Loretta Chase - The Devil's Delilah (7 page)

Lord Streetham was about to voice his opinion that it was
not
, but a moment's reflection stopped him, for he did not want to awaken any suspicions at Lady Potterby's. Oddly enough, there was some sense in Tony's arguments. Thus the earl answered sarcastically that he must, by all means, patiently await his son's convenience.

Chapter 5

Her restless hands folded tightly before her, Miss Desmond stood listening with increasing dismay to her great-aunt. It was late afternoon and the still air which hung like a thick blanket over the countryside hung heavier still in her luxuriously appointed guest chamber. Lady Potterby flitted about the room like a fussy little white-capped bird, taking up one after another the garments draped upon the bed, shaking her head and twitting unhappily. At the moment, she was frowning at the beloved amber silk.

"Good heavens, child, were you so distant from civilisation that you could not obtain a copy of
La Belle Assemblée
? When girls straight from the schoolroom bare their bosoms in public it is absurd for a woman of twenty to be swathed up to the neck. I realise your endowments are excessive," she added, flicking a reproving glance at her grand-niece's bosom, "but if you hide them, the world will think you hide some deformity. That is, if they do not conclude you are a strumpet trying to pass as a chaste maiden."

"Then the world," said Miss Desmond irritably, "is an ass."

"Even if that is so, it is most impolite to mention it, particularly in those terms. Where did you learn such language? But why do I ask? Your papa never troubles to curb his tongue, regardless who is present. Don't slouch, Delilah. Poor posture is both unbecoming and vulgar, and it will only draw added attention to your figure."

Certainly there was no hint of vulgarity about Lady Potterby. Her lace cap was immaculately white. Her grey afternoon gown was the epitome of tidy elegance. She might flutter, but she did so with all the dignity appropriate to her station. Everything about her was exactly
comme il faut
. As a consequence, she made Delilah feel too large, too clumsy, too noisy, and altogether too much of everything.

"I'm sorry, Aunt, that my figure is so unfashionable, but I'm afraid there is no way to amend it."

"Sadly true," said her ladyship with a sigh. "Yet we must not be cast down. In that matter at least, the gentlemen are not such slaves to fashion as ourselves." She brightened and patted the amber silk with something like satisfaction. "Mrs. Archer can drop the neckline an inch or so, and when we get to London, we will leave everything to Madame Germaine. She is frightfully dear, but her taste is impeccable. As to workmanship, there is scarce another dressmaker in Town who can touch her."

"Aunt, I do hope you are not saying I need a new wardrobe," said Delilah with alarm. "Papa really cannot afford — "

"Well, who asked him?" Lady Potterby now took up a light green muslin frock. "This will do for church, I think — at least in Rossingley," she muttered to herself. Then more distinctly she said, "Your papa has nothing to do with it. I told your mama I would move heaven and earth to see you wed. I should hardly stop at a trifle such as a wardrobe. Besides, there is my late elder sister's be-quest. She urged me to use it on your behalf. The poor dear had so many regrets towards the end. We always doted upon your mama, you know, but neither of us wished to stir up more ill-will in the family. Really, sometimes it is very difficult to know what is right."

This Delilah understood too well, in spite of her irritation. Her great-aunt's fault-finding, which had commenced the instant Delilah had alit from the carriage, had continued almost unceasingly since. Still, one was forced to admit the elder lady had the right of it most of the time, and certainly she meant well. One ought to strive for patience, considering the risks her ladyship was prepared to run. The entire Beau Monde was certain to believe Lady Potterby had lost her mind, and the Ornesbys had already ceased communicating with her.

The best return Delilah could make was in striving to be a credit to her great-aunt. Only thus could she hope to overcome the world's prejudices.

"I understand, Aunt," Delilah said, "and I'm deeply grateful for your kindness. I only wish this business were not so expensive."

"Frankly, child, expense is the least of our problems," her aunt answered as she put the green frock aside. "With a mama once an actress and a papa a notorious adventurer — and of course with such a face and figure — you will be prey to every evil-minded man in the kingdom. They will be endlessly casting out lures. I hope you are prepared."

"Yes, Aunt, I know my position is precarious, to say the least. I only wonder," Delilah added dolefully, "if it can ever be made secure. If the men are so busy casting out lures, they may not have time to consider offering marriage."

"It is up to you to behave in such a way to force them to consider it," was the brisk reply. "That wicked Letty Lade got herself a title. Lord Berwick married Harriette Wilson's sister, Sophia, only last year. If noblemen wed demi-reps, why should they not marry a good-looking, blue-blooded maiden?"

"Yes, there must be some senile lord or ambitious Cit who'll be sufficiently blinded by my looks to tumble onto his knees."

"You will not even contemplate marrying into trade, miss," said Lady Potterby sternly as she took up a dark green riding habit. "This is better," she murmured. "Quite dashing."

Then she recollected her grand-niece. "Good heavens, why that long face?" she asked, putting her head to one side like a puzzled sparrow to study the girl. "I hope my frank speech has not lowered your spirits. I only wanted us to face the obstacles squarely, not be overcome by them. Ornesbys are never overcome by obstacles, and certainly not the Desmonds, either." She glanced at the watch dangling from her waist. "Gracious, how late it grows. No wonder you are cross. It is past time for tea."

Tea, it turned out, was an opportunity for a lesson in deportment. Delilah was called upon to pour, so that her great-aunt could size up her command of common etiquette and ability to take instruction. In Lady Potterby's opinion, few exercises so clearly demonstrated a lady's character as her manner in presiding at the tea table.

"Doubtless you observed how Lady Streetham conducted herself," said the great-aunt, watching narrowly as her niece lifted the delicate teapot. "I suppose you were shocked, so stiff she is and lacking in grace."

"My daughter was too busy talking at Mr. Lang-don to remark Lady Streetham's skills," said Mr. Desmond as he accepted his cup with a gracious nod. "I am sure Delilah never even glanced at the tea tray — if she did, I cannot think why such an innocent object should cause her to blush so prettily."

"I am vastly relieved to hear she can blush at all," her ladyship returned tartly, "considering your notions of parental guidance. I distinctly heard her utter two oaths when Joan was pinning up her hair."

She turned to Delilah, who was fuming at the teapot. "In future, my dear, you will confine your exclamations to 'good grief or 'dear me.' But what is this of Mr. Langdon? What on earth could that diffident boy have said to put you to the blush?"

"Perhaps I blushed at my own forwardness in attempting to draw him into conversation, Aunt," said Delilah, darting a quelling glance at her parent. He knew perfectly well why she'd been talking frantically at Mr. Langdon. She'd been terrified the muddled creature would blurt out some quote from her papa's memoirs. She would not have been placed in so awkward and frustrating a position if her papa had not been so obstinate.

Delilah's scowl turned into an expression of dismay as she recollected that Mr. Langdon still had the book. Where
was
the stupid man? He should have returned it immediately. He'd left Streetham Close hours before they had — and without so much as a farewell.

"What on earth is the matter, miss? Have you spilled tea on your skirt? Did I not just tell you to keep an easy, amiable countenance, as though the activity required no effort or concentration whatsoever?"

"I fear we must look deeper than the teapot, Millicent. Obviously, Delilah is pining for Mr. Langdon." Mr. Desmond turned to his daughter. "I beg your pardon, my dear. I should not have brought his name into the conversation."

"Certainly not in so absurd a way," said Delilah indignantly. "Pining for him, indeed. What nonsense. I hope you will pay Papa no mind, Aunt. He is an incorrigible tease." She picked up a plate of pastries. "Will you try the seed-cake, My Lady?"

Lady Potterby smiled approvingly. "Very well done, my dear. Just the right air. Is it not, Darryl? Could Queen Charlotte do any better, I ask you?"

"Not when His Majesty is by. I understand he has long, bawdy conversations with the cucumber sandwiches," was the irreverent reply.

"That is cruel, Darryl, and possibly seditious. You cannot know how the poor man suffers."

"Of course I know. Am I not acquainted with his sons? It's a wonder to me he went on producing offspring. Surely the first half dozen must have shown him his seed was cursed."

"You will not speak of such topics before the girl, sir. If she has had a steady diet of such conversation, it is a miracle she can blush as you claim. A young lady must be capable of blushing," Lady Potterby pointed out to her grand-niece, "or she will appear hardened in iniquity."

"No fear of that," said Mr. Desmond. "She colours very nicely when a certain gentleman who must remain nameless is by, I assure you."

"Papa, you are most tiresome today," said Delilah, putting down her cup and saucer with a clatter that made her great-aunt frown.

"Indeed you are, Darryl. Why do you tease so about poor Mr. Langdon? I cannot believe he has been making sheep's eyes at Delilah — or any young lady, for that matter. Lord Berne is another case altogether," the lady went on, instantly reverting to an earlier bone of contention with her male relative. "You should never have stopped there when that wicked young man was at home. I could not rest easy a moment after I got your message. Do you know the dreadful boy took Annabelle Car-stairs into the hedgerows — on his own father's property — and now she calls herself Mrs. Johnson and lives in Dublin, and there never was a Mr. Johnson, not that ever stood before the parson with her."

"Oh, not that rattle," said Desmond. "Delilah took his measure quickly enough. Didn't you, my precious?"

Miss Desmond's cheeks were tingling. The hedgerows. No wonder Mr. Langdon had steered her away so firmly. If Lady Streetham had not rushed out of the house… but that was absurd. Delilah Desmond was no naive Annabelle Carstairs. She was not about to be seduced in
bushes
, for heaven's sake.

"He is obviously a rake," she said primly.

"He most certainly is — and that is the kindest name one can give him," Lady Potterby agreed. "You did well to devote your attention to Mr. Langdon instead."

"I did not-"

"I admit he's excessively shy," the great-aunt went on unheedingly. "But he at least is a perfect gentleman. I am sure he subjected you to no over-warm compliments."

"Well, he must have said something to raise her temperature. I am sure she turned pink every time she was in his company," said the pitiless father.

"Papa!"

Lady Potterby was at last goaded into giving the matter serious attention. "Good heavens, Darryl, are you certain? Do we speak of the same Jack Langdon? That absentminded creature who always has his head in a book? He exerted himself to have a conversation with my grand-niece? He did not hurry off to hide in a corner with his tiresome Greeks?"

"He tried," said the Devil gravely, "but Delilah wouldn't let him."

Miss Desmond took up her teacup again with an air of resignation. For some unaccountable reason, her father was set on provoking her. Well, she would not give him the satisfaction of appearing at all vexed.

"Yes, Aunt," Delilah concurred. "I am afraid I am very forward. Just one more character flaw I shall strive to overcome, with your assistance."

"But you obtained his attention?" asked the lady eagerly.

"Fortunately, Papa has overseen my education. I took refuge in Latin epigrams, and Mr. Langdon was sufficiently dazzled to respond in kind."

"Indeed," said her ladyship thoughtfully. "Latin epigrams. My, my. That was very well done of you, I must say." She meditated.

"Shall I add water to the tea leaves, Aunt? Or is it too cold, do you think?"

"Bother the water," Lady Potterby muttered. "I am thinking." She meditated a few minutes longer, then nodded to herself. "Yes, it will do. We will have them to tea, of course. Tomorrow."

Delilah shot a suspicious glance at her father, who only smiled inscrutably. "Whom do you mean, Aunt?"

"Why Rossing, of course, and his nephew. Good heavens, why did I not think of it myself? He is perfect. The soul of rectitude — and staying right next door. Mr. Langdon is one of the few gentlemen in Society who will not automatically make assumptions about your character based on your parents' behaviour. Absent-minded he may be, but he is also fair-minded. If you can win his admiration, you will have won a staunch ally. I will look no farther than that, of course, for the time being. We must not put all our eggs in one basket, my dear."

Lady Potterby, looking altogether pleased with the eggs she had found, got up and ambled out of the drawing room mumbling to herself about orders she must give Cook for the morrow.

"So that's what you were about," Delilah accused her father when the elder woman was gone. "Why did you not simply come out and ask her to invite them?"

"Because it was more amusing to entice her into proposing the matter herself. People are always more enthusiastic about their own brilliant ideas."

"I still do not see why it was necessary to utter such fabrications about my blushes. 'Pining away,' " she said scornfully. "I thought I would be ill."

"Oh, you were not pining?" the father asked, all innocence. "How stupid of me. I thought that was why you were languishing by the window this morning as Mr. Langdon rode away."