“And yet Ainsley failed to tell us what a lovely and talented daughter he had. Was that Beethoven I heard you playing?”
Delphine felt her cheeks heat. “Yes, the Appassionata. I have not fully mastered it yet. I only recently obtained the music for it in Bru—”
“My family is intensely musical,” he interrupted. “My father plays the violin, and my sister—Lady Alice Ardmore as she is now—plays the piano, though she prefers lighter works than Beethoven. I’m sure she would be delighted to share her music with you. She is presently visiting us at Treholme, and has an extensive collection of country dances.”
Delphine folded her hands in her lap. “I would be pleased to make her acquaintance.”
Sydenham sat down at Meg’s invitation, taking the chair Delphine had set for Stephen, crossing his legs and leveling another smile at her, designed to charm. Where had Stephen gone? She glanced around the room, stared at the empty doorway.
“My lady?” She turned her attention back to Lord Sydenham. “My father would like to meet you, and since he cannot, alas, come to you, you must agree to go to him.” He put a hand to his heart and grinned. “I was sent to invite you all to Treholme for dinner tomorrow evening. My sister is staying only a few days longer, and we are all most eager to know Lord Ainsley’s lovely daughter better—and their Graces of Temberlay, of course.”
Delphine looked at Meg, who nodded. “We would be very pleased to come, my lord.”
“Excellent. I shall inform my father we shall be able to look forward to a musical evening as well, which I am sure will be most pleasing to all of us,” Sydenham said.
Tea arrived, and Meg poured out. There was a fourth cup on the tray, and Meg turned to Delphine. “I thought Stephen was here with you this morning.”
Delphine felt her smile slip, and pinned it firmly back into place. “He has gone to rest, I believe.”
“And who is Stephen, pray tell?” Lord Sydenham asked. His smile slipped a little and he cast an apprising glance quickly at Delphine, the look of a man who suspects he has a rival, she thought.
“Lord Stephen Ives—another guest, my lord,” Meg said. “A friend of my husband’s.”
Sydenham’s grin was back in place. “Then by all means, bring him along tomorrow evening—he is most welcome. Is he musical?”
Delphine shook her head. “I’m afraid Lord Stephen won’t be able to accept your invitation. He is an officer—a major—in the Royal Dragoons, and he was injured at Waterloo. He is recovering here at Temberlay.”
Sydenham made a false moue of sympathy before sipping his tea. “Well, I cannot think of a more delightful place to recover than here at Temberlay, in the salubrious Derbyshire air. We followed the news of the battle at Treholme, of course, though I shan’t discuss it here, as it is it far too rude a topic for ladies.” He grinned again.
Delphine cast a glance at Meg, who diplomatically changed the subject. “What are some of your favorite musical pieces, my lord? Perhaps we are familiar with them.”
“Oh, you need not worry about polishing anything for presentation tomorrow evening, Your Grace. We are very advanced musicians—well beyond the capabilities of most folk, even one of such—budding—talent as Lady Delphine. And anyway, who could truly concentrate on the music with such a charming lady playing the instrument?” He leaned forward and gave her a speaking look. It was as good as a declaration of his intentions.
Delphine smiled back graciously out of habit, the way her father had taught her, using her looks to curry favor with his political allies, but her stomach churned at the besotted look in Sydenham’s eyes. He saw a marriage prize, a rich wife. He did not see her at all. Even blind, Stephen was—well, not today he wasn’t. Delphine’s chest tightened, and she sipped her tea, felt her face flame. Another suitor to fend off. “You flatter me, my lord,” she murmured.
He bounded to his feet and bowed over her hand. “Not at all!” His blue eyes bored into hers. He was inches away, and she resisted the urge to back away. “May I say your mother’s description of your beauty did not come close to doing you justice? I can scarcely wait to welcome you to Treholme tomorrow evening. You may take me at my word when I say I shall count the hours. What a marvelous opportunity to know our neighbors better, to deepen our acquaintance, and become better friends. I shall warn Halidon’s gardener that you are coming, for you shall put his prizewinning roses to shame, dear Lady Delphine.”
Delphine gritted her teeth at the ridiculous compliments. If she had a shilling for every time she had been compared to a rose, she could double her dowry. She withdrew her hand from his. “Thank you. I—we—look forward to meeting Lord Halidon,” she said carefully.
“Then until tomorrow night, I shall regretfully take my leave,” he said, and Meg rang the bell for a footman to show her guest out.
Delphine watched the door close behind Lord Sydenham, dismayed. Her mother would be delighted to hear of the invitation, and his lordship’s obvious interest in Delphine. Her mother would be disappointed once again, and so would Lord Sydenham.
She thought of Stephen, and wondered where he’d gone, as she had the night of her mother’s ball, when he’d turned away, left her in company she didn’t want. What had she done this time? Maybe it was simply that he was still in pain, or worried about the court-martial. Her stomach tensed. Or perhaps he was thinking of the mysterious Julia. Once your heart was given, could you ever love again? Surely not as deeply, or as well—and every love that came after would be doomed by comparison to the first. She bit her lip. If that was so, then she would never love anyone. She couldn’t bear it.
Chapter 30
Stephen had felt the music like a blow when Delphine began to play in passionate, powerful strokes. The desire to touch her, to cross the room and kiss her, despite Nicholas’s warning—or perhaps because of it—had been unbearable. But he couldn’t find his way to her in the darkness. He was blind, useless, and Nicholas was quite right.
He fumbled his way out to the terrace that ran the length of the back of the south wing of the castle, found the bench he’d shared with Delphine before, leaned against the wall. He was slowly learning to navigate his way through his dark prison, remembering where furniture and doorways and steps might be—because she had helped him learn to do so. He didn’t need her now, he told himself, though he moved slowly without her hand on his arm, or her verbal cues, like an old man.
He felt like an old man. His ribs ached, his arm itched, and his heart was a tight knot of fear in his chest. He felt the sting of tears as she played the piano, her touch sure, the music rich and emotional—another talent that he hadn’t known she possessed. It spoke of even more unknown depths when he’d thought her shallow. She had not even spoken when he left the room, probably glad to see him go.
He could still hear the piano through the open door, and he let the music wash over him.
He heard it stop when Viscount Sydenham entered, listened as he was introduced to Delphine. He’d offered flowery compliments in his rich mellow voice, sure of himself and filled with undisguised admiration for Delphine. Delphine had been gracious, flirtatious, and eager in return. The man had been captivated. Hell, from here on the terrace, out of sight and mind, Stephen had been captivated. He wasn’t surprised when Sydenham said he would count the minutes until he saw Delphine again. Is that not how he felt, waiting for morning to come just so he could listen to the sound of her voice as she read to him, or walked by his side?
Sydenham was probably young, handsome, and rich, a noble, eligible gentleman of property and position. He was also a political friend of Ainsley’s. He was perfect for her.
And Sydenham could see Delphine’s beauty, compliment her, let his feelings show in his eyes when he looked at her. Stephen felt the knot around his heart tighten still further. Sydenham had compared her to a rose. He remembered standing in a shower of petals, touching her face. No rules. But there were a great many rules indeed.
Jealousy nipped at him—he’d fe
lt it before. In his mind, Sydenham became Thomas Merritt, his rival for Julia’s hand. Stephen was certain then he was the better man, that he would be the one to win Julia’s heart. But she’d chosen Merritt. It had torn him apart. There was no comparison at all between himself and Sydenham.
Still he tormented himself. After dinner at his father’s glorious estate, Lord Sydenham would take Delphine walking in the garden in the moonlight, and steal a kiss. Stephen clenched his fist against the wool of his breeches. He had become more aware of things like the feel of fabric, the sound his garments made when he moved, the scent of fresh linen, the way his boots felt on his feet, the sweetish smell of his own healing wounds, the enjoyment of soap and warm water—and her, damn it, Delphine. He knew her scent, the sound of her gown as she walked by his side or even breathed, the way her shawl was warmed by her skin, the curl of her fingers on his sleeve when she was describing something, the soft tickle of her hair against his cheek if he leaned toward her. Those details had become part of his world.
Would Sydenham notice them? He didn’t care. He loved Julia Leighton, or thought he had. He was not falling in love with Delphine. He didn’t even like her. Or he hadn’t, until— He pushed himself upright, moved away from the cool shadows near the wall, into the heat of the sun, three carefully counted paces forward. He turned his face up, but saw nothing. Not even the light of the sun could penetrate the darkness. He felt his heart kick in panic, and he gasped for breath.
He drew another choked breath. Of all the women in the world, she was the last one he would choose to love. And yet, something had changed. Was she different now, or had it taken blindness for him to see her as she truly was?
Nick’s warning had come too late, had only made him realize how much he wanted Delphine St. James, and in all the ways a man could want a woman.
And he couldn’t have her.
Chapter 31
The haying supper was scant days away. The fields were adorned with stooks of hay drying in the sun. Soon, the crop would be piled on carts and wagons and carried away to fill the haylofts and stables. Delphine took a deep breath, and tasted the dust of the road behind her teeth as the carriage lurched toward Temberlay village. Still, the day was perfect—the blue blaze of the sky was embroidered with skeins of blackbirds, and fields lay golden with the promise of a good harvest.
Meg fanned her flushed face in the sultry heat. “Thank you for coming with me today. I have several stops to make. We’ve got a basket to deliver to Mrs. Grainger, first of all—her husband was killed at Waterloo. Then we must stop at the Emmings farm. Mary Emmings is to marry in just a few weeks. Her sweetheart survived the war, and now that he’s home, he wants to wed as soon as possible.”
“How sad to have women at both extremes of emotion. How will Mrs. Grainger manage without her husband?” Delphine asked.
Meg smiled. “Oh, we’ve found a perfect solution. Mrs. Grainger’s children are grown and gone, and she’s alone. Since she cannot run the farm by herself, Nicholas has suggested that Mary Emmings and her new husband move in, so they’ll have a farm of their own. Mrs. Grainger will stay on, help where she can, among family. She’s a cousin of Mrs. Emmings’s.”
“So there will be a wedding to plan in the next few weeks,” Delphine said, smiling.
“Yes, which is why we must see the new minister, Mr. Brill, about calling the banns. He has just arrived from Scotland, where he officiated at the marriage of the Earl of Glenlorne to Lady Caroline Forrester. I fear our quiet country village may be a rather dull living for him. Still, we’ll keep him busy—he’ll say the grace at the haying supper, wed Mary Emmings, and baptize Ann Bell’s new baby girl. Perhaps he’ll christen our child as well, when the time comes.” She ran a hand over the swell of her belly with a fond smile.
“Meg, is there a local doctor?” Delphine asked.
Meg’s smile faded. “Do you think I’ll need one? There’s a midwife—”
Delphine patted her hand. “I’m sure you will do very well when the time comes. I meant for Stephen.”
“But our physician in London said he was fine, and all he would need was rest and time. Is something wrong?”
Delphine looked out the window. There were wildflowers growing along the side of the road—red, blue, and yellow amid gold and green grass. “I don’t know. He’s been so angry and restless lately. I wonder if he’s still in pain. He used to meet me in the library every morning and we would read the newspaper together, or just talk. He did not come this morning, or yesterday.” She bit her lip and looked at Meg. “Has Nicholas had bad news about the court-martial?”
“I don’t think he’s heard anything at all. There are no new witnesses.”
Delphine’s heart thumped. “But if his accusers have disappeared, can they still try him?”
Meg sighed. “It does seem unfair. Surely he’s paid enough for whatever he might have done.”
“He hasn’t done anything! You cannot truly believe that Stephen Ives would commit theft, or play the coward!” Delphine cried passionately. “He’s innocent, Meg. I know he is.”
“But they have documents, letters, statements from witnesses and men who knew Stephen,” Meg said.
“What of—Julia?” Delphine asked. The other woman’s name was thick on her tongue. Had they been lovers? “Might she speak for him?”
“Julia is in America,” Meg said gently. “Whatever was between them is surely over now.”
Delphine watched a cloud slide across the face of the sun, blocking out the light, turning the fields gray. Panic made her sweat. Wasn’t there anything she could do?
“We’ve arrived at Mrs. Grainger’s. Let’s go inside where it’s cooler,” Meg said as the coach pulled up.
Delphine looked at the trim white cottage, and envied the happy couple their simple life.
Chapter 32
“Good evening, Sergeant.”
Stephen’s ears pricked at the sound of Delphine’s voice.
“How is the major this evening?” she asked, and he knew by the rustle of silk that Browning, damn him, had stepped back to let her come into his room. He turned his head toward her and waited, not bothering to get up from where he lay stretched on the settee.
“As you can see, I’m fine, my lady.”
“Indeed, but since I have not seen you outside these rooms for two whole days, I thought I should come and check on you. Not that I haven’t been busy myself . . .” She left the statement hanging, obviously hoping he’d ask what she’d been doing. He did not. It was probably a carriage ride or a picnic with the charming Viscount Sydenham. Tonight she would go to dinner at Treholme, meet his esteemed father and sister, gain their approval before he proposed marriage to Delphine. How could they help but approve? It was as good as done.
“I was in the village with Meg today. There’s a soldier coming home from the wars next week, and there’s much excitement. There’s also sorrow, for there are also a number of men from the village who will not be returning at all,” she said, not waiting for him to ask after all. He stayed still, listening to the sound of her voice. “And there’s a new minister at Temberlay,” she babbled on. “He’ll bless the haying supper, and there’s a wedding in the works.”
His stomach leaped. A wedding? Not Delphine’s, surely. Not so soon. Or was she merely anticipating Sydenham’s offer? He pictured her in the man’s arms in the moonlight as he offered a massive betrothal ring, the kind of gem that had been in his family for generations. Since yesterday, Sydenham had become handsomer and more heroic in Stephen’s tormented mind, roguish, charming, and irresistible—the kind of man who made women of every age melt to mush and giggle hysterically when he merely smiled at them.
Would Delphine accept Sydenham? She seemed happy tonight, overbright and full of chatter. Was she nervous or hopeful? Or simply confident she could engineer the proposal if the words got stuck in her viscount’s throat? Perhaps he’d sing his declaration, being musical.
She shifted again, and he he
ard the movement of her gown, the sibilance of silk.
“Are you wearing the same gown you wore at the ball in Brussels?” he interrupted her cheerful chatter. She fell silent for a moment.
“No, a different one. It’s the first time I’ve worn it.”
And she was wearing it for Sydenham, to dazzle him, to stop his breath in his throat, make his mouth water to take her in his arms and kiss her. “Describe it,” he said. He heard her swallow, draw a breath before she spoke.
“Well, it’s silk, the color of new cream, embroidered all over with small dots of silver. The sleeves are short and puffed, and trimmed with lace. There’s a pink ribbon under my—” She paused again, and he wondered if she were blushing. “At my waist, that is, and silk roses—also pink—that gather the skirt on one side, at my knee, to create a draped effect.”
“Do you have flowers in your hair?” he asked. He was tormenting himself.
“No, pearl clips, with a matching necklace and bracelet.”
He was silent, imagining how lovely she was, knowing how lovely.
“Well? Will I do?” she asked.
He frowned. “Perhaps you’d best ask Sydenham, or some other sighted man to tell you that.”
She came closer. He could smell her perfume now, breathed it in, a garden, exotic and lush, with Delphine at its center.
“My shawl is silk as well, embroidered with pink and silver roses. My shoes are rose satin with silver bows,” she went on, almost breathless. She took his hand in hers. “I am wearing white satin gloves.”
He squeezed her hand. “I cannot see you. May I touch your gown, feel the fabric? Where is the . . . the most polite place to do so?”
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