Page 27 of Miss Delancey’s Tragicomedy

Lady Townes linked her arm through Lady Wrotham’s and drew her away toward the parlor.

The moment passed. Everything was fine. And Ophelia smiled because she also loved her sister and her brother-in-law.

*

The ladies settled, skirts and bustles and all, into pretty chairs and gossipy conversation. One had been to the same theater performance that Ophelia had seen prior to her incapacitation. Another had read the same novel and was equally shocked to discover Lady Thistlethwaite’s culpability.

They chatted easily, changing seats and groups from time to time as politeness dictated. Eventually, they fell to catching up on each other’s children. Ophelia relaxed, knowing she needed merely smile, sigh, or occasionally chuckle.

But then Lady Townes signaled for her to join her near the fire. There was no reason to fear Trentham’s sister. The woman was very personable. Dignified. Clearly, she had been brought up in the rarefied air of a ducal estate. Handsome rather than pretty, she looked a little older than Ophelia guessed she should be. Nevertheless, there was something intimidating about her. Ophelia screwed her courage for the tête-à-tête.

“How are you finding London, Miss Delancey?”

“Well, I was finding it delightful until my accident. But I am mended now, so—”

“Accident?”

Oh, no. She’d assumed the story had reached Trentham’s sister’s ears. She didn’t know whether to be furious with him for putting her in this position or pleased by his discretion.

“It was a ridiculous mishap. I, well, you see, I tripped over a windowsill and fell out.” Her face burned. That was more detail than needed, or else not enough.

“Oh, my.” Lady Townes bit her lip. “I hope you weren’t badly hurt.”

Ophelia put on a bright smile. “Hardly. It was a ground floor window.”

“I see.” Then Lady Townes snorted and covered her mouth with her hand. “I’m sorry.”

“You may laugh.” She rambled a bit desperately. “Trentham did.”

“Robin was there? I should have guessed.”

She shouldn’t have mentioned Trentham. “But I’m wrong, Lady Townes. Only Dessie laughed. Your brother did not. Rather, he helped me up and dusted me off.”

“Of course, he did.”

That sounded worse somehow. “Though he probably laughed later.”

“I’m sure.” Now the humor in her eyes lit her whole face. She may not have gotten along with Trentham’s mother, but it was obvious that she adored him. “You were at Robin’s musicale, weren’t you? Of course you were. With Lynch and Lady Lynchford?”

“Yes. I am a strong admirer of Mr. Cameron.”

“Aren’t we all?” She tilted her head toward Dessie, her amusement fading. “Your sister is…impressive.”

“I think so.”

“Not easily cowed. She will need that. Her husband has put her in a difficult spot. Of course, he’s in a worse one.”

“How so?” She frowned. This might not be an appropriate conversation.

Lady Townes looked surprised. “As pertains to his stance on women’s property rights.”

Definitely not appropriate.

Ophelia understood the problem. Naturally, she and Dessie had discussed it. Lynch was fighting for married women to be able to keep and control their own inheritances and incomes, not surrender it all to their husbands, as was the law of the land. And yet, he was a peer in desperate need of funds, who had married an American heiress. It looked bad. But Ophelia certainly wasn’t about to discuss the legal wrangling that had gone into Dessie’s marriage settlement. It wasn’t anyone’s business but their own.

She blinked and stalled. “I don’t follow British politics very closely.”

Lady Townes squinted skeptically. “Not even Lynch’s? He’s working with a committee to pass a bill that will give married women more rights.” She sighed. “But I’m afraid it will be voted down. It is not in the interests of those who vote. I’m grateful to Lynch, at any rate, for holding such forward-thinking convictions.”