By the time Lyman had made his way back to the Hirsch residence, the quarrel was long over. Wood was barricaded in his room, though Clarkson came out to greet him at the sound of the door.
“Itwasmy cravat,” he announced with grim satisfaction. “The initials were right where I said.”
***
“Where on earth have youbeen?” Annabelle was waiting to confront her as soon as Della arrived home. “You’ve been gone all day, and without a chaperone. I hope you weren’t with Lord Ashton all this time.”
“You’re the one who sent for him in the first place,” Della reminded her. “What did you think would happen?” But the reminder of her sister’s role in starting the whole evening had her feeling charitable enough not to start a quarrel. “Don’t worry. I only wanted to work on my book without any disturbances, that’s all.”
“You’ve been gone nearly ten hours!”
“Another of the lodgers came home earlier than expected and I had to wait him out. The important thing is that I’m back safe and sound, and I finished two whole chapters plus my introduction.”
“That doesn’t sound like very much for all the time you were there,” Annabelle observed wryly. “How did you and your viscount pass the rest of the day, I wonder?”
“I won’t listen to such wild accusations,” Della replied. It was all she could do not to squeal with glee at the memory. She judged it best to change the subject before she gave herself away. “You just don’t have any proper conception of how long writing takes. Anyway, did I miss anything here while I was out?”
“Supper. Also, several of your friends came to call, including Jane. She left a note.”
“Thank you.”
Once her sister had accepted that no further information would be forthcoming and given up trying to learn more, Della went to retrieveher messages and asked a footman if Cook would be kind enough to prepare her a plate of leftovers she might take in her room. While at Ashton’s lodgings, she’d succeeded in forgetting the catastrophe at Bishop’s for a short time, but now it all came rushing back.
She flipped through the calling cards, casting aside all those that weren’t Jane’s.
Della,
All is in hand. Eli and I will handle the club tonight while his mother watches Gloria. I have persuaded Cecily to help us counter the rumors. (I know, not the most likely solution but she is good with people.) Get some rest. I’ll try you again when I have more time.
—Jane
Cecily?Cecily?It should be Della’s job to quell the rumors and smooth over ruffled feathers, not hers! Della had years of practice keeping their members happy. She wasgoodat it. Why should Jane suddenly trust her cousin, when the pair had been rivals more often than friends?
Della set the note down and began flipping through the other cards she’d tossed aside. Miss Berry, Lady Eleanor, Miss Anwar… It seemed many of her regular attendees had stopped by the house this morning to discuss what they’d seen or heard last night. And now Della couldn’t return their calls unless she consulted Jane or Cecily first, lest she say something that contradicted their story.
As she picked at her meal, Della wondered what type of reception she would receive at the Williamses’ town house when she next called. What if she arrived to find Hannah in the middle of packingher bags for an extended voyage to the continent? Her mother probably wouldn’t be too happy to see Della again, assuming the poor woman hadn’t keeled over from apoplexy yet.
It’s too late to call anyway. They’ll have left for Bishop’s hours ago.
The doors would already be open by now. Would there be more members than usual, drawn by the scent of gossip, or less, as women sought to avoid being tainted by association? She wasn’t sure what news would be harder to receive—that Jane hadn’t been able to solve everything without her, or that she had, proving once and for all that Della was entirely superfluous in this operation.
It was too maddening to think of it, so Della resolved to stop. She was exhausted, and her bed was right here. Although it had the disadvantage of not having the Viscount Ashton inside of it, it was otherwise quite comfortable. Besides which, she had the memory of their recent lovemaking to warm her as she slept.
Seventeen
Lyman didn’t see Della again until the evening of her family’s ball. Peter Danby’s invitation seemed so long ago that he’d nearly forgotten about it. But even his usual worries over the threat of discovery and his imminent hearing before the Consistory Court couldn’t provide an excuse to keep him away. From their first meeting, he’d been curious to see what sort of people had produced a woman as singular as Cordelia Danby. Now he would finally know.
Mr. and Mrs. Danby proved to be surprisingly ordinary. He was a polished gentleman somewhere in his mid-fifties, with muttonchop sideburns and a trimmed mustache framing his smooth-shaven chin. She looked to be about a decade younger than her husband, with rich chestnut hair going toward gray and a plump, smiling face that reminded Lyman of her daughter. They greeted Lyman warmly and asked him a few polite questions—what part of the country he’d grown up in, whether he were already acquainted with the other guests in attendance, and lastly, how he’d met Peter. If Lyman betrayed any surprise over this assumption, the Danbys didn’t notice. He’d barely had time to explain that their son was anadmirer of his guidebooks before they turned their attention to the next arrival and repeated a similar welcome. The questions seemed automatic, though the Danbys were charming enough and gave each guest their full attention for the brief minutes they spent with them.
Lyman found Della and her brother beneath a large oil painting of a coastline in a brewing storm. “I thought you said that your parents knew you’d been meeting with me to work on your manuscript,” he said, once he’d greeted them.
“They do.” A small worry line appeared in the middle of Della’s brow. “Why, what’s the matter?”
“They didn’t seem to realize we knew one another when I met them just now.”
“Oh, they probably just forgot.” Della gave a light laugh, her brow growing smooth once more. “That’s just their way. I wouldn’t think anything of it.”
“I’m so glad you could join us,” Peter cut in before Lyman could respond. He had a fair-haired woman on his arm. “May I present Miss Greenwood?”
