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Not one of the ladies of his set—not even those with whom he had enjoyed an intimate association—had shown the slightest inclination to take an interest in anything beyond the latest fashions, their male admirers, and those scandalous tidbits that disgraced one of their number from time to time. True, there was the blue-stocking coterie, who moved in circles other than his own. One knew them, yes, but if one had no turn for verse, nor any literary leanings, such ladies were apt to turn their shoulder all too quickly.
His experience accounted in some measure for his single state. The majority of debutantes were insipid, and very silly, and he had never been tempted to exchange a convenient bachelorhood for a life spent listening at home to the sort of inanity one met with everywhere in society. He preferred on the whole the company of his friends, who could converse sensibly on a number of topics. He had of necessity resigned himself to his eventual fate of marriage to some featherheaded creature, who would fulfil her role with taste and elegance, behave with the modesty befitting his Viscountess, and do as she was told.
But that was for the future. No, he knew too much of women to be expected to swallow this tale of Maidie’s. She was unusual, had been brought up oddly. But that a girl of her years could go off to attend a lecture at the Royal Society—! No, and no again.
He resolved not to question Maidie further on the subject, for time would inevitably expose the truth.
Delagarde regretted this decision within three days when he came down to dinner on the Monday evening, arrayed very correctly in a sky blue coat of satin with matching knee-breeches and a discreetly floral waistcoat of corded silk, his cravat artistically arranged and his dark locks brushed back in ordered waves, ready to escort the two ladies to a ball—Maidie’s first. Naturally he could not absent himself.
In the straw drawing-room he found only his great-aunt, resplendent in a grey silk gown topped by a half-robe of silver netting with a scattering of feathers in her elegant coiffure. Delagarde was not surprised to find Maidie had not yet come down. In his experience, young ladies on the eve of their first ball were generally late, their attention taken up by last-minute changes of mind, and a great deal of unnecessary titivation. Footsteps on the stairs at last signalled her arrival, and he turned to the door, not averse to seeing how she looked when tricked out at her finest.
But instead Miss Wormley came hurrying into the drawing-room, a handkerchief held to her nose, and an unsteady hand at her brow. Broken accents assailed his ears.
“Oh, Lady Hester! Oh, my lord!”
Lady Hester rose hastily. “What is it, Ida?”
Delagarde almost snorted. There was no need to ask what was this emergency. “Don’t tell me! Is she feeling sick or something? I suppose she is too nervous to come down.”
“No, indeed, nothing of that sort. I wish—oh, if only I had not been laid down upon my bed! I got up, you see, for I felt I must make the effort, if only to wish dearest Maidie well. And—” The duenna transferred one hand to her bosom, drawing a painful breath.
“For heaven’s sake, Ida! What is it you wish to tell us?”
The most dreadful presentiment rushed into Delagarde’s mind. Foreboding gripped him. “You are not going to tell us she was not there?”
“Oh, not again, surely!” gasped Lady Hester.
But Miss Wormley’s woeful demeanour was answer enough. She quavered into speech again. “You may be sure I sent Trixie rushing to find her immediately. Indeed, I berated her soundly for not alerting me earlier.” She sniffed and shook her head. “Trixie could not find her. Lady Hester, my lord, there is no concealing it from you. Maidie is not in the house.”
Chapter Nine
A wave of intense emotion overcame Delagarde. He raised clenched fists to heaven. “What did I do, Lord? Tell me, what did I do?”
“It is of no use to rail at the Almighty, Laurie.”
But Aunt Hes could not, even in this extremity, he noted with displeasure, refrain from indulging her amusement. He was still more irritated by the tendency of Maidie’s Worm to behave like a watering pot, sniffing into her handkerchief.
“I wish you will not waste your tears, Miss Wormley. There is no reason to suppose anything worse has happened to the wench than befell her the other day. She has merely a lamentable disregard for the time.”
“I am not crying,” protested Miss Wormley, energetically blowing her nose. “Indeed, I am quite cross with Maidie.”
“Poor Ida has had the misfortune to contract a cold in the head, Laurie,” explained Lady Hester, and moved to pat the other woman’s shoulder. “I do think you ought to go back to bed, Ida. There is nothing you can do, after all.”
But Miss Wormley shook her head vehemently. “I could not rest, dear Lady Hester. But I dare say his lordship is quite right, and she will come in at any moment. It is too bad of Maidie, indeed it is. I shall be very tempted to scold her when she returns.”
“Save your breath,” recommended Delagarde. “I shall be only too happy to perform that office on behalf of the three of us.”
But as time passed, with no sign of the errant Maidie, he began to feel an uncommon degree of anxiety. He had refused to set off in search of her, convinced a little patience would reward them all. Besides, where would one begin? It had been dark already when she was found to be missing. She was unlikely to be discovered in the streets, even had he taken out his phaeton and driven around in the hopes of seeing her. A footman had been dispatched at once to the Royal Society, but had returned empty-handed with the intelligence that the place was shut up and a billboard outside indicated no lecture had been held that day. Delagarde had vetoed his great-aunt’s suggestion they should send round to various houses to discover whether she was visiting. As far as any of them knew, she had made no particular friends as yet, and her disposition was not sociable. Why would she take it into her head to call upon any of the matrons she had met?
“Besides, we do not wish to give rise to unnecessary talk.” A sentiment with which Aunt Hes had been in agreement. For the same reason, he would not allow Miss Wormley to send to the Shurland household. The last thing they wanted was to arouse comment and question from that quarter.
“But if there is anyone who may know her whereabouts,” had argued the duenna unhappily, “I am afraid it is Mr Silsoe.”
“You are not again suggesting he has kidnapped her?”
“My lord, I do not know what to think! Maidie told me he will not accept her rejection, and after his conduct to her the other night at the theatre, she did not know what she was to do to discourage him further.”
But Lady Hester had been inclined to support the Viscount. “He would be extremely ill advised to attempt anything of that nature, my dear Ida.”
