“Why’s that?”
“It’s difficult to put it into words precisely, but I just feel as if the man never had a day’s fun in his whole life.Comprenez-vous, Capitaine?” Delilah blushed beautifully. The pink in her cheeks matched the pink of her tulle skirt.
Rafe couldn’t help his answering grin. “I do indeed know exactly what you mean, Miss Montbank.”
“And it’s unfortunate that Cousin Daphne seems to be enamored of him. Aunt Wilhelmina and I are quite agog at it.”
Rafe lifted his brows. “Aunt Wilhelmina doesn’t approve, either?”
“It’s not that she doesn’t approve, exactly. Lord Fitzwell is quite eligible, after all. It’s just that he’s not particularly…”
Rafe leaned forward. “Yes?”
Delilah glanced around the room. “This is our secret, is it not?”
“Of course.” Rafe crossed his finger over his heart and leaned down to better hear her.
Delilah smiled at him. “He’s not particularly dashing?”
Rafe leaned back against the door beam and crossed his arms over his chest. He stared across the room to where Lord Fitzwell was conversing with Daphne, who’d just made her appearance in a gown of sunny yellow. Daphne looked positively bored. “Dashing,” Rafe answered. “What do you mean?”
Delilah giggled. “It’s funny you should ask that,Capitaine,as I find that you are the most dashing gentleman in the room.”
Rafe pointed at himself. “Me?”
“Of course. You are always off on an adventure, are you not? You see? Dashing.”
Rafe blinked. He’d certainly never thought of himself that way but he couldn’t help but smile at the girl’s description.
“Cousin Daphne is quite dashing as well. She’s so game and full of life. Why, she’s always willing to play hide-and-seek with me and go for long rides in the country and race and run and laugh. While Lord Fitzwell is decidedlyundashing. He’s always asking who someone is related to. Or pointing out who he is related to. It’s ever so dull. I simply cannot imagine Cousin Daphne living with that stuffy Lord Fitzwell.”
Rafe rubbed a hand across his chin. “Neither can I.”
Delilah sighed again. “I’ve been quite beside myself thinking of ways to stop the party.”
Rafe nearly laughed aloud at that. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, you know. I might come down with a convenient case of plague or the like.”
Rafe shook his head. “That doesn’t sound particularly convenient to me. And it seems difficult to manage, given your circumstances.”
“I agree,” Delilah answered with a resolute if unhappy nod. “Plague is far too dramatic. I continue to think upon it. The trick, of course, would be to get sick enough to send everyone home but not so sick that I cannot recover.”
“I see.” Rafe continued to smother his laugh. “And how exactly would you contract such an illness?”
“It’s not easy, obviously, or I would have done it by now. I am quite at my wit’s end. I’ve decided it may be more prudent to pretend I am ill than to actuallybeill. I was in the library earlier reading about cholera and scurvy.”
“I doubt very much you could claim a case of scurvy.”
“You’re quite right. I’ve eaten at least three oranges today and Cousin Daphne’s seen me with two of them. Cholera seems an unpleasant business altogether and anything involving pox requires far too much work with a rouge pot.”
Rafe had to press his lips together hard to keep from laughing at the earnest young lady. “I beg your pardon.”
Delilah fluttered a hand in the air. “I’d settled on a megrim but I somehow doubt that would stop the party. I believe they would merely send me to bed and all that would accomplish is my not being here to keep Lord Fitzwell from proposing to Daphne.”
Rafe nodded sagely. “It does seem as if you’re in quite the bind.”
“Oh, don’t worry,Capitaine.I have a trick up my sleeve.Sacrebleu,there’s my governess. I must go.” Delilah winked at him for certain this time and scurried from the room, just before the dowager countess announced that they would all go for dinner.
