short time schedule, is it not?”
She pretended to read her script. “Yes, but that is because I have no choice. Now, would you care to practice our lines?”
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