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With that, he turned his back upon her, and moved to re-join his friends, such a blaze of anger in his chest it was a moment or two before he realised Lord Riseley was speaking to him. He blinked and brought his friend into focus.
“I beg your pardon, Peter?”
“I asked you what Lady Shurland has said to put you in a miff, dear boy?”
The fury was too raw to be contained. He gave a mirthless laugh. “The woman takes me for a blockhead. As if I could be fool enough to believe for one moment—even had I not already Maidie’s word for it—her obnoxious brother has any other end in view than to get his hands upon Maidie’s fortune.”
“Fortune!” echoed Corringham blankly.
“You mean the girl has expectations?” asked Riseley.
Delagarde cursed. “Now, not a word, either of you! If that cat of a female had not put me in such a flame, I would never have mentioned it.”
“But, my dear boy, you can tell us,” protested his friend.
“No reason why he should,” said Corringham.
“He already has. Might as well give us a round tale now.”
“Yes, very well, Peter, but you had better not set it about. I wish neither to be obliged to discourage an endless stream of fortune-hunters, nor to be accused of coveting her substance myself.”
His friends whistled when they heard the sum of Maidie’s inheritance, and teasingly complained of their own inability to make a play for it. Corringham was already the father of a hopeful family, and Riseley had become betrothed at the end of the previous Season. To Delagarde’s chagrin, they immediately engaged upon a light-hearted encouragement to him to snatch Maidie up before any other fellows got wind of the matter.
“I thank you, and I shall now leave you both. And if you dare to bring up the subject again in my presence, you may count upon my forsaking your company altogether.”
Returning on Monday night from Boodle’s in the early hours, Delagarde had just sent the sleepy porter who had been waiting up for him to bed, when a sound from the downstairs little parlour alerted him. He had shrugged off his greatcoat, and he threw it, together with his hat and gloves, on to one of the hall chairs. Lifting high the candle which had been left for him on the table, he crossed the hall and opened the door.
Light glimmered in a comer, and he saw the outline of a shrouded figure standing near the escritoire. He was a trifle above par, but not so far gone he would take it for a spectre. Nearing, he discovered, with a sensation of startled surprise, that it was Maidie. This was the first time he had seen her in three days. Even in his elevated state, he knew her appearance here was abnormal. Since Thursday night, when he had brought her home, she had remained confined to her room, making, so Aunt Hes had told him, a steady recovery. But she was not yet officially up.
She was clad only in a dressing-robe, her hair loose about her shoulders, and engaged in thrusting about inside one of the drawers of the little desk. It was evident she had not seen him, for she gasped, turning her head as he spoke.
“What in the world are you doing?”
“Oh, it’s you,” she muttered, sighing out a breath. “You quite startled me.”
“So you did me. Why aren’t you in bed? What are you looking for?”
Maidie had resumed her scrabbling search. “I have lost my pencil. I dropped it somewhere on the balcony, and I cannot find it.”
“The balcony?”
Maidie held a quill up to the light, and tutted. “This is no use. Even if I had some, there is no sense in writing up the chart in ink. What if I should make an error?”
Light dawned on Delagarde. Cursing, he set down his candle and grasped her wrist, removing the quill from her fingers and replacing it in the drawer.
“Do you tell me you are star-gazing at this hour? Have you run mad, girl?”
She blinked dazedly at him, and he could see even in the scanty light of their candles the frown which creased her forehead. Her voice was a trifle husky, but there was no other trace of her late illness.
“But there is nothing out of the way in that. I often observe until dawn.”
“Not in your current state of health! Good God, of what are you thinking?”
“I know, but it is the clearest night we have had in several weeks. Besides, I am feeling quite well, Laurie, I promise you.”
“Not for much longer if you have been exposing yourself to the raw night air. Do you wish to catch your death? Go back to bed at once!”
Maidie was engaged in opening another drawer, and completely ignored the command. “Don’t you have any pencils in this house?”
