Page 12 of Miss Delancey’s Tragicomedy

Even Felicity feared…he didn’t know what she feared. His temper? His sharp tongue? His marksmanship?

He walked her outside and gave her a kiss on the forehead.

“Thank you, Felicity. I hope this wasn’t too awful.”

“Of course not. But you do know I can’t keep doing this forever.”

Doing this. Serving as his hostess.

“But you do it so splendidly.” He smiled. Then he asked, eyeing the waiting carriage, “Are you sure you won’t stay over? It’s late.” It had to be terrible going home to that house, whether or not Sir George would be there.

She shook her head. “I told George I’d be home by one o’clock. It’s nearly that now.”

“We should have started the program earlier.”

“You should have cut Mrs. Galloway off after her fourth ballad.”

Trentham chuckled. “If only.” He signaled to the driver and the carriage rolled forward. “Are you all right, Felicity? You look worn out.”

“What an awful thing to say.”

“I know. I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t worried.”

“London exhausts me. I’m going back to the country in a sennight.” She reached to brush her hand against his hair. He squinted. Out here in the moonlight, he could see that there were traces of powder on her cheeks. Her earlier, artful application had faded to a few streaks that revealed more than they hid. She murmured, “Julia misses you. Come visit us in Dainswick.”

“I will.” He handed her up into the carriage. “Felicity, please tell me if you need anything. I can be relied upon, you know.”

She laughed. “Of course, I know. Stop worrying.”

He shut the door and stood back.

He hoped he was mistaken. He must be mistaken. But those were not simply shadows beneath Felicity’s eyes. Her face was bruised.

*

Trentham strode into the billiards hall angry, wishing the musicale had ended an hour ago, leaving him more time to question his sister before she raced home. It didn’t help to find Lynch seated in an armchair, glowering, beside a settee where Dessie had fallen asleep. Moreover, Miss Delancey, pacing by the billiards table, had turned eagerly to face the door, only to wilt with disappointment when she saw him.

“Where the hell is Eli?” Lynch growled.

“You know him. He’s up there preening and congratulating himself in the mirror.” He all but snarled the words. “He’ll be down when he feels he’s given the anticipation time to build.”

Lynch frowned at the venom in his reply. Ophelia looked jaw-dropped appalled. He supposed he should say something contrite, but if he did, it would not be sincere.

“What’s wrong with Dessie? Bosky on champagne?”

“What is wrong with you?” Lynch rose.

“For Heaven’s sake!” Miss Delancey said, stage whispering. “Shush! You’ll wake her.”

The concern in her voice penetrated the muddle of his own worry for Felicity. He murmured, “Is she all right?”

Miss Delancey shrugged, helpless. “She’s never fallen asleep at a party before.”

“She’s fine,” Lynch said through clenched teeth, slumping back into his chair. “Or she would be if you’d let me take her home.”

Miss Delancey stared at her brother-in-law a moment, mouth open. Then she nodded and simply said, “Oh.”

A knock interrupted before Trentham deciphered their code. Eli stepped inside. He’d changed his clothes. His hair was damp as if he’d taken the time to bathe while they waited. He smiled from ear to ear, clearly expecting accolades, not dead silence. His smile disappeared.