Page 75 of Miss Delancey’s Tragicomedy

In truth, he’d paid only enough attention to Hayworth to hmmm in the right places. He hadn’t been able to drag his thoughts away from Miss Delancey. She’d returned to the parlor with her hair arranged in its usual way. It was very pretty, but not as alluring as it had been half down. In his after-the-party dreams last night, her long blond hair had played a major, and then, minor role.

He wanted Miss Delancey. He needed her in his life. And he was beginning to believe she wanted him in hers. But he couldn’t simply claim her. Not encumbered as he was by the consequences of his mistakes. He had to set things to rights. With Lady Elizabeth first. Then, with Miss Delancey. He needed to tell her everything: Fanny and Gilliam; the duel with Fanny’s husband, Lord Stanley, and its brutal outcome; the court case he’d lost; his self-imposed exile. It would all come out anyway, and she must hear it from him.

No. First things first: his sister. Next, Lady Elizabeth. Finally, Miss Delancey.

The ride was short, then he and Lynch slogged through the rain into Mr. Derry’s law firm’s drab red-brick building. Inside, it had the hushed quality of a church. The furnishings were all of mahogany and plush, dark purple velvet. A fox-faced portrait of what must have been the firm’s founder hung on the wall. The place smelled of generations of catering to wealth.

A solid-looking man in a crisp, dark gray jacket and trousers emerged from behind one of the doors. His sandy hair was unfashionably short. His features fit his expression, which was dour.

“Mr. Derry,” Lynch said, stretching out his hand. “I am Lord Lynchford. We’ve met in a few councils—”

“Yes, I recall.” He shook Lynch’s hand briskly. “I admire your efforts.” Then he turned to Trentham.

Lynch said, “Michael Derry, this is His Grace, the Duke of Trentham.”

They also shook hands.

“And how may I be of service, Your Grace?”

“My sister needs a divorce,” Trentham blurted.

The solicitor’s eyes widened a fraction, then he frowned. “Let’s discuss this in my office.”

*

They spent the better part of the morning in consultation with Mr. Derry. Lynch laid out the case, with several interruptions from Derry and a few clarifications from Trentham. After a lengthy discussion, Derry agreed to represent Felicity.

“I’ll need to confer with Mr. Cameron as soon as feasible, and then with Lady Townes.”

“Speaking with Lady Townes may be difficult. Sir George is keeping her under surveillance,” Trentham said. Seeing Derry’s deepening frown, he hurriedly stated, “I’ll arrange it.”

“If I may, I would also like permission to speak with your family’s solicitor. I’d like to see the original marriage contract and any additional financial adjustments, if they occurred.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll let Cavanaugh know to expect your inquiries.”

They shook hands all around again.

In the coach, on the way back, Trentham said, “I suppose that went well. He seems grimly competent.”

Lynch laughed. “Grim? That is the most delightedly enthusiastic I’ve ever seen him.”

After dropping Lynch off at his home, Trentham returned to his own, where he exchanged his coach for his open-air curricle and set his destination for the Barringtons’. The sky was still overcast, but the rain had ceased. Thank God. He wanted to return with Lady Elizabeth to the park. It would be impossible to talk straight while sitting in the Barringtons’ drawing room with Lady Barrington breathing down their necks.

He hurried his team along, navigating the narrow, crowded, mud-clogged streets with ease despite foregoing the counterweight of his tiger. He needed the room for Lady Elizabeth’s maid. He arrived at the Barringtons’ all too soon. No turning back. This would be freeing. Likely ruinous, but freeing. He marched up the brick steps and banged the heavy brass knocker. When the butler opened the door, he said, “The Duke of Trentham for Lady Elizabeth.”

“Lady Elizabeth is not at home.”

Trentham started. She’d always been at home when he called. Where the devil else would she be? Having no other option, he gave one of his cards to the butler. “I’ll come again.”

He returned to his carriage. Now what? He found himself turning toward Lynch’s. Toward Miss Delancey. Just a quick social call, so she wouldn’t think he’d make a habit of kissing her and disappearing.

Besides, he missed her already.

*

Trentham found the trio in the morning room enjoying a late luncheon. He felt a brief qualm about intruding. After all, he’d already spent the better part of the morning with Lynch. And he’d been here all last evening. And now he was back again.

“Robin! How lovely!” Dessie said. “Come sit.” She turned to the footman. “Bring His Grace a plate.”