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“I thought you said you did not wish to be rid of her.”
“That was before I knew you are still harbouring this ridiculous notion I should marry her.”
“Have no fear. I will harbour it no longer. I quite see I have been entirely mistaken in my ideas.”
“You have, yes,” Delagarde said, feeling absurdly unbalanced by his own agitation.
“You may be easy, my dear boy. I shall not mention the matter again.”
Delagarde eyed her with suspicion, but could discern no trace of the tell-tale twinkle in her eyes, which appeared, on the contrary, to be unusually grave. He elected to be satisfied with her assurance, and his blood began to cool.
At this inauspicious moment, the door opened and Maidie herself peeped into the parlour. Conscious of a resurgence of feeling, Delagarde only managed to stop himself retreating to the window by a strong effort of will. Good God, this was absurd! Must he now be so conscious he could no longer endure her presence? He forced himself to speak.
“Good morning. I trust you did not find last night’s revels too much for you?”
Maidie looked blank, but Lady Hester intervened. “He refers, I think, to the fact you are only just out of your sickbed. Did you sleep well?”
“After last night?” She laughed without mirth, coming into the room. “No, ma’am, I did not. I cannot imagine how I should be supposed to sleep well after last night.” She turned to Delagarde, and he discerned distress in her features. “I feel dreadfully culpable, my lord. I never intended you should be pilloried for my actions.”
He could not allow this to pass. “Don’t be idiotic, Maidie. You should rather be censuring me, for this whole sorry situation is quite my own fault.”
“Yes, for allowing me to badger you into bringing me out. I have brought all this trouble down on your head, and I don’t know how Adela is to be kept from casting aspersions upon your character.”
Delagarde found himself laughing, the consciousness quite dissipated. “She may try. Don’t concern yourself. Even if anyone believes it, they will not mention the matter to any of us, so why should we allow ourselves to be troubled by it?” He was disconcerted to receive one of Maidie’s wide-eyed stares. “Don’t you believe me?”
She looked away. “I don’t think you can wish anyone to suppose you want to marry me.”
A tide of heat flooded Delagarde, and he cast an involuntary glance at his great-aunt. To his relief, she was looking rather at Maidie than at him. He moved swiftly towards the door.
“Don’t let it worry you,” he managed to say, and made to leave the room. Her voice detained him.
“Lord Delagarde!”
He turned. “Yes?”
“Now I have so many suitors, I will do my best to choose someone quickly, and then you may be easy. I don’t wish to be more of a burden to you than I have been already.”
Delagarde did not know what to say. Her manner was so different to what it had been in the past. Was this change of heart prompted solely by what had occurred last night? Unease filtered into his breast, and he did not know why. He said the first thing that came into his head.
“Take care to choose wisely. Remember that, whomever you marry, you must live with them for the rest of your life.”
He was gone from the room on the words. Maidie stared after him, struggling with the sensations besetting her. Akin to what she had felt the never-to-be-forgotten night after he walked out of her bedchamber. She felt—yes, bereft.
She was at a loss to understand herself. She had slept badly, true, tossing and turning while those pointless questions went round and round in her head. What should she do? How could she right Delagarde against the rumours? Would Adela spread the lie, or the truth? Which was worse? Maidie could not think what had prompted her to speak out, to say those things. It must have been near dawn before she slept, and she had woken very little refreshed.
It had not helped she had been obliged to give the Worm an account of what had occurred at the party, for Lady Hester had seen fit to warn her duenna of what was going forward. Poor Worm had been very much shocked. But it was she who had suggested the solution Maidie had presented to Delagarde. Though not quite in a manner which recommended itself to her charge.
“Dearest Maidie, I do believe it may be the hand of providence.”
“Providence? What in the world do you mean, Worm?”
The duenna seized her hand and clasped it warmly. “Do you forget your purpose in coming to town, Maidie? You said yourself you have not so far encountered many eligible gentlemen. But now here you are, finding yourself quite surrounded by the most suitable partis.”
Maidie was moved to protest. “You cannot mean, Worm, you would have me marry someone like Darby Hampford?”
“Was he the one who pressed you so uncivilly? Of course I could not wish you to marry him. But were there not others to whom you would not object?”
But Maidie had discovered she could not think of one to whom she would not object. Somewhat resentfully, she conjured up the images of those gentlemen who had proved to be on the catch for a rich wife.
