The accusing eyes did not leave her face, but the maid lowered her voice. “You’ll not fool me, Miss Delia, so you’d best come clean.”
A huge sigh escaped Delia. “I suppose I will have to take you into my confidence.” She leaned forward, reaching up to grip the maid’s wrist. “But you must promise me, on your life, Sally, not to divulge a word to anyone. Least of all, her ladyship.”
The maid’s eyes grew round, shock entering in. “Gracious, miss! As bad as that, is it?”
“Worse, if you must know.”
Sally put a hand to her bosom and plonked down on the bed beside her. “You’re alarming me horribly, Miss Delia!”
“Well, I shan’t tell you then!”
Tiredness was making her irritable, but it was of no use. Sally was nothing if not persistent. She would not rest until she had the whole story.
As if to underline this thought, the maid patted her leg, her manner changing abruptly. “You’ll tell me once you’re safe in your bed.” She got up again. “Let’s get you out of them horrid clothes and into a fresh shift.”
The transformation did not take long and was peculiarly unwelcome. As the wrecked petticoat was bundled up and shoved to one side, preparatory to being disposed of, Delia felt as if Giff himself was being cut out of her life. Each piece of clothing as it came off seemed to take him farther away from her, as if the very garments in which she’d partaken of his company were a part of him.
In a way they were, she thought drowsily as Sally began to rub a hot damp cloth about her face and limbs, washing away the sweat and the stains. The close contact on Tiger’s back, Giff’s hands holding her in the saddle as she bent to tie his wound, his arms threaded about her as he took the reins at the bridge. Her gown, her arms, her fingers were infused with his being. And Sally was washing him away.
Common sense reasserted itself. This was nonsense and she knew it. What, was she such a fanciful creature? Had she learned to be romantic in the space of a day?
But she had, a small voice protested. She’d lived a fairy tale, complete with a handsome prince who’d woken her from real life into a living dream. Except that Giff was no prince, and his life was in danger. That cousin of his! A usurper, taking what did not belong to him. And now the true heir had returned, his wickedness evidenced by the hiring of men to be rid of Giff. Despicable.
It occurred to Delia all at once that her aunt might know of the missing lord or of Piers Gaunt. If the seat was in the district, which seemed likely, Piers might have shown his face in Weymouth in past years. Delia determined to ask her, obliquely. It would not do to excite her curiosity. She had best wait for a few days, until she’d met some of the residents. She might pretend to have heard his name mentioned.
Her weaving plans were interrupted. “There, Miss Delia, that’ll do. You look a deal more presentable.”
Sally set down the towel she’d been using and went to pick up the shift she’d laid ready. “Let’s get you into this and then you can slip under the quilt. No need to get between sheets altogether. I can fetch you a cup of hot chocolate, if you like.”
A welcome and comforting notion. “That would be wonderful, Sally, thank you.”
Delia allowed herself to be ushered onto her bed and sank into the pillows with a sigh. She really was dog tired. The maid tucked the covering about her and went off to procure the promised chocolate. Delia snuggled under the quilt, her thoughts returning to Giff.
How was he faring? Had he yet woken? Unlikely, for his uncle had said the draught should make him sleep for hours. Long enough to give him relief from the pain of his wound? Delia hoped for it. To think of him hurting and faint as he had been by the time they got to the rectory was anathema. He was much better off asleep in that bed. Except that it left him vulnerable to those dreadful ruffians.
Could they still be searching around Stepleton? Surely they would not dare try to gain entrance to the rectory. The Reverend Gaunt had said this Piers would not come there, for it must condemn him if he gave evidence of knowing Giff was in residence. Even so, it was comforting to know he was secured in a back servant’s room. If his cousin did come, he would expect him to be staying openly in his uncle’s house, would he not? And he knew Giff was in the area. How did he know, though?
She had so many questions and no means by which to get them answered. So frustrating. She had no hope of getting any answers, if truth be told. No hope of seeing Giff again to ask him.
This thought was so melancholy a knot formed in Delia’s bosom and her eyes misted. Oh, help! She must not give in to this. It was nonsensical. Absurd. She’d known him what, an hour or two? But an hour or two filled with incident, protested the ubiquitous voice in her head. Such incident as must form a lasting bond. Or so Delia supposed. Giff might not see it that way. Why should he? He’d felt obliged to take her up and she’d done nothing but get him shot. And with Aunt Gertrude’s pistol!
No, if anything, he must be relieved to be rid of her. To Giff she was but a passing stranger, an interlude best forgotten, she had no doubt.
The small voice piped up.Hesaidyouwereapluckywench.
Well, yes, he did. Several times, as it happened. A couple anyway. Delia was glad to think she’d had sense enough not to worsen his difficulties.
Andyoubounduphiswoundandtookthereinswhenhewasfaint.
Well, of course. Anyone would have done the same. No one could expect her to do less. He was bleeding badly. Even so, those men managed to follow the bloody trail, or how else did they catch up?
Ah,butGiffwouldnothaveescapedwithoutyourhelp.
Delia examined this notion in as detached a manner as she could and found it wanting. Giff would not have needed her help if he hadn’t had to take her up in the first place, because he would not have been shot. What had the voice to say to that?
No answer came. Of course not, because there was none. She was palpably to blame. She should have stayed in the coach. It was of no use to protest that she might have been caught by those ruffians, because she knew very well they were only after Giff and would have gone on their way when they found he was not hiding inside it. Giff would have escaped them without being wounded and she would never have known of his existence.
This thought so depressed Delia she was inordinately glad to be distracted by the return of her maid, armed with the promised treat.