However, Lord Perish had stopped listening.
“Lillian” he murmured, taking a step toward the newcomer.
“This is Lady Lillian,” their hostess introduced to them all at once. “Lord Williamson’s daughter, recently arrived from London.”
To Delia’s dismay, Lord Perish was the first to cross the room, as if pulled swiftly by a strong rope.
Chapter Eight
Delia watched him greet the woman, whom he obviously already knew. Flaxen-haired, taller than Delia, blue-eyed, and with a pretty smile. Any woman would be sorely tested not to be the smallest bit envious of her perfection.
Especially when the paragon had
drawn away the only man in the room in whom Delia had any interest.
Sighing to herself, she sipped her wine and waited for Lady Osbourne to bring Lady Lillian around to meet her.
“This is Lady Delia,” their hostess introduced her. “Her family are the Barnabys from Oxfordshire. This is Lady Lillian.”
They nodded to one another politely. Disconcertingly, Lord Rupert remained beside the newcomer, as if they were a couple.
“Lady Lillian’s father maintains a tip-top stable,” he told her, beaming his approval. “He’s the only one who can beat me at Tattersall’s auctions.” Lord Perish sounded begrudgingly respectful.
Delia believed her own father had some fine horses, but she wasn’t about to get into a contest over the quality of their equines.
“How fortunate for Lord Williamson,” she said, hoping that statement displayed enough interest.
Lady Lillian took her measure and nodded in return before they moved on.
Despite believing Lord Perish was to be her dinner partner, Delia watched him escort Lady Lillian when they were called to the table. He drew out her chair and sat beside her.
Delia ended up on his other side, partnering with Lord Devenport. His lordship’s discourse on the Americas was actually quite fascinating, and for the most part, she managed to keep her attention on his stories.
However, the warmth coming off Lord Perish’s arm distracted her. More than that, Delia occasionally let her mind wander, listening to his conversation with Lady Lillian.
People they knew in common, a ball they’d attended, a time they had ridden together.
It served Delia right for eavesdropping. The more she heard, the thicker the blanket of melancholy that settled over her. She had started to believe the house party was the real world and might offer a way to form a lasting bond. In truth, they had been forced together, and the relationship, what there was of it, was a sham.
Lady Lillian’s appearance and Lord Perish’s reaction reminded her he had a life outside of Lady Osbourne’s country estate. Moreover, he was only there because he had lost a bet —and blamed Delia. Besides, they would all leave at the week’s end, anyway.
“And thus, this George Washington fellow became their first ruler, called apresident. A good word for the leader of a country, isn’t it?” Lord Devenport mused.
“It is,” she agreed, glad she’d caught his last question.
THE FOLLOWING DAY,Rupert was on the hunt. Everything was rosier than it had been a day earlier. Lady Lillian had arrived unexpectantly in the late afternoon, and they’d dined together last night. She was as pretty as he had recalled..
On the other hand, her lack of stimulating conversation had surprised him. They’d gone past the safe topics of weather andhealth during earlier encounters. Yet he’d struggled to engage her in anything more interesting. In the end, he’d settled for going over their previous outings and encounters as a common point of reference.
Deciding she had been merely tired from her travels and perhaps overwhelmed at meeting so many new people, Rupert invited her to go riding with his small group the following day.
Lord Leland and Lady Anna arrived on time, as did Lady Lillian. But not Lady Delia. He’d missed her at breakfast, and now, the others were ready to mount up. Striding through the rose garden, he found her with paints and brushes.
“Did you forget our appointed outing?” he asked, feeling put out.
She startled, flicking paint across the canvas.
“Drats!” she exclaimed, rising from the bench. “My apologies. I lost track of time after coming out early with borrowed supplies.” She gestured to the easel and paints. “I suppose I missed breakfast.”
