Delilah shrugged. “It’s quite amazing how peopleassume you agree with them when you merely remain quiet.”
“You’re quite right,” Danielle said, patting Delilah on the knee. “I assume you still want an offer from Branville, or we wouldn’t be on this little trip today.”
Delilah nodded, turned her head, and stared out the window, watching the sights of the busy town pass by. She’d barely had time to contemplate what she was about this afternoon. It was ridiculous to buy magic perfume. But she was desperate. Not the mild sort of desperate that called for trying to make the Duke of Branville jealous. No. The mad kind of desperate that resulted in a head injury from a tree limb and a trip to buy magic potion. She thought about her cousin’s question. Delilahwantedan offer from Branville, but she didn’t expect one. She hadn’t expected one for days now. Oh, why couldn’t she be brave enough to tell her mother to go to hell? Thomas had done that once with his father. But she knew it was a statement he’d regretted the rest of his days.
She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the seat. She’d come home from play rehearsal quite late last night, and Mother had been waiting up in the gold salon. She’d reminded Delilah that she only had a matter of days to secure an offer from Branville, thus ensuring Delilah’s involvement in this insane outing today.
Before Delilah had turned toward the door to go to bed, she’d asked her mother, “How’s your courtship with Lord Hilton coming?”
A sly grin had quickly spread across her mother’s lips. “I daresay I shall securemyengagement before you secure yours.”
Delilah had nodded again and quietly left the room.
Why did Mother always have to be so competitive? Why did she have to be so unloving? As a child, Delilahhad dreamed of having a mother who tucked her into bed at night and sang to her. One who worried over her when she was sick. Instead, her mother had always told her to stay away from her if she was ill, so she wouldn’t come down with the same malady.
Father had been there instead. Kind. Loving. He’d called her his little butter stamp and kissed her forehead when it was hot with fever. If only Father hadn’t got sick. If only Father hadn’t died. How would her life be different now if he were still here? Mother would be nicer. Less angry. Less judgmental. Or at least she’d keep her angry, judgmental thoughts to herself.
Father had never allowed Mother to say anything unkind to Delilah. She hadn’t begun doing so until after he’d died. Mother had always been quietly disapproving. She’d always sighed or rolled her eyes whenever Delilah tripped or spilled something on her clothing. But she’d never said anything truly awful to her until after Papa had died.
Delilah would never forget the night her mother had said the most awful thing of all. It had been the night of her debut. She’d been dressed in a gown of white, her mother’s choice, not hers. She’d managed to keep the gown white too. Not a mark on it. Not a scuff on her pristine white kid slippers or her gloves either. It had taken every bit of her concentration to keep her clothing pristine, but she’d managed to make her way down to the foyer in a perfectly pressed, unwrinkled gown. She’d been waiting impatiently for her mother to meet her in the foyer on their way to her very first debutante ball. Delilah had been filled with hopes and dreams of meeting a man and falling in love and having the perfect courtship.
Mother had come down the stairs, looking as regal asthe queen descending to her court. She wore a gown of plum silk and stood silently while Goodfellow helped her on with her gray fur pelisse.
Delilah, ever impatient, couldn’t wait a moment longer to discover how her mother thought she looked. She twirled in a circle and asked, “What do you think, Mother?”
“You haven’t stained anything yet, have you?” was Mother’s clipped reply.
“No,” Delilah answered with a wide smile, thrilled to be able to honestly report such a thing for once.
“Good,” Mother replied. “For heaven’s sake,tryto keep it that way.”
Delilah nodded obediently, while Goodfellow opened the front door for them. On the way toward the coach, she glanced down at her finery and an unexpected thought made tears well in her eyes. “Mother,” she asked quietly. “Do you think Papa would be proud of me tonight?”
Her mother had turned to her without a hint of emotion in her eyes. “It’s probably best he’s not here to see it, don’t you think? That way he wouldn’t be disappointed.”
Mother had turned and made her way to the coach. The groomsmen had helped her up and Delilah had quickly followed, but she could barely breathe. Her mother’s words had crushed her. She sat in stone silence all the way to the ball.
Once they arrived, Delilah had forced a false smile to her face. She danced and talked and ate refreshments. She went through all of the motions of being a normal, carefree young lady at her first ball. But she’d already tucked away the desire to find a match deep, deep inside. She wasn’t good enough and she never would be.
Instead, she set about doing her best to make matchesfor all of her friends. She’d already learned some of it from Lucy Hunt as a child and enjoyed it. Being a matchmaker was the next best thing to making one’s own match, wasn’t it? The last thing she wanted was to be an embarrassment to her mother. She’d already caused her enough shame. And Delilah truly couldn’t bear the thought of being a disappointment to the memory of her dead father. It was safer not to try.
Delilah’s penchant for matchmaking had made her happy all of these years. Only it hadn’t. Not entirely. She’d always felt there was something missing, but she’d also always been scared senseless at the notion of making her own match. Now that her mother had forced the issue, Delilah was nearly as miserable as she’d been that first night. She was on her way to buy magic perfume, for heaven’s sake.
The traffic in London was surprisingly light that afternoon, and it felt as if only minutes had passed before the coach rolled to a stop on Lombard Street. The coachman pulled down the steps, and the groomsman helped both ladies to alight. Danielle’s maid remained in the coach.
As soon as Delilah’s slippers touched the ground, she glanced around in search of the magical perfume shop. Unless she was missing it, however, there didn’t appear to be a perfume shop nearby.
Danielle nodded toward the end of the street. “We have to walk the rest of the way.”
Of course. A shop that sold magical perfume wouldn’t be sitting about in the open, would it? Stood entirely to reason. Delilah, Danielle, and an accompanying footman made their way down the street and through a narrow alleyway, past a small white picket fence, to the back of a set of mews. They turned once more tolocate a small green door nearly hidden behind a mass of dark ivy.
“Please remain here, Henry,” Danielle said to the footman, who nodded and stood facing away from the door, his hands folded behind his ramrod-straight back. “We shan’t be long.”
Nerves clawed at Delilah’s middle as Danielle lifted her gloved hand and slowly knocked on the door.
After a distressing length of complete silence, an old woman’s voice finally called, “Enter.”
Danielle grasped the handle and pushed open the rickety green door. She held it open for Delilah to precede her into the shop.
