She might with propriety have stayed in an inn if the rector had also put up there. But to be accommodated at Waldiche Keep, with both Giff and Piers on the premises, was another matter altogether. The Reverend Gaunt’s presence must help, but an older lady ought to be in residence to lend her countenance or she would be quite undone.
With the departure of the three gentlemen least connected with the events of the day, Delia was conscious of relief. Moreover, no sooner did the housekeeper grasp the situation than she took immediate steps in several directions.
“I will fetch the portrait in good time, Reverend, but I must first see to the lady’s comfort. I can’t have you remain here, miss. We have a cosier parlour upstairs, and the gentlemen may join you there. Besides, you will wish to refresh yourself, and I dare say a light supper will not go amiss?”
Shown into a pleasant bedchamber, Delia was glad to put off her bonnet and wash away the travel stains. She had just combed her hair and was pinning it into place when a maidservant entered the room, a white nightgown over her arm which she laid upon the bed.
“Mrs Joyce said to bring you this, miss. And I’ve to put up a truckle bed and sleep alongside you, miss, for Mrs Joyce says as how it ain’t fitting otherwise.”
Warmth crept into Delia’s cheeks as a disreputable thought snaked into her mind — of a certain gentleman perhaps seeking entry to her chamber. She quashed it and smiled at the girl. “Thank you. What is your name?”
“It’s Ellie, miss.”
“Is it your nightgown, Ellie?”
“Oh, no, miss. It’s one from the linen closet.”
A pulse thrummed in Delia’s bosom. Might it have belonged to Giff’s mother? Or, no. For all she knew, there had been other ladies living in the house in past times. She was grateful to have her needs met, however, and must be glad of the plan to have Ellie sleeping in her room, which would satisfy Lady Matterson. She hoped.
When she was ready, Ellie led her to the upstairs parlour where she found both Giff and the Reverend Gaunt, partaking of wine. It was not cold, but a fire had been lit in the grate and Giff was propping up the mantel while his uncle was seated in an easy chair to one side.
He looked up as she entered and smiled. “You look a degree more relaxed, my dear Delia.” He set down his glass and lifted a flat square resting on his knees. “Come and look at this, my dear.”
She crossed to him, at once caught by the picture he was holding up, of a woman dandling a child. “Gracious, is this your mother, Giff?” She took the picture and held it to the light falling from a wall-sconce behind the rector’s chair. Her mind threw at her a vivid remembrance of Giff’s face at the very first instant of their meeting when he’d captured her behind the tree.
“Do you think we are alike?”
She glanced at Giff. “Yes, indeed. In this, you are the image of your mother.”
A laugh came from the Reverend Gaunt. “Hardly. He’s only a babe.”
“I don’t mean that. I mean you look like her now. At least,” she amended, gazing more closely at his mother’s pictured features, “you did at the instant I looked at this. Now I can descry differences. Her lines are softer, more round, and I think your nose is more prominent. But the general look is unmistakeable.”
“People were used to say as much when I was growing up, it’s true.”
The rector took a sip of his wine. “Well, we must show it to Hammersley in the morning. Though I doubt he will find it as convincing as the letters.” He looked at Delia. “I’ve been telling Giff here of our adventures.”
“What, with Lord Saunderton?” A riffle disturbed Delia’s pulses as she lowered the portrait and looked at Giff. Had it revived his anger?
“Exactly so. And he is conscious of his debt to his Aunt Dowsabel.”
Delia set the portrait down on a convenient side table and moved back to the centre of the room. “You told him how she saved the letters?”
Giff’s expression was enigmatic, to say the least, but a muscle twitched in his cheek. His eyes caught and held Delia’s. “He told me everything. I’m sorry you were obliged to endure my grandfather’s bad temper. He can go hang, for I won’t go near the man.”
“I told him you wouldn’t. He’s even more stubborn than you, Giff.” She eyed him warily. “I hope you don’t mean to take after him. He’s perfectly vile.”
Giff broke into a grin and his features lightened. “If I do, you have leave to throw things at me instead.”
She had to laugh. “Don’t worry, I’ll soon tell you if you start behaving in that obnoxious fashion.”
“I’ll warrant you will, shrewish wench that you are!”
“Shrewish? Thank you very much, Giffard Gaunt!”
Mischief crossed his face and the light in his eyes made her heart sing. “My pleasure, flower girl of mine.”
“Oh, be quiet!” She turned to the Reverend Gaunt. “I wish you will tell your nephew to stop teasing me, sir.”