“Lord Perish,” he told the under footman, who told the first footman, who told the butler, who announced him to the hostess.
Lady Osbourne held out her hand to Rupert. For a moment, she wore a frown which quickly flickered away with polite civility. He knew he owed her an explanation.
“Lord Hawthorne was indefinitely detained, my lady. However, I am here in his stead.”
She smiled at him and nodded congenially.
“As long as you are single, my lord, you are welcome.” She cocked her head. “Although the young lady whom I thought would interest Lord Hawthorne will not do for you. No, not at all.”
Rupert swallowed. Lady Osbourne had a piercingly direct way of looking into his eyes. He almost imagined she did know the correct woman for him. Perhaps he should mention the frothy Lady Lillian whom he’d met in London and ask his hostess’s opinion as a matchmaker.
Before he could give in to the notion, she said, “Still, we’ll make the best of it.” Then she smiled. “Yes, you shall do nicelyafter all,” Lady Osbourne added, as if speaking to herself. “I only need one match from this party.”
He shivered slightly at her mercenary tone.He would do nicely for whom exactly?She implied he had no choice.
“You are most welcome to my humble home, my lord. Your trunk has been taken up to your room in the gentlemen’s wing at the top of the stairs on the right. A tag with Hawthorne’s name is hanging from the doorhandle. I hope you find it comfortable. I shall see you inside in the blue and gold salon for drinks at six, late dinner at half past, and if anyone is still awake on this day of travel, there will be a light supper at midnight. Should you want for anything, please ask one of my staff.”
Mesmerized by the degree of her organization and graciousness, Rupert nodded before ascending the stone steps to the entrance hall through the large oak door, which stood wide open.Like a giant trap!
DELIA ALLOWED FRANCESto choose her first gown, and then sat patiently while their maid arranged her hair. A little pomade to smooth it, some pins, more pins, an aigrette, and finally, she was deemed acceptable.
Until a wayward curl sprang free and then another and another, mostly around her temple and at the base of her head. It almost looked intentional.
“Leave them, Lucy. You did your best,” Delia said before sighing softly, but Frances chuckled.
Her cousin was lucky. She could wear something less fancy and undoubtedly didn’t have a hummingbird flitting inside her stomach. Since Frances was to be in a separate dining hall with the other chaperones, her cousin could relax and chat without being scrutinized. The measure of her worth would not be takenby every other person in the room, nor her entire existence as a young lady in society be found wanting.
For most of the fortnight, Frances would mix with the other chaperones or choose her own amusements. She could go with Delia on outings and must accompany her to any balls, but the difference in their expectations, not to mention their freedom, was vast.
With a last longing look at her sketch pad, Delia went downstairs to the appointed drawing room at six, more than ready for punch, wine, or even sloe gin.
“Smile, talk a little but not too much, and for goodness’ sake, Dilly, don’t start discussing the indigenous flora. And be like a daisy, a happy flower.”
With those wise words, Frances went farther along the great hall to another salon. Delia wished she could join her and pretend to be someone else’s chaperone, but her cousin would only send her back.
With a deep breath, she entered, following on the heels of two young ladies who already seemed to know one another and were chatting. For a few feet, they shielded her before they veered off, leaving Delia standing in the middle of the thick oriental carpet, surrounded by watching eyes. Or so it seemed.
In a blur, she saw men and women all around her before she lowered her gaze and darted to the side of the room.
“The plant lady,” she heard. Or thought she did.
Grateful for a footman with a tray of glasses, she took one, not caring what it was and drank it down. Sweet rum punch with plenty of sugar and lemons.
“Not too fast,” came a male voice as she gulped.
Knowing someone was already criticizing her, even for the way she drank, caused Delia to choke. Coughing, spluttering, she wished she could hide behind the window hangings nearby.
“Are you well?” came the same voice, and she turned to see the gentleman from the carriage.
Delia’s glance narrowed to his fall front, no longer the tan kerseymere but now black silk breeches. No shirt tail was in evidence. Regardless, her cheeks warmed when she realized she was staring at his manly parts. When her gaze returned swiftly to his face, she caught his amused expression. Apparently, she was providing him some entertainment.
“I am well, thank you. You simply startled me as I naturally assumed I was alone over here.” She glanced around. “Behind this chair against the wall.”
Why was this handsome man in the vicinity of a habitual wallflower?
“You look familiar,” he said.
Delia wondered if he was a half-wit. Maybe that was why he couldn’t make a match on his own and had been invited.
