The Scandalous Adventures of the Sister of the Bride Page 7

  “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.

  Chapter Four

  “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 wor
k 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.

  “You needn’t take that tone.” Gray eyed his friend in a chastising manner. “It’s not as if she is a fortune hunter.”

  “Does she intend to marry for reasons other than money and social position this time?”

  “I really don’t know.” Gray considered the question. “But even as a girl, she was an extremely practical sort.”

  “And the practical thing to do is marry for money and position.”

  “You just said this is exactly what properly bred young women are supposed to do.”

  Sam shrugged. It shouldn’t matter to him what she did. He scarcely knew her after all. The idea of Delilah marrying some old man, the Duke of Who Knows What, for his money and his title shouldn’t be the least bit maddening. It shouldn’t make his stomach twist and his jaw clench. She had made it perfectly clear in New York that she didn’t want to ever see him again, that he was nothing more than a momentary adventure. Admittedly, he hadn’t felt the same but he had agreed to her wishes.

  And why not?

  He certainly hadn’t expected her to pop into his head at the most inopportune moments. Hadn’t expected to see a familiar figure on the street and walk a little faster to approach her before she was out of sight only to discover it wasn’t her. Hadn’t expected their adventure to linger in his mind and perhaps even in his heart. But wasn’t finding himself in England in time for Gray’s wedding more than just coincidence?