Chapter 6 #2
“You must call me Helen.” Helen reached over and squeezed Delia’s hand. “We’re still going to be friends once this is all over,” she said, releasing her hand and picking up one of the three teacups.
Delia chuckled. “I will gladly be your friend once my sister is returned.”
She couldn’t think about anything but Margaret being safely returned to her.
Aunt Francis was frantic and had sent a letter to their father before Delia could stop her.
He surely would not be pleased with his eldest daughter.
Her one responsibility since the moment she’d been allowed to stay at Cliff Manor was to look after her sister, and she’d failed.
Delia berated herself for allowing Margaret to become acquainted with a gentleman that she’d never met.
It had happened swiftly. A fortnight ago, she’d gone to the ladies’ retiring room for peace and quiet from all the whispers that surrounded her.
She hadn’t expected anyone to know who or what she was, if she were being honest, but they knew and judged her for the circumstances of her birth.
She had entered the small ballroom of Lord and Lady Henderson with Margaret and Aunt Francis, determined to enjoy the spoils of the Season. However, it all came crashing down around Delia from the first whisper, “I hear she’s Cliffbury’s bastard.”
More followed her; every step she’d taken was met with words or looks of disgust or hunger. It was more attention than Delia had ever had in her life. She fled to the confines of the ladies’ retiring room.
Her one moment of peace had changed the trajectory of her sister’s life forever.
“I’m going after them,” the deep voice of the Earl of March slammed through her thoughts.
Delia’s head whipped toward the main door of the parlor to find him now properly dressed, a few droplets of water still clinging to his beard.
Ignoring her body’s reaction to the man, she placed her teacup down, wishing she’d had a chance to partake in the warm beverage.
“Be careful, and return as soon as you can,” the countess said, standing, all of her weight supported by the elaborate cane in her hand.
“I’m coming.” Delia stood, realizing that every eye in the room was on her.
It didn’t matter. Margaret was her responsibility, and she wasn’t going to allow someone else to retrieve her. Besides, her sister would surely be upset to learn that the man she was supposedly in love with—her Mr. Knightley—was not the real Earl of March.
“Absolutely not.” He shook his head like it was final.
It wasn’t.
Delia marched up to him, meeting his gaze, ignoring the wing beats of pleasure in her lower abdomen. It didn’t matter how attractive she found him; nothing would ever happen between her and the real Earl of March.
Swallowing, she tried desperately not to lose herself in the dark green depth of his eyes.
“She’s my sister. I’m going.” Delia squeezed both her hands into fists, allowing the slight pain from her nails to ground her.
His jaw clenched at her declaration, and for a moment, she worried he would crack a tooth.
They stood in a silent battle of wills, no sound in the room but their deep breaths and the erratic beat of her heart in her own ears.
Delia was positive that a lesser person would’ve crumpled against his intimidating gaze, but she’d always been stronger than people perceived her to be.
“Perhaps…” The countess began taking slow deliberate steps toward them. “You can be our guest until Hunt returns with your sister.”
The armor that Delia had worn her entire life weakened slightly at the countess’s kind words. No one had ever shown her kindness. She had always been treated with civility and indifference by everyone in her life, including her parents, but not kindness.
“That is very kind of you, my lady, but Margaret does not know the earl.” Delia kept her voice level, trying not to offend the countess. “My sister won’t believe him. I’m afraid he will only confuse her more. I must go.”
She was sure the shock that the man who had dutifully won her heart was an imposter would send her sweet sister into a fit. Usually, Margaret wasn’t an overly dramatic young lady; in fact, she was quite level-headed most of the time, except when she compared a gentleman to a fictional character.
“She’s right,” Lady Helen said, coming to stand on the other side of Delia. “Her sister doesn’t know Hunt, why should she believe that he is the real earl? Like Delia, she’s not familiar with Society and wouldn’t believe that a person of color could be titled.”
Delia wanted to defend herself and her sister, but Lady Helen was indeed correct. It was true that their sheltered upbringing had made them ignorant to the ways of Society.
“We’re not that rare. There are two of us after all,” the earl said, as he turned away and walked toward the sideboard.
Of course, he would drink brandy in the morning, like any entitled gentleman.
“You understand that traveling alone with Hunt could ruin your reputation,” the countess reminded Delia.
Delia couldn’t stop the snort of laughter that came out of her. It was the second time in two days that someone had mentioned her reputation. She knew that unlike the gentleman from the previous night, the countess meant well, but really, it was preposterous.
Bastards didn’t have a reputation to preserve; everyone already thought the worst of them. How could they be anything beyond the circumstance of their birth?
Deciding not to give the countess the same answer she gave the rude gentleman the night before, Delia simply said, “Thank you for your concern, my lady, but I assure you that I am not in jeopardy of losing my reputation.”
“You understand this is not a leisurely trip,” the earl said.
Delia turned to look at him, shocked when she discovered him pouring two glasses of water. She looked from him to the water, confused. She’d assumed he was pouring himself an early brandy, not water.
Water?
“I am aware. You need not worry about me. I only wish to get to my sister before they reach Gretna Green.” Delia swallowed down her fear.
She didn’t want to admit her true fear out loud. But if Margaret felt that this Augustus was really her Mr. Knightley, then her sister could lose much more than her reputation. Her sister could very well be in jeopardy of losing her innocence.
“Very well. We leave immediately.” The earl walked back to where she stood with his mother and sister, offering her one of the glasses of water in his hand.
“He has an odd obsession with water,” Lady Helen explained, rolling her eyes at her brother.
“It’s not odd,” he defended. “Like horses, our body needs water,” he said, thrusting the glass at Delia.
She accepted it, fighting the smile that tried to burst free. Had he truly compared them to horses? It appeared that all siblings bickered, like her and her sister often did.
She tried not to allow the melancholy that threatened to overwhelm her at the thought of Margaret to consume her, but it was nearly impossible. She’d failed to protect her sister from vultures like this Augustus.
“My lord, the carriage is ready,” the nervous butler said.
“Thank you, Reeds.” The earl took a sip of his water.
Delia couldn’t stop her gaze from lingering on the muscles of his throat as he swallowed. She quickly took a sip of her own, needing a distraction from the handsome man in front of her.
Perhaps it wasn’t wise of her to travel alone with him, but he was her only chance of reaching Margaret before it was too late.
“I’ll try to contain the gossips while you’re gone. If Augustus purposely ran off with Lady Margaret, he would’ve made sure that everyone knew it was you who ruined her.” Lady Helen twirled a strand of hair around her finger.
The earl held out his hand for Delia’s glass, which she dutifully handed over. His bare fingers brushed her gloved ones.
With a quick inhale of breath, her gaze crashed against his.
There it was again. The same magnetic pull she’d felt the previous night. There was a small voice telling her to run, but she couldn’t. Margaret needed her. Nothing mattered but retrieving her sister and saving her from the diabolical cousin.
She wouldn’t allow herself to be duped by green eyes, brown skin, and a smile that was sure to loosen the tightest of corsets. Delia had one purpose, and the Earl of March was not it.