Page 71 of Miss Delancey’s Tragicomedy

“I did! I did indeed!” Hayworth’s nervousness disappeared. “I chased his footsteps for a time before finding him. The brilliant fellow allowed me to join his dig in Orchomenus! His wife is an inspiration, I must say. A true muse! But then I received word of my grandfather’s demise.”

“Has he found it? The tomb of Minyas?”

“Nothing proven yet, but, on the cusp…”

“How awful you had to leave.”

“Yes, it was a tremendous disappointment.” He halted, then stammered out, “And—and losing grandfather was sad as well.” As if realizing he sounded inadequately grief-stricken, he added, “Very sad.” He squared his shoulders again. “I want to settle things here quickly and return.”

Lady Elizabeth simpered. “Naturally! I hope you can.”

Peters returned to the doorway and ahem’d.

“Dinner! We should go in,” Dessie announced.

Trentham gave his arm to Lady Elizabeth, and Lord Hayworth escorted Ophelia.

The table settings were exquisite: nearly translucent, white bone china, gleaming silver, sparkling crystalware. Gaslights glowed along the wall, and three tall pink candles flickered in silver candlesticks on the table. A white linen cloth stretched the length of the table, and the edges fell crisply to within six inches of the floor.

They found their seats. Dessie had arranged it so that Ophelia would be between Lynch, who sat at the head of the table, and Trentham. Lady Elizabeth came next, and then, Lord Hayworth, Lady Beming, and finally Dessie at the table’s end. The other couples were seated opposite, husbands and wives beside each other. This was unconventional but served Dessie’s purpose. Lady Elizabeth would have a fine view of the Coateses, who were looking anywhere but at each other, as well as the gentle teasing and loving exchanges of the Melvins. If she bothered to look. As soon as Lynch finished saying grace, Lady Elizabeth turned to Lord Hayworth, blatantly intent upon showing Trentham the back of her head.

As they began the soup course, Lynch and Trentham exchanged a few words, speaking past Ophelia. Lynch said, “One thing at a time.” And Trentham answered, “Yes, of course.” Which must have been a reference to his sister. Then Lynch focused on Lady Coates to his right.

Ophelia expected Trentham to turn to her. But instead, he stared at his white soup as if it required his full attention.

She waited, hearing the blended murmurings of the other guests. As best she could make out, Lady Elizabeth and Lord Hayworth were still talking about archeology. She began to feel conspicuously ignored. So she gave Trentham’s arm a small nudge.

He glanced over.

“You are supposed to be droll,” she said, a quiet reminder.

“Right. Sorry.” His voice changed to playful. “I wanted to say earlier, that is a lovely dress. Eye-catching and eye-pleasing.”

“Thank you, Lord World-Class-Flatterer.”

His head drew back. “Now what was wrong with that?”

Nothing, really. Buttons aside, this was one of her favorite gowns. The bodice was close-fitting and the neckline, though scooped, was modest. It had long sleeves with narrow butterscotch-and-white stripes. Below the bodice, the voluminous skirt had wide stripes. The fabric was swept up and back to fall in cascades behind her, no bustle required.

“You forgot to mention the lady in the dress.”

“The dress stands alone as lovely. The lady is eye-catching and eye-pleasing.” He lowered his voice to a near whisper. “With the dress or without, I’m sure.”

Her jaw dropped. He was joking, of course. This was not like the insulting leer at the Barringtons’ ball. But still. Inappropriate. With effort, she responded, “Honestly, Trentham. You are impossible. I said ‘droll’. Not lecherous.”

His false smile dimmed. “I’m sorry. That was forced. I can’t do droll today. I’m too worried about Felicity.”

“Because of Sir George?” she whispered.

His eyes raised up, then lowered. “Yes, but let’s not discuss—”

“Of course not.” This was neither the time nor the place.

“Miss Delancey, may I ask a favor?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Just talk. Let us act like we’re conversing. Give me another nudge from time to time and I’ll laugh. And if they ever stop quoting Homer to one another—”