Page 86 of Miss Delancey’s Tragicomedy

Dessie rolled her eyes. “Mr. Cameron. Mr. Elias Cameron.”

Mr. Cameron stepped into the room, looking as though hearing his name pronounced with such portentousness amused him. He started to bow to Dessie, then stopped. “I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Daddy stood up. Mouth agape. Then he walked toward Eli, squinting.

“Good God! It is you. I remember hearing you back in…what was it? Sixty-five? Seventy? You were in New York. You played at the Vanderpoels’.”

“Ah. Yes. I was in America, briefly. You were one of the Vanderpoels’ guests?”

“You were a young fellow then. Good God! But what a talent! Vanderpoel couldn’t stop bragging about his ‘coup.’ His ‘find.’” He turned to Ophelia, laughing. “You heard him through the floor! And didn’t stop talking about him for months!”

Ophelia’s cheeks grew hot.

Dessie giggled. “Years. She’s been talking about him for years.”

Ophelia saw Eli’s face redden, too.

“And you are Lynch’s friend?” Daddy asked. When Mr. Cameron nodded, he said, “Small world. Small world.” Then he turned to Ophelia. “Come, luv. Let’s go see what you’ve learned.”

It was as good an excuse as any to stretch their legs and move to another room.

“I haven’t practiced my scales today,” Ophelia admitted in a whisper, walking a little in front, alongside her tutor.

“I’m not surprised.” He glanced down at her slippers and grinned. “Do you want to start with something on the harp?”

“I imagine Daddy wants to hear me play the piano. Since I’m taking lessons. Resorting to the harp would be cheating.”

“Then choose the piece you are most comfortable playing. I’ll stand behind you and nod appreciatively. Everyone will trust you’re making exquisite music if I say so.”

“Does that work when you’re teaching the tin-eared?” Tricks of the tutor’s trade?

“Always.” He smirked. “Then we’ll play a duet to end the lesson, if that suits you.”

“Perfectly.” Because really, everyone wanted to hear Elias Cameron, not her.

When they entered the music room, Ophelia took her place on the piano bench, and Eli stood a respectful distance behind. Dessie, Daddy, and Aunt Grace sat facing them, wearing rapt expressions.

Ophelia chose a Chopin piece she could play in her sleep. Eli pronounced it excellent, and everyone clapped. Then he sat down beside her. But before they started, Lynch strode into the room. His shoulders were tense and his jaw locked.

“Did it not go well?” Dessie asked, then explained to the others, “He had a meeting this morning at the coffee house with Lord Selborne, the lord chancellor.”

Ophelia counted that as equal parts concern for Lynch and eagerness to drop names for Daddy’s sake. Earlier, Dessie had explained that Lord Selborne was the minister of justice for the crown. They were trying to sway the fellow to their side.

Lynch scowled. “It went about as well as expected. He won’t budge on two points, and neither will I.” He tossed off the explanation as if it wasn’t important, before glaring at Eli and demanding, “Did you know?”

Eli flinched, but he didn’t ask what Lynch meant. Or give an answer. He remained silent, his face white and shoulders hunched as if he wanted to hide.

“Know what?” Dessie asked.

“Three different people, three, came up to me to tell me to give Trentham their congratulations.”

“For?” Dessie asked.

“For his betrothal to Lady Elizabeth.”

Ophelia gasped. They were mistaken. Or lying. It had to be a mistake.

“No!” Dessie cried. “I was sure he wouldn’t ask her. And if he did, I was positive she would say ‘no’.”