"He was used to tell me what he would do for Manningford," Charles said.
"I suspected it. In fact, he had some very worthy suggestions."
Rupert lifted a repelling hand as he detected what was in his brother's face. "No don't thank me. You should not have had to suffer as you did. You will never suffer again at my hands."
Bowland pushed open the door with his foot, as he was laden with a massive tray.
"Ah, supper," Rupert exclaimed. "Come along Charles, have something to eat. You are expected in North Audley Street. You have a wedding to plan. And I...tomorrow I must find Delia."
***
Contrary to her expressed desire, Delia had not reached Edinburgh within the week. After the first day's long journey, she and Morag Lochmaddy rested at the Fox in Huntingdon. When they rose the next morning, Delia surprised even herself with an announcement. "We shall divert our journey today, to Manningford."
Her companion allowed herself an astonished exclamation. "Is it wise Miss Delia?"
"I do not know. But I know it to be necessary. I have a wish to see the house in its finished state."
They accomplished the side trip to Manningford by mid-afternoon. The park was hazed with green, and daffodils nodded in drifts to the edges of the burgeoning forest and hedged fields.
Mrs. Inniskip, close upon the heels of Prym, met them in the Hall. "Miss Tyninghame, we are glad to see you." Her expression revealed her shock at Delia's worn and fragile appearance.
"And I you," Delia smiled warmly. "I am returning to Edinburgh, and wished only to see Manningford...to see if the decorations were appropriate."
"Appropriate? Miss Tyninghame, you have wrought wonders. The furnishings sent from London have been placed according to your instructions, the hangings done, and the pictures. 'Tis wonderful."
Delia wavered wearily and put a hand to her brow.
"Will you take refreshment, Miss Tyninghame, rest a little? Then we might show you the house?"
Delia nodded agreement, and permitted herself to be led to the saloon on the first floor.
In the end the sense of belonging she felt at Manningford, combined with the connivance of the devoted servants, managed to delay her journey two days.
Inniskip had questions regarding placement of certain of the items Delia had ordered, and by the time they had been answered that first day it was dusk. She was prevailed upon to sleep in a refurbished bedchamber. The following day, she had to see each room of the west wing, which was transformed by her careful design. By ingenious persuasion, she was convinced to spend another night. Aware of the servants' kind intentions, but determined to leave, she ordered her post chaise for nine o'clock the next morning.
She could not weep, when they took coach for the Great North Road. Her regret, for what might have been, went too deep for tears. But the daffodils were a golden blur, and the view of the tower of Charles' church was distorted by her impaired vision. She left Manningford as her gift for Rupert, furnished with love for his comfort.
They reached Grantham that evening in time to dine at the Angel. Despite Mrs. Lochmaddy's protests, Delia insisted they press on by moonlight to Doncaster afterwards. It was an absurd destination, the distance prodigious, but she would not be gainsaid. She fainted before they had passed another hour in the coach. She had eaten next to nothing at the Angel. Indeed she had eaten little for more than a week.
Morag Lochmaddy pulled violently at the checkstring before reviving Delia with the sal volatile in her reticule. "Newark is only a few miles away, Miss Delia. We must spend the night there."
"No. I wish to go to Edinburgh." Delia, her eyes clouded with fatigue, protested.
"Ye canna," argued her companion. The coach door stood open and the postilion idled outside in the road. Morag called to him. "Here, can ye tell of a respectable inn at Newark?"
"The White Horse, ma'am. Fine as you could wish," came the response.
"There, you hear, Miss Delia?"
Delia shivered, and relented. "Very well, we shall halt at Newark," she said.
She did not speak again until she was installed in the bed of the best bedchamber of the White Horse. A private parlour was bespoke and Morag Lochmaddy, with a chambermaid to do her bidding, prepared a posset over the fire.
"I believe you were right, Morag," Delia said. "I have made myself ill through not eating."
"'Tis a feverish cold, Miss Delia, nothing more," the Scotswoman said.
"Perhaps, but you were justified. Except that I still feel I cannot eat. But I shall endeavour to drink whatever you bring me." Her voice was suspended momentarily by unshed tears. "We should not have paused at Manningford."
"Yet it was fine to see the place in good heart. Ye've done the earl a service indeed."
Delia flinched.
Morag hurried on. "We shall stay until you are stronger, a day or two. Now sleep. You've done precious little of that these past nights."
"We shall stay a day, if you insist. And you must not blame the earl," Delia admonished. She was drowsy but her anguish denied her rest. Rupert would be in France now discovering that there was no hope, and no future for them.
"He's no worse than the rest of his breed," Morag acknowledged. "'Tis Lady Barbara I blame. She should not have let you come south...either first or last." She supported Delia so that she could sip the sustaining drink prepared for her.
Delia felt a flicker of amusement, an emotion that she had assumed quite dead. "This is not a foreign Land, Morag. The English are not barbarians," she said. She drank as she had promised she would. "Besides she could not have prevented me either time."
Four days passed before she was fit enough to continue the journey. The morning of the fifth day, she made to descend the staircase of the White Horse. She felt calm and somewhat rested, though despondent still.
At the foot of the stairs, the door stood open on a bright spring morning dancing with sunlight. The host was in conversation with a tall gentleman, clad in a greatcoat, who held his beaver in one gloved hand. His black head was bent in a most familiar way.
Delia clutched the banister more securely. Surely she was not in such control as she thought, that any tall slim gentleman could affect her so.
Or was she dreaming? No, for surely she knew that straight broad shouldered back. "Rupert?" she breathed.
He spun about. "Thank God," he exclaimed. "I have been to Leicester, Grantham and Nottingham, besides Manningford. Bowland is certain I am a Bedlamite."
He mounted the stairs two at a time, to seize her and kiss her breathless before she could speak. She responded without restraint, conscious only of her deep need of him. His lips were warm on her mouth, her cheek, her throat. Morag Lochmaddy's shocked remonstrances at last penetrated her joy.
"We must not!" She tore herself away at last. "You mustn't."
Half the inn servants stood gaping at them from the entry below.
His gaze wandered adoringly over her face. His long fingers traced the smooth line of her jaw, and teased her pearl eardrop. "Must I not...cousin?" he asked. His deep voice was quiet and very tender.
She clutched his arm with surprising strength and drew him, hurried him, back into the parlour she had only just vacated.
"Cousin?" she asked. The future was dawning before her. She scarcely dared to hope that happiness could be theirs. She closed the door in Morag's outraged face.
"Cousin," he confirmed. He reveled in the glory of her growing joy. "I have been to Paris, and spoken with my uncle. Augustus recalled very well a trip to Scotland, and his genuine love for a delightful woman called Margaret. Their joy in each other was very real, and consummated but once. His regrets are many and of long-standing."
"He is my father," Delia said, her emotions in a turmoil. Anxiety beset her. "Shall I like him?"
"I think so. I believe so. To hear of your mother's death, and of your existence was a great shock to him. He wonders if you will meet him."
Delia found it necessary to be seated, a
nd drew Rupert down beside her. "I shall, of course, but it is strange to hear of it. To think of it."
"I believe I could more easily have accepted this change of parent than you. For your 'father' was well loved by you, and mine, not at all by me. I wish the adjustment had been mine."
She studied him, and discovered the shadows of the past still in his face. But the lines had smoothed, and a new content shaped his features.
"We must look to the future, not the past," she said.
"When we are wed..." he began.
He was studying her as eagerly as she did him, she realized, and she coloured. She discovered her strength flooding back, and recognized even that she was hungry. "Are we to be wed?" she interrupted him to query half-teasingly. A touch of disbelief haunted here, but her heart was full of joy, and her dreams were to be realized.
"You have just kissed me in a public inn, in a manner in which no unmarried lady should indulge. We shall have to wed. Your reputation is destroyed." His expression was tender.
"And does a rake worry about reputation?"
"There is not a rake present. Only a man, begging for your hand, desiring the bliss of your companionship and your love. And vowing to ensure your happiness. Will you marry me?"
She smiled with great sweetness upon him. "I will," she promised.
She was gathered again into his arms. "I have a special license in my pocket," he murmured against her feather soft black hair.
"It would be pleasant to be married by Charles," she whispered in return, breathing in the crisp scent of him, against the linen of his neckcloth.
He held her away by the shoulders, very gently. "Charles is still in London. I cannot wait so long," he said. "I shall fall to bits and be most pathetic."
"Emotion conquers the man of science," she teased lovingly. "Well then, Newark must hold a sympathetic man of God. We shall send Bowland to find him, and Morag to find flowers. But Rupert, one thing I demand."
He faced her gravely.
"I will spend our wedding night at Manningford."
"Done," he agreed with a dazzling smile.
The End
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