Page 62 of Miss Delancey’s Tragicomedy

“She has to reject him,” Lynch said. “I told you, Dessie—”

“I know she doesn’t want me!” Trentham shouted. He rose from his perch. “She has made that abundantly clear. But if I don’t ask for her now, Barrington will rake me over the coals.” He turned to Lynch. “It won’t do you any good to be associated with me. Nor will it help Felicity. It will make things worse.” No one spoke for a minute. Then Trentham said, “Lady Elizabeth and I will survive. Neither of us expects a love match.”

“Robin!” Dessie marched over and shoved him in the chest. “It won’t even be a like match. Lady Elizabeth is a fine person, but she has no sense of humor whatsoever. Tell me you can live with that for the rest of your life.”

Trentham opened his mouth, then shut it. His whole body sagged with defeat.

Ophelia couldn’t figure out who Dessie was trying to shield by acting as if she was unaware of Trentham’s adultery. Maybe she didn’t want to be accused of listening in; or she doubted her own eavesdropping ears. Or maybe she assumed he was so far from redemption that saving Lady Elizabeth from him was paramount.

Lynch said, “Darling, you have to convince her to refuse Robin.” Dessie flinched, but whether it was at the directive or the “treacly” endearment, Ophelia couldn’t guess. “You can do it,” he urged. “Dessie, you can convince a sailor to buy a horse.”

Had she done that?

Dessie’s whole face screwed into a knot, a sign she was thinking intently. Then she said, “We need to hold a dinner party.” She counted something on her fingers, then frowned. “No, I don’t suppose Lady Townes will be permitted to come.”

Was Dessie still trying to bring the two women together? It wouldn’t work. Unless…Lord help them, unless Dessie was considering inviting Sir George as well. Watching him with his wife should dissuade anyone from marrying, ever.

“She will not,” Trentham said. “You heard Sir George. She is not to see me. And even if you don’t intend to invite me—”

“Oh, hush. Let me think.” Dessie counted again, then said, “Lord and Lady Melvin. Me and Lynch. Those are the love matches. Lord and Lady Beming. They argue nonstop. Sir Albert and Lady Coates. They never say a word to one another. Robin. Ophelia. Lady Elizabeth.” Her brow furrowed. “Mr. Cameron?”

Trentham shook his head. “Not Eli. The Barringtons won’t want their daughter attending a dinner where a performer is a guest.”

“Does that mean you’ll bar Mr. Cameron from your home when you’re married?” Ophelia asked, annoyed by the way he kowtowed to the snobs.

“Of course not.”

“I know,” Dessie said, before an argument erupted. “That young fellow we passed on the stoop. Viscount something or other from Dainswick.”

Trentham choked. “Hayworth?” He looked shocked by the suggestion. Lynch appeared equally startled, and began rubbing his jaw as if to erase his expression.

Dessie continued, “Lynch wants to sink his claws into the man before the Conservatives get to him.”

“I wouldn’t put it that way, but yes,” Lynch said. “Invite Hayworth. I think that is a good idea. Show we have no quarrel with him. Unless,” he looked to Trentham, “you think it might inflame Sir George to a dangerous degree.”

“I don’t know what sets him off,” Trentham grumbled.

“Why would Sir George care?” Ophelia asked.

The two men exchanged glances. Then Trentham said, “He is my sister’s supposed paramour.”

Ophelia could only gape in disbelief, but Dessie burst into giggles. When she got hold of herself, she said, “Oh, come now! Admit it. That is funny!”

Still, no one else laughed.

“Well, all right,” Dessie said, looking a bit piqued. “Tomorrow night we have another engagement, but the day after tomorrow, Lynch and I will host a dinner party.” Three skeptical faces stared back at her. “I know this seems too tame to work, but I suspect Lady Elizabeth is closer to the tipping point than you think. She won’t listen to reason, but if we can frighten her enough, it should convince her that refusing Robin is the lesser of two evils.”

Trentham responded to that with a short, hollow laugh.

“So what do we do at this party?” Ophelia asked. “What are our roles?”

“Everyone just needs to be themselves. Lady Elizabeth will see the results of making an unhappy marriage.” She smiled at Lynch. “Contrasted with the results of a love match.” She turned to Trentham. “And Robin, just be droll. She’ll hate you.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

The past two days had been a succession of nightmares, and Trentham suspected Dessie’s dinner party tomorrow night would be another. In the meantime, he hoped for twenty-four hours of solitude to quietly take care of the pressing mundane.

He brought his morning coffee into his study. This room, more than any other, held memories of his father—memories besides those of the deathbed. His childhood remembrances had mostly been censored by his brain, which hoarded them jealously to dole out at odd and often inconvenient moments. But whatever readily accessible early-days recollections he possessed of his sire were largely set here. He regretted that they did not inspire more tender reflection.