Page 69 of Miss Delancey’s Tragicomedy

To grace them with the presence of a duke for luncheon? Gad. “Yes, of course.” He could manage politeness. “But I can’t stay long. I have to get ready for a dinner party tonight with Lynch and Dessie.” And Miss Delancey. “Dessie has a harebrained plan to make Lady Elizabeth reject my suit.”

Her mouth pursed, an exasperated expression he recognized well. She was his older sister, after all. “Has it gotten to that point?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Do I dare ask what the plan is?”

Trentham hesitated. The plan exploited miserable marriages. Rather insensitive under the circumstances. “No. I’ll tell you later. If it works.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

The morning after the MacAlistairs’ ball, Ophelia lay in bed, eyes closed, but fully awake. She felt imaginary lumps in the mattress and a damp breeze drifting in from the open window. Yet it wasn’t physical discomfort preventing her from rolling over and catching another hour of sleep. Her mind was too busy.

They’d left the ball at three o’clock in the morning when Dessie finally complained of fatigue. Ophelia had had to disappoint the last two gentlemen whose names were on her dance card, but since neither of the names were “Trentham,” she didn’t care.

How pathetic was that? Infatuation with a duke was bad enough. But infatuation with a philanderer? A rake who might also be a murderer?

She had to stop brooding over this. His past could not be changed, so she simply had to forget him. She would, after tonight. Tonight, they had Dessie’s scheme to set in motion. In truth, Ophelia doubted watching the interactions of unhappily wed couples would be enough to override Lady Elizabeth’s fear of upsetting her parents. With those parents, Lady Elizabeth had probably already seen enough marital discord to dissuade her if she was dissuadable.

Her bedroom door creaked open, and the room filled with a hint of fresh lavender and the metaphorical ray of sunshine. Dessie said, “Are you still asleep?”

“Of course not. How could I possibly sleep?” And how could Dessie appear so well-rested? Oh, right. She was married to a saint.

“What is bothering you most? Lady Townes? Lady Elizabeth? Or Robin?”

It was too early for this, even if it was nearly noon. “I should say Lady Townes.” Ophelia threw off her coverlet and sat up. “But I’m afraid it’s Trentham. I can’t believe what you heard is true. Yet I also can’t not believe it.”

“I know!” Dessie came to sit beside her. “Last night, after the ball, I felt so guilty for eavesdropping, I had to tell Lynch. I thought he’d be furious, but it was worse. He was morose. He didn’t fault me for accidentally listening, but for running to you with it. He said that’s why he never said anything to me about Robin’s troubles. It’s not his story to tell.” She sighed heavily. “He said he doesn’t trust me with someone else’s secrets.”

Ophelia ached for her sister, who only ever meant well. “I suppose he’s right though, Dessie.”

“I only tell you! It was awful. He said he understands how close we are, but there are things he’s going to keep from me and that’s why.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t deserve his confidence.”

“Oh, Dessie. I’m sorry.” She couldn’t bear the thought of coming between them. “You have to stop telling me—”

“I would, but I can’t! Was I supposed to stand by and watch you and Robin fall in love if he’s dangerous?”

Ophelia’s stomach sank. “Did you say that to Lynch?”

“Almost. But I stopped myself.” Her lips pursed. Sounding petulant, she said, “It’s none of his business if you and Robin are interested in one another.”

Thank God. She blew out a breath. Then she pulled her pillow onto her lap and scrunched it. “Will he tell Trentham that we know about the affair? And the duel?”

Dessie shook her head. “No. At least, he said he wouldn’t. I suppose he doesn’t want Robin to know the walls in our house have ears.”

After a commiserating silence, Ophelia said, “I shouldn’t be ‘interested in’ Trentham. Not anymore.”

“I suppose not, but Lynch did say I shouldn’t judge Robin for something that happened ten years ago. He says the girl was equally at fault, if not more so.”

Ophelia rolled her eyes. “Of course, a man would say that.”

Dessie sighed. “I know. But it’s just so hard to think ill of Robin. There has to be more to the story.” Dessie rose and quietly smoothed the coverlet where she had been sitting. “Ophelia?”

“Hmmm?”

“There must be more. You have to ask him. If you care for him, you need to hear the truth. From him.”

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