“Even though an event like this is a good entrée into society for you?”
“Especially then. If he didn’t like you, he’d have good reasons for that opinion, and he’d do all he could to keep me away from your influence. Both our parents are dead, you see, so we only have each other.”
“You have no other relations at all?”
“A few scattered cousins, but we hardly know them. So Simon feels his responsibility for me very keenly.”
Delia smiled. “You don’t have to tell me that. It’s plain as a pikestaff. When I mentioned to him last night that he’d need to bring you out, he looked as if I’d just asked him to jump off a cliff.”
“He worries that society won’t accept me.” She bit her lip. “I’m afraid that’s partly my fault. I rather cried on his shoulder about some things in my last letter.”
“He doesn’t want you to be snubbed and get hurt, which is perfectly understandable. And that is where I come in. Stick with me, my dear, and you’ll soon have more friends than you know what to do with. Now,” she added, putting her arm through the girl’s, “come with me, and I will introduce you to my other guests.”
She suited the action to the word, and before long, the four youngest members of the party were all seated together, chatting away like old friends as they waited for the performance to begin. But Delia had barely congratulated herself on finding Cassandra a group of suitable companions before Baroness Ferridale was standing by her side, making inquiries about England’s most recently elevated viscount.
“I’m told he’s exceedingly rich. Is that true?”
Delia saw the speculative gleam in the other woman’s eyes, and, given that the baroness’s very pretty daughter was about to be put on the marriage mart, that could only mean one thing. Delia froze, dismayed, her glass of champagne halfway to her lips.
“Delia?” the other woman prompted when she didn’t reply. “Are you all right?”
Delia recovered her wits with an effort. “Of course,” she lied.
“Well, then?” the baroness urged with a hint of impatience. “Is he rich or not?”
She gave the other woman her most innocent stare in return. “Heavens, Selina, I’ve no idea.”
“No? Really, Delia, I feel quite let down. You usually know these things.”
“In this case, I’m afraid I don’t,” she was happy to reply. “I’ve no idea what he’s worth.”
“When you invited me for this evening, you told me he’s quite a successful captain of industry,” Selina reminded her. “And that he’s terribly clever. So he must be rich, mustn’t he? And so handsome, too. Quite possibly the handsomest man in London. Don’t you think so?”
“His looks are all right, I suppose,” she countered with a shrug, almost wincing at such a palpable understatement.
“All right?” Selina echoed, laughing. “Is that all you can say? Really, dear, your eyesight must be going. It starts to happen at about your age, you know.”
That was a bridge too far. “For heaven’s sake, Selina, I’m only thirty-three!”
“Exactly.” With that last catty remark, the baroness moved to join her daughter and the others, leaving Delia to glare resentfully at her back. Thirty-three, she told herself, wasnotold.
“And they say eavesdroppers never hear good of themselves.”
Simon’s murmured voice behind her made her jump. “Goodness!” she gasped, turning around. “I didn’t know you were there.”
He grinned. “Your failing eyesight must be to blame.”
“Don’t you start,” she said, giving him a warning scowl.
“I’m just getting a bit of my own back. After all, you said I’m merely all right. Still, you did sing my praises to her this afternoon, so I suppose that’s some consolation.”
Delia mustered her dignity. “I was singing your praises for yoursister’s sake. It was necessary so that the baroness would come this evening and bring her daughter. I thought Miss Ferridale would be a good companion for her, since they’re coming out together.”
“Of course,” he said gravely, but there was a distinctly knowing glint in his eyes that made her decidedly uneasy. “Nonetheless,” he went on, “it’s gratifying to know the baroness considers me a handsome fellow, even if you don’t. But the crucial question, really, is what does her exceedingly pretty daughter think?”
Aghast, she stared at him. “It shouldn’t matter. You’re far too old for her.”
“Your ability to wound me knows no bounds, it seems. But my masculine pride demands that I point out you’re only three years younger than I am. As for Miss Ferridale…” He paused to study the girl on the other side of the box as he took a sip of his champagne, seeming to actually consider the question of becoming her suitor. “A baron’s daughter… quite pretty. I daresay I’d be a lucky man.”
