tap,’ Sir Charles said when he could make himself heard. ‘They are playing dice. Felt like showing them a thing or two.’
Lord Andrew slowly lowered his glass. His eyes gleamed. ‘In the tap, you say? Might just have a look.’
Mr Otterley and Lord Henry exchanged glances. As Lord Andrew opened the door of the coffee room, they could clearly hear the seductive rattle of dice.
‘Perhaps we had better just go after him and see he does not get into any trouble,’ said Mr Otterley. He and Lord Henry left as well.
Sir Charles ignored Delilah’s fulminating look and turned his attention to Miss Pretty-Follip and Lady Devere and proceeded to show Miss Delilah Wraxall a lesson in the art of flirtation. While Miss Pretty-Follip and Lady Devere wriggled and pouted and giggled, Delilah sat ignored by all.
There was a flash of lightning, followed by a terrific crash of thunder. The rain began to drum down outside.
‘We are going to be trapped here for some time,’ said Sir Charles cheerfully.
‘I am tired of all this,’ said Delilah. ‘I wish to go home.’
‘I do not have a closed carriage, so you will just need to have patience and wait until the rain has stopped,’ said Sir Charles sweetly.
Delilah glared at him and walked out.
He waited, amused, for her return. But after a quarter of an hour had passed and there was no sign of her, he made his excuses to the two ladies and went to look for her, only to find that she had rented a closed carriage and left for London.
Miss Pretty-Follip and Lady Devere wondered what had happened to their gallant cavalier. A handsome, flirtatious man had left the room in search of Miss Wraxall, and an angry, stiff, and formal gentleman had returned. Sir Charles tried to console himself with the thought that he had done what he had set out to do. He was very sure that Delilah would not speak to Lord Andrew again.
He could now get down to the business of looking for a wife for himself. He thought the thundery weather must be affecting his spleen, he felt so low and bored at the very thought of wife-hunting.
5
Say what you will, ’tis better to be left, than never to have been loved.
William Congreve
Although Effy was dismayed when Delilah confessed to having written an express to her father, demanding that he come to Town and give her an immediate explanation as to why he had placed her with the Tribbles, Amy was delighted. She would see the squire again. The sisters had received a polite letter from Mr Haddon saying he expected to be back in London soon. Amy wanted to secure her triumph before his return. It was only just that Mr Haddon should be brought to a speedy appreciation of the prize that he had missed securing for himself.
Delilah continued her lessons on the pianoforte. She was now a passable dancer of the quadrille. She begged the Tribbles to dispense with the Italian and French tutors as she could not bring herself to follow the fashion by speaking in either of those languages. Delilah considered such a practice affected and would have none of it.
Amy dismissed the Italian teacher, but Effy insisted on retaining the French tutor, saying she wished to become fluent in that language herself. The French master, Monsieur Duclos, was quite attractive, a fact that the squire-besotted Amy failed to notice. He was a slim man in his early forties, with a sallow face, only slightly pock-marked. He had a good figure and a sparkling pair of liquid brown eyes in a thin and clever face.
Effy justified the luxury of French lessons by hiring him for only two hours a week, thus being able to persuade herself it was not a very great expense.
She had just finished one of her lessons when the squire was announced. Amy was out walking with Delilah. Effy soothed the squire’s troubles by explaining that Delilah had initially been most upset to find they, the Tribbles, were not old friends at all, but merely earning their living, but that, once the initial row was over, Delilah
Lord Andrew slowly lowered his glass. His eyes gleamed. ‘In the tap, you say? Might just have a look.’
Mr Otterley and Lord Henry exchanged glances. As Lord Andrew opened the door of the coffee room, they could clearly hear the seductive rattle of dice.
‘Perhaps we had better just go after him and see he does not get into any trouble,’ said Mr Otterley. He and Lord Henry left as well.
Sir Charles ignored Delilah’s fulminating look and turned his attention to Miss Pretty-Follip and Lady Devere and proceeded to show Miss Delilah Wraxall a lesson in the art of flirtation. While Miss Pretty-Follip and Lady Devere wriggled and pouted and giggled, Delilah sat ignored by all.
There was a flash of lightning, followed by a terrific crash of thunder. The rain began to drum down outside.
‘We are going to be trapped here for some time,’ said Sir Charles cheerfully.
‘I am tired of all this,’ said Delilah. ‘I wish to go home.’
‘I do not have a closed carriage, so you will just need to have patience and wait until the rain has stopped,’ said Sir Charles sweetly.
Delilah glared at him and walked out.
He waited, amused, for her return. But after a quarter of an hour had passed and there was no sign of her, he made his excuses to the two ladies and went to look for her, only to find that she had rented a closed carriage and left for London.
Miss Pretty-Follip and Lady Devere wondered what had happened to their gallant cavalier. A handsome, flirtatious man had left the room in search of Miss Wraxall, and an angry, stiff, and formal gentleman had returned. Sir Charles tried to console himself with the thought that he had done what he had set out to do. He was very sure that Delilah would not speak to Lord Andrew again.
He could now get down to the business of looking for a wife for himself. He thought the thundery weather must be affecting his spleen, he felt so low and bored at the very thought of wife-hunting.
5
Say what you will, ’tis better to be left, than never to have been loved.
William Congreve
Although Effy was dismayed when Delilah confessed to having written an express to her father, demanding that he come to Town and give her an immediate explanation as to why he had placed her with the Tribbles, Amy was delighted. She would see the squire again. The sisters had received a polite letter from Mr Haddon saying he expected to be back in London soon. Amy wanted to secure her triumph before his return. It was only just that Mr Haddon should be brought to a speedy appreciation of the prize that he had missed securing for himself.
Delilah continued her lessons on the pianoforte. She was now a passable dancer of the quadrille. She begged the Tribbles to dispense with the Italian and French tutors as she could not bring herself to follow the fashion by speaking in either of those languages. Delilah considered such a practice affected and would have none of it.
Amy dismissed the Italian teacher, but Effy insisted on retaining the French tutor, saying she wished to become fluent in that language herself. The French master, Monsieur Duclos, was quite attractive, a fact that the squire-besotted Amy failed to notice. He was a slim man in his early forties, with a sallow face, only slightly pock-marked. He had a good figure and a sparkling pair of liquid brown eyes in a thin and clever face.
Effy justified the luxury of French lessons by hiring him for only two hours a week, thus being able to persuade herself it was not a very great expense.
She had just finished one of her lessons when the squire was announced. Amy was out walking with Delilah. Effy soothed the squire’s troubles by explaining that Delilah had initially been most upset to find they, the Tribbles, were not old friends at all, but merely earning their living, but that, once the initial row was over, Delilah
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