Enlightening Delilah (10 page)

She was feeling elated with her success. She was also feeling elated by the fact that here was Sir Charles Digby sitting quite close to her and it didn’t mean a thing.

‘Are you enjoying London?’ he asked.

‘I am beginning to,’ said Delilah, ‘but so many lessons! It seems a great waste of effort to learn French and Italian so that one can interlard one’s conversation with a great many foreign phrases. I prefer to converse in plain English.’

‘I, too,’ said Sir Charles. ‘But it is the fashion. Soon, you will have to learn to lisp as well.’

‘God forbid!’

‘Oh, but any fashionable miss must learn to speak like a two-year-old.’

‘What a great deal of work it takes for a woman to appear useless, stupid, and idle,’ said Delilah.

‘I am glad of this opportunity to talk to you, Miss Wraxall,’ said Sir Charles. ‘You know I am residing with Lord Andrew?’

‘Yes.’ Delilah’s face brightened. ‘Such a kind and amusing man.’

‘There are many kind and amusing men in London. You must, however, be on your guard against fortune-hunters. Quite a number of gentlemen from the oldest and noblest families in England have become adventurers because they have lost their fortunes on the gaming tables and might look to your dowry to restore those fortunes.’

‘I am no longer a silly little girl whose head is easily turned,’ said Delilah.

Sir Charles studied her. ‘I owe you an apology,’ he said abruptly.

Delilah continued to sip champagne but did not reply.

‘Before I went off to the wars,’ said Sir Charles, ‘you may remember that I kissed you.’

Delilah wrinkled her brow. ‘Did you?’ she asked.

He felt himself becoming very angry. ‘I kissed you because I was leaving home and did not think I would come back.’

‘Dear me,’ said Delilah lightly. ‘What a peculiar way to go about it. More sensible to have kissed the bricks of your house.’

‘You are deliberately misunderstanding me.’

‘Not I,’ said Delilah, her beautiful eyes roaming about the room as if already seeking more entertaining company.

‘In any case,’ said Sir Charles, ‘I beg you to accept my apology.’

‘Well . . . well . . .’ said Delilah, stifling a yawn. ‘If it means so much to you, then I accept your apology. Although it is very hard to accept an apology for an action one has totally forgotten. Oh, here is Lord Andrew!’ she cried with obvious relief. ‘Lord Andrew, are you come to rescue me?’

‘The next dance is a waltz and promised to me,’ said Lord Andrew.

‘Two dances, my lord,’ said Delilah, rising to her feet. ‘How people will talk!’

‘They will indeed,’ said Lord Andrew. ‘All the fellows will be cursing me for a lucky dog. Lady, I would it were a hundred dances. I would dance with you for the rest of my life.’

‘How terribly fatiguing,’ said Delilah with a ripple of laughter. She moved off with Lord Andrew, leaving Sir Charles alone.

Sir Charles was furious with Delilah. He had tried to warn her against fortune-hunters, he had tried to apologize for that kiss, and all he had done was to bore her.

He did not like the way she was behaving. Surely he owed it to the squire to make sure his daughter would not throw away her fortune on Lord Andrew.

Delilah danced and danced and Sir Charles did not approach her again. She wished he would, for she felt she had not yet proved how indifferent she was to him. As she was leaving, Lord Andrew came up to her and said he had made up a party of young people to go over to the Surrey fields for a picnic on the morrow if the weather stayed fine, and that the Tribbles had given him permission to take her. The Tribbles had noticed how annoyed Lord Andrew’s attentions seemed to be making Sir Charles and had decided to irritate that gentleman further. So while Lord Andrew was talking to Delilah, Amy went up to Sir Charles and said, ‘I hope we have done the right thing. Lord Andrew is to take Miss Wraxall on a picnic on the morrow. A party of young people, you know. Let me see, there is young Lady Devere, Mr Tommy Otterley, Miss Pretty-Follip, and Lord Henry. As far as I know, they are all very respectable.’

‘Do you consider Lord Andrew a suitable beau?’ asked Sir Charles abruptly.

‘Perhaps,’ said Amy. ‘I must confess I wish now I had not given my permission. I would dearly like to suggest you go along yourself, Sir Charles, just to keep an eye on Miss Wraxall. You are so much older than she. I am sure she looks on you as a sort of uncle, you being from the same village.’

Sir Charles was about to say haughtily that he had no intention of wasting an afternoon chaperoning Delilah, but then he thought again he owed it to the people of the village and to Squire Wraxall to make sure that Delilah did not form a mésalliance.

‘Perhaps I shall go,’ he said. ‘At what time does this outing take place?’

‘They are to call for Miss Wraxall at two in the afternoon.’

‘Then I shall be there.’

Amy watched him go with satisfaction. Instead of encouraging Delilah to get her revenge on Sir Charles, perhaps it would be better to encourage her to marry him. Amy still saw herself in the light of Delilah’s future step-mother. Sir Charles’s land bordered that of the squire’s. It would be an eminently suitable marriage and two such very handsome people surely belonged together.

She thought of the squire and a warm glow spread slowly through her flat-chested bosom. Perhaps he might arrive again before the month was up. Perhaps he might even write. What had he been doing this evening while they were at the ball? Probably sitting at home by the firelight, alone.

The squire, feeling oddly shy and nervous, had put on his best clothes and gone calling on Mrs Cavendish.

He was amazed at the difference in his home since Delilah had left. Nothing seemed quite as pretty or comfortable. There were no flower arrangements to decorate the rooms, no comfortable conversations in the evening, no life or movement about the house.

Everything in Mrs Cavendish’s little cottage appeared warm and cosy. The fire blazed in the hearth and the air was scented from the bowls of pot-pourri placed about the room.

The squire sighed and stretched his feet out to the blaze. He thought fondly of Miss Amy Tribble, who had taken away a lot of his shyness and fear of women. Earlier that evening, he had felt that shyness return, but now he was here, he knew it was going to be all right. He looked affectionately at Mrs Cavendish’s round and pleasant face and felt at home.

Mrs Cavendish bustled about, serving tea, and sending up prayers that no one else would call.

They then talked in their usual way about the gossip of the village.

‘And how is Delilah?’ asked Mrs Cavendish at last. ‘I suppose it’s too early yet for you to have received a letter.’

‘Yes, but I feel a great responsibility has been taken off my shoulders,’ said Mr Wraxall. ‘How competent and wise Miss Amy is, Mrs Cavendish.’

‘So you have said many, many times,’ said Mrs Cavendish. ‘More cake?’

‘Yes, I thank you. I must confess I was worried when I learned that Sir Charles, too, is in London, but it’s a big place. Perhaps they will not meet.’

Mrs Cavendish felt guilty. She had received a letter from Sir Charles only that day in which he had said that the Tribble sisters were a trifle eccentric, but good
ton
. Unfortunately, he had not described Miss Amy. He wrote that they had a reputation for schooling awkward ladies and could no doubt be trusted to do their best with Delilah. He added he was sure Delilah would be soon wed as her beauty was exceptional, even set against such beauties as there were in London.

It had been, reflected Mrs Cavendish, a depressing letter, depressing in that it heralded a squire soon to be free of the cares of parenthood. It also meant that Mrs Cavendish was somehow going to have to tell the squire she had sent Sir Charles to spy out the land. And what reason could she possibly give?

To say she was not sure of the Tribbles would be to question the squire’s judgement. To say she hoped to bring Sir Charles and Delilah together looked like interference. The very truth that she was wildly jealous of Miss Amy Tribble could not be said.

‘It is a pity about Sir Charles and Miss Wraxall,’ she said. ‘I always thought them very much suited.’

‘He was too old for her then,’ sighed the squire. ‘He is not now. You know how it is. The older one gets, the less the age difference.’

They fell silent. Mrs Cavendish decided she really must say something about having sent Sir Charles to the Tribbles. The words trembled on her lips. She leaned forward.

‘I have something to say to you, Mrs Cavendish,’ said the squire, putting down his cup. ‘Something very serious . . . very important.’

He has found out about Sir Charles’s going to the Tribbles, thought Mrs Cavendish.

‘It is about Miss Amy Tribble,’ said the squire and Mrs Cavendish reflected dismally that she would rather it
had
been about her sending Sir Charles.

‘Since my wife died,’ said Sir Charles, ‘I have become awkward and shy in the company of women. I married, as you know, when I was just eighteen. My wife, Lucinda, was very frail, and we thought we would not have any children until, after some years, we were blessed with Delilah. I do not know, had she lived, if my dear wife would have known how to cope with Delilah. She was timid, retiring, and always ill. After her death, I found myself more at ease in the company of men. That was, until I met Miss Amy.’

Damn her, thought Mrs Cavendish, and blinked her eyes rapidly and prayed she would not cry.

‘She is so straightforward, so easy to get along with. We talked for hours and hours. She brought me to the realization that there was one lady in my life I could marry, one lady I felt at home with, one lady I loved.’

Now I
am
going to cry, thought poor Mrs Cavendish, fighting with the hard lump which had risen in her throat.

The squire rose and got down on one knee in front of her.

‘You are that lady, Mrs Cavendish. Will you marry me?’

Mrs Cavendish turned quite white. It was a heady rush up from hell to heaven all in one moment.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Oh, yes. Yes, I will, Simon. Oh, yes, please.’

He rose and leaned over her chair and kissed her very gently on the lips. ‘I shall send an express tomorrow and tell Delilah our good news,’ he said.

The party of young people set out next day. Sir Charles was regretting his decision to go and had prayed for rain, but the Indian summer had returned and the streets of London were bathed in gold light and the weather was warm and balmy.

He disapproved of Delilah’s pale-green muslin gown and pelisse. It was cut in wickedly simple lines and made her figure more seductive and her eyes green. She was driving in an open carriage ahead of him with Lord Andrew. He himself was alone, since no one had expected him to come.

Although Lord Andrew was roughly the same age as he, the rest of the party were younger. He felt old and cross and grumpy listening to the gales of laughter coming from the other carriages.

He wished he had not come. He was not hungry and hated eating in the middle of the afternoon. He looked again at the sky. There was a milky veil covering the sun but no sign of rain.

It was unthinkable that such fashionable people should actually go to the effort of serving their own food, so there was a coachload of servants tagging along behind.

As soon as they arrived at a pleasant field, the ladies and gentlemen strolled about while the servants unpacked hampers and spread rugs and cushions on the grass. Sir Charles found he was taking care of Miss Pretty-Follip and Lady Devere. Mr Tommy Otterley, Lord Henry and Lord Andrew were all clustered about Delilah, hanging on her every word.

Delilah had forgotten her resolution to behave correctly. It was important that Sir Charles should see how popular she was, how desired. She teased and flirted, walking with first one and then another, seeming at one moment to favour Lord Andrew and then, the next instance, one of the other two gentlemen.

They were just sitting down to their picnic when there came a threatening rumble of thunder. Sir Charles looked up in surprise at the massed purple and black thunder-clouds which were rapidly covering the sun. His prayers were about to be answered.

There were squeals of dismay. Lord Andrew suggested they move to a nearby posting-house and take their refreshment there. Off they went while the servants were left to pack everything up again.

Sir Charles tried to point out that the posting-house was not a good idea. If they delayed their journey, then they might get soaked on the road home. Everyone else seemed determined to go.

He followed the party, trying to think of a way to get his revenge on Delilah. He was sure her disgraceful flirtatious behaviour was for his benefit. When they reached the posting-house, however, there seemed to be little he could do. They were all seated around a large table in the coffee room. Lord Andrew was calling for champagne and cakes and the ladies were determinedly trying to outshine Delilah but without any success at all.

Sir Charles felt he could not bear these chattering, laughing idiots any more. He muttered an excuse and made his way through to the tap in order to have a little time to himself.

And then there at a table in the bay window, he saw a group of young bloods playing dice. He stood for a few moments watching the play.

One of them finally stood up and pushed his chair back. ‘Care to take my place, sir?’ he asked Sir Charles. ‘My pockets are to let.’

‘No,’ said Sir Charles. ‘But I think I know some gentlemen who would.’

He strolled back to the coffee room. Lord Andrew was toasting Delilah’s beauty, loudly echoed by Mr Otterley and Lord Henry.

‘There’s a bunch of flats in the tap,’ Sir Charles said when he could make himself heard. ‘They are playing dice. Felt like showing them a thing or two.’

Lord Andrew slowly lowered his glass. His eyes gleamed. ‘In the tap, you say? Might just have a look.’

Mr Otterley and Lord Henry exchanged glances. As Lord Andrew opened the door of the coffee room, they could clearly hear the seductive rattle of dice.

‘Perhaps we had better just go after him and see he does not get into any trouble,’ said Mr Otterley. He and Lord Henry left as well.