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“—is hardly conduct to be expected from any female with the smallest pretension to gentility.” He stopped, drawing a breath as he took in her remark. “Do you dare to stand there and tell me you had the effrontery, the…the indelicacy…the tastelessness—?”
“Yes, I do tell you so. Pray, how else am I to know which of them will make me a suitable husband?”
“In the same way every other young lady discovers it. By discreet enquiry, and by getting to know them over the course of the Season. A female does not bring up the subject herself!”
“This female does.” She added on a somewhat baleful note, “What is it to you, in any event, Delagarde?”
He gave a curse and seized her by the shoulders. “I will not stand by and watch you make a fool of yourself! What do you suppose people must think of you if they see you flirting with such a fellow as Wiveliscombe?” The very name appeared to enrage him still further. “Good God, but Wiveliscombe, of all people!”
“What do you have against him?” Maidie demanded, trying vainly to thrust his hands from her shoulders. “I thought him altogether amusing and amiable.”
“Amusing and amiable?” Delagarde uttered a short bark of laughter, and released her. “I’ll warrant you did!”
Maidie unconsciously rubbed her shoulders, frowning. “I do not know what you mean. Moreover, I was not flirting!”
“Oh, indeed? What then do you call it? Simpering and giggling—”
“I would scorn to simper! What is more, if I choose to flirt with him in future, I shall!”
“Not if I have anything to say to it, you won’t!”
“Well, you don’t have anything to say to it!”
There was a moment of silence as they glowered at each other. Maidie’s bosom rose and fell rapidly with the tumult of emotion. She had never felt so angry in her life. She wanted to beat Delagarde’s chest with her fists. Shocked at the ferocity of her own thought, she drew a little away from him, as if she feared she might carry out that unladylike action.
The small movement she made pulled Delagarde up sharply. Good God, what was the matter with him? Remembering all at once where they were, he glanced swiftly down the gallery, and was relieved to see they remained in sole possession of it. He let his breath go, and stepped back.
“I have never been closer to striking a female,” he said, in a spent voice.
“Let it console you to know I wanted quite as badly to hit you,” Maidie returned, her voice gruff.
Another silence fell. Maidie stole a glance at him, and found he was looking away. He felt her regard, and turned his head. The faintest of smiles flickered across his face.
“I could murder you, Maidie!”
She stared at him. Her heart was behaving very oddly, seeming to jangle inside her. She wished he would not smile at her in just that way. Why his expressing a desire to murder her should have this effect, she was at a loss to understand. But then, it was beginning to be difficult to understand anything in her dealings with Delagarde. She looked away from him again.
“What is your objection to Mr Wiveliscombe?”
“He is a wastrel and a libertine. I doubt of his getting to the point of offering marriage to anyone.”
Maidie returned her gaze to his, puzzled. “Then what does he want with me?”
Delagarde did not answer for a moment. He was regretting his hasty denunciation, for the tale of Wiveliscombe’s activities was not one for the ears of a young female. On the other hand, Maidie was unlike any other female, and if he did not warn her, who would? Her naivety posed too great a risk. He could not reconcile it with his conscience to allow her to fall unchecked into the hands of that scoundrel.
“Wiveliscombe lives off his mistresses.”
Maidie’s eyes held an odd blank look, and he wondered if she understood. When she spoke, what she said was not at all what he might have expected.
“Then you mean he really is an unsuitable prospect?”
Delagarde frowned. “Did you suppose I did not mean it seriously?”
“I thought—” Maidie broke off, for she could not say what she had thought. It had occurred to her—blindingly—she had suspected Delagarde of jealousy. The notion stunned her. Could it have been? Impossible! But his fury had been out of proportion, had it not? Only if Wiveliscombe was truly as bad as he said, then Delagarde might be pardoned his anger, for he believed himself to have a responsibility towards her. A responsibility. Her heart sank. Of course he could not have been jealous. He would have to care for her to feel such an emotion.
It became suddenly oppressive to be in his company. Murmuring an excuse which Delagarde barely heard, she left him a prey to conjecture.
Did it matter to her so much that Wiveliscombe proved unsuitable? It was not possible she had formed atendrefor the man in so short a period. Was it? His spirits dropped, unaccountably. Except that of course he must pity the wench, if she had indeed felt the stirrings of an attachment. Had he known, he would have dealt with her more gently. Indeed, he was hard put to recall without abhorrence his earlier conduct. What had possessed him? A burning sense of resentment had overcome him at the nauseating sight of Maidie encouraging such an unworthy collection of partis. She deserved better. She ought to value herself a little more highly.
