Page 76 of Misfit Maid

He agreed, glad of the distraction. In the bustle of departure, he had no leisure to think any further upon the hideous notion which had come to him. But the phaeton was soon bowling along, the road clearly visible under a moonlit sky, and once he had assured himself Maidie was wrapped up warmly enough against the cold night air, he found his thoughts straying back.

Maidie would not by any means be the first female to have fallen for Wiveliscombe’s charms. His amours were notoriously successful. Delagarde remembered, with uncomfortable clarity, Maidie’s expression when they had the first argument over him. He had suspected then she more than half liked the fellow. An unpleasant possibility occurred to him: perhaps she had not been throwing down the gauntlet when she became entangled in that engagement. It had been obvious to him both that Wiveliscombe was only too delighted to be rescued from the betrothal, and that it had been Maidie who had engineered it. He would not put it past her to defy convention and ask the gentleman to marry her. What he had not supposed, and now began to fear may well have been the case, was she had done it because she had formed an attachment to Wiveliscombe. She was far too intelligent not to have recognised his reluctance—which would account for her present depression of spirits. Had she taken Lugton because she felt her case to be hopeless?

He glanced down at Maidie by his side, and discovered she had fallen asleep. Her head had slipped forward, jogging uncomfortably. Delagarde transferred the reins to one hand, and gently shifted her head to rest against his shoulder, pulling the hood more closely about her against the wind.

By the time he stopped for the last change where he could recover his own team, it was nearly four in the morning. Sampton was obliged to get down and go through the yard of the posting-house to wake the ostlers in the stable. Maidie’s head had slipped again, and Delagarde placed an arm about her, trying to make her more comfortable. Glancing up, he saw the stars were out in force, and was smitten with a sudden unbearable sense of loss.

In a moment, it was borne in upon him Maidie was awake, and then that she was crying. His arm tightened about her involuntarily, and he dipped his head to hers.

“Maidie, Maidie,” he murmured softly. “Don’t weep…don’t.”

Without thinking what he was doing, he found her lips with his own and mouthed them gently, tasting the salt of her tears. Her lips moved under his. His blood warmed swiftly. Her mouth was tender, trembling at his touch. He pressed her lips closer, and she answered. Heat quickened within him. The kiss deepened, and the soft moan which escaped her throat drove his desire almost to fever pitch.

Then the sound of footsteps and the clatter of hooves penetrated his absorption. He felt Maidie struggle in his hold, and reluctantly broke away. He glanced round to see his groom returning with a couple of ostlers and his own team of horses, and gave up the reins into his groom’s hands for the change.

By the time he was at leisure to turn back to Maidie, she had huddled away from him to the other side of the carriage seat, her face averted.

Oh, good God! What had he done? He had entirely forgotten her distressed state of mind. To take advantage of her vulnerability was the act of a blackguard. He toyed with the notion of making an apology, and decided she had been upset enough. What explanation could he give? Scarcely, under the circumstances, that he could not resist her! When the phaeton was underway again, he initiated a light discussion about the stars, which in no way reflected his own state of mind, but which lasted until they arrived back in Charles Street.

The household had been roused upon instructions Lady Hester had given before she had retired. In fact neither she nor the Worm, as they had told Maidie, had been able to do more than doze lightly now and then. Maidie had dissolved into tears again at their concern, and had sobbed out her story and apologies while she was whisked to her room and put to bed. Before exhaustion claimed her, she knew herself to be forgiven.

Unsurprisingly, when she woke at last next day, the hour was considerably advanced.

She learned, as Trixie helped her to dress, that Lady Hester and Miss Wormley had risen some time ago and had given directions Maidie was not to be disturbed. Both ladies, it appeared, had gone out for a drive in the park, information which Maidie received with equanimity. Trixie’s next piece of news was less welcome.

“His lordship give me his orders, too, m’lady.”

“Oh?” said Maidie, with less nonchalance than she felt. “What were they?”

“He’s waiting to see you as soon as ever you’ve breakfasted.”

This disclosure effectively killed Maidie’s appetite. She felt quite sick, wondering what Delagarde could have to say to her that he had not said last night. The memory of events added nothing to her comfort.

The depression of spirits which had gradually crept over her during her abortive elopement had worsened with the intervention of Delagarde. If he had only thundered at her, she might have revived. Useless to pretend she had not expected—even hoped?—for his chasing after her to fetch her back. Indeed, she had pictured a very different scene—one in which Delagarde’s indignation was a demonstration of a warmer feeling towards her than she knew him to harbour. He had not been in the least indignant. Indeed, he had conducted himself quite as if he was indifferent to her fate—so long as he had carried out what he conceived to be his duty.

Maidie could feel resentment now, when the protestations of Lady Hester and the lamentations of the Worm had shown her what behaviour was to be expected from those who did care what happened to her. Then that hateful, that exquisite kiss. How could he do it? Was it to make her realise her escapade had in no way jeopardised his plans? Then, having reduced her to a quivering jelly, all he could find to talk about was the subject of astronomy. For once in her life, the heavens had been the last thing Maidie had wanted to discuss. If she was not so very much in love with Delagarde, she might have hated him for it.

“What constellations can you direct me to tonight?” he had asked, as lightly as if she had not eloped at all.

Fortunately, it was second nature to her to pick something out merely by glancing at the heavens. With Spring approaching, the Great Bear was rising high overhead, and Maidie had rather listlessly begun there. Delagarde knew that one, as most people must, and she had led him star by star down to the brightly glowing Arcturus.

“Do you know every one by heart?” he had asked, on a note of awe.

“Hardly. There are millions, and some too far distant and thus too small to be worthy of note. One learns to find a path about the celestial map by star pointers, though it is the shapes of the constellations and the brightest stars which guide the way.”

Delagarde had let out a laugh. “You have it all so pat.”

“I have been doing it since I was eight.”

For some reason, he had remained silent for several moments after that. Maidie had felt herself tensing up again, and sought at random for some innocuous remark lest she again gave way to her overwhelming emotions. She found one.

“The eastern astronomers say they can foretell the future by the stars.”

She thought Delagarde started. But he answered readily enough. “So I believe.” She felt him move beside her, and turned her head to find him looking down at her, his face a pale oval in the gloom. “Can you? Foretell the future, I mean.”

She met his eyes briefly and quickly turned away. “How should I be able to?”

“I thought you might hazard a guess at mine. What do the stars foretell for me, Maidie?”

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