Page 44 of Miss Delancey’s Tragicomedy

They wouldn’t play those games. It would be about the music. Nothing but the music.

A breeze rustled over her, and she sat up, absently patting the bed. It had taut sheets, soft blankets, and a feather mattress. The bed linens were pale yellow. The rest of the décor was all yellow and light blue, all sweetly pleasant and welcoming. The colors were her favorite shades. How silly that she hadn’t taken notice of that before. Dessie had made this room for her. To entice her to stay? She giggled, thinking of the lengths her sister would go to in order to keep her in London. The baby was a stroke of genius!

In the lamplight, she could see the curtains fluttering, so she rose to go close the windows. In early May, it was still chilly at night.

As she walked toward the window, her door creaked open and Dessie bustled in. She shut the door and leaned back against it, her hands behind her. A memory of her quivering chin came back to Ophelia in a rush.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Wrong?” Dessie echoed, then straightened and huffed. “Nothing’s wrong. Did you not see it? He’s jealous!” A smile broke over her face. “It’s perfect!”

Confused, Ophelia asked, “Who is jealous?”

“Robin, you ninny! Robin is.”

“Of what?” He’d been ill-natured at dinner’s end, and hadn’t seemed softened by the impromptu musicale, but…

“Of you and Mr. Cameron.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I know!” Dessie skipped to Ophelia’s bed, then flopped down upon it. “But he is. He was nasty about Mr. Cameron’s supposed reputation, and then was out of sorts the rest of the night. Surely you saw that. Either he doesn’t like the idea of Mr. Cameron with you, or the idea of you with Mr. Cameron.”

Ophelia’s lips twitched at Dessie’s logic. “Just because he was being crotchety doesn’t mean he’s jealous. What right does he have? He’s courting Lady Elizabeth.”

“That’s a mistake and they both know it. And you didn’t see the way he was watching you and Mr. Cameron at the piano. He looked like this.” Dessie stiffened her whole body, narrowed her eyes, and put a grimacing smile on her face.

Ophelia studied her. “That’s annoyance and trying to hide it. Not jealousy.”

Her eyes rolled heavenward. “And what do you think annoyed him?”

“Probably all my wrong notes.” He was a musician himself. He’d hear what the others wouldn’t have. Besides, what had Trentham said earlier? Eli was too far beneath his touch to inspire jealousy. No, he’d said resentment, not jealousy. But it meant the same thing.

Dessie popped up from the bed and pinned Ophelia with a determined stare. “We have to do something.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“You and Robin. Now stop,” she commanded before Ophelia could protest. “I’m not saying there is a you-and-Robin, though that would be wonderful. Don’t you see? It would make Daddy look like a prophet.”

“Dessie—”

“I know. I know. Fairy tales. Castles in the air. But it isn’t impossible.”

“You cannot matchmake between me and Trentham!” She couldn’t believe they could argue about this. “You are the one who warned me about him. And you were right!” The words spilled out. “Dessie, he tried kissing me in your library!”

Dessie’s eyes widened. “What? When?”

“At your last dinner party.”

Dessie sat—sank—back down, blinking, her mouth working oddly, until she said, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know.” She felt awful. Both for telling Dessie and for not telling her sooner. “I suppose I was embarrassed. It wasn’t even really a kiss. I don’t think he meant anything by it. Maybe he felt he was supposed to be naughty. Like Mr. Cameron.”

“He kissed you too?” Dessie looked horrified.

“No! No, and he won’t.”

“He’d better not. This is awful, Ophelia. It’s like Othello and Cassio.”