“People in Hades want iced water,” Thomas replied quickly.
“We’ll speak of this later,” Clarence said to Delilah. He gave Thomas one last glare before turning on his heel and walking away.
Delilah stared at his back as he ambled off. “Clarence,” she called, after a moment’s thought.
The man stopped and turned around.
“Why are you here? At the theater tonight?” she asked.
His eyes shifted back and forth, and he tugged at the cravat that covered nearly half of his squat face. “Father made me. He wanted me to tell you that we’re to have dinner tomorrow evening at your mother’s house.” He sniffled and wiped at his nose with his bare hand. “I’m going home now.” He turned and meandered away.
“That coward,” Thomas said through clenched teeth. He shook his head. “I cannot believe your mother would have you marryhim. A stump post would be a better choice.”
Delilah laid her gloved hand on his to calm him, nausea roiling in her belly. She was beginning to agree with Thomas. Had her mother picked Clarence merely tocause Delilah distress? She didn’t want to believe it, but she suspected it was true. Not that it changed the fact that Thomas was courting her only because she’d tricked him into it. She couldn’t marry Thomas, and she wouldn’t marry Clarence. In the meantime, however, apparently, she would have to spend an evening with the awful little man. Tomorrow.
If the dinner with the Hiltons could be described in one word, that word wasexcruciating. Delilah sat at her mother’s dining table the next evening to the right of Lord Hilton who resided at the head. She was forced to look directly across at Clarence, who was the only person of her acquaintance who managed to spill more of his food on his clothing than she did. Perhaps that’s why Mother believed they would suit, she thought to herself with a snort. She wished Thomas were there to share the comment with. Instead, she was forced to swallow her laughter under her mother’s penetrating stare.
“The wedding plans are coming along nicely,” Mother said, taking a ladylike sip from her soup spoon.
The last thing Delilah wanted to do was talk about the weddings. “I heard that Parliament took a vote on the latest Corn Law, Lord Hilton. How did you vote?”
“Good heavens,” Mother said, forcing a fake smile to her lips. “I’m certain Lord Hilton doesn’t want to talk about men’s business at the dinner table with ladies present.” She gave Delilah a condemning glare, clearly meant to quell her from asking such bluestocking-like questions in the future.
“Yes,” Lord Hilton boomed. “I daresay it would be too complicated for you to understand, my dear.” He gave her a condescending smile.
“Oh, I doubt it,” Delilah replied, before her mother kicked her under the table.
Fine. If she couldn’t discuss politics with Lord Hilton, she’d attempt to make conversation with his son. The man must havesomethingto say. Delilah turned her attention to Clarence. “I hear the poet William Blake is ill. What do you think of his views on the church, Lord Clarence?”
Another swift jab from her mother’s foot made Delilah yelp. She reached down and rubbed her sore ankle, frowning at her mother.
“William Blake?” Clarence blinked at her, while he dripped more soup down his stained shirtfront.
Delilah glanced back and forth between Lord Hilton and his son. Surely they knew the famous William Blake. The Corn Laws and Blake were both subjects she’d spoken about upon many occasions with Thomas. She’d had no idea these two men would seem so affronted by the topics. What in heaven’s name did dull men like to speak about then?
“I’ve chosen white lilies for the ceremony,” Mother interjected.
“White lilies? Aren’t those the flowers of death?” Delilah asked, blinking innocently at her mother. This time, she was quick enough to move her leg before Mother could execute her next kick.
“Pink roses have always been my favorite,” Delilah continued, sighing. Her cheeks heated as she recalled her picnic with Thomas. Of course, she had no intention of marrying Clarence Hilton with or without pink roses present, but she might as well say something to lighten up this horribly dull dinner conversation.
“Yes, well, pink roses are costly,” Mother said, nodding toward Lord Hilton.
Delilah frowned again. Since when had Mother worried about the price of anything?
“Are flowers entirely necessary?” Lord Hilton asked, his face pinched.
“No, not at all,” Mother replied. “We’ll make do without them.”
The next two courses were served while the occupants of the table barely spoke a handful of words to each other. Mother occasionally made a comment about the weddings, Lord Hilton occasionally asked a question about the cost, and Clarence continued to eat at an alarming pace.
Delilah was about to ask him if he wanted another helping of salmon when he groaned and clutched his belly.
“Are you all right, Clarence?” his father asked with obvious annoyance.
“No, I’m not.” Clarence continued to groan. “My belly aches.”
“You shouldn’t have eaten so quickly. I’ve warned you about that a dozen times,” Lord Hilton snapped.
