Page 70 of Miss Delancey’s Tragicomedy

Milly struggled with Ophelia’s hairpins. Another one plinked onto the floor. “I’m sorry, Miss Delancey. I’m all butter-fingers today.”

Ophelia dared to peer at their reflections in the mirror. Compared to Milly, with her short, dark curls tucked up in a cap, Ophelia looked blowsy. Ugh. This was not what she needed. “I wish I could blame this on you, Milly. But I’ve seen Lady Lynchford. Her hair behaves for you.” The latest style, according to Dessie, was a loose, “inviting” roll, lying more on the top of the neck than at the back of the head. On Dessie, it was gorgeous, while Ophelia looked like she was wearing a mop. The whole thing had fallen down yesterday at the piano. Her stuffy piano master had affected not to notice, but Dessie laughed from the back of the room, “Ophelia, you look ravished! Shame on you, Mr. Cameron!” The poor man had blushed crimson.

“Milly, maybe you should do it up the regular way.”

“Let me give it one more try.”

Ophelia gave in. There was time to experiment. Milly had tended to Dessie already. Guests would not arrive for another hour.

Except for Trentham. He’d come two hours early, or so Dessie had reported when Ophelia emerged from her bath. “He rushed off to Lynch’s study again. I don’t know what they need two hours for! They’re just supposed to be themselves. I hope they aren’t over-staging this. Lynch is a terrible actor.”

And Trentham was a terribly good one.

Ophelia sighed. Dessie was right. She was going to have to ask Trentham for the truth. Not tonight, with a houseful of guests and Dessie’s plan to set in motion, but soon.

Another hairpin fell. Milly muttered something under her breath.

“I really think the usual—”

“No, I have it.” Milly gave a pin a good jab. Ophelia jumped. “There! That will hold.”

“Yes, because you’ve pinned it to my neck. No, leave it,” she said, as Milly reached for her hair again. “As long as I’m not bleeding.” She tilted her head one way, then the other. The style did look pretty. “All right. Now, let’s get me into my dress.” The butterscotch-colored silk gown had at least a million tiny pearl buttons running down her back—dressing would take a while. She hoped the result would be worth it. Then she scolded herself for hoping.

*

When Trentham had come down from Lynch’s study, he’d greeted Ophelia with so warm a look, it nearly melted her. The dress was worth it. Nevertheless, as soon as the guests started arriving, he’d moved away, greeting others before stationing himself at Lady Elizabeth’s side with Lynch. The two men chatted and chuckled while Elizabeth looked alternately bewildered and cross.

The invitees were now all gathered in the parlor, except for Lord Hayworth, who was, at this point, unacceptably late. Other than that, things seemed to be progressing as Dessie had predicted. Sir Albert and Lady Coates spoke pleasantly to everyone but each other. The Bemings both complained of headaches and were snappish. On the other side of the room, Lord Melvin punctuated all his statements with a sweet smile at his wife, which she returned. Life was clearly more pleasant for the happily married. Maybe this would work.

Ophelia trailed behind Dessie as she played hostess, making the rounds. The chairs were arranged in groups of three or four, but no one was sitting, and while the hearth was cold with no fire, the room was growing uncomfortably warm. They had just come back to Lady Elizabeth when Peters the butler flung open the door and announced, “Lord Hayworth.”

Conversation ceased as they all looked to the latecomer. The young man stepped inside, whey-faced, and a bit unsteady. After a moment, he locked his knees, squared his shoulders, and cast a pathetically defiant gaze across the room. Poor fellow. He’d heard the rumors too.

Lynch took a step forward, but Trentham was quicker, crossing the room with his long-legged stride.

“Welcome to the Lynchfords’ home. I am the Duke of Trentham.” The young fellow started and grew even paler. He stared a little too long at Trentham’s proffered hand before shaking it. Trentham continued, “Hayworth, I’m glad to make your acquaintance. I’ve spent some time in Dainswick. A very pleasant place. I was visiting my sister, whom I believe you know.”

“Ye—es. Yes.” Lord Hayworth’s voice would not have carried if the room had not been so still. “I—I’m pleased to meet you.”

Trentham clapped his shoulder. “I don’t know who you may know yet, so let me introduce everyone en masse.” He named them all in turn, while Hayworth nodded and stammered out greetings. While this was going on, Lynch brought over a glass of champagne and stuck it into his hand. The young man took a large gulp.

Dessie stepped up, grinning. “Welcome, my lord. I’ve been wanting an introduction ever since we passed you on Lady Townes’ doorstep the other day.”

Lord Hayworth coughed and choked, nearly spewing his champagne.

Lynch tut-tutted at Dessie, then said to the viscount, “I understand you’ve just returned to England. You’ve been away a few years?”

When Hayworth nodded, Dessie said, “Oh, wonderful! Will you tell us about your travels? I’m sure we’re all interested. An overview, at least, so that you won’t have to repeat yourself eleven times.”

He cleared his throat. “I—I left school, you know, because I wanted to see the world. To…to follow Odysseus’ route for a start.”

“Sailing the seas?” Lord Melvin asked. “Did you hear any Sirens?”

Hayworth flushed. “Only the siren call of archeology.”

Lady Elizabeth tittered. Tittered! Dessie and Ophelia exchanged glances, then both turned to her and stared. Her expression was bright with interest. “Did you come across Dr. Schliemann, my lord? And Sophia?”

Schliemann? Ophelia wondered. Sophia? Who were they?