Chapter 4
Afew days later, and clad in her favorite soft blue walking dress, Della walked to the Derrington’s home for their extra weekly tea.
Many would frown upon her walking without someone to accompany her though the park, but Della was tired of all the strictures placed upon a woman. It was broad daylight, and she simply could not see the harm in her decision to walk unescorted in such a busy place.
As she walked along the path, a barouche rolled by slowly, its hood pulled back, revealing three young children sitting on one side and two adults on the other.
Two of the children were engaged in a heated argument, their voices growing louder and louder. Meanwhile, the third child, no doubt the youngest of the three, sat helplessly between them, desperately covering his ears to block out the yelling match he had become an unwilling participant of.
“Shut it, will you?!” the little boy finally blurted out. The two girls immediately went silent and looked down at the small boy with an expression that showed they had forgotten he was there.
“Well, Hortense started it, really. I told her we should feed the ducks and then have the picnic,” the girl shouted.
“And I was merely suggesting to Ophelia that it made more sense to picnic first and then feed the ducks because we could give them whatever we had left over,” Hortense huffed, crossing her arms.
And just like that, the two girls launched back into their debate, neither willing to back down. The little boy, finally having had enough, stood, switched seats, and wiggled himself between his parents…right as his father leaned over and kissed his mother on the cheek. With a groan, the little boy slapped his hands over his eyes.
Della had to laugh. She envied them. Though the little boy may not think so now, he did not know how lucky he was to have a family who obviously loved each other. When she was young, Della always envisioned getting married and having children. But with the way things seemed to be going, she might be destined for a life better suited to a spinster
After her introduction to society, many suitors had expressed an interest in her, some even going so far as to approach her father for her hand, but she could never bring herself to accept any of them.
She was certain that had she revealed her single condition for accepting their proposal, her suitors would have fled without a second thought. They would proclaim her foolish to reject sensible offers for such a trivial emotion that had no business in a marriage. If love was so insignificant, why did her heart suffer when someone she cared for was no longer with her?
What was it about the word love that made men seem to tremble in fear? She had once told Lord Berwick that she would not settle for anything less in a marriage while they had been dancing. After the dance had ended, he quickly returned her to her aunt’s side, bowed, and dashed back across the dance floor.
His sudden departure had mortified Della, but the man inquired what she valued most from a marriage, and she had responded honestly. Men pretended like they had everything under control, yet when the word love was uttered, they acted as if war had been declared. And they said women were the one with the more delicate sensibilities?
Della walked through the gate and up the steps of the sweeping staircase that led to the front door of the Derrington’s London home; letting her hands float lightly over the silken petals of the flowers cascading down the railings. What was wrong with having the desire to love and be loved in return? Landing on the top step, she pushed that thought aside and knocked on the door.
“Miss Rowntree.” Giles bowed.
“Della!”
Della looked up to see Victoria and Cornelia, the youngest Derrington’s, scramble down the steps, tripping over each other in their haste to greet her. She readied herself for impact as they came together and wrapped their arms around her.
Though twins, they looked nothing alike. Victoria had pale skin with a high color in her cheeks, light brown hair, and mischievous eyes bluer than a cloudless sky. Cornelia was a slightly less dramatic copy of Maggie, with skin like porcelain, black hair, and golden-brown eyes. Both were going to be many a man’s downfall when they were older.
“Hello, poppets.” Della smiled as two sets of expectant eyes peered up at her, and she bent down to hug them. “Look at what I brought for you.” Della reached into her reticule and pulled out a small tin of peppermints. “Now, do not tell your mother about these. It will be our little secret.”
“Mum’s the word.”
Della heard the familiar voice and glanced over Victoria’s shoulder at the masculine figure heading toward them. “Your Grace,” she smiled as she stood and gave a small curtsy.
“Royce,” he corrected.
“Royce,” Della repeated hesitantly. “I-I just came for tea with Maggie and your mother, as you kindly reminded me the other day.”
Victoria and Cornelia looked back and forth between Della and their brother. Although they were only eight years old, they had an astonishing capacity for noticing details. Della was worried that anything she said or did would be remembered and used against her, so she did her best to remain vigilant about how she behaved when in their presence.
“Why do you not just ask Della to marry you?” Victoria asked her brother.
“Yes, why do you not marry Della, Royce?” Cornelia asked, backing up her sister’s question. “She brings us the most wonderful gifts, and if you marry her, she can bring us gifts all the time!”
Trying to conceal her smile, Della put her hand in front of her mouth as Royce stood there, seemingly unable to come up with an answer. When the governess’s voice called for the girls, the awkwardness of the moment was broken, and Royce seemed to relax, thankful that he did not have to reply.
“Coming, Miss Cora!” they said in unison. Both girls turned their big, all too-knowing eyes on their brother. “Can we keep them please, oh please? We promise we will not spoil our supper.”
Della silently laughed at Royce’s apparent reluctance to give in to their pleading. Having regained his composure, he bent down on one knee.
“I will tell you what,” he said, simultaneously tapping them on the nose. “If you both promise not to cause trouble and behave for your governess, I will say nothing to Mother.”
The girls’ eyes lit up, and Della could see the admiration they had for their brother. They wrapped their arms around his neck, and Royce smiled. Victoria and Cornelia cheered and sprinted to where their governess waited to take them out for their afternoon stroll.
“Maggie and Mother are in the morning room, I believe.” Royce straightened his coat as he stood and motioned for Della to go ahead of him. Upon entering the room, Royce uttered his apologies—stating he needed to pay a surprise visit to his solicitors—and left.
“Men!” Maggie exclaimed. “Always in a rush to be somewhere else.”
Maggie Derrington was a passionate beauty, to say the least. With her doe-like brown eyes, dark brown hair, and fair complexion, the daughter of a duke and now the sister of a duke, she had men practically falling at her feet.
“Well, Della, dear,” the Duchess said, ignoring her melodramatic daughter. “How are you?”
Della opened her mouth to speak when Giles announced Mrs. Imogen Derrington. Imogen bustled into the room with her purple skirts rustling from side to side, and her orange wrap pulled tightly around her slender frame. Della’s gaze drifted upward, past her pinched expression, to the matching orange turban that sat atop her head, embellished with a white plume feather.
She was married to Archibald Derrington, the late Duke’s brother. Between them, they had Maggie’s five cousins; Ace, Edwin, James, Pearl, and Anna—who all seemed to have developed their father’s far kinder and more jovial personality.
Imogen was a gossip of the worst sort, having an unbelievably lousy habit of taking things out of context. She also had a way of looking down her nose at you—making her appear almost cross-eyed—should you show even the slightest bit of impropriety.
“Ah, there you are, Wilhelmina! I cannot believe it! I just cannot believe it! Do you know the horrid rumors circulating around the Ton about Royce?!”
“Calm down, Imogen,” the Duchess said calmly. “Sit, have some tea, and tell me what is wrong.” As she prepared the tea, Imogen talked about the latest scandal involving her nephew.
“It is said that Royce and Miss Putnam’s announcement of their engagement was postponed because Royce intends to cry off!” Imogen exclaimed.
“The ridiculousness of the statement caused Della to scoff inwardly. She may not have heard parts of her father and Royce’s conversation, but she was almost certain Royce still had every intention of marrying Miss Putnam.”
One thing Della was sure of was that listening to Imogen go on and on was giving her a headache. From a young age, Della was taught to always keep her voice controlled and level, that it should never rise to an unbecoming volume. However, Imogen’s voice was beginning to resemble a squawking bird.
The colors of her dress and turban, along with the plumed feather swaying in time with her lively head motions, only painted a more vivid picture in Della’s mind. To suppress the giggle that was threatening to escape, she quickly took a sip of her tea.
“Della?”
Della jumped a little and peered over the edge of her teacup to see the Duchess, Imogen, and Maggie staring at her, waiting for a response.
Gently, she set her cup down on the table. “I am sorry, Your Grace. Did you ask me something?”
The Duchess’ lips quirked up into a small, knowing smile. Showing that perhaps she, too, would rather have been doing anything than listening to Imogen’s ranting.
“I asked if you would like some more tea, dear.”
“No, thank you, Your Grace,” Della replied.
After tea, Maggie asked Della to walk in the garden. Arm in arm, they strolled as Maggie gave her honest opinion about the gossip Imogen had relayed to them.
Della, of course, knew the reason for the uproar, though she certainly could not tell Maggie that. No matter how badly she might want to. She knew what Maggie was like and did not want her to complicate matters by interfering, regardless of how good her intentions might be.
“I am curious about what made my brother change his mind,” Maggie mused out loud.
“About what?” Della feigned ignorance.
“About his understanding with Miss Putnam, of course. Were you even listening to what my aunt was saying?”
Della shook her head. “Not really. I was…distracted.”
“According to Imogen, Royce has asked Lord Milton if they could wait before announcing his and Miss Putnam’s engagement. Whatever it is, it must be incredibly important for him to even ask for such a favor. Mother will, undoubtedly, be furious that she had to find out from Imogen and not directly from Royce. Especially since he was here when you arrived and could have told her then.” Maggie laughed. “I do hope I am present when Mother gives him a piece of her mind.”
“You cannot always believe the gossip that circulates, Maggie, even if there might be some truth behind what is being said. And we both know the Duchess will do her best to stop the rumor before it gets out of hand. Though with people like Imogen spreading the rumor, she has her work cut out for her. But if Royce has changed his mind, there is not much your mother can do about his decision; he is a duke, after all.”
“Are we talking about the same woman?” Maggie asked incredulously. “She was elated that Royce had finally decided to find a wife.”
Della shrugged. “Miss Putnam is a good choice, even if she is a bit too serious. And I am sure this rumor will not simplify matters for her, considering everything she has endured from her first engagement.
“You speak far kinder of her than I would. Do you not remember how horribly she treated us during our first season?”
“People can change,” Della said thoughtfully.
“I suppose…but do you know what I wish? I wish you were the one marrying Royce.”
“First your sisters and now you? Do not be ridiculous! Royce has no designs on me whatsoever.”
“Oh, it is not so ridiculous,” Maggie said as they made a turn back to the house. “Just think of the look on the blustery viscount’s face if you stole the duke away from his greedy social climbing hands.”
“I would rather not. Especially if that look is directed at me. Besides, I do not have the good fortune of having an older brother to come to my rescue.”
“That is true, but you could have a husband, who is a duke, to watch out for you.“ Maggie winked teasingly.
“Where did you get such a notion?” Della rolled her eyes when a thought occurred to her. “I am curious about one thing.”
“Only one thing?” Maggie inquired, seeming genuinely confused why Della’s list was so short.
“Who started the rumor?”
Maggie seemed to think the question over for a moment. “Perhaps the servants overheard the conversation. They see all and to risk them overhearing is to risk information getting out. If this gossip has circulated enough that Lord Milton has heard the Ton knows, heads will start rolling. He will not suffer this embarrassment lightly, nor be made a fool of. I fear the repercussions for Royce if he has changed his mind. But he is a man with a title, and the repercussions for them are rarely as bad as what a woman suffers in the same situation.”
“But we do not truly know what Royce has decided. So far, we have only received gossip from Imogen, and we both know she is not the most reliable of sources. Unfortunately, no matter how the rumor started, the Ton will act as though there will be no engagement at all. The Ton at large cares naught for the truth. They merely pick a small bit of it and spin it around to make for a more interesting story.”
Maggie nodded in agreement. “It will be interesting to hear what Royce has to say on the matter. If he is even willing to tell us anything.”
They strolled to the foyer and Della bid farewell, promising to attend a ladies’ luncheon the Duchess would host soon.
She tied the ribbon of her hat beneath her chin and made her way down the front steps. Maggie had caught her completely off guard during their conversation about Royce. Victoria and Cornelia had as well, but she was positive their suggestion had only come about because of the tin of peppermints she had brought to them and their hope of receiving more in the future.
Della was unsure of what do to about this mess her father—though he was not fully to blame—had created. Perhaps it would be easier to pretend the agreement did not exist. It is not as if anything had really changed. Royce was still going to marry Miss Putnam, and she was still determined to marry for love. She absentmindedly walked through the gate and turned toward home.
“Oomph.” Della bumped into something solid and unyielding, like a brick wall, as two hands shot out and pulled her so close the brim of her hat folded down over her face.
She did not move, desiring to disappear and hide from the embarrassment for not watching where she was going. Still, an apology was probably in order.
Della tilted her head back—the brim of her hat flipping back into place—to see who she had run into.