The Dishonorable Miss DeLancey

by Carolyn Miller

  With a prayer muttered under her breath, she launched into the first movement, schooling her features to hide the pain as her muscles protested. Somehow she stumbled through, her only errors so small only an expert musician such as Lavinia might notice. Not that she minded; she’d long ago ceded aspirations to that lady’s superior musicianship.

  Applause was followed by a request for an encore; then she was released to listen to the Prince’s efforts. But she could not concentrate, the musical performance merely the overture to the evening’s hidden program. What could she do? How could she choose between the innocence of Tessa and hurting Lavinia, the former rival whom Richard had once assaulted?

  “Excuse me, Miss DeLancey?”

  Her breath caught. The music had ceased; conversations had resumed. She glanced up, met Mr. Kemsley’s deep blue eyes. Heat flushed her throughout at the warmth she saw there.

  “I enjoyed your performance very much.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “I wondered if you might care to take a stroll through the gardens. They are most lovely, and I’m sure it would be cooler.”

  “Go on,” Father said, in a tone that left little room for question.

  She swallowed, accepting Mr. Kemsley’s hand. What would happen if she told him about Richard’s threat? Would he be horrified? Would he help her? God forbid he not believe her! Her heart wrenched. Would it give him such disgust of her family he refused to have anything to do with them anymore?

  He drew her hand through his, and she fought a wince. He seemed to notice, shooting her a quick look. “Miss DeLancey?”

  She shook her head. Outside. If only she were outside and could breathe.

  Within seconds they were outdoors, and she gulped in the cool, refreshing air.

  “Miss DeLancey—Clara—forgive me, but your mother is right. You do not seem at all well.”

  She shook her head. “It is not that, sir. I am well, it’s just …”

  He led her to a seat, into which she sank gratefully. When next she looked up, his look of tenderness was gone, replaced by something rather cooler. “Is it Hawkesbury?”

  She gasped. “What do you know?”

  “Clara, he need not concern you. One day you will need to put these feelings aside.”

  “Oh, but—”

  “I know you’ve cared for him in the past, but you cannot let it affect you forever.”

  “No, you don’t understand. I do not care for him. Not that way. Not at all!”

  He sat beside her, picked up her hand. “Then there is hope for me?”

  “Oh, Mr. Kemsley.” Her eyes blurred.

  “My dearest, what is it?” He squeezed her hands gently.

  Pain shot up her arm. She gasped.

  “What is it? Have I hurt you?”

  “No, but I am hurt.” She swallowed the fear, prayed for courage. “My … my brother, Richard, came to see me today. He … twisted my fingers and bruised my wrists.”

  “What?”

  “I would not do what he asked. He tried to force me—”

  “My dearest!”

  Before she knew it, she was being pulled into a close embrace, was inhaling his delectable scent, was once more hearing his steady heartbeat. Here, in his arms, she was safe. She closed her eyes, savoring the moment.

  “What did he want from you?”

  She told him the all, his arm around her, his breath stirring the tendrils of her hair.

  “He threatened Tessa?”

  “Yes.”

  “I cannot see how such a thing is possible. They scarcely know my family.”

  But obviously thought his regard well worth the risk. Her heart fluttered. His regard!

  “And you say you think the man must be out here, watching?”

  “It would appear so, yes.”

  She felt his chest move as he nodded, and she glanced up at him. “What should I do?”

  He heaved in a breath as if sucking in the weight of the world. “There is only one thing we can do. We must tell Hawkesbury and somehow enlist his help.”

  Thoughts tipped and swayed, lurching through his head like a tiny sloop upon wild seas. What should he do? God, give me wisdom. He waited, listening for the still, small voice that so often guided his steps. A speck of an idea formed, then grew in strength and certainty.

  “My dearest.” He caught hold of Clara’s hand, the one not damaged by that malicious brother. If he never saw Richard DeLancey it would be too soon. “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes.”

  “You know I care for you, and I’ve no wish to see your brother hurt, but … but in order to protect you that may be a consequence.”

  Her sea-green eyes glimmered. “He has made his own choices.”

  “He has. But we will do what we can to ensure you are not adversely affected.” He rose. “Come inside. If that man is somewhere watching, he will be expecting to see you with Hawkesbury, not me.”

  He gently pulled her to her feet, walking beside her, but not too closely, in case any unseen witness even now observed how closely they’d sat before. His lips tightened. Of course, if they had spied his actions earlier the game would be up, as any woman who allowed a man to hold her in such a way could never be enamored of another. That is, unless they truly thought Clara a dishonorable woman.

  His chest heated, and he strove for calm as he reentered the room and returned Clara to her mother. Faces turned to them, some expectant, some curious. A man did not wander in the dusky twilight with a lady unless he had a purpose such as to propose. But as he had not, he avoided answering their questions, instead asking Lord Winpoole, the earl, and Lord Featherington if they’d spare him a moment.

  Clara looked up at him anxiously; he merely nodded. “I’ll be back soon.”

  He took the men into the next chamber, briefly explaining the situation, right down to Clara’s damaged hands. The earl looked thunderous; Lord Featherington pale; her father, ill.

  “I cannot believe it,” he muttered. “That boy, the bane of my existence these recent years.”

  “My lord, I cannot think it wise to waste time in recriminations,” Ben said, shifting his gaze to the earl. “I understand you may wish no part in this. Please believe I find these things anathema also.”

  “You wish to marry her.”

  Hawkesbury said it as a statement, yet underneath the bald fact Ben could still hear the question. “I do. I trust with this plan we’ll find this scoundrel Johnson and see justice finally served.”

  The earl uttered a long, drawn-out sigh. “I do not like it. But if you are sure, then you may count on my support.”

  “I cannot be sure,” Ben admitted. “But we are all praying men, are we not?” He glanced at Clara’s father, the only one with whom his doubts lay. Lord Winpoole nodded. “Then let us trust that God will guide our paths, and protect us all from the enemy’s snares.”

  “Amen,” said Tessa’s sweetheart.

  “Amen,” the earl said, with a ghost of a smile.

  “Er, Amen,” Lord Winpoole said, a puzzled look in his eye.

  “So, Featherington, you shall make your excuses before the fireworks begin.” Ben managed a smile. “I’m sure keeping an eye on Tessa won’t be too onerous a burden. David is a stouthearted man, for all he is a man of the cloth. And even George, once you put him in way of the facts, will prove more brave than not.” He hoped.

  Ben turned to the earl. “While you are here, you are obviously Richard’s target, which carries some element of danger, but I cannot think Richard would allow harm to come to his sister.” He remembered the twisted fingers. “Let’s pray not.”

  The earl looked grim. “My army days left me well versed in matters of defense, if necessary.”

  Ben continued outlining his plans, to the nods of the two younger men of the trio, and the obvious dismay of the man he most wished to impress.

  Clara’s father looked slightly gray. “I own I cannot like this. Why not simply give them money?”
>
  “Because the demands will not stop. Perhaps it may for several months, but it will return. And I’m sorry, sir, but I’m simply not willing to take chances with my sister’s safety.”

  “Of course not, no,” Lord Winpoole muttered. “I just wish—” His words faltered to a stop as the door opened. “Clara?”

  She moved inside, cheeks wan, gaze flitting from man to man. “I’m sorry for interrupting—”

  “Is it true what Kemsley says?” her father barked. “Did Richard really hurt you?”

  “You do not believe me?” Eyes pooling, she tugged down her white gloves. “Do you believe this?”

  The others echoed Ben’s gasp. Deep purple bruises ringed her forearms.

  “Oh, my dear girl! I had no idea.” Her father dashed at his eyes, his face seeming more aged than before. “Richard did that?”

  She nodded, chin wobbling.

  “But why did you say nothing?”

  She gave a shuddering breath, which made Ben long to hold her again. Would that he had that right soon. “He told me not to tell anyone, else …”

  “Else he’d hurt Tessa,” he finished.

  “Yes.” As if she’d decided to take command of herself, she took an audible breath, her shoulders straightened, her chin tilted. “Which is why I cannot let Richard’s recklessness continue. Not when I see it as my fault.”

  “Miss DeLancey—”

  She stopped the earl with a lifted hand. “My lord, I have thought and prayed over this. I”—her cheeks flamed rosy-red before paling again—“I am sorry that my … prior behavior …” Her gaze fell, her long lashes fanning her cheeks. “I am sorry that my unchecked emotion led to all this.”

  The earl shook his head. “I am sorry, more sorry than you can ever know, that my conduct was not as it ought to have been. I do not see this as your fault, Miss DeLancey, but as my responsibility.”

  She peeked up at the earl, with a look Ben couldn’t decipher, but which twisted his heart nonetheless. A wave of insecurity washed through him. Would she ever forgo feelings for the earl?

  Ben swallowed his doubts, forcing his mind to the matter at hand. “Miss DeLancey, please trust us. We will do our utmost to ensure the safety of all parties, for both their persons and their reputations.”

  “But Richard’s plan—”

  Her father gave a grating laugh. “Surely you aren’t going to follow that sapskull’s plans now?”

  She turned wide, worried eyes to Ben, but before he could reassure, movement outside signaled the commencement of the illuminations. He settled for giving her a smile and turning to his companions. “Godspeed, gentlemen. I pray we shall meet again soon.”

  Lord Winpoole harrumphed. “Meet at my house, if you please. The least I can do after all you’re doing for my wretched family.”

  The others assented, there was a final clasp of hands, then Lord Winpoole escorted Clara from the room, each man departing to play his role, and to trust that God would bring justice.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EİGHT

  CLARA FOLLOWED THE others out to the terrace as if in a trance. She glanced at her father. Would it be best to follow Richard’s instructions? Surely no good could come from ignoring him!

  High above twinkled the first of the stars. The crowd ahead milled around several large flambeaux, the bright orange flames flickering color over the faces of the assembled crowd.

  The Regent was talking, as were Lady Sefton and Lord Palmer, their voices louder, pitched higher above the others. Mother was listening avidly, evidently unaware both husband and daughter were elsewhere; if only she remained oblivious to all tonight would bring.

  Lavinia leaned close to the earl as he murmured in her ear, her widening eyes telling of her shock. The countess finally turned to face Clara, the firelight revealing her pale cheeks, as she said in an under-voice, “Nicholas just told me. I cannot believe anyone could be so cruel!”

  Wait. She did not believe her?

  “You poor, poor thing.” Lavinia drew near, eyes pooling with sympathy. “I never realized how difficult things have been.”

  Her compassion enlarged the already sizeable lump in Clara’s throat. “I am so sorry. I wish none of this had happened, nor needed to happen. Please believe I had no wish”—she swallowed—“no wish to involve your husband in any of this.”

  “I believe you.” She patted Clara’s twisted arm, forcing her to bite back a gasp.

  The earl finally met Clara’s gaze, his eyes inscrutable. “As I said inside, I do not see this as your fault, Miss DeLancey, but as the result of my poor behavior long ago.” He considered her gravely a moment longer, before saying, “I ask your forgiveness.”

  She bit her lip to stop the tremble. “You … you had it long ago.”

  The handsome contours of his face that had once so charmed her fell into softer lines. “Captain Kemsley mentioned you have found faith.”

  She nodded. “I … I was challenged by many things. Not least of which was your wife’s kindness to me at the Seftons’ ball.”

  “Lavinia is a most excellent creature,” he said, gazing fondly at his wife.

  “You chose well and right, my lord.”

  He glanced at Clara, a smile curling his lips. “I agree.”

  A chuckle escaped. She remembered something she often used to say when she’d first tried to impress him. “In fact, she might even be described as wonderfully fine.”

  He chuckled, as Lavinia looked between them, the mock outrage in her raised brows revealed by her smile. “I am standing right here, you know.”

  Lord Hawkesbury swiftly kissed her. Clara turned away, not because the sight brought pain as it once would have, but because the passion they shared only fueled desire to do the same with her betrothed. Well, her nearly betrothed. Mr. Kemsley might not have spoken the words, but his actions made his intentions clear. Her heart thumped. She hoped it would not be very much longer until she, too, was finally a wife.

  Somehow through the darkness she caught Mr. Kemsley’s gaze. His eyes were shadowed, and she could not read his expression. Her heart twisted. Surely he did not think she remained enamored of the earl?

  Clara swallowed and was about to move to reassure him, when the first firework exploded above, drawing oohs and ahhs from the crowd. She paused and watched it like the others, head tilted back, her heart lifting momentarily. Fireworks still made her feel like a child.

  She followed the golden drops as they fell to earth, peering through the smoke. There was Prinny, ever obvious in his raiment, center of attention as usual, oblivious to the deeper concerns hiding in the darkness. There were the marquess and marchioness; how she hoped Lord Featherington would be kept safe, for their sake, and for Tessa’s. There was Mother, and Lady Sefton. But … she pushed to her toes, searching keenly. Her heart twisted. Mr. Kemsley had gone.

  Something akin to feeling bereft swept her soul. Now that Richard wanted Clara to show affection to the man she’d always thought she’d loved, she realized how much she wished to be with another. Lord Hawkesbury was too tall, too hard, too cutting. He had never laughed with her, never gazed at her tenderly or protected her as Mr. Kemsley had. Tonight she need only pretend, but pretending to care had never been so challenging.

  Movement nearby drew her attention back to the Hawkesburys. Lavinia placed a hand on her midsection. “I promise not to worry, but will pray for your safety.”

  He nodded, his mouth pulled grim. “Don’t stop praying. I suspect we’ll need strength and wisdom before the night is out.” The earl kissed Lavinia again, then escorted her to Lady Exeter before bowing and moving away.

  Frustration roiled within. Had Mr. Kemsley not explained things clearly? Didn’t the earl understand the role Richard wished him to play? That Tessa needed him to play? How would any person watching ever believe anything but the earl’s deep love for his wife?

  There was a thunderous boom of fireworks, reds and blues spattering drops of light across the ground. Clara watched the earl move to
a section of garden farther away from the others, partly obscured by several large, potted ferns, the light spilling from the drawing room behind. Was she supposed to follow?

  She moved to join him, when a hand grasped her good arm.

  “Clara, no.”

  “But, Father—”

  “Trust me, my dear. You do not need to follow him anymore.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Clara,” he muttered urgently, “if you will not trust me, at least trust that Kemsley fellow. He’s got a surprisingly good head on him. Now,” his grip firmed, “let’s see if your mother is amenable to departing. I confess I have a great desire to return home.”

  “But the plan—”

  “Now, Clara.”

  Forced to obey her parents’ lead and murmur her farewells, Clara travelled home in a welter of confusion. How could leaving so meekly solve their dilemma?

  Her father’s brief explanation—once they had arrived home and were safely away from Mother’s ears—left her with no greater assurance, but instead ensconced in a different bedchamber, struggling to sleep as troubling dreams chased fears that refused to be silenced by prayers.

  Ben sneaked along the perimeter of the garden. Behind him, he could hear a stealthy rustle as one of Prinny’s coachmen searched the grounds for an intruder. From this distance, Ben could just make out the figures on the lawn.

  Clara had gone home. He was glad. Apart from the distraction she always proved, she was safe—he hoped—at home, and away from any taint of scandal as the remainder of the evening’s events unfolded. But in other ways, ways that proved to take up a disconcertingly large proportion of his thoughts, her absence meant he had no way of resolving whether the envy tugged from him during her interactions with the earl was a mere figment of his green-eyed imagination or a portent of something true. He supposed it possible a lady could inflict such bruising herself …

  Ben shook his head, as if to shake away the doubts. No. Choose to doubt and one might as well be a wave of the sea, blown and tossed about by the wind. He could not afford to listen to the nefarious winds of this world. He needed to trust the Clara whose character he knew, rather than be set adrift by fear and rumors from the past.