Page 101 of Miss Delancey’s Tragicomedy

Hayworth dropped one valise as he stepped in front of Lady Elizabeth to shield her. Trentham slowed his approach, as if slowing would signal good intentions. He heard footsteps behind him, but before he had a chance to look over his shoulder, Hayworth raised his valise over his head with both hands and winged it at him.

Trentham had just a moment to duck the missile. He heard a thump. A cry. Then a splash. As he straightened, he registered the shock on Hayworth’s face and the fact that Lady Elizabeth was shrieking. Aghast, he peered over the gangway’s ropes, knowing what he would find. Miss Delancey was flailing in the foul water. Brain blank with terror, he peeled off his jacket and dove in.

Cold. The water was damn cold. After three brisk strokes, his nose and mouth broke the surface and he gulped in air, air that stank so much he could taste the rot. He shook his head to clear away the muck, then treaded water and looked about, frantically, for Ophelia. Ophelia. His heart pounded in his chest. He couldn’t lose her. He couldn’t.

There. She was no longer flailing, but floating, clutching a life buoy. His eyes followed the attached rope to the wharf. Lynch and two strangers, merchant marines, were reeling her in. Thank God. Thank God.

“Robin!” Dessie shouted. “Here’s yours.” She flung a second lifebuoy into the water. He tucked the ring under his arm and paddled toward the wharf, grateful for the support, since his boots were full of water and his wet clothes were dragging him down. And, frankly, his swimming skill was rudimentary. As he watched the men hauling Ophelia up, catching her under the arms, setting her feet to the wharf, he realized his heroics had been unnecessary. Yet he couldn’t have not jumped in after her.

He tried scrambling up the pilings unaided, but the wood was slimy, and he was glad when Lynch and March grabbed him and pulled him up. Rising quickly from knees to feet, he found himself surrounded by rescuers. Ophelia stumbled over to him and fell into the arms he stretched out to her.

She was shaking.

“Ophelia. Ophelia,” he murmured, closing his arms around her, holding on tightly. “You’re all right.”

“I swallowed a mouthful of that water!” She squirmed against his chest as if trying to get even closer. “And I can’t—I couldn’t swim.”

If his clothes had been dragging him down, all her layers must have been worse. The thought was terrifying. “You did fine. And you’re safe now.” He fought the urge to kiss her. In front of everyone. To claim her.

“Ouch,” she said, wincing. “I’m sorry. Hugging me must be like squeezing a wet sponge.”

“I don’t mind. I’m drenched too.” And that was going to be a problem. But he couldn’t think of a solution. Not yet. He wanted nothing more than to hold her a while.

“Yes, but my shoulder hurts.”

He loosened his hold, but didn’t release her. “Broken or bruised?”

She looked up from under lowered lashes and smiled faintly. “Bruised.”

Lord Hayworth pushed his way to them. “Miss Delancey, I—I am so sorry. I didn’t think Trentham would duck!”

So this was his fault? If his arms weren’t so full of Ophelia, he would pop the fellow one. See if he ducked.

Lady Elizabeth, right behind, cried, “I’m not going back. I won’t marry His Grace! I don’t care if—if—”

“Does it look like he wants to marry you, Bitsy?” Dessie scoffed, tossing her head as though to say look there! “We came to save you from disgrace. You and Lord Hayworth both. You can’t get married on the ship.”

“We know that,” Hayworth said, pinched face. “I just spoke with the steward to arrange it with the captain, and he laughed at me.” He threw back his shoulders. “So we’re taking the first train in the morning to Scotland. You can’t stop us. Bitsy is my Sophia! My muse!”

“You’re welcome to her.” Trentham sniffed at the theatrics. “Why didn’t you simply pay court like a decent fellow? I’d wager Barrington would have encouraged your suit over mine, so long as your bank account is flush.”

“But you must want her!” Hayworth gasped. “I—I had to rescue her from you!”

“And a fine rescue at that,” Lynch put in. “If you don’t get her home before all of London wakes up, she’ll be ruined.”

“We’re eloping!” Lady Elizabeth insisted. “To Scotland. And then, we’re going to Orchomenus.”

Dessie said, “Happy you. But you left a mess in your wake. Why didn’t you tell your parents who you were eloping with? They accused Robin!”

Hayworth turned to Lady Elizabeth with a wounded expression. “You didn’t tell them? You said you’d leave a note.”

She shrank into herself. “I thought it would throw them off our track if I let them think it was His Grace.”

Before Trentham could express his annoyance, Hayworth spoke. “But Bitsy, we bought tickets to Gretna Green to confuse them.” His voice was strained, his drooping baby face more disappointed than angry. “That was what we agreed upon.”

“You’re both idiots.” Good God, they were young. They played this like a game. “Listen. We’ll take you home, Lady Elizabeth. If your parents haven’t shouted it about, your disappearance should not yet be known. Hayworth, I suggest you grovel to Barrington. Promise him whatever he wants.”

“Yes, but my fortune can’t touch yours. What if he rejects my suit in favor of yours?”