The Scandalous Adventures of the Sister of the Bride

by Victoria Alexander

  “But you’re certain she didn’t know the truth about her husband?” Sam hesitated. These were uncharted waters for him. “About his . . . preferences?”

  “How did I come up with that term?” Tate cast Sam a wry smile. “It will do as good as any, and better than most I suppose. No, as I have already said, I am sure she never knew. If she had, she wouldn’t have . . .”

  “Wouldn’t have what?”

  “I’ve never told anyone any of this.” He grimaced. “I have probably said entirely too much already.”

  Sam studied the other man closely. “Why have you told me anything at all?”

  “As I said, I only heard of Delilah’s difficulties a few days ago. Since then I have been debating how best to reveal this information without going directly to Delilah. I would prefer not to be involved.” He shook his head. “I have no desire to unduly upset her. Coming from me, this information would only bring up more questions. The situation is no doubt trying enough as it is. To find out Phillip lied to her about his ability to have children—admittedly it was by omission but a lie nonetheless—would not help anyone now. There’s no need for her to know that or any of the rest.”

  “Why not go to one of her sisters?”

  “I don’t know either of her sisters past a nodding acquaintance. It’s my understanding that Lady Lydingham is residing in the country at the moment. As for her other sister . . .” A pained expression crossed his face. “Have you met Lady Dunwell?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I only know her by reputation, not as sterling as one might hope,” he said in a wry manner. “Phillip had an innate distrust of her but then admittedly Delilah rarely saw her sisters. Besides Lord Dunwell is actively engaged in politics.” He shuddered as if the very word was distasteful.

  “You could have sent the information anonymously to her solicitors.”

  “I considered that and might well have taken that step eventually. But anonymous information is often discredited unless delivered by a creditable messenger.”

  “Me?”

  Tate nodded.

  “I still don’t see—”

  “One seizes opportunity when it presents itself, Mr. Russell. You are an opportunity that I do not intend to squander. As a man of business I am certain you understand that.”

  “Yes, of course but—”

  “Delilah brought you here, which indicates she thinks very highly of you. She would not have done so otherwise.”

  “Perhaps.” Sam nodded slowly. He hadn’t quite thought of it that way but it was a nice idea.

  “That said, I suspect you have earned her trust as well.” Tate pinned Sam with a hard look. “And you now have mine.”

  “So you’re asking me to lie to her?”

  “Not at all. I am simply entrusting you with the means to ensure she receives everything she should. Everything that is rightfully hers. It’s up to you to decide when or if she receives this information. I would suggest, however, that you might wait until this matter is resolved and in the past before you tell her everything.”

  Sam stared at him for a long moment. The man was right. There was no need for Delilah to know this. Any of it. At least, not at the moment. He ignored the thought that, regardless of how Tate chose to phrase it, Sam would indeed be lying to her.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Nothing especially difficult. Simply contact Delilah’s solicitor and give him this information.” Tate stood and moved to the large desk. “This will only take a moment.” He sat down, selected a piece of paper, and threw Sam a quick glance. “Do pour yourself a brandy, Mr. Russell. My apologies for not offering earlier.”

  “Thank you.” Sam spotted a decanter and a tray of glasses on the library table and headed toward it. He poured a glass and took a much-appreciated sip. When Delilah had offered to introduce him to her late husband’s friend and partner, he had hoped for a bit of insight, perhaps some advice or suggestions. He certainly hadn’t expected to have Delilah’s fate put in his hands.

  “This is the name and address of Delilah’s solicitor as well as the name and address of the doctor Phillip regularly consulted here in London. That too he kept secret from her.”

  “He had a lot of secrets,” Sam said under his breath.

  “Don’t we all in one way or another, Mr. Russell.” Tate finished writing, slipped the page into an envelope, then stood and joined Sam. “I shall send a note round to the doctor in the morning, instructing him in my capacity as Lord Hargate’s executor, to confide Phillip’s condition to Delilah’s solicitor upon request.”

  He accepted the envelope from the older man and slipped it into his breast coat pocket. “So I’m simply to instruct Lady Hargate’s solicitor to contact the doctor?”

  “Discreetly of course.” Tate nodded. “But yes, that should do it.”

  “How should I say I came by this information?”

  “Come now, Mr. Russell, you’re an intelligent man. I daresay you can come up with something plausible.” Tate poured a glass of brandy. “I know it seems silly to you, my desire to keep my distance. As much as I feel obligated to assist Delilah, Phillip would expect no less, I have my own life to be concerned with.”

  “She is following his advice.” Sam sipped his brandy. “She is looking for a new husband.”

  “Good.” Tate nodded. “I wish her nothing but happiness. I was married once, years ago. Lovely woman. She died entirely too young.” He paused. “I owe it to Phillip and to Delilah as well to help her. I’d marry her myself but she’d never have me.”

  “Nor is she your preference?” Sam said slowly.

  “I’m afraid Phillip was the great love of my life. I only hope he wasn’t the great love of hers.” Tate sipped his brandy thoughtfully and said nothing for a few moments. “Love was not expected to enter into their marriage, you see. Oh, Phillip felt a certain measure of affection for her but he never anticipated that she would fall in love with him. He feared he had broken her heart. He felt dreadful about it.”

  Sam’s heart twisted for her. “But not dreadful enough?”

  Tate’s gaze met his. “No.” He shrugged. “As I said before, life is not fair. And matters of the heart are often the most unfair of all.”

  And didn’t Sam know that from experience? “True enough.”

  “I don’t know why I have told you all this. Although I suppose if I am asking you to help her, you deserve to know everything.” He blew a long breath. “Now that that is settled, let us go back to consideration of your motorwagon. It seems to me the best way to reach our upper ten-thousand . . .”

  Tate continued with a few further suggestions but Sam was hard-pressed to put these new revelations about Delilah out of his mind. Not simply the information about her husband, interesting though it was, but Tate’s revelations put Delilah’s comments about love with regard to marriage in an entirely new light. It made perfect sense that she was not interested in love when love had failed her before.

  A knock sounded at the door and the butler entered at once. “I beg your pardon, sir, but I thought perhaps Lady Hargate might like some refreshment.”

  “Lady Hargate hasn’t returned yet,” Tate said with a quizzical frown.

  “My apologies, sir, but she returned some time ago.” The butler paused. “She said she was joining you.”

  Tate and Sam exchanged glances.

  “I see,” Tate said slowly. “That will be all, Bender.”

  “Yes, sir.” The butler nodded and took his leave.

  Tate waited until the door closed behind the servant. “Do you think she heard us?”

  “If she hadn’t, she would have come in.” Sam downed the rest of his brandy and set the glass on the table.

  “Good Lord, I didn’t want her to know any of this.” Tate rubbed a weary hand over his forehead. “Now what?”

  “Now, I have to find her.” Urgency sharpened his tone. Sam considered the other man. “You know her better than I; where do you think she wo
uld go?”

  “I have no idea.” His gaze met Sam’s. “Do you think she heard all of it?”

  “I suspect she heard enough,” Sam said. Tate was right. Delilah would be devastated. How could she not be?

  “We can only hope she didn’t hear everything I suppose.”

  “If she didn’t, she’s either going to guess the rest or she’ll be back to demand answers. The problem, Mr. Tate, with secrets of this magnitude, is that their revelation is often worse than the secret itself.” He shook his head slowly. “The betrayal is in the not knowing.”

  Tate heaved a heartfelt sigh. “You’re right of course.”

  “A more pressing question at the moment isn’t so much what she heard.” Sam’s tone hardened. “The question is, where is she now?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sam tore up the steps to Delilah’s front door. The sun was already setting and if she wasn’t here he had no idea where to find her. He debated whether to pound on the door or ring the bell or just try to get in. The house was closed so there wouldn’t be servants to answer the bell and Delilah might well ignore the door.

  A crash sounded from somewhere inside just as he reached the door and urgency made the decision for him. He tried the door, found it unlocked, pushed it open, and strode into the spacious foyer. Her mantle had been dropped in a heap on an upholstered bench against the wall, her hat and the bag she had carried carelessly thrown on top. He tossed his hat aside to join hers and looked around. On one side of the foyer, a door was opened to a dining room. A second door—

  Another crash rang out. He sprinted up a broad stairway, following the sound to the next floor and a parlor to the right. The furniture was shrouded in yards of fabric sheeting, the room itself shadowed and dim in spite of two lit gas lamps. Delilah stood by an open glass-front cabinet, a porcelain box in her hand. Similar boxes sat on the shelves in front of her. A rumpled pile of sheeting that had probably covered the cabinet had been tossed to one side. The remains of another box were scattered at her feet.

  “Dee?”

  She glanced at him, her brow furrowed. “Don’t you have any manners? Surely even in America it’s customary to knock before barging into someone’s house.”

  “My apologies,” he said cautiously and stepped farther into the room. She appeared remarkably calm. “I heard a crash and thought you might need help.”

  “Well, I don’t.” She studied the box in her hand. “I’m doing quite well by myself, thank you.”

  Entirely too calm. “What is that?”

  “Phillip had a collection of antique porcelain snuffboxes. He was very fond of them.” She hefted the box in her hand.

  “I see.” He wasn’t sure exactly what he expected; the woman had sustained quite a shock after all. But calm, even serene, was definitely not it.

  “Unfortunately, I seem to have broken one.” She held the box at arm’s length and released it. It shattered at her feet. She didn’t so much as flinch. “Or two.”

  He glanced around the room. Shards of broken porcelain were on the floor by the fireplace, as well as by the far wall. “Or four?”

  “Five I think.” Her tone hardened and she reached for another box. “Thus far.”

  “They’re very valuable, aren’t they?” He’d certainly seen her lose her temper before but this was different. This was more than a little frightening.

  “They were to him.”

  He cautiously moved closer to her. “Do you think this is a good idea?”

  “What?” She stared at him. “This you mean?” She flung the box in her hand toward the fireplace. It hit the mantel and exploded into pieces. “Probably not.” She drew a deep breath. “But it is most satisfying.”

  “Still, it doesn’t do any good, does it?”

  “Not in the scheme of things, I suppose.” She selected another box. “But, oddly enough, with each one I shatter, I feel better.”

  The boxes were her property after all. If she wished to destroy them, she had that right. He shrugged. “Well then continue.”

  “I intend to.” She cast him a wry glance. “But thank you for your permission.”

  “You don’t need my permission although it does seem a shame.”

  “Because they’re so lovely?” She looked at the one in her hand with contempt. “The craftsmanship so exquisite? The colors so vivid?”

  “No, because I imagine they’re worth a lot. You could sell them and use the proceeds for something completely frivolous and totally impractical.”

  “And yet I am enjoying this thoroughly.”

  “Ah well then.” He gestured toward the collection. “Proceed.”

  “Besides, if I were to sell them, they’d no doubt go to someone who would love and cherish them. They’ve been loved quite enough.” She hurled the box with a vengeance. It flew past him entirely too close to his head and he jerked to the side. The delicate porcelain shattered on the wall behind him. Fortunately, her aim was excellent.

  “I see your point. However, if you are going to continue to do that, allow me to get out of your way.” He pulled the dustcover off a sofa and sank into it. “Now, go on.”

  She stared at him. “You’re really not going to stop me?”

  He shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

  “Good.” She turned back to the cabinet and considered the rows of remaining boxes. “Camille gave me the name of an investigator. I think the wisest course would be to give him the information Julian gave you and allow him to bring it to my solicitors.”

  Sam winced. “You heard it all then, didn’t you?”

  “I left at the point at which Julian said how very dreadful Phillip felt that he had broken my heart.” She paused for a long moment. “Did I miss anything after that?”

  “No.”

  “If I hadn’t heard what Julian confided in you . . .” She looked at him. “Would you have told me?”

  Now was not the time for games. “I don’t know,” he said simply. “On one hand, you deserve to know the truth. It is your life after all. On the other, does it do you any good to know?”

  “I’m not sure I like your answer but it is honest. I’ll give you that.” She returned to her perusal of the boxes. “I married Phillip when I was eighteen. Aside from the obvious qualifications—”

  “Fortune and title?”

  She nodded. “Aside from those practicalities, he was handsome and dashing and charming. He was considered quite a catch. Julian was right, love was not expected. But I was young and not nearly as sensible as I am now. I suspect I was a little in love with him right from the beginning.” She picked up a claret-colored box, her hand trembling slightly, and stared at it. “We did get on well together. We were perfectly suited after all.” She cast him a hard look. “Aren’t you going to say anything about that?”

  “About how perfectly matched you were?” He shook his head. “Not a word.”

  “Very wise of you.” She shifted the box from hand to hand. “We enjoyed much the same things. Entertaining, attending parties, going to the theater, art, fine clothes and fine furnishings. He liked chess and we would spend long hours playing together. He was very good and, after a while, so was I.”

  “Did you let him win?”

  “No.”

  “Good, for a moment I thought I was talking to someone I’d never met.”

  “You’ll have to do better than that if you’re trying to annoy me.” The barest hint of a reluctant smile played over her lips. “I was probably expected to let him win being the proper, perfect wife that I was. The proper, perfect wife he had, oh, purchased for lack of a better word.” She threw the maroon box toward the fireplace to shatter and join the others. “Although that’s not quite fair, is it?”

  Sam wisely held his tongue.

  “Trade is probably a more accurate word than purchase. I received a title and a fortune and he received the wife who had been brought up to be exactly what was expected. But then that is marriage, isn’t it? It’s a practical arran
gement all in all. We both got exactly what we bargained for, really. For the most part.

  “It didn’t take me long to fall completely head over heels for him.” She met Sam’s gaze directly. “You have to understand, he was—”

  “Perfect?”

  “Yes. And all I had ever wanted. Or thought I wanted. Or had been trained to want.” Her expression tightened. “We had been married nearly two years when I finally told him of my feelings. I poured out my heart to him. I thought, foolishly as it turned out, that it was only his natural reserve that had kept him from declaring his love for me. Because surely something that intense and wonderful was meant to be shared.”

  She stared at the remaining boxes neatly displayed on the shelves but made no effort to take one. For a long time she said nothing, then she drew a deep breath. “He was surprised, of course. Really rather shocked. He’d had no idea of my feelings. While he expressed affection for me, indeed he said he was quite fond of me, he told me in a kind but firm manner he was flattered but love was not what he wished for in marriage. He said companionship and a shared stewardship of his family heritage was what he wanted from a wife. Aside from all those other sterling qualities of mine of course, that all well-bred young women are expected to have.”

  Sam had no idea what to say. But he did have an irrational desire to fling one of the snuffboxes himself.

  “I didn’t believe him. I thought he was simply set in his ways. He had never been married before after all. So I set out to make him love me.” She shook her head in disbelief. “I know, it sounds absurd.”