Page 10 of Miss Delancey’s Tragicomedy

“And ‘lovable toff’ is your act?”

“Lovable? I—” He halted, the corners of his lips turning down, as though he didn’t know how to respond.

“Toff. Nob,” she attempted, but she didn’t know the cant well enough to say what she meant. And now, for pity’s sake, she must be blushing. Her sister never got herself into these situations; why did she? Thank goodness, Dessie was approaching, balancing three tiny sandwiches on a napkin and, in her other hand, another flute of champagne.

“Have a sip, Robin,” Dessie said, nodding at the glass. “One-third and one-half. Can’t do that quickly in their heads.”

“Pardon?”

“Fractions,” Ophelia said. “Five-sixths. Still acceptable.” To answer his raised eyebrow, she explained, “We are counting champagnes.”

“I see.” His eyebrow came down; his expression went blank. She doubted he saw.

Dessie giggled and handed them each a sandwich. “So what were you two discussing so furtively? Hmm?”

“Your sister was trying to find the one-word Briticism to describe me.”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Dessie said. “Rakehell.”

Ophelia gasped, but Trentham merely tut-tutted. “Someone has lost count of her champagnes.”

“No, no, I haven’t. I’m sorry. But that was too easy.” Dessie burst into the delicious fit of giggles that excused her everything. It almost made Ophelia weep. She would miss her sister so much.

Trentham appeared indifferent. “Go pester Lynch, now, will you, dear? I have been trying to ask your sister a simple question, and I’ve ended up going to Canada and back.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Dessie made a flawless curtsy and backed away, as though she had just been presented to the queen.

Ophelia turned her attention back to the duke. “What question?”

“Will you or will you not play a duet with Eli tonight?”

“Where is Mr. Cameron? I haven’t seen him.”

“Nor will you. He’s engaged in his usual pre-performance ritual: fortifying his courage with a tall Blue Ruin. He will not emerge until it is time. But he asked me if he might call you up to accompany him on a duet, Fantasiestück. He says you know it. I said certainly, but he insisted I clear it with you first.”

“Did he?” Ophelia felt her heart melt. “How very kind of him.”

“Kind?”

“If he asked me in front of everyone, I might as well say yes and spare everyone the silly back-and-forth.”

“The false modesty?”

“It isn’t false.” She shuddered, imagining. “I truly, truly, do not wish to play tonight.”

“But why not? You are very talented. Eli would not have asked otherwise. He’s quite vain, you know, and wouldn’t want his performance tarnished.”

“Call it stage fright.”

He looked at her a long moment. “All right. I will ‘call it’ that. But you must not disappear when the performance is over. Eli wants to speak with you.”

“I’ll have to ask Lynch—”

“I’ll talk to him. You just…well, wait. Please.”

“What else do you think I would do? Jump out your window?”

He smiled. A little light sparked in his eyes that had to be real. “I’d better go. We’ll be starting in a few moments, and I promised Eli that I’d let him know your answer.”