Al was there with red-rimmed eyes. His mother sat stoically staring into the fireplace. Lavinia wasn’t there. He later learned she had refused to come out of her bedchamber.
But Delilah had been there. Only a girl at the time. Al had sent a note to her house and she’d come right away, while Monroe was scouring the city’s gaming hells for Thomas. Apparently, he’d gone to several before locating him.
“Father’s dead, Thomas,” Al had breathed. “He had an attack and… collapsed.”
Thomas hadn’t wanted to believe it. He’d doubled over as if he’d been punched in the gut. Bracing his hands on his knees, he’d fought the urge to vomit and forced himself to suck the pain into a reservoir deep inside. His father would not want him to show emotion.
From that moment on, he vowed to become the man his father had wanted him to be.
Two hours later, he’d been sitting on the back stoop staring blindly at the mews. The weight of his new responsibility had just begun to settle into his sobering brain, when the door opened behind him and Delilah came out.
Quietly, she settled on the stair beside him. She waited for several silent moments to pass before she said, “I hate wearing black.” She plucked at her dark skirts. Her own father had died only months earlier.
“That’s because pink is your favorite color,” he’d replied absently.
“Yes, because pink is a happy color,” she said. “Black is terribly unhappy.”
Thomas groaned and rubbed the back of his neck. “I suppose I must begin to wear black now.”
She pressed her small hand to his shoulder. “You must begin to do many things now. No doubt they will seem overwhelming at first, but I have every faith you’ll do them splendidly.”
Thomas nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
“Every day will be less awful,” she continued.
“I… won’t be going back to school.” He’d already thought about it. Already decided. “Everyone will be counting on me now. Mother, Al, Lavinia.”
Delilah leaned over and kissed his cheek, the sweet, soft press of her lips a cool balm to his soul. “I can think of no better person to count on.”
Delilah had never known how much her simple words had meant to him that night. She believed in him. She always had. And because she believed in him, he’d had the confidence to believe in himself. He’d changed thatnight. Forever. He’d stopped drinking. Years passed before he’d been able to enjoy the odd mug of ale from time to time again. He’d stopped gambling altogether. He’d stopped being reckless when he rode, and he hadn’t returned to school. He’d stayed in London and set about learning every detail of the estate, the lands, and the duties of becoming the Duke of Huntley.
With his father’s solicitor’s help, he’d become an expert with a single-minded determinedness no one had ever seen from him. Instead of using his proclivity for calculating odds to determine his chances at the gaming tables, he’d set about using them to improve the estate. Nine years later, the estate had never been so profitable. He used his skill at gaming, the numbers flying through his head and landing in all the right places, to improve the books for the estate.
And all the while, his friend Delilah had been at his side, quietly encouraging him and lending a friendly ear whenever he needed to talk. She made him laugh. She made him happy. And somewhere along the way, after she’d grown into a lovely young woman and made her debut, he realized that he was madly in love with her.
Delilah was special. Thomas had known it from the moment he’d met her. He had waited in the shadows all these years, knowing eventually she would have to take a husband and he would make his move. Only he didn’t want to frighten her away. This was it, however. It was time. He would have to slowly convince her to see him in another light, while discouraging her courtship with Branville.
First thing was first. He was going to the Penningtons’ ball tonight. To watch Delilah attempt to matchmake herself with the blasted Duke of Branville.
The first quality on Delilah’s list was eligible. By God,Thomas was going to have to prove himself a catch. It was certain to be excruciating.
He retied the cravat for the fourth time with slightly trembling fingers.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Lucy was Delilah’s escort to the Penningtons’ ball. The arrangement was nothing new. Delilah’s mother had long ago allowed Lucy to take over as her daughter’s chaperone. It served two purposes. It made Lady Vanessa less frustrated with her daughter’s shortcomings, and it left the woman to her own amusements.
Delilah was only too happy with the arrangement as well. It allowed her to practice her matchmaking skills, and now it would allow her to attempt to secure an offer from Branville without having to worry about her mother’s watchful eye.
Tonight, she wore a bright pink gown with a matching pink bow around the waist and one in her hair, with matching pink slippers and diamond ear bobs that her mother had reluctantly allowed her to borrow. Mother had told her many times that pink was not a good color for her complexion, but Delilah couldn’t help but choose it when fabrics were displayed at the dressmaker’s, despite hermother’s condemning head shakes. The color had cheered Delilah since she was a small girl.
Lucy wore a gorgeous emerald gown, and her dark hair was piled atop her head. Her discerning eyes flitted around the ballroom, taking in everything. She snapped open her fan and spoke from behind it. “I have it on the best authority that Branville will be here tonight.”
“Perfect,” Delilah replied, trying and failing to use her fan to the same effect. She’d never quite mastered the art of proper fan use. “Will Lady Emmaline be here as well?”
“That is an excellent question,” Lucy replied, her fan still fluttering in front of her lips. “And, of course, the first rule of matchmaking is to never underestimate your opponent. Lady Emmaline is quite set on catching Branville, so we must assume she will be here. I’d expect nothing less from a truly worthy adversary.” Her eyes gleamed.
“I agree. I don’t want my win to betooeasy,” Delilah said with as much confidence as she could muster, but inside her belly felt sick. It was simple to matchmake other people. It was fun, a lark. Doing it for herself was something else entirely. She wasn’t convinced the Duke of Branville would want her or would even look twice at her. But she felt it necessary to at least feign confidence in front of Lucy. Her friend was her champion, after all. She didn’t want Lucy to believe she was wasting her time.
