Touch of a Lady (7 page)

She repositioned her hand so she could cup a button and press her palm against it. In bright trilling tones, the silver spoke to her in no language she’d ever heard. Her vision faded. The hall before her disappeared into the mist as if someone had lowered a sheet of watered muslin before her eyes. Superimposed over that hazy reality, a shattered stained-glass window of images burst into her brain.

She stumbled on her next step and Tristan was quick to catch her elbow.

“Are you all right?”

Delphinia nodded. She moved her hand away from the button and her vision quickly returned to normal. The button’s shrill voice ceased, but a pinprick of a headache jabbed behind her right eye the moment the connection to her ‘gift of touch’ was severed. It was the first time she’d experienced pain after using her unusual ability. Clearly, there was much she needed to learn about how to open herself to it this deeply and how to protect herself from it.

But for now, she was more concerned about what the button had just shown her.

“Where did you get those silver buttons?” she whispered as they entered the ballroom where candelabras blazed. The light hurt her eyes and she cast her gaze to the polished floor.

“They’ve been in the family for generations. The ore was mined on my father’s estate. But the vein played out years ago.”

That’s what he thinks.
The button had shown Delphinia its ancient home, deep in the earth. And there in the dark and the silence, the mother lode of ore still waited only another few feet beyond where the silver that had formed Tristan’s buttons was unearthed.

It wouldn’t matter that she had no dowry. Once she told Tristan about the silver, the future of Devonwood was secure for some time to come.

He smiled down at her when they had to part at the center of the room so they could each follow the man or woman ahead of them in the procession. Del let herself enjoy one last lingering glance at Tristan. Once Delphinia took her place along the wall on the side of the room where the women lined up, she studiously avoided looking at him.

She’d tell him about the silver later. He was still willing to risk everything for her. She’d promised him that everything would turn out all right. The fact that he didn’t know
how
everything might turn out all right made what he was planning even more precious.

Besides, she had to rid herself of this headache before it ruined the whole evening. As soon as the promenade music ended, she excused herself and made for the ladies’ retiring room. With any luck, she’d be able to press a cool, wet cloth to her eyes and lie down until it was time to make her way to the second floor parlour.

* * *

Lady Florence smiled with satisfaction. The string quartet her father had engaged for the evening was in rare form. Each dance was set at the perfect tempo, giving the dancers every chance to display their grace to full advantage. The chandeliers had never shown so brightly. The silver at supper had never gleamed with such radiance. Florence was disposed to be pleased with everything. Several of her father’s friends who held important positions at court were present, so rumors had been popping up thicker than pheasant in the fall. Every tongue seemed to be whispering that Lord Edmondstone’s choice would be revealed this evening. He’d never shown a preference for anyone but her, never danced with any other debutant as often as he did with her. If the gossips were correct, she’d be affianced by the end of the ball.

Lady Florence finished her gavotte with Lord Edmondstone, pleased with the way he’d bowed over her fingers during the final strains of the piece. Such decorum and civility surely boded well for a decorous and civil union.

She was about to congratulate herself on pleasing her father with her pending engagement, when Sanders swept her up.

“Time for our minuet,” he announced and led her back onto the dance floor as the stately music started.

The first time they came together, he whispered, “I’m glad your hand wasn’t entirely frozen by the chill of Edmondstone’s ardor.”

“He’s only being polite,” she hissed back. “And reserved.”

“And cold.” When Sanders twirled her in for a close hold, he took advantage of the pose to brush her lips with his. “I would not be.”

A little thrill washed over her. “Sanders, please.”

“You don’t have to beg, my lady. I live to please you.”

She clamped her lips together into a tight line. Anything she said would be an encouragement to him. But she couldn’t deny that his attentive flirting made warmth spread through her chest.

He led her through the turns and close holds of the minuet. At one point, when his hand touched her waist, the heat of his palm radiated through the layers of brocade.

Why couldn’t her insides flutter like this when the handsome Lord Edmondstone danced with her?

She refused to look at Sanders lest she be drawn into his big brown eyes.

When the music ended, he escorted her to the edge of the dance floor, then kept hold of her hand and walked her slowly toward an alcove with a window seat. Once they reached it she sat on the cushions, purposely positioning herself in the center and arranging her broad skirts around herself to discourage him from sitting as well.

Lord Sanders did not discourage easily. He pushed the yards of fabric out of the way and sat beside her as near as her panniers allowed.

“I’m surprise you don’t pull the curtains so you can hold me captive in here,” she said archly.

“A charming idea, but not now,” he said. “You see, I have something to tell you. It’s a secret.”

She glanced around the room. Lady Bettendorf was holding court in the far corner, no doubt regaling her little cadre with the latest and juiciest
on dits
. “In that case, we should move to a more private setting.”

“No. You know how court people are. If we slink away, they’ll scent a secret and follow, hoping to overhear a tidbit.” Sanders nodded and smiled across the room at an acquaintance. “We’re perfectly safe if we stay right here. They’d never believe I’d tell you something for your ears alone in such a public place.”

Her curiosity was thoroughly piqued. “What is it?”

“First, I have a question for you, and bear in mind I know you well enough to be able to tell if you try to lie to me.” Sanders leaned toward her. “Is your heart engaged in this match with Lord Edmondstone?”

She glanced across the room at the viscount who had joined the group of gossips and was chatting amiably with Lady Bettendorf. The lady preened and seemed to be enjoying herself, displaying her horse-sized teeth in a truly ghastly smile. To his credit, Lord Edmondstone didn’t recoil in horror. Anyone who could charm that old bat redefined charming. There was no denying that the viscount would be an ornament to Florence’s arm and more importantly, the match with him would please her father out of all knowing.

“Lord Edmondstone is the duke’s choice,” she said. “Not mine.”

“Pity His Grace can’t wed the man then,” Sanders said. “Then you could both be happy.”

She almost swatted him with her fan, but decided it might seem as if they were flirting. Instead she fluttered the ivory and feathers before her bosom and tried to look bored, but she burned to know Sander’s secret. “What have you to tell me?”

“Just that I have it on good authority that Viscount Edmondstone is planning to compromise a young lady in the second floor parlour at midnight.” Sanders caught up one of her hands and held it between both of his. “Once they’re discovered, they’ll be forced to wed.”

Florence swallowed hard. She wasn’t sure how to feel. Part of her was furious that Edmondstone would publicly court her and privately choose someone else. But another part of her was strangely relieved.

Her father couldn’t blame her for the match failing if the viscount were that indiscreet.

Or could he?

The duke was completely taken with his theories of horse breeding. He’d waxed long and eloquently about how the same principles should be applied to people. He never gave Florence a moment’s peace about producing exceedingly fair grandchildren for him and lost no opportunity to promote the match with the handsome Edmondstone. The last message from her father’s solicitor confirmed that the amount of her dowry, an offer of an exchange of property along with interest in a fleet of merchant vessels, and a townhouse in St. James had all been accepted by the viscount’s father, the Earl of Meade. The Duke of Seabrooke was paying full price for his future beautiful grandchildren. A formal proposal was the only thing missing.

If she allowed the viscount to slip away at this stage, her father might well have an apoplectic fit.

“What are you going to do?” Sanders asked.

“I don’t know.”

“You could run off to Gretna Green with me.”

She was sorely tempted. Sanders truly wanted her, without being bribed with money, lands and houses. Just
her
. It was comforting to lean into his uncomplicated adoration. But then she thought of the duke.

The need to please her father was stronger than the need to please herself.

“I wish I could.” Florence pulled her hand away. “But I can’t.”

“You wish you could. Well, that’s something, isn’t it?” A flicker of sadness passed behind his eyes, but then Sanders smiled. “Never mind, my lady. We shall have to make sure you end up with the right bridegroom by hook or by crook.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“Simply that you present yourself in the parlour by a quarter to midnight and let the swain who meets you there have his way with you. At the stroke of twelve, you’ll be discovered with your lover
in flagrante delicto
.”

Florence bit her lower lip. “I don’t know.”

“Make this one decision and then all the others will be out of your hands,” he said.

“If it were only that easy. How can I pass myself off as someone else like that?”

“Simple,” Sanders said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’ll be dark. Lie down on the settee and wait. You’re of a size with the girl Edmondstone is supposed to meet. As long as you don’t say a word, how would anyone know it’s you?”

“But it seems so . . . underhanded.”

“It does because it is,” he agreed. “But you have to ask yourself what you want and what you’re willing to do to get it.”

What if I’m not sure what I want?
No, she couldn’t admit that to him. Sanders would only try to convince her to elope with him again. A brisk coach ride to Scotland was looking better by the minute.

“Who is the other girl?” she finally asked.

“Telling would only be hurtful to you and I won’t be a party to that,” Sanders said. “Suffice it to say that if you decide to accept this midnight rendezvous, I’ll take care of her. I promise you will be the only lady in the parlour.”

The duke’s longcase clock chimed the bottom of the hour, so Delphinia rose from the couch in the retiring room and made her way back to the ballroom. Her headache had abated slightly, but she still wished there were fewer candles blazing. She searched the room but didn’t see Tristan anywhere.

He must be on his way to the parlour already.

Her friend Harmony had already worked her way into Lady Bettendorf’s circle. Their gazes met across the room. Harmony smiled and laid a finger along the side of her nose in the time-honored gesture of collusion.

A rush of affection for Harmony flooded Del’s chest. She was the best of friends. Even though Harmony was more than a little shocked by Delphinia’s plans, once she was told she’d get to play a prominent part in this evening’s little drama, Harmony’s misgivings flitted away like cottonwood seeds in springtime. In another few moments, Lady Bettendorf’s party was moving along toward an exit. Harmony had succeeded in steering the gossip and her group into perusing the portraits in the corridor. By midnight, they’d have reached on the second floor heading toward the parlour where an oil painting of the first Duke of Seabrooke was mounted over the fireplace. Harmony would claim she was simply
perishing
to see it.

Everything was in readiness.

Delphinia had a few more minutes before she needed to start toward the parlour, so she sat to watch the dancers execute a lively gigue and hoped her belly would settle. Her whole future would be determined within the next half hour. Their plan was a sound one, but she’d feel better once it was irrevocably accomplished.

She figured she’d be better able to slip away between sets when so many would be intent on finding the punch bowl. The gigue was probably the last dance in the set, yet it went on and on. Just when she was sure the quartet was winding up for a big finish, they launched into yet another repetition of the theme. Delphinia tapped her toes, more from nerves than enjoyment of the music.

Lady Florence strode past, her gait determined. Most women who weren’t dancing strolled along the edges of the dance floor, the better to be seen by potential dance partners who were looking for the next name on their card. The duke’s daughter moved with purpose, her mouth set in a hard line, arms swinging. She didn’t notice that her lace handkerchief slipped out of one of her sleeves and fluttered to the floor.

“Oh, my lady,” Delphinia said as she bent to retrieve the handkerchief, but once her fingers closed around it, her throat constricted and she couldn’t speak another word. The Brussel’s lace on the kerchief was doing all the talking.

In twisted tones, the lace warbled on. Del couldn’t decipher what it was trying to say, but there was no mistaking the vision it showed her. Even though the room in the disjointed images was dark, Del could make out Lady Florence, waiting with hammering heart on tufted velvet. A man joined her and after a few moments of kissing, passion flared white-hot between them.

Delphinia dropped the handkerchief and her vision cleared, but the stab of pain in her head nearly brought her to her knees.

Lady Florence knows our plans
, she realized. Del looked around for the duke’s daughter but didn’t find her anywhere.
She’s gone to take my place.

Despite the way her head pounded, she started toward the door. She had to stop Tristan from making a mistake that would ruin all their lives. At the very least she needed to reach the parlour before Harmony and Lady Bettendorf.