Quincy nodded. “’Tis,” emerged like dust from the man’s throat. “Your Grace,” he added, ever obsequious.
Sebastian’s eyes wanted to roll toward the night sky, sunk low with a thick blanket of clouds. Rain was about to break upon their heads. But he kept them trained, unflinching, upon Quincy. The other man’s gaze slid away first.
Quincy taken care of, Sebastian’s attention shifted toward the stage. The performance had moved on to the terrier Queen Elizabeth—she answered to Bess amongst the company—who was presently delighting the crowd.
No Delilah.
A feeling of dread sank to the pit of his stomach, as he shouldered and pushed his way to the back of the stage. Immediately, he felt the curious eyes of the theater company upon him. He chose to ignore it. Explanations could come later, but first… “Has anyone seen Lilah?” he called to anyone who would listen.
A beat of silence followed before Delilah’s caravan mate Dorie stepped forward. “Is thatLady Delilah Windermereyou’re asking about?”
“Your Grace,” finished Delilah’s other caravan mate Flora.
Point made—and taken.
A few chuckles sounded around, but there was very little amusement in it. Instead, he sensed growing distance and no small amount of distrust. Delilah would’ve felt it, too. Seb and Lilah were the Duke of Ravensworth and Lady Delilah Windermere—nobs.
His feet kicked into a sprint as he made straight for Delilah’s caravan. He popped his head into the open doorway and found it empty.
And he knew.
She was gone.
And why wouldn’t she be? Everything had gone disastrously and publicly wrong for her…again.
But this time, everything had gone wrong for him, too.
Wasn’t he supposed to have had until the end of summer?
He could follow her. It wouldn’t be too difficult to track her down.
But what good would that do?
Delilah needed time and space to lick her wounds. And to think… Think about what was truly lost tonight.
No, he wouldn’t run after her. Not this time. This time, he would follow the advice he’d once given his good friend Rory.
Best to let a Windermere come to you.
This wasn’t about him being a duke and exerting a form of power.
This was about Delilah knowing her mind—and her heart.
And following it.
Back to him.
Chapter Thirteen
Two weeks later
Casa Windermere, London
Delilah attempted toconcentrate on the book she was reading. She truly did. After all,Emmaby the late Jane Austen was one of her favorite novels. This was Delilah’s fifth reading of it, in fact. She’d always found it diverting.
Until this reading.
Upon this read, she found Emma Woodhouse slightly insufferable. Really a bit of a goose’s bottom. It had never occurred to Delilah that a writer might dislike her heroine, but it could be that Jane Austen had disliked—even despised Emma—for it was apparent upon this reading exactly how mean-spirited and small Emma truly was.
