The Scandalous Adventures of the Sister of the Bride (7 page)

“It does, doesn’t it?” And really, when she thought about it, the feeling of doom
in the pit of her stomach did seem much heavier now with Samuel’s arrival.

“Still, I know it’s hard, but you mustn’t take it out on others. Sam is Grayson’s
good friend and the poor man has done nothing to deserve your being less than pleasant
to him.”

“You’re right, of course. I was dreadful, simply dreadful.” Delilah rubbed her forehead.
“All that talk about my not remembering him, and, well . . . My head is pounding .
. .” She sighed in a helpless manner. “I will apologize to him at the first opportunity.”

Which wasn’t a bad idea. She could apologize and then ask him to keep his mouth shut.
And point out to him how it would be best if they avoided one another as much as possible.
And perhaps suggest that he might want to spend the time before the wedding traveling
England as it would be a pity to miss this opportunity.

“Excellent.” Teddy paused. “You are certain you didn’t meet him in New York?”

“Come now, Teddy.” Delilah scoffed. “I don’t doubt he was most memorable as a pirate.
Can you imagine anyone would forget meeting him?”

“I know I never will.” Teddy smiled in a wicked manner. “He’s quite handsome and I
found him most amusing.”

“If you like that sort.” She shrugged.

“Apparently, you’re the only one who doesn’t.” Teddy thought for a moment. “You know,
aside from the fact that apologizing is the proper thing to do, I suspect he has any
number of resources, in addition to his London solicitors, that might be of assistance
to you. He could prove to be a valuable friend.”

“I hadn’t thought of that but you’re absolutely right.” Delilah cast her friend a
brilliant smile that belied a momentary stab of guilt. She’d rather lose everything
she had before she asked the American for help. But she’d never lied to Teddy before
nor had she ever practiced any kind of serious deception before. At least not until
she had decided to experience adventure and had met Samuel Russell. “I shall make
amends to Mr.—Samuel—at the first opportunity.”

“I suspect he’s a much more enjoyable friend than sparring partner.”

“I don’t know. I was rather enjoying myself.” The moment the words left her mouth
she realized they were true. Dear Lord! What a disturbing thought. “Now, I really
must finish the letter that I started this morning. I’m not sure my letters make a
difference but at least they remind my solicitors that I do want to know the moment
this is resolved.”

“Besides, your letters make you feel as if you are doing something rather than just
waiting.” Teddy wrinkled her nose. “I know how helpless that feeling can be.”

It had taken nearly a year after the death of Teddy’s father for her and her mother
to learn the full extent of their loss. It wasn’t bad enough that a distant cousin
had inherited her father’s title and most of their property but his debts had been
far greater than they had imagined. While her mother did retain a house in London
that had been part of an inheritance from her family, they’d been left with little
else.

“I’ll leave you to your correspondence and rejoin the others. You’ll be finished by
dinner?”

“I hope so.” Delilah nodded. “And I will try to be in a much more pleasant mood, I
promise.”

“Good.” Teddy turned to go then turned back. “I shall pray you have good news soon.”

“I suspect it will take more than prayer but I do appreciate the thought.”

“Sometimes prayer is all we have.” Teddy smiled in a supportive manner and started
off.

Well, wasn’t that an unexpected twist? Delilah bit back a grin and continued toward
the library. She’d never expected to be grateful for her dreadful predicament but
at this particular moment she was. Far better for her friend, and her sister, to attribute
her curt manner toward
Samuel
to a symptom of her dismay over the prospect of losing everything she had than to
know the truth.

If she apologized . . . She sighed.
After
she apologized she would point out that it would be just as unpleasant for him should
the truth come out as it would be for her. No, it was best for both of them if their
adventure remained their secret. Surely he would listen to reason. If nothing else,
he had struck her as a reasonable sort. Why, hadn’t he agreed with her that it would
be best if they never saw each other again? Admittedly, upon reflection, he hadn’t
been especially pleased about that, which, again upon reflection, had been the tiniest
bit gratifying, but he had agreed.

Good. Now she had a plan. Already her confidence had returned. Samuel Russell was
a minor matter, in the scheme of the rest of her problems. In her head, her thoughts
returned to composing the letter to her solicitor. Yes, indeed, things usually went
well when she had a plan.

She refused to consider for so much as a moment the one time in her life when she
hadn’t.

“So . . .” Gray swirled the whisky in his glass, his voice as nonchalant as his action.
“Was she lying?”

“Was who lying?” Sam��s tone matched his friend’s even if he knew exactly whom Gray
meant.

As the only two men in residence at the moment, he and Gray had taken the opportunity
to meet in the Millworth library for a whisky before dinner. Sam figured he’d need
it if he was going to do battle with Delilah again. Not that it hadn’t been fun. Of
course, only the two of them knew what their dispute was really about. He and Gray
were to join the ladies in a half an hour or so. If Sam could pull himself away from
the library.

He’d always loved libraries and this was a magnificent room. A massive fireplace was
flanked on either side by shelves reaching upward to a wide, plaster frieze depicting
what appeared to be Grecian-styled figures of the Fates or the arts. Ornate carved
molding topped the plaster and framed a coffered ceiling. Walls not covered by shelves
and hundreds of volumes of leather-bound books hosted portraits, probably family members
going back generations. Dark wood gleamed with years of care and polish. The sofa
and chairs positioned before the fireplace were well worn and comfortable. The impressive
oak desk had an air of dignity about it, as if it was more important than anyone who
sat at it. This was the sort of room a man could call his own. A retreat or a sanctuary
from the world or, in Sam’s case, a household of women.

He made a mental note to model the library in the new house his mother had been lobbying
to build in Newport after this room.
If
he decided to build, which was still in question. But in his mind’s eye, he could
see himself sitting in a comfortable chair in a room like this, in front of a fire,
reading the latest work of Mark Twain or Henry James with a dog lying on the floor
by his side. A loyal and faithful companion. Maybe a greyhound. President Hayes had
had a greyhound. Perhaps, he’d call her . . . Delilah.

“Delilah?”

“I can’t think of a more appropriate . . .” Sam’s attention jerked back to his friend.
“What?”

“Pay attention, Sam.” Gray rolled his gaze toward the wood-strapped ceiling. “I asked
you if Delilah was lying.”

“Delilah?” The vision of a long, lean, loyal beast shifted to that of a spaniel with
a suspicious look in its eyes, a vile disposition, and a tendency to bite.

“Lady Hargate?” Gray eyed him curiously. “
Mrs.
Hargate.”

“Are we on that again?”

“Until I get an answer I believe, yes.”

“Come now, Gray,” Sam said with a chastising smile. “If a lady says she has never
met me, then she has never met me.”

“Excellent answer. Very diplomatic. Nothing better than a response that does not answer
a question.”

Sam grinned. “My thoughts exactly.”

“You knew she was costumed as a shepherdess.”

“As were many others.” He shrugged. “The place was littered with shepherdesses.”

Gray studied his friend for a moment. “It’s really none of my business though, is
it?”

Sam sipped his drink. “I wouldn’t think so.”

“But you are sticking to your story?”

Sam laughed. “There is no story.”

“Of course not. Because if Delilah says she has never met you, then she has never
met you?”

Sam chuckled. “She doesn’t impress me as the type of woman who would take well to
being called a liar.”

“Few women do,” Gray said wryly.

As lies went, Delilah’s struck Sam as relatively minor and completely understandable.
Irritating but understandable. He could even understand her less-than-gracious manner
toward him. Sam had never taken well to unexpected surprise himself.

This was, after all, her life, her world and if she, for her own reasons, didn’t want
anyone to know they had so much as met, well, far be it from him to say otherwise.
Much simpler to deny they had met at all than to evade further questions such an admission
might bring. No, he would keep her—their—secret. When it came down to it, while he
had never considered denying they had met, he had never intended to tell anyone what
else they had shared. He did not consider himself the sort of man who would reveal
something like that about a lady. Regardless of what else Delilah might be, there
was no doubt she was a proper lady. Unless, of course, she was in the midst of an
adventure. He smiled at the memory.

“I don’t believe you for a moment, you know.”

“What?” Sam widened his eyes innocently. “You don’t think she’d mind being called
a liar?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“I have no idea what you did mean.”

“Then I shall let it go.” Gray studied him closely. “But I do have my suspicions.”

“What happened to this being none of your business?” Sam said mildly.

“The woman is going to be my sister-in-law. I have known her all of her life. Indeed,
I have always thought of her as a younger sister. And I have certain . . .” Gray groped
for the right words. “Brotherly feelings toward her.”

“Oh?”

Gray nodded. “Delilah is five years younger than Camille and Beryl. While they have
always been thick as thieves, their younger sister was never a part of their lives.
When they weren’t ignoring her, they weren’t treating her especially well. They did
the kinds of things that children tend to do to one another. Locking her in the attic,
that sort of thing. It’s my understanding that even as adults they scarcely ever saw
her unless it was at a wedding or funeral or other family function. I don’t think
Camille realized how nasty they were until it was recently pointed out to her. This
past Christmas they promised to work at being the kind of sisters they always should
have been.” He thought for a moment. “Camille and I were good friends in our youth
and I was always nice to Delilah.”

“The little sister you never had?”

“Exactly.” Gray nodded. “I feel it’s my duty to protect her.”

“From me?”

“Don’t be absurd. I’ve never seen you treat a woman ill, even when she deserved it.”

“Tempting though it may have been,” Sam said under his breath.

“You’re a decent sort, Sam.” Gray raised his glass to his friend. “I’ve always admired
your sense of honor.”

“I love it when I can live up to your high standards.” Sam returned the toast and
took a drink. “So, if you are not concerned with protecting your future sister-in-law
from me, which is mildly irritating as I am reputed to be quite charming—”

Gray snorted.

“Who or what do you want to protect her from?”

“Everything.” Concern washed across Gray’s face. “Unfortunately, I can’t.”

“From what I saw this afternoon, she can take care of herself. At least verbally.”
The image of a snapping spaniel returned and he bit back a laugh. “She is an adult,
Gray, not an innocent babe in the woods. She’s been married after all.”

“Her husband died three years ago.” Gray finished the last of his drink then stood
and crossed the room to retrieve the decanter the butler had placed on the desk. “Idiot.”

“I’m assuming you mean her late husband and not me,” Sam said when Gray returned with
the whisky. “I didn’t realize you knew him. Weren’t you in America when he died? And
when she married him for that matter.”

Gray nodded and refilled their glasses. “You’re right, I never met him.” He sank back
into his chair. “From what I’ve heard, through my cousin primarily, Delilah married
exactly the kind of man she was expected to marry. She and her sisters were raised
to marry well.”

“Aren’t all properly bred young women?”

“These sisters more so than most. Lady Briston, Camille’s mother, encouraged—”

“Encouraged?”

“She did not force them into marriages but she did
strongly
encourage her daughters to marry older men with unblemished titles and significant
fortunes. She had her reasons, which make sense when you know the family’s history.
Lord Briston was absent and believed dead for much of his daughters’ lives. He only
returned this past Christmas.”

Sam raised a brow. “From the dead?”

Gray nodded.

“It must have been an interesting Christmas.”

“You have no idea.” Gray took a long, bracing swallow of his drink.

“So, if you didn’t know the late Lord Hargate—”

“Why do I think him an idiot?”

Sam nodded.

“Don’t misunderstand, from what I’ve been told, the man was quite skilled in matters
of business. Indeed, his business interests supported his properties and estates.
Land, you know, has long been the basis of wealth here. But even in England life is
changing.” Gray shook his head. “Management and the keeping up of these old estates
is getting harder and harder. It takes more and more just to keep them from falling
apart.”

Gray’s gaze scanned the library. “Millworth is no exception. The future of this bastion
of tradition is uncertain. Decisions will have to be made about what to do with the
place eventually. There’s just Camille and her sisters. Lord and Lady Briston never
had a son and while they would never let Millworth go, I suspect when they pass on,
the decision might be made to sell.” He sipped his drink thoughtfully. “Both Camille
and Beryl have the financial resources, thanks to their first husbands, to maintain
the estate although the house is enormous and the grounds extensive. But I don’t know
if either of them wish to do so.”

“I would imagine you’d have some say in what Camille decides.”

Gray nodded. “I’ve always loved Millworth but I haven’t given any consideration as
to whether I wish to eventually own it. Camille and I have discussed selling the country
house her late husband left her but we’ve not talked about the future of this place.
Fortunately, as Lord Briston appears to be in excellent health—”

“For a man who used to be dead.”

“For of man of his age, deciding Millworth’s fate can be put off for now. Although
eventually a decision will have to be made.” Gray paused. “Regardless of whether one
of them takes on the estate, the next generation will have some hard decisions to
make.”

“No doubt.”

It was a pity really, all this tradition and heritage that might be lost. But the
world was changing every day. The twentieth century was just around the corner. Progress
was in the air. It was an exciting time to be alive and not the time to cling to the
past. There might not be a place in the future for the Millworth Manors and Fairborough
Halls and other antiquated symbols of a way of life that was fading away or being
thrust aside. Or left behind.

Certainly, if Sam did decide to build a grand mansion of his own, he would model his
library after Millworth’s but his house would be a beacon of progress, not a relic
of the past. His house would have all the conveniences modern life could provide including
electricity, wiring for telephones, up-to-date plumbing, and an efficient heating
system. His house would look toward tomorrow not yesterday. His house would reflect
its owner.

“Interesting and quite a dilemma.” Sam nodded. “Are you done with your tangent?”

“Probably, maybe, I don’t know.” Gray shook his head. “I see things differently now
than I used to. It’s all that time spent in America no doubt.”

“We Americans are nothing if not a bad influence.” Sam paused. “I still have no idea
why you think Lord Hargate was an idiot.”

“Ah well, that.” Gray shrugged. “I simply think any man who is not aware that he might
have an heir is an idiot.”

“Misplacing something like that does seem stupid.”

“Doesn’t it though?” Gray sipped his drink. “I only heard about this a few hours ago.
Camille told me. She didn’t know anything about it until Delilah finally told her
shortly before your arrival. Camille was a bit miffed Delilah didn’t confess all to
her before now especially as it appears this situation has been dragging on for a
good six weeks or more.”

“Delilah doesn’t strike me as someone given to confession.”

“You noticed that, did you?”

Sam shrugged.

Gray blew a long breath. “It seems there is now someone claiming to be Hargate’s rightful
heir.”

“But you said he died three years ago. This alleged heir is just coming forward now?”

“Apparently. Camille doesn’t have many details. Delilah is reluctant to talk about
it and would just as soon avoid the issue entirely. Camille says her sister is putting
a good face on it but she thinks Delilah is more worried than she is letting on.”

“I can imagine,” Sam said quietly.

Odd, she hadn’t seemed like the type of woman who would keep something like that to
herself but then he hadn’t had an adventure with the wealthy
Lady
Hargate but rather with a poorer chaperone,
Mrs
. Hargate. He didn’t really know Delilah at all. Even so, he could understand her
reluctance to confide her problems. It wasn’t easy to allow anyone, let alone those
you knew best, to see how devastated you might be by matters over which you had no
control.

“Delilah inherited all of Hargate’s fortune and property. She’s quite wealthy.” Gray
shook his head. “Or rather she was.”

Sam drew his brows together. “Go on.”

“Delilah and everyone else, including apparently, Lord Hargate himself, thought there
was no heir, with the exception of Delilah of course. Now, some miscreant is claiming
to be a blood relative.”

“And the rightful heir?”

Gray grimaced. “Exactly.”

“Where does that leave Delilah?”

Gray heaved a sigh. “As of this moment, penniless.”

“I see.” Given what Sam knew now, he couldn’t imagine how he had ever assumed Delilah
was a poor relation. “Isn’t there something that can be done?”

“Camille says Delilah intends to marry again. She has a plan and will be husband hunting
in earnest.”

“Naturally.” Delilah’s intentions weren’t the least bit surprising. Still, he noted
the oddest twinge of what might well have been disappointment.