AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Ah, you are Marcus’s boy,” she said. “What a naughty fellow he was. But you must save your own naughtiness for another time, My Lord. I have not seen my child in months, and we have a deal of gossiping to do.”
She swept the bewildered Delilah from the room, leaving Lord Berne to find his own way out.
Chapter Sixteen
“Where is your Papa?” Mrs. Desmond asked as she led her daughter down the hallway towards the stairs. “And what were you doing unattended with that wicked boy?” Without waiting for an answer, she went on, “He is amazingly beautiful. One would think that Botticelli’s paintings had come to life, but I must tell you, when they do so, their sole aim appears to be—”
There was a small commotion in the hall behind them, and the two ladies stopped and turned.
“Cara,” cried Mr. Desmond, hastening towards them, Mr. Langdon following close behind.
The Devil took his wife’s hands and pressed them to his lips.
“My dear,” she said composedly, “you are looking well.”
“Better now, I am sure. This is a most agreeable surprise. I had not expected you so soon.”
“I came by mail coach,” said Mrs. Desmond. She turned her attention to her husband’s companion. “This must be Mr. Langdon,” she said, smiling warmly.
Delilah, baffled, looked from one face to the next. What was Mama doing here? What did she know of Mr. Langdon? And why must this all happen now, when the daughter might be out rescuing the manuscript from the evil grasp of Mr. Atkins.
“Mama,” she began.
Her mama did not hear her, being engaged in issuing commands to the butler.
“Aunt Mimsy is overset by the excitement,” she explained when Bantwell had exited. “I have sent her to her room to rest, but someone must see about dinner. You will join us, sir?” she asked Mr. Langdon.
He pleaded a previous engagement.
“Then you will have a glass of wine at least.” Angelica led the group to the parlour.
“Mama, what are you doing here?” Delilah demanded as soon as the door was closed. “Aunt Millicent must be in paroxysms.”
“If this is how you normally behave before company, my dear, then I daresay she is experiencing paroxysms of relief that I am here. Mr. Langdon, you will ignore my daughter’s outbursts, I hope. She meant to say how delighted she was to see me. Sit down, Delilah, and stop fidgeting.”
Delilah sat, fuming.
The servant entered with wine. Accepting his glass, Mr. Langdon took up a neutral position by the fireplace.
“You might have explained to her, Darryl,” Mrs. Desmond began reproachfully.
“I might,” was the unperturbed response, “but there has been no proper opportunity. She is rarely at home when I am, and at those infrequent intervals Millicent is inevitably about. Since she was certain to object, silence seemed the wisest course. Besides, as I mentioned, we had not looked to see you so soon.”
Miss Desmond glared at Mr. Langdon. He knew whatever it was that had not been explained to her, else her parents would not have spoken so before him.
Mr. Langdon coloured under the glare and said apologetically, “I beg your pardon, Miss Desmond, but I hesitated to discuss the matter with you before I felt more confident my proposal was workable.”
“What proposal?” Delilah cried. “Why do you have all these secrets and tell me nothing?”
“You just heard why,” said her mama. “There is no need to raise your voice, Delilah. Count to ten.”
Miss Desmond reddened. It was not to be borne. To be spoken to as though she were an ill-behaved child—and before this irritating man. She would like to dash Mr. Langdon’s head against the mantelpiece, she thought, automatically focusing all her anger on him. That agreeable prospect soothed her sufficiently to allow her to attend her mother’s explanation.
“Mr. Langdon has very kindly undertaken to help us prepare a case against Mr. Atkins,” said Mrs. Desmond.
“Not that there’s any certainty,” Mr. Langdon put in, “we have a case. Yet there seems to be a question of ownership, and as far as I can ascertain, no concrete evidence of your father’s consent to publication.”
“That is why I am here, my love,” said the mama. “All your papa’s notes for the story as well as his correspondence with Mr. Atkins were in Scotland with me. I thought it wisest to bring them with me, rather than send them. It is a very large package,” she said, turning to her husband. “I believe I have everything.”
“I know you have, my precious. Though best of all you’ve done was to bring yourself. I have missed you frightfully.”
Mrs. Desmond smiled. “And I you,” she murmured, drawing closer to him.
In a few minutes, they had apparently forgotten everything else in this world but each other, for, arm in arm and talking in very low voices, they soon quitted the room.
They might as well have been in their bedchamber, Delilah thought as she watched them leave. Her cheeks pink once more, she turned to Mr. Langdon and was annoyed by the faint smile on his face.
“You might have told me,” she said curtly, oddly embarrassed by her parents’ indiscreetly amorous behaviour, which had never bothered her before.
“I didn’t want to raise your hopes needlessly, Miss Desmond.”
“Well, you’ve got their hopes up, and it is very bad of you,” she snapped. “You said yourself it was a weak case, and you know how long these lawsuits drag on. It could be years before it goes to court, and by that time my poor father could be dying in prison. What good is it to sue that odious Atkins after the book is published and the damage done?”
Mr. Langdon very carefully placed his still nearly full glass upon a table.
“I have not observed,” he answered stiffly, “that Lord Berne has provided for your parents any better solution. To my knowledge, he has not said a word to your father. At least my plan keeps Mr. Desmond safely occupied. I was concerned he might resort to needless risks—”
“Papa is not in his dotage yet, sir. Furthermore, there are times when risk is exactly what’s needed—times when it’s wiser to act, instead of creeping about cautiously.”
She rose from her chair and marched to the window, where she stood, fretfully staring at the passing scene.
“If you had not gotten my mama involved, I might have been gone by now,” she went on. “I might even have had the manuscript in my hands.”
She whirled round to face him. “Lord Berne was just here—and he had a plan—and I was to help him. But you must come and spoil everything—and now the chance may be lost forever.”
Mr. Langdon’s face darkened. “Tony was here? And you remained alone with him?”
“Yes, and he did not ravish me on the spot, for your information.”
“I should think not. Not when he could so easily persuade you to go away with him—to God knows where. Have you taken leave of your senses, Miss Desmond? What sort of scheme could he have that required a lady’s assistance?”
“Not all women are helpless—”
“You would be, if you went off with him.”
“We were not planning to elope, Mr. Langdon,” was the tart reply. “Nor do I see why I should not believe him. Did you not tell me but a week ago that no man of honour would make a promise he couldn’t keep? Or do you now tell me your friend has no honour?”
