Delsie (27 page)
“It would almost be worth putting up with you to see Umpton stare.”
“No price is too high to pay for that sort of a treat. We’ll call on him together, and both watch him stare,” he answered gravel
y,
his lips only a little unsteady.
“I said
almost
worth it. Jane warned me—not that you haven’t
already
locked me up in a room and beat me.”
“No, no, not beat! Be fair. A crack on the skull is not a beating. I save that for after the wedding. Or were you speaking metaphorically again, referring to my having
bested
you in the matter of rooting you out of the Cottage last night?”
“You cheated anyway.”
“I took a slightly unfair advantage.” He advanced toward her and removed the driving cape from her shoulders, tossing it on a chair. “I don’t mean to do so again, Delsie,” he said, looking at her intently, with all the levity gone from his voice. “I was horrified when I saw what I had done to you last night. Indeed, ever since this smuggling business reared its ugly head I have regretted dragging you into it.” He touched the plaster on her forehead, and ran one finger slowly down her cheek. “Can you forgive me for that?”
“It was an accident. I know you didn’t do it on purpose.”
“But I
did
it, and I shan’t forgive myself. I was afraid I’d hurt you badly
—
”
“Don’t be ridiculous—a mere bump on the head,” she laughed unsteadily.
“You are generous, but I vowed I would make it up to you.”
“Is
that
why you are offering for me?” she demanded.
“You are foolish beyond belief,” he said angrily, and pulled her into his arms. “I am marrying you because I don’t want you to leave us, ever. Because I have never been so happy as since you came to us. Because I love you, Delsie Sommers.” He looked hard at her face for a few seconds, then closed his eyes and kissed her. When he released her several moments later, he added, “And I am conceited enough to think half your fits of pique are due to loving me, despite your own better judgment.”
“I am not really Delsie Sommers anymore,” she answered dreamily.
“You
are, really,”
he disagreed firmly, and bent his head to kiss her again.
They were interrupted by the sound of feet thumping on the stairs and Bobbie came into the room. “I heard somebody coming,” she said.
“Your hearing is definitely impaired,” deVigne told her, displeased at her arrival.
“No, it isn’t. I hear very good.”
“Very well,” Delsie corrected automatically.
“See, Mama says so too. But you want to get rid of me so you can be alone with Mama. I heard Sally say at the Hall you’re always running to Mama.” On this remark she ran to the door.
“I have been found out,” he informed Delsie. “Even the servants and a child see through me. ‘Always running to Mama.’”
“She shouldn’t be gossiping with the servants.”
“Only eavesdropping. Sharp as a tack, our Bobbie.”
It was soon clear her hearing was also sharp. There had been a cart driven up outside, unheard by the two in the saloon, who were so happily occupied otherwise. It was Delsie’s ex-students, come to inquire whether Mrs. Grayshott still wanted their services. These were gratefully accepted, and it was arranged for the girls to return the next morning with their belongings to take up work at the Cottage.
“Word must be out that we no longer run a smuggling den here,” deVigne said.
“How flat it will be, with no pixies in the garden and no bags of gold regularly deposited under the tree.”
“We shall do our poor best to keep you entertained, Miss Sommers.”
“Mrs. Grayshott.”
“How strange, now that you are about to be rid of the name, you develop this inexplicable passion for it. I wish to forget I ever cajoled you into marrying Andrew. Though I suppose otherwise I should never have come to know you. I had no suspicion, to see you in the village, that we should suit in the least. A regular little nun, I thought. Jane is wiser. Nonesuch, she said, and she was right.”
“Lady Jane will not be happy with this business. She has picked out a Miss Haversham for your wife, and I hope she will not be too disappointed at your refusing to have her.”
“Miss Haversham?” he asked, frowning. “She is sixty-five, give or take a decade.”
“No, no. It must be a different Miss Haversham, a younger one.”
“The younger one is sixty-five; she has an elder sister eighty or so. Where did you get this idea?”
“She told me.”
“The old terror!” he exclaimed, laughing. “She has been trying to make you jealous. Observing my penchant for your company, as did the servants, she wanted to give you a nudge.”
“The sly creature! Let us not tell her we are to be married, and watch her finagle.”
The secret lasted less than halfway through dinner that evening. Jane first observed that the two had dispensed with formal names and titles and were on a first-name basis. When deVigne inadvertently mentioned, during a discussion of hiring a housekeeper, that her services would be very temporary and Mrs. Lambton would be good enough for a few months, she was onto them, but kept up the game.
“A few months? Oh, she is young enough to last a few
years,
Max.”
“I meant years,” he said, with a conscious look at Delsie, who smiled sheepishly.
“Of course you did,” Lady Jane smiled knowingly. “Why should Delsie only require her services for six months, till she is out of deep mourning? Dear me, there could be no reason. None in the world. It is not as though she will be leaving the Cottage.”
“Certainly not,” Sir Harold added foolishly, the only one at the table who had not perceived what was going on before his eyes. His wife turned a withering look on him.
“For, of course, you will not be
leaving
us,” Jane continued, her irony becoming stronger by the moment.
“Oh, no,” Delsie agreed.
“Or moving to the Hall,” Jane said at last, with a piercing observation of the pair of culprits.
“Miss Haversham would not care for that,” Delsie answered her with an innocent smile.
“Miss Haversham?” Harold asked in confusion. “Why, what is it to
her?
Nosy old biddy. As to moving to the Hall, it is out of the question, of course. Quite out of the question. Not the thing at all.”
“Harold, you ninny,” Jane said baldly. “They are to be married!”
“Who
is to be married?” he demanded in vexation. “Miss Haversham is too old to marry anyone. Old as the stars. Older.”
“Not her, Max and Delsie,” Jane explained.
“Eh? Both of them? Who are they marrying?”
“Each other, Harold,” Jane told him patiently.
“Really? Marrying each other, you say? Well, bless my soul. When did all this come about?”
“Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was about the same time Max started flirting with Miss Haversham,” Jane said with smug satisfaction at her scheme’s success.
“Her
again!” Sir Harold fumed. “Max, you haven’t set up a flirtation with that old Tartar. Old enough to be your grandmother, ‘pon my word. I don’t know what this world is coming to. Louise marrying that old slice of a Grayshott, then Delsie marrying him, and now Delsie marrying Max, after he’s taken to throwing his cap at Miss Haversham.”
Their incredulous smiles made even Sir Harold aware that he had been conned, and he laughed at himself. “All a hum, I daresay,” he said, and ate up his soup.
Later, Jane shooed him off to the library to be rid of him while quizzing the two about their plans. When she had discovered what she wished to know, she cautioned them to leave before he came out, or he’d make them listen to his translation of Pliny, when she was sure they had more interesting things to talk about. “Not that you’ll get much
talking
done, I warrant,” she added roguishly.
Nor did they. Still, they managed to set on June thirtieth for a wedding day, and to agree on a locale for the honeymoon, as Delsie had been gypped out of one the first time around. The young lady was consulted so punctiliously on every point that it was necessary for her to remind her fiancé she had put him in charge of all details of her second wedding before she had contracted her first.
“Since I am in charge of all details,” he said slyly, “I think the bride must have a few lessons in what her groom will like.”
“Several large doses of brandy a day, like her first husband, I collect,” she replied.
“That, of course, and several large doses of love at night.
Unlike
her first husband.” His arm, already around her waist in the carriage, tightened as he pulled her to him. “Time for my first medication.”
“I have ended up a nurse after all,” she sighed, and administered a light peck to his cheek.
“A very stingy nurse! Several large doses was the prescription,” he reminded her, then proceeded to fill the prescription. “More addicting than brandy,” he murmured.
“You will please to stay sober till June thirtieth, milord.”
“So I shall, but on June thirtieth, Delsie Sommers, I intend to become roaring drunk.”
“I intend to become a little foxed myself on that day,” she promised happily.
Copyright © 1982 by Joan Smith
Originally published by Fawcett Coventry [ISBN 0449502325]
Electronically published in 2012 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are
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