Chapter Sixteen
Thirteen days before the wedding . . .
“How on earth have you been managing??? Camille studied her sister with a fair amount of concern and more than a little doubt.
“I’m not entirely sure really.” Delilah sat by her sister’s bedside and debated the merits of complete honesty versus something a bit more fictional.
Her initial impulse had been to tell Camille everything was perfectly fine, that she and Sam had been more than up for the challenge of dealing with a house full of the indisposed. And indeed they had been, thanks to the very gracious Lady Fairborough who had sent over a small army of her own servants as soon as she’d received Delilah’s note yesterday and this morning had sent someone to cook as well. Still, Delilah didn’t want it to sound as if she and Sam had had it too easy. They had been willing to do much more after all.
“But we have managed to muddle through somehow.”
“Are you sure?”
“Quite.”
“I daresay it was fortunate that you and Sam were delayed in London and missed dinner.” Camille sighed. “Otherwise you would probably be in the same state as the rest of us.”
“That was lucky.”
“You haven’t, well . . .” Camille winced. “Killed him or anything, have you?”
“No.” Delilah bit back a smile. “He is quite well.”
“And you haven’t been rude to him?”
“I’ve been most pleasant.” She ignored a twinge of annoyance at her sister’s comment. Although one could scarcely blame Camille for her concern given Delilah’s behavior when Sam had first arrived. “In fact, we’ve been getting along quite nicely.”
They’d had sandwiches again last night for dinner and afterward had played chess together, although she had forgone any whisky with their game. It did seem wise given how she had thrown herself at him the night before. Besides there was that pesky vow of hers that she would not share his bed again.
He was a better than average player and as competitive at chess as he had been at tennis. But then, so was she. It had been an easy and delightful evening. She wasn’t sure when she had laughed quite so much. Sam was amusing and intelligent and well read. Their conversation had ranged from music and art and history to more personal matters. He’d confided that his mother wasn’t at all pleased by his broken engagement, which he found most disloyal. She’d confessed that while forging a new relationship with her sisters wasn’t especially easy she was rather pleased with their progress thus far. Even when it came to Beryl. They prudently stayed away from the topics of her plans for marriage and his horseless carriage. By the time they retired, they were both weary from the long day. Even so, she had wondered what she would do if he were to take her in his arms again. And was a bit disappointed when he had made no effort to do so but had instead warmly bid her a good evening. Exactly as she had said she wanted.
She was asleep very nearly the moment she laid her head on her pillow and had slept quite soundly. Her slumber marred only by a strange yet lovely dream of flying along in a carriage pulled by a mechanical horse with a laughing American by her side.
“Delilah?” Camille frowned. “Are you listening to me?”
“Of course.” She paused. “What did you say?”
“I said I’m glad that you and Sam have put aside your differences.” Camille’s brow furrowed. “Not that I knew what those differences were other than the fact that you think his motorwagon is absurd.”
“To be perfectly honest, neither did I. He simply struck me the wrong way upon our initial meeting, I suppose. Probably because my mind was occupied with my financial difficulties. It was foolish of me, of course, but there you have it.” Interesting how very easy it was to embellish a mistruth although, if one thought about it correctly, he had indeed struck her the wrong way as she had planned never to see him again. “But that’s all behind us now. Indeed, Sam and I have become friends.”
“Have you now?” Camille’s brow rose. “Who would have imagined?”
“Not me.” Delilah grinned. “But, as it turns out, he’s very nice. And intelligent. He’s quite good at chess. He very nearly beat me last night. Only the fact that we ended the game when we were both too tired to continue saved me from defeat.”
“Did it?”
“Yes, but don’t tell him that. He thinks he was about to lose.” She grinned. “He can be most amusing as well and has a sort of wry sense of humor. And he’s quite dedicated to his family, which I find most admirable. Did you know he has five sisters?”
Camille stared. “I had no idea.”
“The oldest is closest to him in age. She’s married and has children. Boys, I think. He’s very fond of them.” She thought for a moment. “He does seem to like children.”
“Always good to know,” Camille murmured.
“The rest of his sisters range in age from sixteen to twelve,” Delilah continued. “The two youngest are twins. But they have each other so I daresay they’ll always have someone to confide in.”
Camille winced.
“Apparently, it’s not easy being a practical sort of man in a house full of women. He’s worried about their futures and whether he’s capable of providing them with the steady hand he’s certain they’ll need.” She leaned forward confidentially. “He’s not sure his mother is up to the task. She sounds a bit flighty.”
“Not unlike our mother.”
Delilah nodded. “That’s what I told him. Did I mention that he’s intelligent?”
“I believe so.”
“It bears repeating.” She nodded. “You should hear him talk about his ideas for promoting his vehicle. I suspect if anyone can make this motorwagon nonsense successful it will be Sam. With Grayson’s help of course.”
“I don’t think it’s help so much as a partnership,” Camille said with a frown.
“Yes, well, whatever.” She waved off her sister’s comment. “The man is really quite brilliant and terribly successful. Why, he built a business started by his grandfather into something of an empire.”
“Did he?”
“He didn’t use those exact words but it was evident. He’s entirely too modest to proclaim his own accomplishments and yet he is extremely arrogant as well.” She shook her head. “One of those men who thinks he knows what’s best for everyone. I feel rather sorry for his sisters.”
“Do you?”
“I do indeed. I can’t begin to imagine the battles they’ll have with him when they attempt to make their own choices in life.” She bit back a laugh. “He is certainly in for a time of it.”
“No doubt.”
“He wants only the best for them and as his father is dead, he takes that responsibility very seriously. He has a great sense of responsibility. He is, well, a good man.”
“How very interesting.” Camille studied her curiously. “Why the man sounds practically perfect.”
“Oh no, not at all. He’s not the least bit perfect.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Well . . .” Delilah thought for a moment. “He’s quite arrogant.”
“You mentioned that.”
“He thinks his way is right and everyone else’s way is wrong.”
“That is the very definition of arrogant,” Camille said slowly.
“Beyond that . . .” What was wrong with him? Certainly there were basic and insurmountable differences between them but other than those questions of background and heritage and their opposing views on progress, she couldn’t really put her finger on anything specific. Aside from his arrogance of course. Still, what man didn’t think he was always right? And what woman didn’t know he was wrong? “Admittedly, I can’t think of anything at the moment but I can assure you, he is not perfect.”
“Few men are.” Camille chose her words with care. “And you like him.”
“He is a most likable sort.” She shrugged. “It’s very hard not to like him.”
“As a . . . friend?”
“He is an excellent friend. And he knows how to make coffee.”
“That is good to know.” Camille studied her sister for a long moment.
“You’re staring at me.” Delilah narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
“No reason really.” Camille shrugged. “I just find it interesting that you and Sam have become civil, let alone friends. I would not have wagered on that.”
“Life is full of surprises. This is neither the first I’ve experienced in recent months nor do I think it shall be the last.” Her tone hardened. “One can either let the unexpected twists of life devastate you or one can carry on. I have chosen to carry on.”
Camille’s brows drew together. “Are we still talking about Sam?”
“We’re talking about everything,” Delilah said. “And as we are, we should probably discuss the wedding.” She picked up Teddy’s notebook from the bedside table where she had placed it earlier.
Camille’s eyes widened. “Teddy relinquished her notebook to you? She must be feeling horrid for her to do that.”
“Even so, it wasn’t easy to pry it from her hands. But I managed.” She cast her sister a smug smile. “She is feeling better though—”
“As am I.”
“Regardless, you are both to remain in bed today.” She adopted a no-nonsense manner. “The wedding is less than two weeks away and you do need to recover your strength. Especially since Beryl and Mother and Father and who knows who else will be arriving any day and then there will be no chance to rest at all.”
“Very well then. I shall refrain from futile protesting and enjoy being taken care of.” Camille leaned toward her sister and lowered her voice. “Was I dreaming or was there a new maid here this morning?”
“Lady Fairborough sent some of her staff to assist us.”
“Including a cook?”
Delilah nodded.
“I see.” Camille nodded in a knowing manner. “Well, that explains why you have managed so well. The broth, by the way, was excellent.”
“Then you should have realized I didn’t make it.” Delilah flipped open the notebook. “Now then, we have cancelled the dinner scheduled for tomorrow night.”
“Oh, but by tomorrow—”
Delilah leveled her the same look a long-ago governess had perfected.
Camille paused then nodded. “Very wise.”
“I thought so.” Delilah glanced at the notebook. “You should be aware that Mrs. Gilbert, the seamstress, is expected for your final dress fitting tomorrow. And . . .” She flipped through a few pages although the moment she had wrestled the book from Teddy she had thoroughly gone through it. Partially out of curiosity as to just how efficient her friend really was. The answer was very. But then Teddy had always been resourceful and well organized. “Aside from that, there really isn’t anything that can’t wait until Teddy can give it her full attention.” She snapped the notebook closed. “And that is that for the moment.”
“Can you believe in less than two weeks I will finally marry Grayson?”
“Well, less than two weeks plus the nearly twelve years it took the two of you to get to this point.”
“All in the past now, my dear sister.” Camille breathed a sigh of pure happiness. “I shall soon be Mrs. Grayson Elliott and nothing else really matters.”
“You won’t mind being Mrs. Elliott rather than Lady Lydingham?”
“Not in the least,” she said in a lofty manner. “Indeed I think being Mrs. Elliott is far superior to any title I can imagine.”
“Do you?” Delilah bit back a grin. “And yet just this past Christmas your goal was to win the hand of a prince and thereby become Princess Camille.”
“Oh, I was much younger then.” Camille grinned. “And quite, quite foolish. And I had no idea Grayson would come back into my life. I am eternally grateful I came to my senses before it was too late.”
“As are we all.”
“I will admit that I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t miss being Lady Lydingham at all. But it seems a minor trade.”
Delilah tossed the notebook onto the bed, then stood and picked up Camille’s tray, setting it on a table by the door. She’d have one of the maids bring it down to the kitchen. It was a huge relief to have enough servants to see to everyone’s needs. Delilah was under no illusion as to her own abilities in that regard and was grateful she wasn’t put to the test. “I still have things I need to accomplish today so I should be off. I must say I am most grateful everyone invited for your next party lives fairly close. Otherwise, I would have had to send Sam back into London.”
“And you’d miss him.”
“Of course I would. There’s no one else to occupy my time with here except for him.”
“Yes, that’s what I thought.”
She heaved a resigned sigh. “Don’t read more into this than there is, Camille.”
Her sister gasped. “I would never.”
“You would and you are.”
“I’ve been very ill.” Camille slid down her pillows and pulled her covers up to her chin.
Delilah laughed. “You are obviously feeling better.”
“Yes, I am. And as I am, there are things I should say.” She sat up and addressed her sister in an earnest manner. “In spite of what Mother has said, in spite of what we were all brought up to believe, there are more important things than position and even wealth. Although wealth would be terribly hard to live without,” Camille added under her breath.
“Yes, I suppose there are.”
“Love, Delilah, is much more important.”
“Is it?”
Camille nodded. “Without question.”
“For you.”
“For all of us,” Camille said. “You should keep that in mind, my dear sister, as you continue your quest for your next husband. Regardless of your financial state, it’s not—”
“Oh, the problem of Phillip’s alleged heir should be resolved any day now,” Delilah said with a casual shrug. “We gathered a bit of information while we were in London that should settle the matter.” She paused. “I must admit Sam was most helpful in that regard.”
“Was he? How very interesting,” Camille murmured.
“I said we have become friends and he is proving to be an excellent friend.”
“One can always use another friend.”
“I’ve always thought so.”
“Still . . .” Camille began in an offhand manner. “There is more to life than friendship.”
“Still,” Delilah said in a hard tone, “friendship will not break your heart. At least not in the manner that love will.”
“I suppose not.”
“Tell me this, Camille.” She met her sister’s gaze directly. “Are you so certain that Grayson will never break your heart?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “I am. There’s a great deal to be said for second chances, Camille. Grayson and I both were wrong in the past and we paid a price for that. We both hurt each other. Now, we have a second chance. Given that Mother has taken Father back, even she would agree with that.
“Trust and faith and all of that goes hand in hand with love. You cannot have love without the rest of it.” Certainty rang in her voice. “Admittedly, I would be a fool to think that the rest of our lives will be blissful. There are no assurances in life. Life is not perfect. I’m certainly not perfect, nor is Grayson. There are bound to be difficulties and problems and even tragedy in the years ahead. My heart may well be broken by any number of things as the years go on but we shall have each other to see us through. You may call it blind faith if you will. There isn’t a doubt in my mind, or in my heart, that he will be exactly where I need him to be, by my side, as I will be by his until the day I breathe my last. And the one thing I am utterly and completely confident of is that Grayson will not break my heart.”
“That’s . . .” Delilah hesitated. It was hard not to envy her older sister for having found the very thing that Delilah wished to avoid. But Camille was absolutely right. Love and trust did go hand in hand. One could not have one without the other. Delilah wasn’t sure she could trust anyone enough to allow herself to love him. She had trusted Phillip after all. “That’s remarkable and quite wonderful.”
“I know,” Camille said with a smug smile then sobered. “It’s not just words, you understand. It’s how I feel. Grayson would never hurt me.” She hesitated. “Love, Delilah, is much more important than anything else.”
“And much harder to find.”
Camille grinned. “But half the fun is finding it.”
Delilah laughed. “I’ll give you that.”
“It’s magic, Delilah. Simply magic.”
“I’ve never been one for magic. I’m entirely too practical.” Still, hadn’t the thought of magic already occurred to her? “But it is something to consider, I suppose.”
“Have you changed your mind then?” Camille’s brow rose. “Have I given you something to think about?”
“Not really.” She shrugged. “But you’ve been ill and I thought I would humor you.”
“I would just hate for you to miss something that might be everything you’ve ever wanted.”
“I have every intention of getting everything I want.” She cast her sister an affectionate smile, picked up Teddy’s notebook, and started for the door. “So you needn’t bother worrying about me.”
“I believe worrying about my younger sister is part and parcel of being a better sister.”
“And it’s most appreciated.” Genuine affection for Camille washed through her. Who would have imagined a year ago that she and Camille and Beryl would truly become sisters?
“I will give you this,” Delilah said. “It was recently pointed out to me that an intelligent woman does not close her mind to possibilities.”
“You’re not talking about love though, are you?”
“No, but as an intelligent woman I am willing to admit I may, on occasion, have been too hasty in my convictions. Therefore, Camille, in the interest of being open-minded . . .” She grinned. “I am about to take my first ride in a horseless carriage.”
Sam stood in the drive by the carriage house studying his motorwagon and going over a checklist in his head. He was no engineer but he knew nearly as much about the vehicle as Jim did. When he’d checked on Jim yesterday, he had the motorwagon sputtering but it hadn’t actually run. This morning, however, Jim had managed to get it going. He and Sam had spent the last few hours checking and double-checking the machine’s parts. They’d driven the vehicle up and down the drive in a halting fashion with Jim muttering about incomprehensible connections and damned foreigners and stopping every few feet to make adjustments. Until at last, with a satisfied grin, Jim had pronounced it fit. Sam had sent him back to the village for more fuel but there was enough left in the small tank for a decent ride. If, of course, his passenger would ever make an appearance.
Sam grinned. Delilah could deny it all she wanted, but she was weakening. Definitely about the motorwagon and certainly about never seeing him again. After all, they were friends now even if he wasn’t sure friendship was enough. She was without a doubt the most confusing woman he’d ever met although perhaps much of his confusion was in his own mind. Or possibly his heart. One minute he wanted to take her over his knee and thrash her and the next he had to resist taking her into his arms and never letting her go.
Adding to his confusion was the simple fact that he liked her. He genuinely liked her. His gaze wandered along the intricate gears and belts and mechanicals of the motorwagon. He couldn’t recall ever simply liking a woman before. Surely he had liked Lenore but, in hindsight, maybe not. At least not in the same way he liked Delilah. Lenore had never shared confidences with him as Delilah had. They’d never had a quiet evening of chess and conversation. They’d never simply enjoyed one another’s company. Of course, she’d never argued with him either, which now struck him as odd.
Lenore was an intelligent woman. And as much as he liked to think he was always right, in truth he wasn’t. No one was right all the time, not even him. But Lenore had never argued or questioned, although she did seem to get whatever she wanted. She had been, in very many ways, simply perfect. Good Lord. If one looked at it in the right way, couldn’t one say he had been ready to marry her for many of the same reasons Delilah intended to marry?
Was he in love with Delilah? He bent down and checked the gear chain tension. As complicated as the vehicle was, it was child’s play in comparison to that question. This wasn’t the first time the idea of love had raised its disturbing head. He had wondered right from the beginning although, as much as Delilah claimed he was a romantic sort, he was not so foolish as to believe in something as absurd as love at first sight. Still, he hadn’t been able to get her out of his thoughts since the moment they’d met. Which did seem to indicate something even if he had no idea what. Was it nothing at all? Or was it magic?
Nor did he have any idea of her feelings for him, if indeed she had any feelings at all. One minute she was flirtatious and seductive, the next cool and distant. She’d been quite explicit about there not being any additional adventures between them. And as much as he wasn’t sure he believed that was what she wanted—the night they stayed in London being a case in point—it did seem a good idea to abide by her decision. At least for now. But God help him, it was becoming more and more difficult. Was this the end result of being friends with a woman? Or, more likely, being friends with this one particular woman.
That it had not been easy for Sam and Delilah to get to this point only made it more significant. Perhaps friendship between a man and a woman was the beginning of trust, and who knew where that might lead?
“Are you willing it to start simply by staring at it?” an amused voice said behind him.
“I am invoking the gods of progress and forward thinking.” He grinned and turned toward her.
“You’d best hope they’re not armed with thunderbolts and lightning,” Delilah said wryly.
“Ah, but my gods are wise and beneficent.” He bowed in an overly dramatic manner. “Even to those who do not believe.”
“I am here, aren’t I?” She cast a skeptical look at the motorwagon. “Taking my life in my hands no doubt.”
“Your life is as safe as if you were lying in your own bed.”
“My, yes.” She circled the vehicle. “That is safe.”
“Not by my choice,” he said without thinking.
She stopped on the other side of the motorwagon. “You have been a perfect gentleman these past few nights.”
He sighed. “Yes, I know.”
“Why?”
He stared in surprise. “Because that’s what you said you wanted.”
“Then your restraint is appreciated,” she murmured. Once again, he had no idea what was going on in that lovely head of hers. Did she?
“Your carriage awaits, my lady.” He waved his arm in a grand gesture.
She hesitated, studying the vehicle with more than a little apprehension.
He stifled a grin. “Scared?”
“Prudent,” she said, her gaze still locked on the motorwagon. “Cautious, if you will, and not so foolish as to blindly risk my life.” She looked at him. “Is it very fast?”
“Nine or ten miles an hour I think.” He shrugged in an offhand manner. “Not much faster than a trotting horse.”
“Well then I would think a horse—”
“But much more reliable. Or at least it will be one day.”
“Maybe I should wait until then,” she said weakly.
He studied her curiously. “You really are concerned about this, aren’t you?”
“Wary is perhaps a better word than concerned.”
“I’ve ridden in it any number of times and lived to tell the tale.” He cast her a confident smile. “It’s really quite safe.” Now was not the time to mention the lingering problems with the steering mechanism. “Why don’t I demonstrate it for you?”
“Would you?”
“Absolutely.” He nodded. “And once I’ve shown you how very safe and enjoyable the motorwagon is, you can join me.” He stepped to the back of the vehicle. “That will give you a few minutes to work up your courage unless you’ve changed your mind.”
“I said I would ride in it and I will.” Her eyes narrowed. “And courage has nothing to do with it. I’m simply being—”
“Cautious, wary, prudent? You said all that.” He grabbed the flywheel and spun it. The motor sputtered but did not catch.
“There’s nothing wrong with being cautious you know. It’s really quite sensible.”
He spun the flywheel again. Again the motor failed to catch. “I’d wager you weren’t especially cautious the first time you put a phone to your ear.”
“That’s an entirely different matter,” she said in a lofty manner. “Besides, while the queen herself has a telephone I suspect she would never step foot in something like that . . . that contraption.”
“Fortunately, she is not the one who has agreed to do so. You are.” It routinely took three or more tries to get the motor running but this certainly wasn’t helping his case. He gritted his teeth and tried again.
“I daresay, we’d be on our way by now if that was a horse,” she said pleasantly.
“Well, it’s not a horse,” he said through clenched teeth. “It’s better than a horse.” He spun the flywheel again.
“And anything this new and this remarkable”—the motor coughed—“is bound to have a few minor problems”—and sputtered—“nothing to be concerned about”—and finally caught. He cast her a triumphant smile. “As I said, nothing to be concerned about at all.”
“It’s very loud.” Her voice rose over the sound of the engine. Sam would never admit it to her, but it was hard to hear over the noisy chugging of the motor.
“A minor problem that will be resolved eventually.” He climbed into the motorwagon and settled on one side of the leather bench. He grinned at her. “Are you ready?”
“The real question is, are you?” She cast the vehicle another skeptical look then stepped back. “Do be careful.”
“I’ve driven it before, Dee.” He nodded in a reassuring manner then turned his attention to the vehicle. He gripped the brake handle with one hand and the steering lever with the other. It did need to be finessed a bit. He turned the knob that fed the fuel to the engine, slowly released the brake, and then was moving off down the drive. He looked back at her and waved.
She tentatively waved back but the expression on her face was more intrigued than concerned.
He circled around her on the broad drive and she laughed.
“I told you it was safe,” he called.
“All right then, Sam,” she called back. “You convinced me. I’ll try it.”
“Good.” He turned the steering lever but it was unaccountably stiff and difficult to move. Before he could correct for the problem, the motorwagon lurched off the drive and was picking up speed on a slight downhill slope, a slope he hadn’t even noticed. The machine was moving faster and faster. Damnation. This would certainly not impress her. He jerked the brake handle at the same moment the front wheel dropped into a hidden hole and the vehicle pitched forward, throwing him into the air.
Dimly he heard a scream and the moment before he hit the ground the oddest thoughts flashed through his mind:
What a terrible waste never holding her again would be.
And the blasted woman was going to think she was right all along.