Chapter Fourteen
Fourteen days before the wedding . . .
Tea. There would be tea in the kitchen. Surely she could figure out how to boil water for tea. And she desperately needed tea.
Delilah made her way carefully down the stairs, clinging to the handrail. She was not at all confident of her ability to descend the stairs without assistance. She hadn’t had nearly enough whisky last night to make her feel this bad this morning and yet she felt dreadful. Her head throbbed and her stomach churned. Of course, she’d had a very large glass and nothing to eat either.
She’d certainly had enough whisky to loosen her tongue. Although admittedly most of what she had confided had been said before she’d had so much as a drop of liquor. Good Lord, the things she had said to Sam. She groaned. The personal, private, intimate things she had revealed. That might be at least partially to blame for how she felt this morning. That and all she had learned about Phillip. She rubbed her hand over her forehead. How had she been such a fool? Phillip’s betrayal alone was certainly enough to make her head pound and her stomach lurch.
The faintest aroma of coffee drifted up from the ground floor. Coffee? Coffee would be so much better than tea. Had one of the servants returned?
She reached the first floor and glanced into the parlor. Pieces of broken snuffboxes littered the floor by the cabinet, more lay by the fireplace and by the far wall. Her housekeeper was not going to be at all pleased to return to the house and discover this mess. At least she would now have a job to return to thanks to Julian’s revelations. It did seem a pity though. A good two-thirds of Phillip’s collection remained untouched. Still, the day was young.
“You did do a good job in there,” Sam said behind her.
“Not good enough.” She turned around. He was dressed and obviously ready for the day. Indeed, the man looked astonishingly well rested and composed. It was most annoying. He held two steaming cups of coffee.
“I noticed you drank coffee.” He offered her a cup. “I thought you could use this.”
“Thank you.” She accepted the cup gratefully and took a sip. It was strong and hot and bitter. She wrinkled her nose. “I prefer it with cream and sugar.”
“I beg your pardon, Lady Hargate, but one works with what one has,” he said in a passable imitation of a proper English butler.
“Don’t let Clement hear you talk like that.”
He chuckled. “There might be sugar but there are no perishables in the kitchen.”
“Of course not.” She took another sip. It was more bracing than it was bad. “You made this?”
“I told you, I was not born to great wealth. There have been times in my life when I have had to do for myself.” He shrugged. “I lit a fire in the stove, found a pot, and brewed coffee. It wasn’t hard.”
“Hmph.” She certainly couldn’t have done it. Indeed, she’d have no idea where to begin.
His brow furrowed. “Have you ever been in your kitchen?”
“Of course I have.” She scoffed. “Once or twice. It’s scarcely necessary. I do have a cook, you know. Or at least I did.”
“Well, you’ll have her again, now that we have the information needed to resolve the problem of your inheritance.” He studied her closely. “I think it would be a good idea if I brought that to your investigator while you . . .” His gaze skimmed over her. “Pulled yourself together. Then we can take the next train.”
“Thank you, that would be . . .” She frowned. “What do you mean pull myself together?” She had managed to dress unassisted after all and thought she had done a fine job of it.
“Nothing,” he said quickly. “Not a thing really but . . .”
“What?”
“Have you looked in a mirror?”
“Yes,” she snapped. Actually the mirror in her room had been covered and she hadn’t had the strength to pull off the sheeting but she had glanced in its general direction.
“You might wish to look again.”
She patted her hair with her free hand. She hadn’t taken it down before going to bed and it felt more than a little disheveled. Still, it was most annoying, even rude, for him to mention it. Although perhaps it was better for him to say something now than allow her to leave the house looking unkempt.
She clenched her teeth. “Thank you.” She took another sip of the coffee. It really did improve her spirits and settle her stomach. Even so, she did need something to eat. “On your way back, should you run across a tea shop or even a baker’s where you could perhaps procure a few biscuits or buns or anything at all, it would be most appreciated.”
“Hungry, are we?”
“Very much so. Aren’t you?”
“It was a long night.”
She set her cup on a cloth-covered table and started down the stairs. “Did you have trouble sleeping?”
Behind her he paused. “I had a great deal on my mind.”
Much better. He probably did not feel as good as he looked. It was vile of her, she knew, but that idea lifted her spirits a bit. And he did look delicious although she was probably just hungry. He no doubt regretted what he had told her about his past every bit as much as she regretted what she had said to him. And then there was the matter of her overly flirtatious manner toward him. She winced. If she had thought putting New York out of her mind had been next to impossible, forgetting about last night would be worse.
She found her bag, retrieved the note Camille had given her, and handed it to him. “This is the name and address of the investigator my sister recommended.”
“Good.” He nodded. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.” He smiled. “With food.”
“One always does feel better without the ravages of hunger to contend with.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
She met his gaze and, without warning, the fear was back. Her heart skipped a beat. She had let him get entirely too close. She had revealed too much. She had opened herself up to him and that was a first step.
She would not go down that path.
Delilah drew a deep breath. “Before you go, you should know I was not inebriated last night and you shouldn’t think I was.”
“Oh, I would never think such a thing.” His tone was solemn but laughter danced in his eyes.
She ignored it. “Admittedly, the whisky might have loosened my reserve and my tongue, but I clearly remember every word that was said. And everything that happened.”
“And everything that didn’t?”
“Yes,” she said sharply. Especially everything that didn’t! “And I think it would be best, for both of us I might add, if we, well, pretend it never happened.”
“Nothing did happen,” he said slowly.
“Yes, yes, I know.” She waved off his comment. “I mean we should pretend that nothing was said.”
“Because pretending has worked so well for us thus far?”
She glared at him. “You do insist on being stubborn, don’t you?”
“I’m not being stubborn.” His brows drew together. “I am being realistic. Practical, if you will.”
“The practical thing is to forget everything you heard about my life last night. And I shall forget everything I learned about yours.”
He stared at her for a long moment. “No.”
“What do you mean—no?”
“I mean no. I will not forget anything about last night.”
“Why on earth not?”
“I’m being honest with you, Dee.” He met her gaze. “Oh, I can promise to pretend or forget or however you wish to phrase it but there is absolutely nothing on heaven or earth that will make me forget what you said or how devastated you were or how helpless that made me feel. Or how you trusted me enough to confide in me.” He leaned closer and his gaze bored into hers. “Do you understand?”
She resisted the urge to step back. “Not really, no.”
His eyes narrowed. “I won’t make that promise to you because it would be a lie. It seems to me you have been lied to enough. The only promise I am willing to make is that I won’t lie to you. If we are to be friends, that is the condition of my friendship.”
“Oh.” She stared at him. “Well . . .”
“At a loss for words?”
“So it would appear,” she said under her breath. The man was an enigma. How could a man so gallant and charming one minute be so bloody annoying the next?
“Good.” He nodded. “Then do something to yourself and I will be back shortly.”
“Do you talk to your sisters that way?”
“Yes.”
“I’m surprised one of them hasn’t smothered you in your sleep by now,” she said under her breath.
“They like me.” He glanced at the note in his hand. “You do realize this means you can marry whomever you want.”
“I’ve always intended to marry whomever I wanted.”
“But you’ll have your fortune back and you’ll have no need to marry for money and a title or whatever.”
She stared at him. Did he understand nothing? “One has nothing to do with the other.”
His brow furrowed in confusion. “What?”
“Seeking an appropriate match has nothing to do with my own financial status. My plan as to what kind of man I will marry has been in place long before this difficulty arose. Regardless of the circumstances, I would never think of marrying anyone who did not meet my . . . my requirements.”
Disbelief washed across his face. “So you still want another perfect husband?”
“Of course I do.”
“Because that worked out so well for you the first time?” Sarcasm fairly dripped from his words.
She waved off his comment. “Phillip was unique. I can’t imagine something like that happening again.”
“And you never make the same mistake twice?”
“Yes!” She glared. “Never!”
His brow arched upward in a sarcastic manner.
“Well, never again!”
“So you don’t intend to fall in love with this one?”
“Of course not. But I certainly don’t intend to marry anyone I don’t like. I do expect to feel a certain affection for him. After all, we will have a great deal in common. And ultimately, love is not a necessary ingredient for a good match.”
“There are those who think it’s the only necessary ingredient.”
“Romantics.” She snorted in disdain. “And you’re one to talk to me about mistakes? You are actively seeking to make the same mistake again.”
“Because I have not dismissed love out of hand? Because I realize there is more to life than money and position?”
“No, because you let your heart be broken once before and you’re willing to take that risk again.” Her voice rose. “Well, I am not!”
“No, you’d rather live in a dying world of manors and castles and pointless titles where tradition triumphs over progress and intelligence and committing one’s life to someone for the rest of your days is completely devoid of all human emotion!”
She sucked in a hard breath. “That’s not fair!”
“But it is accurate!” His voice grew louder.
“It is not! I said I intended to like him!”
“Well then, Lady Hargate, my apologies!” He glared. “I wish you the very best in your endeavors. Your fortune-hunting endeavors!”
“My, my.” A familiar voice sounded from the front entry. “Look who has veered from the straight and narrow.”
“What are you doing here?” Delilah snapped.
Her sister surveyed her from the open doorway. “I might ask you the same thing.”
“Good morning, Camille,” Sam said with a brusque nod.
“Not exactly.” Beryl’s gaze ran over Sam like a lioness appraising a fresh kill. “An American? How very interesting.” Her gaze slid to her sister. “Who would have imagined.”
“Does no one knock anymore?” Delilah glared.
“The door was unlocked,” Beryl said mildly and closed the door behind her. “Foolish of you to be so forgetful.”
“Probably my fault,” Sam said under his breath.
“I would wager on it.” Beryl cast him a knowing look.
And wasn’t this just the perfect addition to the day? Beryl was the last person Delilah wanted to see at the moment. Or most moments for that matter. While she had grown closer to Camille in recent months, she and Beryl were still treading cautiously around each other.
Delilah drew a deep breath. “Sam, allow me to introduce my sister, Lady Dunwell. Beryl, this is Mr. Samuel Russell.”
“Oh.” Realization washed across his face. “Camille’s twin. Yes, of course.” Sam nodded. “Forgive me, Lady Dunwell, for my confusion. The resemblance to Lady Lydingham is remarkable.”
“Mr. Russell is a business associate of Grayson’s,” Delilah said quickly, “as well as a good friend.”
“I see.” Beryl studied him with an appraising eye. “And has Grayson mentioned me?”
“Once or twice,” Sam said, caution in his voice.
“Well, Grayson and I are not the best of friends so I won’t be so foolish as to ask exactly what he has said.” Beryl’s gaze shifted to her sister. “Nor will I ask any of the other numerous questions that have sprung to mind. At least, not yet.”
“But if you would be so good as to answer mine.” Delilah crossed her arms over her chest. “Why are you here?”
“I’m here in my capacity as a loving and concerned older sister.” Beryl coolly removed a glove and glanced around the foyer. “It has come to my attention that your house has been closed for several weeks. Not that you saw fit to confide that fact to me.”
“I’ve been in the country.” Delilah shrugged. “With Camille. Preparing for the wedding.”
“Have you indeed?” Beryl raised a disbelieving brow. “Putting aside the fact that you’ve been gone several weeks by my estimate, which does seem rather a long time to prepare for a wedding that is still two weeks away, one does not routinely close up one’s house and dismiss one’s servants for a sojourn in the country.”
“One might,” Delilah said in a lofty manner. “On occasion.”
“No, one doesn’t, ever,” Beryl said in a no-nonsense tone. “And, as much as I would like an explanation, that can wait for the moment.” She pulled off her other glove. “As soon as I discovered that your house was closed, I made it a point to drive by daily to make certain the place had not been ransacked or burned to the ground. Which I did out of the goodness of my heart, I might add.”
“And not rampant curiosity?” Delilah would wager all of Phillip’s fortune on the latter.
“Oh, don’t underestimate me, little sister. I could have pursued it further but I assumed if something dreadful had happened someone, probably Camille, possibly Mother, would have informed me. As you did not find it necessary to inform me yourself, I further assumed it was a private matter that you wished to keep private. I respect that, more or less. However . . .” Beryl’s gaze pinned her sister’s. “Your failure to take me into your confidence is not at all in the spirit of our efforts to become closer.”
“Probably not,” Delilah muttered.
“So you can see why, when in passing today, I noted a figure at one of the windows, I was compelled to investigate.” She glanced at Sam. “At some risk to myself, I might add.”
Sam nodded. “Very courageous of you.”
“I thought so.” She turned back to her sister. “Imagine my surprise when I approached the door and heard raised voices. One of which obviously belonged to you.”
“It was a simple misunderstanding,” Delilah said with a shrug.
Sam coughed.
“And I was worried that you were being attacked by an intruder.” Beryl’s speculative gaze shifted from her sister to Sam and back. “In spite of your less than presentable appearance I assume in that I was wrong.”
Without thinking Delilah tried to smooth her hair back into place. “Yes, of course, nothing of the sort.”
Beryl’s gaze slid to Sam. “Pity.”
Sam’s expression remained noncommittal but there was a definite twinkle in his eye. Why the blasted man found Beryl amusing! How very . . . male of him!
“Now.” Beryl adopted a pleasant, sisterly sort of smile. “Perhaps this would be a good time to confess all. Or . . .” Again her gaze settled on Sam. “I can leave and draw my own conclusions.”
“Fine.” It would be the height of stupidity to allow Beryl to draw her own conclusions. Delilah sighed. “I closed the house because of a financial problem. An unexpected difficulty.”
“Obviously, the two of you have much to discuss and I have an errand.” Sam picked up his hat and stepped to the door, glancing back at Delilah. “I’ll return as quickly as possible and we can take the next train.”
Delilah paused. “Thank you.”
“Oh, and Mr. Russell, on your way, would you be so kind as to inform my driver that there is no need for alarm. He was prepared to come to my rescue if I found it necessary to scream for assistance.” Beryl lowered her voice in a confidential manner. “Although the dear man is getting on in age and I daresay by the time he managed to so much as get out of the carriage, I would have been dead at the hands of some miscreant.”
“I shall assure him that you are quite all right.” That blasted twinkle was back in his eye. “Delighted to meet you, Lady Dunwell. No doubt we will be seeing each other again soon.”
“You may count on that, Mr. Russell.” Beryl smiled. “And I am quite looking forward to it.”
Sam bit back a grin, nodded, and took his leave.
The moment the door closed behind him Delilah glared at her sister. “He meant at the wedding.”
“Oh, I know what he meant.”
“You were flirting with him.”
“Why, yes, I suppose I was.”
“I thought you didn’t do that sort of thing anymore. I thought you were in love with your husband. I thought you and he had given up your . . . your dalliances and were now completely faithful to one another.”
“Dear Lord.” Beryl’s brow furrowed. “It’s sounds dreadfully dull when you say it that way.”
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“Well, you were flirting.”
“Goodness, Delilah, I’m reformed not dead. A few flirtatious words are nothing to get in a snit about. It’s not as if I threw him on the floor and had my way with him.” She met her sister’s gaze directly. “And you’re scarcely one to talk. I’ve certainly seen you flirt. Why, if I recall correctly, you flirted quite a bit with Grayson this past Christmas.”
Delilah ignored her. “I suppose you can’t help yourself.”
“Nor do I wish to.” Beryl considered the other woman. “Now that we have thoroughly dissected my character or lack of it, do you care to tell me what is going on here?”
“Not especially.” Not at all! “Can I avoid it?”
“Why, certainly you can, dear, if you want us to go back to being the kind of sisters who only see each other at weddings or funerals. Oh, Camille will be dreadfully upset and annoyed with both of us.” She raised a shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. “And I have to admit I rather enjoy having a sister who seems to be a bit more like me in character than my identical twin.”
Delilah started to protest then thought better of it. She blew a resigned breath. “What do you want to know?”
“All of it of course.”
“Very well. But I do need to fix my hair.”
“At the very least.”
Delilah turned and started up the stairs, her sister at her heels. “I suppose I should start at the beginning.”
“The beginning is always an excellent place to start although, on occasion, the end might be more interesting.”
“The end?”
“The argument I interrupted sounded most interesting. Nearly as interesting as your somewhat disheveled appearance and the fact that your bodice is misbuttoned.”
Delilah reached her hand around to feel her buttons and winced. “That’s how they’re wearing them in Paris.”
“Odd, I hadn’t heard that.”
“I don’t have a maid here,” Delilah added. “I had to do it myself.”
Behind her, Beryl heaved a long-suffering sigh. “My dear little sister, one must always insist a gentleman assist in re-dressing. It’s a cardinal rule of indiscretion.”
“There was no indiscretion,” she said sharply. At least not last night. “Nothing happened.”
“Perhaps that’s why you were both in such a foul mood.” They reached the first floor and Beryl glanced at the doorway into the parlor then drew up short and stared. “What on earth happened here?”
“A minor accident.” Delilah waved off the question. “Nothing of significance.”
“An accident?” Beryl stepped into the parlor and scanned the room. “It doesn’t look like an accident.” She crossed the room to the cabinet, bent down, and picked up a large piece of porcelain. Her gaze shifted from the piece in her hand to the remaining snuffboxes. “Indeed, I would suspect it was more in the manner of . . .” She met her sister’s gaze. “Vengeance?”
Delilah shrugged.
“This financial difficulty of yours. If I had to guess, as apparently I do since you are not being nearly as forthcoming as you should, I would surmise that it had something to do with a late husband. A late husband who was perhaps fond of very expensive antique snuffboxes. How accurate would that supposition be?”
“Fairly.”
Beryl’s brow rose.
“Very accurate then.” Delilah sighed.
She didn’t know why she resisted telling Beryl everything. Camille would surely tell her after all. But when she had revealed her financial problem to Camille, she hadn’t felt like quite as much of an idiot as she felt today. And, even though she and Beryl still weren’t particularly close, she did hate for this sister to think poorly of her. Regardless, it appeared she had no choice. She drew a deep breath.
“About six weeks ago a claim was made against Phillip’s estate by a man who claimed to be his heir. My accounts were unavailable to me until a determination as to the validity of the claim could be ascertained.” She shrugged. “That’s it, really.”
“I see.” Beryl gestured with the piece in her hand. “And this is because your late husband had an heir you knew nothing about?”
“No, this is because I learned Phillip couldn’t have an heir because Phillip was unable to have children at all.” There was no need to tell Beryl the rest of it.
“And you didn’t know?”
“I had no idea.”
“But this does solve the problem of the claim against the estate?”
“I hope so.”
“That’s something anyway.” Beryl placed the broken piece on the shelf. “I must say, though, I admire your restraint.”
“My restraint?”
“Indeed.” Understanding glimmered in Beryl’s eyes. “I would have broken them all.”
Delilah smiled reluctantly. “I may not be finished.”
“That explains the mess but not the American.”
“He is much easier to explain.” She shrugged. “Mr. Russell accompanied me from Millworth. He had business to attend to here and I needed to meet with my solicitor.”
“And?”
“And, that’s all there is to it.”
Beryl’s brow rose in a skeptical manner.
“Good Lord, Beryl, there’s really nothing more to it than that.” She heaved a frustrated sigh. “I was upset over learning the truth about Phillip even though it does mean my life will soon be back to normal. We stayed here longer than we should have and missed the last train so we spent the night. In separate rooms,” she added.
“Excellent explanation, dear, as far as it goes.” Beryl settled on the sofa and smiled pleasantly, as if they were about to take tea or something equally innocuous. “Yet nothing you have said explains why he was accusing you of marrying for financial gain and why you think he’s a foolish romantic who is bound to have his heart broken. Again apparently.”
Delilah stared. “How much did you hear?”
“Quite a lot.” Beryl shook her head. “It seemed rude to interrupt as you were both so passionate. And I do hate to be rude.”
“Then you know everything,” Delilah snapped.
“Oh, I don’t believe I do.” Beryl studied her sister closely. “There’s more between you and the ever so dashing Mr. Russell than you are letting on.”
“Not really.” Delilah sat down beside her sister. “We simply clashed upon our initial meeting, that’s all. Now we have agreed to be friends.”
“My dear, dear little sister.” Beryl shook her head in a mournful manner. “I don’t believe a word of that. One does not discuss reasons for marriage at the top of one’s lungs with a mere friend. And certainly not a male friend. There’s more to it than you’re saying.”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“I’m not. I am shockingly perceptive. And very persistent. I do not give up easily.” She paused. “And while I do enjoy a juicy tidbit of gossip, when it comes to something very important, popular opinion aside, I can keep a secret.”
“There isn’t . . .” Delilah studied her sister. “Can you really?”
“It has always seemed to me that the first step to a solid relationship be that with a man or a woman or a sister, is trust.” She leaned toward Delilah and met her gaze directly. “You’ve had no reason to trust me in the past but no reason not to trust me either as we have never shared confidences before. As your sister, I’m asking you to trust me now.” She smiled. “If one only has two sisters it does seem a pity to squander one.” A gleam of amusement sparked in her blue eyes. “And the more interesting one at that.”
Delilah stared at her for a long moment. Why not? “Oh, very well then.” Besides, she was tired of having no one to talk to about Sam other than herself. “You do understand I have told no one this.”
“Those are the very best kind of secrets.”
Delilah drew a deep breath. “I first met him in New York. We had a . . . an adventure together, if you will.”
“You?” Surprise rang in Beryl’s voice.
“This is not going to go well if you’re going to be shocked by everything I say,” Delilah said sharply.
“I daresay I won’t be shocked by everything now that the initial shock is over.” Beryl shook her head. “I simply didn’t expect this sort of revelation from you.” Her brow furrowed. “I am assuming when you say adventure you mean of the amorous kind?”
Delilah nodded. “I’d never been with anyone besides Phillip before so it was quite, well, a revelation.”
“A revelation?”
“Are you shocked again?”
“Not yet but do go on.” Beryl cleared her throat. “A revelation, you say?”
Delilah continued, the words coming faster almost of their own accord. “Well, yes. But that was certainly not the sort of thing I do. Of course, I expected never to see him again. After all an adventure should be finite. And indeed, I told him I had no desire to see him again. Surely you understand?”
“I suppose. But never when the adventure was a revelation.”
“Although admittedly, he didn’t appear to feel the same but he did agree. So you can imagine my shock when he appeared at Millworth without warning for Camille’s wedding with an absurd business proposal about horseless carriages and a very, well, smug attitude. The man can be most annoying.”
“He does seem to have that potential,” Beryl said thoughtfully. “It’s the amused look in his eye I think.”
“But he is awfully nice as well, which is also oddly annoying.” Delilah leaned closer to her sister. “I was dreadful to him at Millworth, very nearly rude most of the time. And I thought I should apologize and try to be nicer. So I went to his room and . . .”
Beryl’s eyes widened. “Oh my.”
“Oh my is something of an understatement I’m afraid.” She sighed. “You and I have much more in common than I had ever dreamed.”
“My apologies,” Beryl murmured.
“It’s not your fault.” Delilah waved off her sister’s comment. “It must run in the blood. But we did agree, Sam and I, that it would not happen again. Which does seem best, all in all.”
“And last night?”
“I said nothing happened. But . . .” She buried her face in her hands. “I wanted it to.”
“And he didn’t?”
“Oh no, he did.” Her words were muffled by her hands but she wasn’t quite ready to see the knowing look in her sister’s eyes. “But I had had a bit too much to drink and he said he would not take advantage . . .”
“The beast,” Beryl murmured.
“He was a perfect gentleman.”
“One could say that was good and bad news, I suppose.”
Delilah lifted her head. “He is a decent sort, really, for an American.”
“Will wonders never cease?”
“And he is proving to be an excellent friend.”
“That’s something.”
“I suppose.”
“One more thing—” Beryl paused. “You said you and Mr. Russell—”
“Sam.” She sighed. “His friends call him Sam.”
“Didn’t you have a dog named Sam?”
“I did.” She stared at her sister. “I can’t believe you remembered.”
“No one ever gives me credit for being thoughtful.” Beryl sniffed. “As I was saying, you and Sam agreed that it would never happen again. So the question is—is that what you want?”
“Absolutely.” Delilah paused. “Why would you think otherwise?”
“Just idle curiosity. There does seem to be something between you.”
“There isn’t, not really,” she said firmly. “Admittedly, I have not been able to get him out of my mind since New York but . . .”
“But?”
“I find him frightening.”
Beryl frowned. “Because you can’t get him out of your head?”
“Partially. And he makes me feel . . . things.” She absently picked at a bit of lint on her dress. “You see, I fell in love with Phillip and he, well, it sounds so trite and rather pathetic really.”
“Go on.”
“He didn’t share my feelings. And he broke my heart.” She raised her chin. “I will not allow that to happen again.”
“I see.” A sage note sounded in Beryl’s voice.
“What do you see?”
“Well, from what you have said, and from what I overheard, your Mr. Russell thinks the main reason for marriage should be love. And you have a more practical view of the matter.”
“Indeed I do.” She drew a deep breath. “It simply seems to me that if two people who are completely perfect for each other cannot find love then love between two people who have nothing in common is out of the question. And one if not both hearts will surely be broken.”
“My, that is practical of you.”
“Thank you.”
“Although, one of the difficulties with love is that it tends not to be the least bit practical.” Beryl studied her closely. “Are you in love with him?”
“No, of course not. That would be absurd and foolish and an enormous mistake.”
“We wouldn’t want that,” Beryl murmured.
“Exactly.” Delilah shook her head. “Good Lord, Beryl I have never met any man who was so completely wrong for me. Love does not conquer all, you know.”
“I suppose not.” Beryl considered her sister for a moment. “I may not be one to talk given that neither of my marriages were for love. When I married my first husband, I married for the reasons we were all expected to marry. But Charles was a charming man and I did love him even if I was not in love with him. Do you understand the difference?”
Delilah nodded.
“I married Lionel for similar reasons. Title, money, ambition. He will be prime minister one day, you know.”
“Yes, you’ve mentioned that.” Over and over and over again. Beryl’s ambition for her husband matched his own.
“We were both living our own lives really, having any number of well, adventures, and then the oddest thing happened.” A smile that might well be called sweet on anyone else curved Beryl’s lips. “One minute were we amicable companions and the next . . .” Her gaze met Delilah’s. “We realized we couldn’t live without each other. We further discovered we preferred adventure with each other rather than with other people. It was shocking and utterly wonderful. Love caught us entirely unawares.” She shrugged, as if somewhat embarrassed by the revelation.
“But you and Lionel are not from completely different worlds,” Delilah pointed out. “Why, if any two people were expected to find love one would anticipate it would be the two of you.”
“Perhaps.” Beryl chose her words with care. “Still, one of the most marvelous things about love is that it is completely unexpected.”
“Nonetheless, I am neither in love with Sam, nor do I intend to allow that to happen.”
“If you aren’t already?”
“I’m most definitely not.” Delilah ignored a stab of doubt and set her chin. “My plan is to marry again for practical reasons. Precisely as you did.”
“I’m not sure I would advise following in my footsteps, although my life has turned out to be better than I could have imagined. We all have to tread our own paths, Delilah.”
“Exactly as I am doing.”
“Very well then, you certainly don’t need advice from me.” She reached out and patted her sister’s hand. “However, I do so love giving advice and I am very good at it, so don’t hesitate to come to me again. I plan on being at Millworth within the week. Perhaps sooner now that I can see how very much I am needed.” She cast her sister a smug smile. “You can’t get this kind of advice from Camille, you know.”
“And you won’t tell her about this?”
“Absolutely not.” Beryl huffed with indignation. “I gave you my word after all not to repeat any of this to anyone. Although admittedly, if Camille were to say to me directly, ‘Did you know that Delilah is in love with Mr. Russell?’ why I would hate to lie to her.”
“I never said that,” Delilah said quickly, then realized her mistake. “I mean I’m not in love with him.”
“Of course not. That would be foolish.”
“It would indeed.”
Beryl nodded. “And absurd.”
“Completely.”
“Not to mention an enormous mistake.”
“Without question.”
“Still, you have made other mistakes,” Beryl said thoughtfully.
“Who hasn’t?”
“Falling in love with him isn’t your worst.”
“No, of course not. It’s . . .”
Beryl arched a knowing brow.
“That was a . . .” Delilah searched for the right word.
“Let’s just call it something you did not intend to admit, shall we? Not to me and certainly not to yourself.” Beryl studied her sister for a long moment. “There is one thing you should keep in mind, however.”
Delilah sighed. “And what is that?”
“The very best adventures, my dear sister.” Beryl smiled. “Are those that never end.”