The Lady In Question (23 page)

“That you are not your sister?”

She nodded.

“If I might be so bold as to make a rather shocking suggestion…”

“Shocking suggestions have long been my favorite kind. What do you propose?”

“Tell him the truth, my lady.”

She grimaced. “That is shocking.”

“You would be surprised how very much gentlemen prize honesty. If he is the man you hope he is, if he is at all worthy of your affections, he will be most gracious.”

“Do you really think so?”

“My lady, I should stake a month’s wages on it.”

She considered him carefully for a long moment. “You’re right, but then I’m beginning to believe you always are. I did try to explain tonight, but” — she shrugged — “nothing went quite as I had planned. In fact, I don’t see any other way to proceed short of handing him over to my sister and allowing her to continue my masquerade. And I much prefer to avoid that.

“Very well, then.” She sat back in her chair and lifted her chin in that determined way she had. “I shall bare my soul to him tomorrow night. I shall confess all and hope for the best.”

“I am confident all will be well, my lady.”

Indeed, he could guarantee it. He would do all he could to make it as easy for her as possible without revealing his own secrets. He would act surprised by her confession but not offended by her ruse. He’d be gracious, charming, even amused. They’d probably laugh about it. It would be a most beneficial and enjoyable evening.

“I seem to have disturbed the playing pieces.” Delia surveyed the board, then smiled. “Somehow, I quite like the idea of disrupting the board. Now I suggest we start this game over. I find I am eager to play and, I must warn you, I intend to win. And furthermore” — a wicked twinkle sparked in her eye —

“I don’t intend to be the least bit quiet.”

Chapter 13

My Dear Delia,

As much as I should like to say I am not at all surprised, I must confess to being more than a
little shocked today. It is the behavior of our parents that has put me in such a state, an irony I am
still unable to completely grasp.

I am not entirely sure exactly what transpired between them, but as I understand it Father has
told Mother you are past the age of consent and have earned the right to make your own
mistakes. Furthermore, even while I am as yet unwed and residing under their roof, Father has
declared I too am old enough to make my own mistakes although I assure you I have no intention
of doing so.

Mother took it with a serene demeanor I have rarely seen her exhibit. I can only suspect the
stars have changed their alignment in the heavens or Hades is remarkably chilly or swine shall
soon take flight…

“Crimson or eggshell,” Delia said under her breath, pacing the parlor and twisting her hands together. This was absurd. For one foolish moment she had thought focusing her attention on the consideration of a dominant color for the refurbishing of this room, or any room, would take her mind off the fact that St. Stephens would be here at any minute. She should have known better. Nothing short of a herd of rampaging horses in the front hall or the flying pigs her sister had referenced could ever take her mind off of St. Stephens’s imminent arrival.

Delia was certainly as prepared as possible. She wore the black lace gown she’d worn to her grandmother’s ball and knew she looked as good as she ever could in black. Indeed, her anticipation, or apprehension, of the forthcoming evening had brought a blush of color to her cheeks. In addition, she’d spent much of the day going over and over a dozen different versions of what she would say to him and how she would say it. Pity, at the moment she couldn’t think of one.

“Crimson or eggshell.”

What if he had decided not to come at all? Surely he would send a note if he was unable or unwilling to come. He was not the kind of man to accept an invitation and then fail to appear. St. Stephens considered himself far too stuffy for that. She smiled at the very thought. The man wasn’t the least bit stuffy, and whoever had called him such was no doubt mad.

“Crimson or eggshell. Crimson or eggshell…”

Of course, if he had found out she was not
Miss
Effington, he might be too angry to come. Or humiliated. She could well understand how her deception might make him feel like a fool, particularly given his encounter with her parents. Why, he might even believe she was simply playing some sort of flirtatious game with him. Good heavens, the man had spoken of marriage and the possibility of love, no doubt difficult topics for a man to discuss aloud under any circumstances. Her throat tightened at the thought that she might well never see him again.

Lord Mysterious. It certainly suited him. He obviously had a few secrets of his own. Knowing so little about him made him all the more interesting. He could well be the beginning of her new life of grand adventure. The thought was at once exciting and terrifying. Although she suspected St. Stephens would not be content with simply being the first step on her road to experience. And she suspected, as well, neither would she. Oddly enough, that thought was just as exciting.

“My lady.” MacPherson stepped into the parlor. “Lord St. Stephens has arrived.”

“Excellent,” she said with a sigh of relief. “Please show him in.”

The footman turned toward the door. Delia moved to one side of the fireplace, a position previously determined to provide her with the most fetching setting, clasped her hands together, affixed the smile she

’d practiced in the mirror several times today and realized something was missing.

“Just a moment. Where’s Mr. Gordon?”

“Indisposed, my lady,” MacPherson said smoothly.

She drew her brows together. “Is it serious?”

“I don’t believe so, ma’am. He should be —” MacPherson choked back a cough. “Beg pardon, ma’

am. Mr. Gordon expects to be
himself
in the morning.”

“Thank you.”

MacPherson nodded and left.

Still, Delia should have someone check on Gordon later tonight. She would do it herself, but going to his room might well be going too far. She had already crossed the boundaries between servant and mistress in any number of ways, but she suspected even dear Gordon would consider her appearance at his room entirely too much. No, his dignity would not permit such a thing. He had become her closest friend of late. Oh, certainly, now that she was back in her family’s good graces, she had Cassie to talk to and other relatives would no doubt call. But Cassie and the rest of the family did not live in this house with her, and as lovely as it was to have guests, inevitably they returned to their own homes. It struck her that she was nearly as much in exile here as she had been in the Lake District. And struck her as well that both exiles were self-imposed.

Perhaps her venture last night was far more important than simply a desire to see St. Stephens again. And perhaps St. Stephens was more than her first adventure. Perhaps he was indeed the start of a new life.

“Lady Wilmont?” St. Stephens strode into the room with a smile that reached into her very soul.

“Lord St. Stephens.” She drew a deep breath and favored him with her most welcoming smile. “I’m delighted you were able to accept my invitation.”

“How could I refuse an invitation from such a lovely hostess?” He took her hand and raised it to his lips, his gaze never leaving hers.

“You do have a way with words, my lord. You shall quite turn my head.” She forced a light laugh that belied the turmoil in her stomach.

He glanced around. “Am I the first to arrive, then?”

“Yes, well, about that…”

“Forgive me for staring, Lady Wilmont.” He studied her carefully. “But the resemblance between you and your sister is quite remarkable.”

This time her laugh was genuine. “I have heard that my entire life, my lord, but there are indeed differences between us. We are not exactly alike but rather reflections of each other. Mirror images, as it were. For example, my sister favors her left hand and I favor my right.”

“Really?” His brows drew together. “I consider myself fairly observant, and I was certain it was Miss Effington who favors her right.”

“You are indeed observant, but my sister favors her left,” she said firmly, realizing that if he understood the import of her words, she might not actually have to confess. And confession grew no easier with practice.

“It is I who favors my right.”

“I’m afraid I’m a bit confused.” He narrowed his eyes. “Or perhaps I should say: I fear you have me at a disadvantage.”

“Well, it is my turn, isn’t it?” she murmured, then drew a deep breath, squared her shoulders and met his gaze directly. “I have a confession to make, my lord.”

“You too?”

She pulled her brows together. “Me too — what?”

“Your sister told me last night she had a confession to make.”

She waved away his comment. “We are a family full of secrets.” Delia turned and paced the room in an attempt to recall her courage. She should have blurted out the truth a moment ago. Should have just come right out and said it. It would all be over by now. She was doing entirely too much thinking about his reaction and her apology and any consequences and —

“Well?

“Well what?”

“The confession?” he prompted.

“Indeed, the confession.” She glanced at him. “Did I tell you I do not confess lightly nor well?”

“Your
sister
mentioned something of the sort.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the mantel. “I must say, Lady Wilmont, I find this all most amusing.

“Oh?” She pulled up short and stared. “Precisely what do you find amusing?”

“You, my lady, are trying to work up your courage. It’s really quite charming.”

“I’m glad one of us is enjoying it.” Her voice was a bit sharper than she’d intended and she realized irritation with him had quite swept away any anxiety. “Now then, my lord —”

“I should probably save you any further effort.”

She narrowed her eyes. “As much as I appreciate your kind offer, how on earth can you possibly do that?”

He shrugged. “To start with, I could say there is no need for confession, as I know precisely what you are having such a difficult time saying.”

“You do?” Her heart sank.

“Indeed I do.” A knowing smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “You wish to tell me the woman I danced with at Effington Hall and met again last night, the woman I know as Miss Effington, Miss
Cassandra
Effington, was, in truth, Lady Wilmont, formerly Miss Philadelphia Effington. And that would be you.”

She winced. “Well, yes, that is more or less the essence of it all. How long have you known?”

“Only since a moment ago when you insisted you were the sister who favors her right. I pride myself on my powers of observation, Lady Wilmont, and I know the woman I have been with favors her right hand.”

She was at once relieved and the tiniest bit annoyed at the arrogance of his manner. “You have a great deal of confidence in yourself, my lord.”

He flashed a wicked grin. “Indeed I do.”

She considered him carefully. “You don’t seem at all angry about this.”

“Oh, I admit I had a twinge of annoyance when I realized your deception. But I am a rational man and there are far and away more benefits to pursuing a widow than a never married woman.” He drew his brows together. “Unless, of course, this was all some kind of cruel game on the part of you and your sister.”

“I assure you, I would never do such a thing,” she said quickly. “In truth, at Effington Hall I was attempting to leave the ballroom when we met because I was not at all sure I had the courage to pretend to be someone I wasn’t.”

“I’m very glad you didn’t.” His tone was light, but an odd intensity underlaid his words and her heart fluttered.

“As am I.” She smiled. “I must admit, I am most relived. I had no idea how you would take this, and

—” She stopped and studied him. “What benefits?”

He laughed. “First of all, it’s not necessary to ask your family’s permission to call on you.”

“Although you already have,” she said primly.

“And was told by your father he had nothing to say about this particular daughter. I should have determined the truth of the matter then.” He grimaced and shook his head. “You certainly could have saved me a great deal of trouble. I daresay my heart was lying somewhere in the vicinity of my stomach at that moment. Do you have any idea how difficult it is for a man to ask permission of a father to call on his daughter?”

She grinned. “But you did it extremely well.”

“And I shall never do it again,” he said pointedly. “Once was quite enough.”

“It was probably good for you. Strengthened your character, and that sort of thing.” She nodded at a decanter and glasses conveniently residing on a nearby window. “Would you care for a glass of sherry?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“So, tell me, my lord, are there other benefits to pursuing a widow other than the avoidance of parental permission?” She poured a glass for him and another for herself. “And precisely how do you know?”

She handed him a glass and his fingers brushed hers. A shiver ran up her arm. She took a quick sip and choked. “Why, this is brandy.”

St. Stephens drew a swallow and nodded. “Indeed it is, and excellent brandy at that.”

She stared at the glass and frowned. “I distinctly told Gordon — Gordon is my butler — to place a decanter of sherry in here.”

“Perhaps he simply realized men in general much prefer brandy.”

“Perhaps.” She shook her head. “He has not been feeling well of late, and even before that I have noticed confusion on his part as to his duties. He’s getting on in years and I confess I am a bit worried about him.”