Chapter Twenty-Five
Returning to the party, Trentham was of two minds: sick with worry over his sister, and—common sense and propriety be damned—inexplicably lighthearted.
How was that possible? He should be furious with himself.
He’d behaved like a scoundrel at dinner, distracting himself from his morbid brooding by playing a deliciously risky game with Miss Delancey.
And then he’d gone further. Too far. Kissing Miss Delancey had been impulsive and out of line, but when she’d walked into the library, it was like a wish granted.
Or a treasure delivered into his hands. It was wrong of him.
So wrong. And yet, he didn’t feel nearly guilty enough.
A low hum of conversation coming from the parlor alerted him that the ladies were back.
He entered, catching sight first of Lady Elizabeth, who was with Dessie and Lady Melvin.
The girl’s gaze slid to him, then away. He decided to spare her his company, and instead join Lynch and Hayworth over by the mantel, Lynch talking, and Hayworth nodding.
As he strode forward, he cast his eye about the room and asked, “Where is Miss Delancey?”
“Upstairs,” Dessie answered. “Her hair fell out.”
“Did it?” he asked. “All at once?”
Dessie giggled. “No, just a clump.”
He nodded and went on, satisfied that no one suspected them of a rendezvous in the library.
Lynch greeted him with, “Hayworth is with me on the property bill.”
The viscount’s chest swelled with indignation.
It was hard to take the baby-faced fellow seriously.
“I never realized the extent to which ladies were oppressed.” He reddened.
His gaze flitted to Trentham’s, but he failed to maintain eye contact.
“Your Grace, I had no idea. That is…since coming to London, I’ve been met with the most appalling rumors. You must know—”
“I do.”
“I confess I nearly fled back to Orchomenus. But a friend of mine cautioned against it.”
“Fleeing is an admission of guilt.” He quoted Felicity. And Lynch.
“When I received Lady Lynchford’s invitation, I hesitated to accept. My friend said I should expect you to be here. But I—I decided I must brave it out.”
Trentham thought it would be impolite to recall to the fellow his late arrival. Evidently, Hayworth had struggled with the decision until the last minute, but at least he’d made the right one.
“Your Grace, I’m honored by your faith in me.”
Idiot. “In all honesty, Hayworth, my faith is in my sister.”
He flushed again. “Yes. Yes, of course. If there is anything I can do to help clear our names, her name, I will.”
Lynch put in, “The less you are involved, the better. But do stay in London.”
“I will. But—”
“It’s under control,” Trentham said, looking down his nose. The last thing they needed was a young hothead making things worse. As well he knew.
“We might call upon you, if necessary,” Lynch said. “We have to see how this evolves.”
How it evolved. Earlier this evening, before the party, he had spent a good two hours discussing the endeavor with Lynch. Armed with Eli and Felicity’s agreements, they’d go to see Michael Derry in the morning.
It was all complicated and messy and depressing.
The affair had commanded the whole of Trentham’s attention throughout the day, and he should still be chewing over it now.
He was. But he also had one eye trained on the door for Miss Delancey’s return.
And the inappropriate lightness still filled his heart.
*
Trentham came in his coach to fetch Lynch early the next morning. Lynch stood in his drive, despite the drizzling rain. He clambered aboard as soon as the carriage stopped.
“You might have waited inside,” Trentham said.
Lynch shrugged and set his bowler hat on the bench. “My greatcoat kept me dry.”
“Yes, but you’re getting my coach wet.”
Lynch grinned. “Don’t be such an old maid.”
The carriage began moving. Trentham crossed his legs and jiggled his foot nervously. “This will succeed, won’t it?”
“Better than the alternatives.” Lynch’s face fell. “And better, I suspect, than Dessie’s plan to make an unhappy marriage an anathema to Lady Elizabeth.”
“Well, she tried.” Trentham sighed. It had been a long shot.
“I must say, I was glad the evening ended early. I’ve never been at a gathering before where half the people were not speaking to someone else in the room.
” Lady Elizabeth had spent the evening avoiding him.
As had Miss Delancey, after their interlude in the library. He’d been stuck with Lord Hayworth.
Lynch ducked his head. “I’m sorry to have abandoned you. Hayworth’s not a bad sort, but he’s deadly dull. I couldn’t take any more talk of that excavation at Orchomenus.” Lynch gave him a sidelong glance. “Where is that, anyway? Greece?”
“I don’t much care.” Trentham snickered.
“Hayworth is overly enthused about his own archeological destiny. As soon as he reaches his majority, he says he’ll have the funds and experience to set out on his own expedition.
He wants to dig up the Phaeacians.” They were the fantastically wealthy—and, Trentham was quite certain, mythological—islanders who had been so helpful to Odysseus on his way home.
“Good God.”
“What I took away from the conversation is that he is wealthy, starry-eyed, and not yet twenty-one. The very idea of Felicity giving him more than the time of day is ludicrous.”
In truth, he’d paid only enough attention to Hayworth to hmmm in the right places.
He hadn’t been able to drag his thoughts away from Miss Delancey.
She’d returned to the parlor with her hair arranged in its usual way.
It was very pretty, but not as alluring as it had been half down.
In his after-the-party dreams last night, her long blond hair had played a major, and then, minor role.
He wanted Miss Delancey. He needed her in his life.
And he was beginning to believe she wanted him in hers.
But he couldn’t simply claim her. Not encumbered as he was by the consequences of his mistakes.
He had to set things to rights. With Lady Elizabeth first. Then, with Miss Delancey.
He needed to tell her everything: Fanny and Gilliam; the duel with Fanny’s husband, Lord Stanley, and its brutal outcome; the court case he’d lost; his self-imposed exile.
It would all come out anyway, and she must hear it from him.
No. First things first: his sister. Next, Lady Elizabeth. Finally, Miss Delancey.
The ride was short, then he and Lynch slogged through the rain into Mr. Derry’s law firm’s drab red-brick building.
Inside, it had the hushed quality of a church.
The furnishings were all of mahogany and plush, dark purple velvet.
A fox-faced portrait of what must have been the firm’s founder hung on the wall.
The place smelled of generations of catering to wealth.
A solid-looking man in a crisp, dark gray jacket and trousers emerged from behind one of the doors. His sandy hair was unfashionably short. His features fit his expression, which was dour.
“Mr. Derry,” Lynch said, stretching out his hand. “I am Lord Lynchford. We’ve met in a few councils—”
“Yes, I recall.” He shook Lynch’s hand briskly. “I admire your efforts.” Then he turned to Trentham.
Lynch said, “Michael Derry, this is His Grace, the Duke of Trentham.”
They also shook hands.
“And how may I be of service, Your Grace?”
“My sister needs a divorce,” Trentham blurted.
The solicitor’s eyes widened a fraction, then he frowned. “Let’s discuss this in my office.”
*
They spent the better part of the morning in consultation with Mr. Derry. Lynch laid out the case, with several interruptions from Derry and a few clarifications from Trentham. After a lengthy discussion, Derry agreed to represent Felicity.
“I’ll need to confer with Mr. Cameron as soon as feasible, and then with Lady Townes.”
“Speaking with Lady Townes may be difficult. Sir George is keeping her under surveillance,” Trentham said. Seeing Derry’s deepening frown, he hurriedly stated, “I’ll arrange it.”
“If I may, I would also like permission to speak with your family’s solicitor. I’d like to see the original marriage contract and any additional financial adjustments, if they occurred.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll let Cavanaugh know to expect your inquiries.”
They shook hands all around again.
In the coach, on the way back, Trentham said, “I suppose that went well. He seems grimly competent.”
Lynch laughed. “Grim? That is the most delightedly enthusiastic I’ve ever seen him.”
After dropping Lynch off at his home, Trentham returned to his own, where he exchanged his coach for his open-air curricle and set his destination for the Barringtons’.
The sky was still overcast, but the rain had ceased.
Thank God. He wanted to return with Lady Elizabeth to the park.
It would be impossible to talk straight while sitting in the Barringtons’ drawing room with Lady Barrington breathing down their necks.
He hurried his team along, navigating the narrow, crowded, mud-clogged streets with ease despite foregoing the counterweight of his tiger.
He needed the room for Lady Elizabeth’s maid.
He arrived at the Barringtons’ all too soon.
No turning back. This would be freeing. Likely ruinous, but freeing.
He marched up the brick steps and banged the heavy brass knocker.
When the butler opened the door, he said, “The Duke of Trentham for Lady Elizabeth.”
“Lady Elizabeth is not at home.”
Trentham started. She’d always been at home when he called. Where the devil else would she be? Having no other option, he gave one of his cards to the butler. “I’ll come again.”
He returned to his carriage. Now what? He found himself turning toward Lynch’s. Toward Miss Delancey. Just a quick social call, so she wouldn’t think he’d make a habit of kissing her and disappearing.
Besides, he missed her already.
*