The Scandalous Adventures of the Sister of the Bride

by Victoria Alexander

  Dee, a goddess concealed by the barest whisper of a blush-colored chemise.

  Delilah, Sampson’s downfall.

  It was going to be a long night.

  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?”

  S
he 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 le
ss 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.”