Page 87 of Miss Delancey’s Tragicomedy

Lynch shook his head. “I don’t know what happened. I would like to think the rumors are false. Eli?”

Eli said weakly, “It’s not my place—”

“Good God!” Lynch interrupted, his face thunderous. “It’s true.” He spun about. “I’ve got to talk to him.” He strode out.

Ophelia was left exchanging horrified looks with Dessie, while her heart cracked in two. She couldn’t bear to glance at Eli, keeper of Trentham’s secrets. But she did steal a glimpse at her father, whose confusion was clear.

Daddy coughed. “I take it this is not welcome news. This Trentham is Lynch’s friend? A duke, isn’t that right?”

Dessie might have written something to him about Trentham. Ophelia hadn’t. She left it to Dessie to answer because she didn’t trust her own voice.

“The Duke of Trentham is Lynch’s very good friend,” Dessie said, moving to Ophelia’s side and resting a hand on her shoulder. “And this match is awful. It’s one of those stupid aristocratic marriages to join bloodlines. They dislike each other terribly.”

Aunt Grace tsked. “How very sad.”

Too sad. Ophelia’s eyes welled with tears. A brute and a liar! How could she have been so easily misled? Dessie leaned against her.

“Ugh. Those kippers are not sitting well. Come with me, Ophelia?” She put one hand over her mouth and another on her belly. Alarmed, Ophelia escorted her from the room. Now there would be no chance of keeping Dessie’s condition a secret. But outside the door, Dessie straightened, grasped her hand, and hustled her toward the stairs. “You’re going to talk to me, Ophelia. What’s going on?”

*

“He lied to me, Dessie.”

They were in Ophelia’s chamber, where the blues and yellows of the bedclothes were now just a blur. She blotted her eyes with a handkerchief, doing her best not to start bawling.

“When? When you went riding with him? What did he say?” Dessie wrung her hands. “Lud! I’m so sorry. I never asked. I was so distracted by Daddy’s telegram—”

“It wouldn’t have made any difference.” She flopped onto the bed and began picking at the coverlet. She felt stupid. And incredulous. And stupid for being incredulous.

“Well, but what did he do?”

Ophelia sniffed. Then swallowed hard. “He said he was going to end his courtship of Lady Elizabeth.”

“End it! And instead he proposed?”

“He said he’d tell her he agreed they didn’t suit, or however one goes about such a thing.” She swallowed again. “He said that he loved me.”

Dessie gasped. “Did he? But that’s grand, isn’t it? No, I guess it isn’t. Good heavens. Everything is upside-down. What else?”

“I wouldn’t let him say anything else. You know. Because of Lady Elizabeth.” Her voice caught. “Do you think he mistook my—my reticence for rejection?”

“No. You did right. He shouldn’t have spoken until he’d broken with her.”

“Do you think that he—that he—oh, Dessie! He kissed me. He really kissed me. At your last dinner party, and I kissed him back. And all the while…” She couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t believe it and she couldn’t bear it. “Was he toying with me? Because I’m not a real lady, he thinks he can take liberties whenever he wants? And I have mush for a spine because I let him!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You are a ‘real’ lady. And he wouldn’t dare! Ophelia, you’re Lynch’s sister-in-law!”

“Yes, but he slept with his other friend’s sister.”

He was awful. She had to accept that he was an awful, awful man. An adulterer. Almost a murderer. And a liar!

Dessie huffed. “Trentham couldn’t possibly be so unprincipled a rake that he would treat you that way.” She sat down heavily on the bed beside Ophelia.

“You’re calling him Trentham, not Robin,” she pointed out.

“Because I’m furious with him!” She demonstrated her fury by jumping back up. “But that doesn’t mean I’m mad at him,” she added, nonsensically. “Lynch says that Fanny incident was a decade ago. And Lynch says—”

“Now! Now you’re prefacing your statements with ‘my husband says’!”