Delilah’s stomach dropped. This was it. It was time for Lucy to introduce her to the Duke of Branville, and for Thomas to try his hand at distracting Lady Emmaline. For some reason, Delilah wasn’t looking forward to either thing. She glanced over at the gorgeous blonde and muttered to herself, “She’s everything I’m not.”
“Meaning?” Thomas prompted.
Delilah scowled. “Tall, blond, beautiful, accomplished.”
“You may not be tall or blond,” Lucy conceded, “but you are beautiful and accomplished.”
Delilah eyed her friend. “No, I’m not. I’m cute, at best, and decidedly unaccomplished.”
“It depends on what you consider an accomplishment,” Thomas said with a snort of laughter.
“You know precisely what I mean,” Delilah retorted. “I cannot play the pianoforte unless I wish to give offense, I cannot embroider, and I certainly cannot sing.” She shuddered.
“How do you know Lady Emmaline can do any of those things?” Thomas asked.
“Look at her.” Delilah nodded in Lady Emmaline’s direction. “She just looks as if she can.”
Thomas laughed. At least she could still make her friend laugh.
“It doesn’t matter how accomplished she is,” Lucy interjected. “Remember what I said about focusing on the positive, dear. We merely need Branville to see your desirable characteristics.”
“Which are?” Skepticism nearly dripped from the look Delilah gave her friend.
“Intelligence, humor, good-natured robustness,” Lucy responded.
Delilah fanned herself again and managed to hit herself in the nose, making her blink. “Robustness is a nice way of saying I’m loud. And I just hit myself with my own fan. I’m the opposite of graceful.”
“No, robustness is not a nice way of saying you’re loud,” Lucy replied. “And if you hit yourself with your fan again, you must not mention it. Pretend as if nothing happened.”
Good advice.
“Besides,” Lucy continued, “Lady Emmaline may be beautiful, but she doesn’t have your pluck. And pluck counts for a great deal in this world, dear.”
“I agree,” Thomas declared loyally.
Delilah snapped her fan shut and shoved it into her reticule. Better not to have the thing at all than worry about slapping herself with it while addressing Branville. “I hope you’re right because pluck is about all I have in my favor at the moment.”
“Pluck and a large dowry, dear,” Lucy replied with a wink. “And that never hurts.”
A footman walked past carrying a tray of champagne flutes. Lucy took one and Thomas took two. He handed one to Delilah.
“What’s this for?” she asked, blinking at him.
“To drink, of course,” he replied. “And calm your nerves.”
She squinted at him. “How can you tell that I’m nervous?”
“I’ve seen you do many things before, but hitting yourself in the nose with your fan isn’t one of them.”
Delilah whimpered and took a long, fortifying sip from the flute. “I’m going to make a complete fool of myself, aren’t I?”
“Not at all,” Lucy replied. “Though it may be a good idea to finish the glass of champagne, dear, before I introduce you.”
Thomas turned to look about the room. “Where is Branville?”
“He’s over there.” Lucy pointed with her fan once again. “He’s been surrounded by young ladies and their mamas all evening. I’ve been waiting for a break in the crowd.”
“Yes, well, don’t wait too long. One of those young ladies and their mamas might cart him off right under your nose,” Thomas said, grinning.
Delilah didn’t look at him. Instead, she concentrated on draining her glass. “Shut up,” she told him belatedly, pressing her empty glass against his shirtfront. “I am attempting to become engaged.”
Lucy snapped her fan shut and lifted her skirts. “I’m afraid Thomas is right, dear. We might as well go make our introductions. The crowd around Branville is not likely to thin.”
“Wait,” Delilah said, stopping, nearly in a panic. “My mind has gone blank. What should I speak to him about?”
“How about the play?” Thomas gamely offered.
“Oh, yes,” Lucy interjected, a twinkle in her eye, “better yet, let’s invite him to join us. He can play Hermia’s father. We still haven’t filled that role. What better way to keep you in his company for the remainder of the Season? What an excellent idea, Thomas. Thank you. Let’s go, dear.”
Feeling a slight surge of courage due to the lovely glass of champagne, Delilah also lifted her skirts. She glanced at Thomas. “Wish me luck.”
* * *
Thomas shook his head as he watched Delilah follow Lucy into the crowd. The Duke of Branville did indeed have a large group of women hovering around him. Half were lovely young ladies who’d recently made their debuts, and the other half were their obviously hopeful mamas.
Branville had made his intentions clear that he was looking for a bride this Season. If Thomas had made a similar declaration, no doubt he’d be surrounded by ladies and their mamas as well. Was that what it would take to get Delilah to notice him as more than a friend? He shuddered. Encouraging a crowd of marriage-minded misses was hardly something he relished. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. He’d briefly entertained the idea of spending time with Lady Emmaline. After all, doing so also might serve to make Delilah look twice at him. But he discarded that notion for three reasons. First, it didn’t sit well with him to flirt with a woman he had no intention of courting. Second, if he occupied Lady Emmaline’s time, she wouldn’t be there to compete with Delilah for Branville. Third, and perhaps the most unsettling, Delilah had seemed nothing but pleased by the notion of Thomas distracting her rival while she moved in on Branville, so it hardly stood to make her jealous.
Thomas glanced across the crowded ballroom. He could kick himself for bringing up the play. Now Lucy intended to invite Branville to join them. Thomas’s gaze fell on Lady Emmaline. He had to admit, she did look as if she was probably accomplished in all of the things Delilah had mentioned earlier. She was indeed tall, blond, and beautiful, but she didn’t have a hint of a smile on her face, he noted with disappointment. Delilah, on the other hand, possessed an infectious love of life. Being in a room with Delilah was like sucking down a mouthful of champagne. She was bubbly and delightful, and she always had a kind word for everyone and a laugh on her lips. Lady Emmaline looked … disapproving. Humorless. No doubt she would be perfect for Branville.
Thomas handed his half-finished champagne glass to the next footman who passed by, and took a deep breath. He needed to prove his eligibility tonight. He might as well get started. In the meantime, he intended to do whatever he could to push Emmaline and Branville together.
CHAPTER NINE
“Your Grace,” Lucy exclaimed as she and Delilah made their way into the center of the Duke of Branville’s social set. Delilah practically had to elbow the young ladies out of the way to get anywhere near the man. She could kick herself for the hundredth time for promising her Mother she would secure an offer from the most popular bachelor of the Season. But there was no use for further recriminations at the moment. She’d made up her mind, and she was nothing if not determined.
The duke looked up and smiled the moment he saw Lucy. Ooh, he was handsome, with close-cropped blond hair and bright blue eyes. Not to mention the absolutely adorable dimple that appeared in his cheek when he smiled. His teeth were good too. That was promising.
“Your Grace,” he replied in kind to Lucy, executing a perfect bow. Very well. In addition to being handsome, the man was also charming. It was obvious why he’d gathered such a crowd. Of course, the fact that he was a duke purportedly looking for a wife didn’t diminish his appeal. Now that she’d seen him up close, Delilah honestly couldn’t understand why his crowd wasn’t twice as large.
Lucy wasted no time. She pulled Delilah out from behind her with a solid jerk. “There’s someon
e I would like you to meet.”
Delilah gulped and did what she could to still the pounding of her heart as Lucy pushed her toward the duke. “This is Lady Delilah Montebank, the late Earl of Montford’s daughter.”
“Lady Delilah,” the duke said smoothly, bowing over her hand. She sniffed at his head when he did so. He smelled good and his cravat was not askew in the least. No doubt he had a perfectly trained valet. She shook her head. She needed to concentrate on impressing the man, not worrying about the state of his valet’s training.
“Enchanté,” she said, curtsying, before immediately regretting two things. First, she realized that enchanté was something he should have said to her. Second, her curtsy had been far too enthusiastic. She’d lowered herself farther than she’d intended to, which resulted in her getting stuck in the curtsying position. She could not pull her left foot from behind her and right herself. Adding to her misery, she was in imminent danger of tipping over.
She remained crouched in that awkward position, her face heating, until Lucy glanced over. The duchess must have recognized her distress because she casually moved to Delilah’s side, grasped her around the waist, and hoisted her up as elegantly as she possibly could, which wasn’t elegant at all. It worked, however, and Delilah sprang back into place, hoping Branville hadn’t noticed the awkwardness … much.
Never one to allow much silence, she said far too loudly, “J’adore a ball, Your Grace. Ne pas vous?”
The hint of a smile passed over the duke’s fine features. “Yes, I, um, too, enjoy such parties.”
Delilah twirled her hand in the air. “J’adore les fêtes, les boissons, et les écureuils.” She tended to rattle off poor French when she was nervous.
The other ladies surrounding the duke tittered with laughter.
Lucy grabbed Delilah’s elbow, which thankfully served to stop her stream of French. The duchess leaned over and quickly whispered, “You just said you love parties, drinks, and squirrels, dear.”
Delilah’s heart thundered. “I know,” she whispered back, through tightly clenched teeth, doing her best to keep the smile on her face for the duke’s sake. “I was trying to impress him, but I’m so nervous I could vomit. Please say something more nonsensical to make what I just said less so.”
Lucy waded into the silence. She began by clearing her throat. “Lady Delilah and I, along with a set of our friends, are performing a play for charity. We hoped you might like to join us, Your Grace.”
Branville’s bright eyes widened slightly. “For charity, you say?”
Lucy nodded. “Yes, it’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and all the profits will go to the Royal Society for the Humane Treatment of Animals.”
“Ah, a charity near my own heart,” Branville replied, inclining his head to both of them. “I do love animals.”
“J’adore aussi les animaux,” Delilah continued before Lucy pinched her on the back of the arm. She squelched her ouch.
“Yes,” the duke replied. “You mentioned that. Squirrels in particular, correct?”
The other ladies laughed again. Delilah’s face heated. Why had she mentioned squirrels? Why squirrels? She could have easily mentioned dogs or cats or even parrots without sounding too mad. Squirrels, however, introduced an undeniable element of madness.
Soon the other ladies in the flock began murmuring about how much they also adored animals, and Delilah nearly swooned with relief. No one mentioned squirrels, of course, but the talk served to distract the duke until Lucy cleared her throat again.
“Our next rehearsal is tomorrow night at my husband’s town house,” she said to the duke. “I hope you’ll join us. Eight o’clock?”
“I’d love to,” Branville said, inclining his head and smiling. There was that diverting dimple again.
The next thing Delilah knew, she was nearly bowled over as the flock swarmed Lucy in their attempts to gain entrée to the rehearsal as well. Clearly they were all willing to do anything to spend more time with the duke. Lucy spent the better part of the next quarter hour patiently turning down offers to play any remaining female role in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. One young lady even went so far as to offer her services as a reserve fairy, which apparently was a fairy who learns all of the lines in case one of the other fairies couldn’t perform for some reason.
“You’re all more than welcome to purchase tickets to the event to see the duke perform in the play,” Lucy, ever the diligent saleswoman, informed them all with a huge smile. “Go see Lady Rothwell at the Royal Society. She has all the details. I understand nearly all the tickets have been sold, however, so don’t linger.”
Delilah feared the crowd of women would turn en masse and rush out of the ballroom and down to the offices of the Royal Society to break in the doors.
“You’d do well to warn Lady Rothwell of the flood that is certain to come her way,” she whispered with a laugh, just after Lucy had made their excuses and pulled Delilah away from Branville’s crowd.
“I will,” Lucy said with a smile and a wink. “I’ll also suggest that she ask them all to make a donation even if they cannot purchase a ticket. Inviting Branville to join the cast has got to be the best idea we’ve had all Season. Thomas is brilliant. Not only will it serve to allow Branville to have more time with you, we’re certain to sell the remainder of the tickets in a matter of hours.”
Delilah shook her head. Lucy was nothing if not one to take advantage of an opportunity. “I suppose that’s one way to look at it. All I could do was worry about how much competition I obviously have.”
“Pish posh,” Lucy said, as the two of them made their way back to the middle of the ballroom. “Competition never hurt anyone. I’m convinced it makes me perform at my best. Now, how did you find the duke?”
Delilah bit her lip. “He’s ever so handsome, and entirely charming.” And if his comment about adoring animals was true, he was probably kind, as well. That boded well. He already met at least two of the criteria on her list.
“He is, isn’t he?” Lucy said with a sigh. “And it was quite nice of him to agree to be a part of the play.”
“It was,” Delilah agreed. “I only hope he doesn’t think I’m a complete ninny for my less-than-elegant curtsy and my comment about squirrels.”
“Nonsense,” Lucy replied. “You made yourself memorable, which is important in a crowd that size. Besides, you mentioned the squirrel in French, and as you always say, everything sounds better in French.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Delilah replied, “but the squirrel comment may be too memorable. I barely got a chance to say anything else to him.”
Lucy clucked her tongue. “Ah, ah, ah. You’re forgetting the second rule of matchmaking: Never overstay your visit. It leaves him wanting more.”
Delilah nodded. That sounded good, but she wasn’t certain Branville would want more of inelegant curtsies and inane comments about squirrels, whether spoken in French or English. Lucy was eternally confident, however, and Delilah did her best to mimic that emotion.
“Now,” Lucy continued, grabbing a flute of champagne off the tray of a passing footman and spinning in a circle. “I shall keep my eye on Branville to see if he glances at you, while you pretend as if you’ve forgotten all about him and go have fun. Dance with as many eligible gentlemen as you can.”
Delilah glanced around. Normally at such events, when forced to find a dancing partner, she looked for one man. “Where’s Thomas?” she asked, turning in a wide circle in search of her friend.
“He’s over there, dear.” Lucy motioned with her chin while lifting the champagne glass to her lips. “I’m off to find my husband. I expect to see you dancing within minutes.”
Delilah barely heard Lucy’s last words as the duchess floated off in search of Derek. Instead, Delilah’s gaze was trained on the crowd that she’d just realized Thomas was standing in the center of. Admittedly, his crowd was not the size of the Duke of Branville’s, but a crowd of any size was something new for Thomas.<
br />
Delilah stood there, dumbfounded, watching him smile and laugh in the middle of a group of ladies. She cocked her head to the side as if she were a puppy trying intently to understand something her master was saying. A flash of something that felt suspiciously, unexpectedly, and unhappily like … jealousy shot through her chest. She tried to shake it away. She would find another gentleman with whom to dance. It wouldn’t be such a chore, would it? At any rate, she refused to fight a crowd for Thomas’s time. Besides, the debutantes surrounding him were silly. They were wasting their time trying to flirt with Thomas. He’d already told her he wasn’t interested in a finding a match this Season. Hadn’t he?
She shook her head, forcing herself to look away and find another group of people to talk to. Relief flooded her when she spied Cousin Daphne and her husband, Rafe, standing near the refreshment table. Delilah lifted her skirts and was about to take off toward them when her friend Lady Rebecca Abernathy sauntered up to her.
“There you are, Delilah,” Rebecca said, a wide smile on her face. “I saw you speaking to the Duke of Branville a few minutes ago.”
Lady Rebecca was pretty, with brown hair and light green eyes and a figure most of the town’s debutantes would die for, Delilah notwithstanding. She’d always liked Rebecca.
“Yes, the duke seems quite nice,” Delilah said, eyeing Rebecca with suspicion. Why was Rebecca asking about Branville? Mon Dieu. She didn’t need any additional competition for him.
“Handsome too,” Rebecca added, swinging her hips back and forth.
Delilah narrowed her eyes on the woman. “He’s the most eligible bachelor of the Season for a reason.”
Rebecca blinked. Then she shook her head. “The Duke of Branville isn’t the most eligible bachelor this Season.”
Delilah frowned at her. She liked Rebecca, but the woman was obviously a few pence shy of a pound. “What do you mean? Of course he is.”
A sly smile popped to Rebecca’s full lips. “No, he’s the second most eligible bachelor. The real catch of the Season is the Duke of Huntley.”
No Other Duke But You--A Playful Brides Novel Page 7