Page 53 of Miss Delancey’s Tragicomedy

“Psssht.” Now he felt annoyed at Eli for his alarm. “I’ll speak with her.” Grudgingly, he added, “Thank you for bringing it to my attention.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing.”

Unfortunately, it was certainly something.

*

The following day, Trentham discovered that he and Lady Elizabeth had common cause after all. They brought to their walk in the park a mutual determination to get the thing over with. They were so ill-suited to any romantic endeavor, the maid trailing behind was superfluous.

It was springtime. The trees were as green as one could want, with buds on those that flowered, and fresh-cut grass scented the air. The sun was shining and the temperature held mild. According to Tennyson, his fancy should lightly be turning to thoughts of love. It was not.

Tea earlier had included both Lady Barrington and the marquess, who kept looking at his watch, as if timing how long it would take Trentham to come up to the mark. He hadn’t yet asked for Lady Elizabeth’s hand, but as it was now a foregone conclusion that he would, Lord Barrington must be wondering why he was wasting everyone’s time.

This stroll was another waste of time. And effort. Effort on his part. Lady Elizabeth wasn’t even trying. A marriage under these conditions would be deadly.

“You don’t like playing the piano?” he asked. This would be his last attempt at conversation. So far, he’d felt as though he were engaged in the Badminton game with a toddler, and he was running out of shuttlecocks.

“I do not,” she said. After a long moment of silence, she added, “I play poorly. Mother said it doesn’t matter. Gentlemen must listen and applaud. It’s farcical.” She turned her face to him for the first time in a solid ten minutes. “You play very well, Your Grace.” She clarified, “I am being sincere.”

“Thank you.” It amused him that she’d felt she had to add the assurance. “But if I played longer, you’d find I would run through my repertoire very quickly.”

She nodded, then looked straight ahead.

“Should we turn back?” he asked.

“If you’d like.”

That put him in a tricky position. Perhaps he should insist upon deferring to her wishes. But that could turn into a drawn-out war of politeness. He was willing to concede defeat.

“Yes, I think it best.”

They turned about. Now they were obliged to exchange greetings with fellow strollers who’d been parading behind them, and who would notice their abrupt about-face. He kept his expression blandly pleasant.

They were but a few steps away from his coach before she finally spoke to him.

“I had tea last week with Lady Lynchford and Miss Delancey.”

“Yes, Lynch told me. He said they were taken with you.” That much was true. He turned to smile at her, but found her peering at him as if hunting for something. Her shoulders were drawn up, and her mouth was taut with frustration.

“He said nothing else?”

How bizarre. “What else should he have said?”

She huffed. “Nothing.”

The footman let down the step, and Trentham handed her up, then the maid, before climbing in beside them, dooming them all to a ride in an uncomfortable silence. A foretaste, he imagined, of the rest of their lives.

Chapter Nineteen

Ophelia and Dessie found no opportunity for a private talk until they set off in Lynch’s landau the next afternoon. After the late night at the opera, they’d both slept until noon, and then had to submit to the lengthy preparations for venturing out in society: choosing the right clothes, having Milly dress their hair, asking for Lynch’s carriage to be readied. All Ophelia knew was that Dessie was determined to call on Lady Elizabeth. She said they were “running out of time to stop the runaway train”. Ophelia wondered if her sister might be having fun with this, seeing it as just another adventure. But no. Dessie knew this was serious—there were hollows under her eyes as well.

As soon as they were rolling along, Dessie began her interrogation.

“So? What did you and Robin discuss last night when we left you two alone? Wasn’t that a stroke of fortune? I couldn’t have planned anything so perfect!”

Ophelia shrugged. “We talked about the opera.”

Dessie’s face fell. “That’s all?”