What a Lady Most Desires

by Lecia Cornwall

  “I have the vowel Lady Delphine refers to,” Nicholas said, and presented the bloodstained note to Fairlie. “It is made out to Major Lord Ives, and signed by Captain Lord Rothdale.”

  The colonel’s eyes popped. “This is for a considerable sum. Was it paid?”

  “No, my lord,” Stephen said. “The vowel was missing from my tunic after the battle.”

  Major Hastings checked his lists again. “There are several other vowels reported among the stolen items, all of them signed by—” He looked up at Durling in surprise. “Captain Lord Rothdale.”

  Peter was red and sweating. “I do not recall any such thing,” Peter said. “How do we even know that the vowel came from the book?” he demanded. “It might well be a forgery.”

  Delphine took the vowel from her brother-in-law, and opened the book. “There, do you see? The mark on this page—I believe it is a bloodstain—is the same as the one on the vowel. There was another item I found in the book. May I speak of it?”

  “I think you must,” Fairlie said.

  Durling bolted for the door. “I have an appointment,” he muttered. “I cannot remain a moment longer.”

  Fairlie signaled to the guards as he rose. “You will resume your seat, Captain. You are—for the moment—an officer of the Royal Dragoons. If you have testimony to give, we will hear it.” They waited until he sat again, looking miserable.

  “As I was saying,” Delphine began again. “I found another item in the book.”

  Every man in the room sat forward in his seat.

  “On the night before the battle, I attended the Duchess of Richmond’s ball. You recall, my lord—you were there as well.”

  “Indeed,” Fairlie murmured.

  “Do you remember the pink daisies I wore in my hair that night?” she asked.

  Fairlie frowned. “Yes, I suppose so. Why do you ask?”

  “When Lord Uxbridge called for all officers to join their units for battle, I was dancing with Major Lord Ives.” She looked at Stephen. “Do you recall that, my lord?”

  Stephen nodded.

  “I gave him one of my daisies, you see, a token for luck, the way ladies once gave knights going into battle their favor. I saw him put it into the inside pocket of his tunic—here.” She indicated her left breast. He promised to carry it into battle.”

  All eyes turned to Stephen. “Did you do so, Major?” the surgeon asked.

  “Yes,” Stephen said. “It was in the same pocket as the vowel.”

  “I did not expect to see my flower again, but I did,” Delphine said, and picked up the book again. “Do you see this mark next to the one made by the vowel? It was made by my daisy, which is also marked with bloodstains.”

  “Do you have the daisy now?” Fairlie asked.

  “I returned it to the gentleman I gave it to that night,” she said, and looked at Stephen.

  He reached into the left pocket of his tunic and took it out.

  “It would be mere speculation as to how the items in Major Lord Ives’s pockets ended up in Captain Lord Durling’s possession after the battle, of course but . . .” She let her voice trail off, watched the judges look at Durling in horror and disgust.

  “If I may, my lord, may I point out one last piece of evidence?” Nicholas asked. He crossed to the table and located Hallet’s testimony among the other documents. He put it in front of Fairlie along with the vowel.

  “The handwriting on both is the same,” Fairlie noted.

  “Impossible!” Durling cried. “It is a forgery, a sham!”

  Delphine opened her reticule again and added a small bundle of pages to the pile. “These are notes that were sent to me at Neeland a week past, by Viscount Durling,” she said.

  Fairlie examined one. “The handwriting is the same as that on Sergeant Hallet’s testimony.”

  Mayhem broke loose. Durling made a break for the door, only to be seized by the guards. He struggled, screaming curses. “Bitch!” he called Delphine, glaring at her. Stephen was on his feet before anyone could stop him. He planted his fist in Durling’s face for that insult. Durling’s head snapped back, and blood spurted from his broken nose.

  Fairlie drew his sword and stalked toward Durling as he hung in the grip of the guards. “Captain Lord Peter Rothdale—Viscount Durling—I hereby charge you with theft and dishonorable acts unbecoming of an officer,” Fairlie said. He raised the sword, and Durling whimpered, sagged, but the guards held him up. The Colonel sliced away the insignias on his tunic. “I should have allowed Major Lord Ives the privilege of doing this,” he said. “You are unfit to wear the uniform of a Royal Dragoon. He nodded to Stephen as he sheathed his sword.

  “But it’s not true,” Durling pleaded, trying to free himself.

  “Then you shall receive a hearing. Lock him up,” Fairlie commanded, and waited until the prisoner had been dragged away, still protesting his innocence.

  “Shall I look at that hand of yours, Major Ives?” the regimental surgeon asked, looking at Stephen’s punch-bruised knuckles with a grin.

  Fairlie straightened his coat. “Is there any further testimony before we conclude this matter?” He looked at Delphine with a proud smile. “Anything to add, Dilly?”

  “No, my lord. That’s all.”

  “Very well. I will ask everyone other than the judges to withdraw until we have decided the verdict in this matter.”

  Outside the courtroom, Stephen watched as Nicholas hugged Delphine.

  Stephen shook Browning’s hand, saw the gratitude in the man’s eyes, and thanked him.

  “The verdict shouldn’t take long,” Nicholas said.

  “What will happen to Durling?” Delphine asked.

  “Disgrace. He’ll be stripped of his commission, cut socially, ruined—especially if Stephen presses his claim for payment of the vowel. Is that enough?”

  Stephen watched the blood rise in Delphine’s cheeks. “No, not nearly.” She drew off her glove. “If I were a man, I’d challenge him to a duel, shoot him dead.”

  “Hell hath no fury like Lady Delphine St. James,” Nicholas quipped.

  Stephen met her eyes. “Again I owe you my thanks,” he said.

  She searched his eyes, then looked down at her hands, a blush rising over her cheeks. “Better than an apology, but I did only what was right, my lord.” He longed to touch her, to take her in his arms, but she stood stiffly beside Nicholas.

  “May I call on you tomorrow?” Stephen asked.

  Delphine didn’t reply. She smiled faintly, politely, but it was a smile without any promise at all.

  Colonel Lord Fairlie mopped his brow and turned to his fellow judges. “That did not go as I expected.”

  The regimental surgeon chuckled. “No, indeed. It was obvious to me at the presentation of his bloody coat that the man was not a coward. And to have a champion like Lady Delphine!”

  Donovan Lewis leaned forward. “May I speak? I was sent by Lord Castlereagh to observe these proceedings, and to act if necessary. His lordship remembers Major Lord Ives from Vienna. Ives served as a diplomatic aide there, and assisted with a rather delicate, very secret matter. He undertook a mission of great danger to stop a plot that may have embarrassed His Majesty’s government and other important persons. It is not a matter Lord Castlereagh is at liberty to speak publically about. I hope it will be sufficient to say that his lordship gives Major Lord Ives the highest commendation, and his personal regard. In my own opinion, seeing the evidence, I believe it is quite clear that Lord Ives proved his valor at Waterloo as well.”

  “And Viscount Durling?” Fairlie asked.

  Lewis rose with a shrug. “I know nothing of him, good or bad—well, at least until today. I daresay the army can deal with him without help from Whitehall.” He rose. “Shall I inform Lord Castlereagh that the verdict went as he hoped?”

  Fairlie rose and held out his hand to the secretary. “You may tell him so indeed.”

  Chapter 71

  “Oh, the terrible stories I’ve h
eard!” the Countess of Ainsley said as she hurried into the sitting room, pulling off her gloves. “Lord Durling is disgraced, branded a coward and thief!”

  Delphine barely looked up from the book she was reading. “Truly? Then I shall consider myself lucky not to have accepted his proposal.”

  “Indeed you may! I am putting it about that you were clever enough to see through his charm. Your reputation will not suffer.” She saw a bouquet of flowers on the table by the window. “How marvelous—who are they from?”

  Delphine smiled. “From Lord Castlereagh. I had tea with him the other day. He asked after you.”

  “Did he indeed?” The countess asked “Charming man. Pity he hasn’t a son, or a single brother you might consider.”

  Delphine rolled her eyes. Once her mother got past the shock of Durling, Delphine would have to break the news that she and Sebastian were leaving for the Continent, going on a grand tour. She was running away, of course, but she could not bear to remain in England, not with a chance of running into Stephen at a ball or the theater, seeing that cold restraint in his eyes. She had to get away, give her battered heart a chance to mend. By the time she returned, surely her mother would understand that she had no wish to marry, and was, as the saying went, past a maiden’s last prayer.

  Stephen had been exonerated. He had called at Ainsley House the following day, and she had asked the butler to say she was not at home. She wished him well, hoped he would be happy, but her heart was in tatters. He had been perfect in her eyes, and then he wasn’t. He had betrayed her trust, made a fool of her, and broken her heart. Of that he was guilty, even if he was innocent of everything else.

  “Did you know the Earl of Lowe has disowned Durling?” Her mother prattled on. “His only living son! He was most disturbed by the stories that are going around about his heir robbing corpses, stealing from his fellow officers, shaming the family name, and running up astronomical gaming debts. He swears he shall leave everything that is not entailed to his cousin, and will not set eyes on Peter again in this life. The blackguard was even stripped of his commission money when he was thrown out of his regiment. He has nothing, not even the kindness of friends to rely on, since he hasn’t any of those either.”

  “Well deserved, I’m afraid,” Delphine said simply. “Or at least from what I’ve heard.” If her mother knew she’d gone to Horse Guards in broad daylight, been present for a court-martial, and given testimony, she would faint.

  “But you look so pale, my dear,” her mother said. “You must be devastated.”

  “Truly, I’m not,” Delphine insisted. Her mother took her hand, patted it.

  “Not to worry. We’ll sit down tomorrow and make a list of eligible gentlemen, look at some new pattern books. A trip to the modiste is just the thing you need to put the roses back in your cheeks.”

  Delphine smiled wanly. It would take a good deal more than that.

  Chapter 72

  Stephen sat in the study of Nicholas’s London house—a guest this time, at least until he decided what his future would hold. He crumpled yet another sheet of writing paper. A field of others already littered the rug. How many letters had he started, only to realize he had no idea how to win Delphine back?

  He had seen the vulnerability, the fear in her green eyes when he asked if he could call. He was certain she still had feelings for him, or at least he hoped she did. He loved her. All her boldness, her flirtations, were just a façade, a shield to protect a tender heart. He’d gotten behind that shield and wounded her deeply—even more deeply than Durling had.

  She’d healed his hurts, given him back his life. Now it was his turn.

  Except that she refused to see him, and he had no idea how to convince her in a letter.

  A diplomat would analyze the situation and offer terms, a compromise.

  A soldier would demand complete surrender.

  But a man in love—he stared down at the blank page. He had never revealed such deep feelings before, laid his soul open and bare. He had always kept his emotions hidden, as a rule, to avoid complications. But then, he’d never the kinds of feelings before that he had now for Delphine.

  He had received an offer of a diplomatic posting. He had a few short days to decide if he would take it, and leave England. It was the kind of mission he’d once dreamed of, but now it meant nothing without Delphine.

  He took up his pen once more, and sighed.

  Chapter 73

  “I have arranged letters of credit for the banks in Paris and Naples,” Lord Ainsley said to his children. “I have hired an interpreter for you, Sebastian, and I’ve written to Lord Snelgrove in Venice. He will be pleased to welcome you both, show you the sights.”

  Delphine jotted down her father’s instructions, since Sebastian wasn’t paying attention. Her brother slumped in a chair next to her own in front of their father’s desk and looked bored. He only wished to get away from the dullness of winter in London, and their departure tomorrow could not come soon enough. Delphine fidgeted with her pencil, dropped it, and watched as it rolled away under the desk. She knelt to search for it.

  There was a knock at the door. “There’s a caller, my lord,” the butler said, handing Ainsley a card.

  “Lord Stephen Ives,” Ainsley read aloud. “Castlereagh’s protégé. Send him in.” Delphine gasped, and tried to stand up. She hit her head on the desk, and stars whirled. “Papa, no—”

  But he was walking through the door. She ducked under the desk again. Sebastian looked at her oddly, and she waved him to silence.

  “Good morning, my lord,” Stephen said, bowing. Delphine peered out around the edge of the desk.

  He took her breath away, just the way he always did.

  “Are you here to see Del?” Sebastian asked. “She’s right—”

  She pinched his calf, hard. Her brother bit back a cry and shut his mouth.

  “I am, but I also wish to speak to you, Lord Ainsley,” Stephen said.

  “Excellent,” Ainsley said. “I am most interested to hear your opinions about the Vienna Congress, and Waterloo, of course. Castlereagh speaks highly of you. I hear you’ve been offered a diplomatic post in Italy. Do sit down.”

  Italy? Delphine shut her eyes. Sebastian resumed his seat and set his hand on the top of her head, drumming his fingers on her skull, indicating boredom.

  “I’ve actually come to—” Stephen began, but the door opened again.

  Her mother entered in a flurry of ruffled silk. “I can’t imagine how my nerves will survive my children’s follies. The Continent! I cannot bear the idea of Delphine going away, though I hope the trip will give Sebastian a bit more polish—oh, we have a guest,” she said, noticing Stephen.

  “This is Lord Stephen Ives,” Ainsley said. “He’s come to tell me of his adventures.”

  “His adventures?” Lady Ainsley said. “Aren’t you the one who was accused of cowardice?”

  “He was acquitted, Maman,” Sebastian said, twining a lock of Delphine’s hair around his finger, tugging gently, trying to coax her out. She knew she should stand up, come out, but that would look odd indeed, since she’d been hiding for too long already. “It was all thanks to Del—” Sebastian began, and she pinched him again. He tugged hard on the strand of hair.

  “I was hoping to speak to you on another matter, Lord Ainsley,” Stephen said. Just the sound of his voice drew a ragged fingernail over Delphine’s frayed nerves, set them quivering. “Can we talk privately?” he asked.

  “Privately?” Sebastian said. “Whatever for? I’m quite interested in your experiences as well, Ives.” He shifted his leg before Delphine could pinch him again. She watched as Stephen’s feet changed stance. He hesitated.

  “Actually, I wished to say—that is, to ask—” He stopped again, and Delphine held her breath. He would ask to see her. No doubt he was here to tell her of his new posting, say that he was leaving England, and her. There would be words of gratitude and farewell, a handshake, a brotherly kiss on the cheek,
and he would go. She shut her eyes. She could not endure that, not after—well, everything he’d been to her.

  “Go ahead,” Sebastian said. “We’re all family, Ives.”

  “Yes, but if I would prefer to speak to you privately, my lord,” Stephen tried again, and Delphine heard the edge of embarrassment in his voice. Her eyes flew open in dread. Surely he didn’t intend to tell her father that she—they— Oh, no. Her cheeks flamed. He wouldn’t. She imagined her father’s face as Stephen described the picnic on the riverbank—she glanced up, saw Sebastian regarding her with curiosity and amusement. She glared at him, tried to rise, but Sebastian put his hand on the top of her head and pressed her back down again.

  “What’s this about, Ives?” Sebastian prompted, but there was another knock at the door. “His Grace the Duke of Temberlay,” the butler intoned, and Stephen turned.

  “Nick!”

  Nicholas bowed to the earl and countess and grinned at Stephen. “Well?” he asked. “I have to leave for Temberlay at once, and I just wanted to see if—wait, where’s Del?”

  “I haven’t seen her yet,” Stephen said sharply. “Is it Meg, the baby?”

  Nicholas nodded. “Yes, soon, but the first thing she’ll ask me is whether or not Delphine said yes.”

  Delphine clapped her hand over her mouth. Dear God, he’d come to propose.

  “Yes?” Lady Ainsley asked. “What was the question? Did I miss that part?”

  Nicholas frowned at Stephen. “Haven’t you—” His brows flew upward when Stephen shook his head, his face flushing.

  “I haven’t had the chance!”

  “You haven’t—? What are you waiting for?”

  “A bit of privacy would be nice,” Stephen said through gritted teeth. “I hadn’t imagined that I would have to do this before an audience.”

  “You could rent a hall, sell tickets,” Sebastian quipped. “Anyone else waiting to come in?” he asked the butler.

  “What did you wish to say, my lord?” Lady Ainsley asked. “Perhaps you’d better bring tea, Barton, and extra cups.”