“May I interest you in some tea, Your Grace?” she asked in the same pinched voice she’d affected since she’d first entered the room.
“No, thank you.”
Merci à Dieu. She nearly sagged in relief. Pouring tea while keeping one’s back perfectly straight and not spilling it was a far more difficult task than it should be. She’d broken more than one teapot over the years while her governess had tried to teach her to do the thing properly. “Good,” she breathed. “I, er, mean, very well.”
Branville turned to face her, his hands braced upon his knees. “I’ve come to ask you something, Lady Delilah.”
A trickle of sweat slid down her back. It tickled, and she tried not to squirm. Ask her something? Could it be? She held her breath. Was this the moment she would become engaged to a handsome, eligible duke? Good heavens, it had all been much simpler than she’d thought. She didn’t need that silly elixir. Why, she would pour it out the window the minute she made it back to her bedchamber. How had she read the situation so incorrectly these past weeks? Branville wasn’t put off by her. He liked her. Enough to come here and … ask her a question.
She tried to arrange her skirts perfectly so that she would be picturesque when accepting his proposal. But arranging skirts and keeping a straight back were incompatible tasks, and she quickly abandoned her efforts.
“Of course, Your Grace,” she intoned.
“I hear you’re a matchmaker, Lady Delilah,” he began.
“Who told you that?” she blurted. Very well, that had been poorly done. She obviously needed more work on keeping her thoughts from springing from her mouth.
He smiled, and the dimple appeared in his cheek. “Lady Emmaline told me that you and Lucy are known for your penchant for matchmaking.”
Of course, Lady Emmaline had told him, which only proved he’d been spending time with Lady Emmaline. The gossip mill was right. As usual. There was no use denying it. “Yes, it’s true. I’ve made matches for several of my friends over the years.”
He bit his lip, looking slightly guilty. “Yes, well, I was hoping you’d … help me.”
She blinked. She had the awful suspicion that her face reflected her surprise. She was certain she looked as if she’d swallowed a bug.
“Help me … make a match,” he continued, as if reading her mind.
Delilah swallowed hard. The fake smile on her face made her cheeks ache. She kept her voice as proper as ever, however. “A match? With whom?” Oh, mon Dieu. That was a stupid question. Of course he meant with Lady Emmaline. “It seems as if you and Lady Emmaline are already off to a fine start, Your Grace,” she added, trying to keep the disappointment from sounding in her voice.
“Lady Emmaline? No.” He shook his head, confusion marring his fine features. “She’s not the lady upon whom I’ve set my sights.”
The smile slid from her face. Her brow furrowed. “She’s not?”
“No.” He shook his head once more.
“Who then?” Delilah blurted.
“Lady Rebecca Abernathy,” he said reverently, his eyes shining with obvious admiration.
“Lady Rebec—?”
“You two are friends, are you not?”
Delilah’s chest ached with the effort to continue to act properly. “Yes, of course. I’ve known Rebecca since we were children. We danced the Maypole dance last year at the Penningtons’ ball, and once we sneaked into Lord Abernathy’s study and—” Now she was babbling. Babbling was never a good decision. She needed to stop. Allow him to speak more. Not to mention the story about the time she and Rebecca had sneaked into Lord Abernathy’s study and imbibed brandy didn’t serve to portray either lady in a good light.
Thankfully, Branville didn’t seem to hear any of that. “I’d hoped you might be able to tell me what sort of flowers she likes, and…”
Delilah barely heard another word. The duke continued to talk, but her mind was spinning. The Duke of Branville fancied Rebecca? All her well-laid plans were ruined. How had this happened? She’d been prepared to fight Lady Emmaline for him. She was completely unprepared to battle Rebecca. As far as she knew, Rebecca wasn’t even interested in him.
“So, as you can tell,” the duke was saying when Delilah began to listen again, “I hoped you’d put in a good word for me with Lady Rebecca.”
“Put in a good word? You are aware that you’re a duke, aren’t you?” It was a crass thing to say, but it was also the first thing that sprang to her mind. With the shock she’d just received, Delilah had obviously returned to saying the first thing that came to her mind. Her back was no longer ramrod straight either, and it felt heavenly.
“Yes, but I … I believe…” Branville blushed and looked away.
Delilah narrowed her eyes on him. What was he trying to say? Why was the duke being so vague? She much preferred men like Thomas, who came right out with what they meant. It made them far easier to deal with. She’d never been particularly adept at guessing at subtleties. “Yes?” she prodded.
Branville cleared his throat. “I’m trying to say that unless I mistake my guess, I believe Lady Rebecca may be more interested in Huntley than me.”
Oh. That.
Thankfully, Delilah caught herself before saying, You’re right. She pressed her lips together and counted to ten to afford herself important moments to gather her thoughts and say something more … helpful.
“Rebecca has been asking after Thomas,” she finally said. There. That was both true and vague enough to afford her more time to think.
“I’ve seen her dancing with him at a few parties,” Branville said. “I’ve hardly had a chance to ask her to dance.”
He’d hardly had a chance to ask Rebecca to dance because he’d allowed Lady Emmaline to occupy all of his time. But pointing that out would not be helpful. Instead, she inclined her head and said, “Perhaps if you made it a priority to ask Lady Rebecca to dance?”
“Yes, you’re right. I know you’re right.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “See? I need your help. Please agree to help me with your matchmaking advice.”
“You do know I haven’t successfully made my own match yet?” Clearly the man needed the obvious pointed out to him.
“Yes, but Lady Emmaline said it’s because you’ve been busy making other matches. She said she had every faith you’d find true love one day and make the best match of all.”
Delilah’s mouth formed an O. “Lady Emmaline said that?” She pointed to herself. “About me?”
Branville nodded. “Yes, she said she greatly admires your skill, and says you and Lucy Hunt are thick as thieves.”
“We are.” Delilah smiled, but she was preoccupied by the notion that Lady Emmaline had been so complimentary. Here she’d been shooting daggers at Emmaline every chance she got, and Emmaline had done nothing but pay her compliments to the duke. Delilah felt petty and small.
A tug of sympathy for Lady Emmaline shot through her chest. Apparently, Branville didn’t want her any more than he wanted Delilah. There were both in the same unwanted little boat.
“Will you consider it, then?” the duke asked. “Helping me catch Lady Rebecca’s attention, I mean.”
Delilah blew out a breath that ruffled the curls on her forehead. She certainly hadn’t expected this when she’d come down here today, but she saw no point in turning the duke away empty-handed. “Lucy and I are quite busy this Season.” It was true. She’d lost count of how many people they were trying to pair.
“I see.” Branville looked positively crestfallen.
“But with the play rehearsals, we’ve been able to keep a close eye on things,” she continued. “I don’t see why we couldn’t help you too.”
A smile spread across his face. “Thank you, Lady Delilah.”
“I cannot make any promises, of course. We don’t have much more time, and this Season has been rife with the wrong people taking a fancy to each other.”
Another frown lowered his brow.
“Yes.” He nodded fervently. “Yes, of course.”
Delilah stood and made her way toward the door. She needed time to think about all of this, to readjust her plans.
“I’ll see you in the country,” she said. “At Claringdon’s estate.”
“Thank you again, Lady Delilah. You’re a true friend.”
She forced a smile to her lips. Friend. Lovely. “Good day, Your Grace.”
Branville exited the room, and Delilah shut the door behind him and leaned back against it. What in heaven’s name was she to do now? All of her plans had evaporated in the space of a quarter hour. She should be sad. She expected tears to spring to her eyes at any moment. She blinked and blinked again, but there was … nothing. She wasn’t sad. She had to admit that to herself. She wasn’t. She’d coveted Branville as a prize to be won, and the rivalry with Lady Emmaline had brought out her competitive nature, but now that she realized she’d been sparring with the wrong lady the entire time, she felt nothing but a vague sense of dissatisfaction. Delilah wasn’t in love with the Duke of Branville. It was that simple.
Certainly, she’d been hoping to fall in love with him. She’d been expecting to, even. But it hadn’t happened yet, and his announcing that his affections lay with Lady Rebecca did nothing but make Delilah wonder if Rebecca might abandon her pursuit of Thomas and return Branville’s affections instead.
Delilah shook her head. It had been a mad, mad Season. None of the people she and Lucy had attempted to pair off were cooperating. It was obvious they would be forced to come up with an entirely new set of plans. Starting with Branville and Lady Rebecca, perhaps. Delilah wasn’t certain why she’d agreed to help Branville with his pursuit of Rebecca. Perhaps she’d done it because the duke had been nothing but kind to her. Perhaps she’d done it because she felt she owed him a favor after ripping his shirt in front of half the ton.
Perhaps she’d done it because deep down she relished the idea of giving Rebecca someone to pine for other than Thomas.
A knock on the wood near her ear startled her. She jumped and turned to open the door. Her mother stood on the other side. She was dressed in purple satin, her arms crossed over her chest, a heavily interested look on her face for once. Mon Dieu. Her mother had seen Branville leave.
Delilah opened the door wider, and Mother slinked into the room. “So? Did he offer for you, then?”
Delilah gulped. How had she forgotten about her declaration to her mother when she was promising Branville to help him with Lady Rebecca? If she gave up Branville, she’d be giving up her chance to show her mother once and for all that she wasn’t a complete failure. Her mind raced. Perhaps she could ask Branville if he would pretend to be engaged to her for a sennight or two, to appease her mother. Then she could cry off, or pretend to. She quickly discarded the notion. That seemed like quite a lot to ask of the man. Not to mention, it might ruin his chances with Rebecca.
“Not yet,” she replied to her mother, still desperately sifting through all the thoughts that blurred her reason.
Guilt sliced through her. There was always the elixir. If it worked, her problems might be solved. She didn’t want to marry a man who didn’t love her, of course. And she didn’t necessarily want to marry one whom she didn’t love, but securing an offer from him and actually marrying him were two different things. If she could secure an offer from Branville, a real one, it would afford her precious time to decide what to do next without her mother insisting she marry hideous Clarence Hilton. Yes, it was ludicrous, but Delilah couldn’t give up. For all she knew, the elixir didn’t even work, but she had to try.
“But you do expect an offer?” Mother prodded.
“Yes,” Delilah lied. She lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders. “An offer is forthcoming.”
The smug look on her mother’s face faded, and she arched a brow. “Really?”
Delilah nodded. She’d had no idea how good it would feel to see her mother’s smugness drain from her features. “Yes.”
“Good, because your birthday is in a few days, and if there is no offer from Branville, Lord Hilton and I intend to post the first banns for your wedding with Clarence next Sunday.”
Delilah swallowed. “Don’t worry, Mother,” she said, thinking of nothing but the vial of elixir hidden upstairs in her bedchamber. The elixir that now was all that stood between her and an unwanted marriage to a man who made her shudder. “I intend to be betrothed by the time I return from Lucy’s house party on Sunday.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The ride to Lucy and Derek’s country house was long and bumpy, but Delilah couldn’t leave town fast enough. If she had been feeling guilty about using the potion on Branville instead of helping him win Lady Rebecca’s affection, her guilt had faded after her mother’s renewed threat to marry her off to Clarence. Delilah set out for the countryside, more determined than ever to wring an offer out of Branville by the end of the house party, magic potion packed securely in her trunk.
During the long, guilty trip to the estate, she’d decided exactly what she would do. First, she would see if the elixir worked. If so, all her problems would be solved. Hadn’t Madame Rosa said the elixir made the person whose eyes you sprinkled it upon fall madly in love with you? If that were true, then Branville would truly love her. He wouldn’t just think he did. It wasn’t such a bad thing she was doing, was it? After all, she had no indication that Lady Rebecca felt any affection toward Branville. It wasn’t as if she’d be splitting up a couple in love. Now that would be odious.
Besides, she reasoned, what if the elixir was fake? No doubt it had been a ludicrous notion to believe it would work in the first place. That was one reason why she hadn’t informed Lucy of its existence. Thomas had scoffed at it too. The odds of it working were actually quite low when one stopped and truly considered it. She may have done nothing but waste her money that day when she’d handed over nearly five pounds to Madame Rosa. Likely the woman had been secretly laughing at her the entire time.
If the elixir was fake, Delilah had already determined how she would handle it. She would ask Branville for a favor, to pretend to be engaged to her for, say, a fortnight, so she might inform her mother. Then she would cry off. It might cause a tiny scandal, but better a scandal than a lifetime shackled to Clarence Hilton. She just couldn’t live with her mother’s censure and disappointment. As for Branville, he had to agree. Delilah had something he wanted, didn’t she? She would offer him her services as matchmaker to Rebecca. Only this time, there would be a slight catch. She’d tell him that Rebecca would be there to comfort him after Delilah cruelly cried off. Yes. That would do the trick. It had to. Only it didn’t sound like something Branville was likely to relish doing, which was why the elixir was her first choice.
If the elixir did work, she’d thought of another way to absolve her guilt. She would use it as planned to secure an offer from Branville, then, after she’d had sufficient time to decide what to do next and how to avoid a marriage to Clarence, she would tell Rebecca about both Branville’s affections and the potion. If Rebecca returned Branville’s regard, she could go purchase some of the elixir for herself, and Delilah would help her use it any way she chose. There. That would solve the entire problem.
She expelled a deep breath and shook her head. Either the elixir would work, and she and Branville would be engaged by the end of the house party, or she’d beg Branville to play along temporarily. That was her plan.
In the meantime, Delilah only hoped her mother wouldn’t discover she was acting in the play. She’d have to face Mother’s wrath if she found out. Mère knew she’d gone to Lucy’s country house for the performance, and she’d had plenty to say about that alone, but she had no idea Delilah was one of the actors, and she wanted to keep it that way as long as possible. After that? Delilah planned on doing what she no
rmally did when she behaved in a way her mother disapproved of: Ask for forgiveness instead of permission.
By the time Delilah’s coach arrived at the front of Lucy’s estate on Friday afternoon, she’d convinced herself everything would work out perfectly. And if she kept repeating that to herself, she might begin to believe it was true.
* * *
The company rehearsed the play twice that day at Lucy’s country house, once in the morning and once that evening. A few lines were flubbed or outright missed, but for a play for charity with a company of actors who’d never before been on stage, Jane Upton had declared their performance, “Not half-bad.”
That evening, Delilah retired to her bedchamber, where Amandine helped her remove the costume she’d worn at the dress rehearsal. Delilah had already dismissed the maid and was about to climb into bed when a knock on her bedchamber door startled her. She hurried over to her wardrobe and wrapped her dressing gown around her. “Come in.”
The door opened, and Lavinia Hobbs strolled inside. She looked around the bedchamber as if she were judging its contents. She eyed Delilah up and down.
“Lavinia? What are you doing here?” Delilah asked, hoping she could usher the older woman out sooner than later. She was exhausted. Tomorrow was her birthday, and not only would she have to give the performance again in front of a real audience, she’d have to stay up late and tiptoe around in the darkness to sprinkle magic elixir on the duke’s eyes. Such subterfuge was exhausting, it turned out. She hoped to get plenty of sleep tonight.
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