The Scandalous Adventures of the Sister of the Bride (19 page)

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 arrangement 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.”

His heart twisted for her. “Not at all.”

“I was flirtatious with him and strived to be as charming and delightful and enticing
as possible. I kept up with current events and the latest gossip and everything that
might interest him so that he would not be bored by my conversation. I became an accomplished
hostess and I always looked my very best and, well, I did all I could to be . . .”

“Perfect?”

“Exactly. I even talked of plans for the children we would have. Can you imagine?”

“You had no idea—”

“And shouldn’t I? Shouldn’t I have suspected at least part of it?” She grabbed the
closest box and flung it at the wall. “What a fool I was. I allowed myself to love
him and I let him break my heart. I should have known. I should have been smarter.”
She clenched her hands by her side. She was visibly shaking now. “It wasn’t long before
he started spending more time at Hargate Hall than he did here, claiming he preferred
the peace and solitude of the country and insisting that I stay in London. He said
on more than one occasion that it would be unfair of him to demand I rusticate with
him in the country as I so clearly loved all that London offered. It seemed so generous
and thoughtful of him. Even then I hadn’t quite given up hope of more than fondness
between us.

“In the beginning, he came to London frequently and I went to the country just as
often. But as time passed, it seemed harder and harder for him to manage to come into
the city and I felt more and more out of place at Hargate Hall. Silly, as I am Lady
Hargate. Of course . . .” The corners of her lips curved up in a mirthless smile.
“Julian was usually with him.” She paused. “He was there on the day Phillip died.”

He studied her closely. Her air of calm was crumbling. “You’re shaking, you know.”

“Am I?” She held her trembling hands out in front of her and stared at them as if
she had never seen them before. “Isn’t that odd.”

“Aside from that”—he nodded at her hands—“you don’t appear nearly as angry as I thought
you would be.”

“Well, I’ve always been one for appearances. But make no mistake.” Her eyes narrowed.
“I am angry. I am furious.” She turned on her heel and stalked from the room.

Sam jumped to his feet to follow her but she returned almost at once with a bottle
in one hand and two glasses in the other.

“Scottish whisky. Excellent stuff.” She thrust the bottle and glasses at him. “You
should probably pour. I’m not sure I can do it.”

“I know I would welcome a drink.” He pulled a cover off a table, took the whisky and
glasses from her, set them down, then poured a glass. “I’m not sure this is the best
thing for you, however.” He handed her the glass.

“On the contrary, my dear Samuel, I suspect this is the very best thing for me.” She
accepted the glass and took a healthy swallow.

“I thought you didn’t drink hard liquor?”

“Good Scottish whisky is scarcely hard liquor.” She sniffed.

“It is in the rest of the world.”

“Well, not in this house.” She took another sip. “Phillip introduced me to it. We
used to drink whisky while we played chess so I made certain there was always some
kept here.”

His brow rose. “He’s been gone for three years and yet the whisky is still here?”

“Don’t be absurd. It’s not the same bottle.” She took a long sip. “I don’t drink it
often but I like the way it burns my throat and warms my soul.”

“I don’t think it’s your soul it’s warming.”

“My soul could use some warming.” She stared into her glass. “I don’t think I’ve ever
been so angry with anyone. He should have told me.”

“Yes, he should have.”

“I don’t understand why he didn’t, really.” A thoughtful note sounded in her voice
as if she were looking into the past. “At least about not being able to have children.
I could have understood that. I suspect it was pride more than anything that kept
him silent on that score. But the rest of it . . .” She shook her head. “I never would
have allowed myself to fall in love with him, you see, if I had known that he couldn’t
return my love.” She lifted her glass to Sam. “I have always been a practical sort.”

He smiled. “Not the type to be swept away by foolish emotions like love?”

“Not anymore. I do learn my lessons well.” She raised her chin slightly. “I am as
angry with myself I suppose as I am with him. I should have known or at least suspected.
There were any number of clues but the thought never even crossed my mind. If I had
known . . .”

“Would you have divorced him?”

“I don’t know.”

He shrugged. “His inability to have children would have been grounds enough I would
think. Nothing else would have had to enter into it.”

“Probably.” She nodded. “It scarcely matters now. He’s gone and I am . . . free.”
She took another long drink.

He studied her for a moment. “Do you feel better?”

“No.” Her gaze met Sam’s. “I am very nearly as sad as I am angry. Perhaps more so.
Horribly, horribly sad.” Her voice caught.

He set down his glass, took hers from her, and placed it beside his. “You need to
sit down.”

“I don’t need—”

“Yes, you do,” he said in a hard tone. “Your hands are still shaking and you look
like your knees are going to collapse at any minute.” He wrapped his arm around her
and led her to the sofa.