Wrapped in a light cloak against a sharp wind, Delia was presently able to enjoy the brisk walk along the Esplanade to the far corner of the beach where the boats came in. To her consternation, a number of gentry were already haggling with the fishermen along with a collection of servants. She didn’t feel like doing the pretty this morning.
“I’ll wait here, Scoley, while you do the honours.”
“As you wish, miss.” But the groom frowned. “You’ll stay within sight now, miss, will you? I’d not answer for my place with her ladyship if I was to lose you again.”
Delia smiled her reassurance. “I won’t shift from this spot, never fear.”
Though how she could be lost on Weymouth beach with so many persons about, she could not fathom. There were several boats pulled ashore, but a number of larger vessels were tacking back and forth across the bay, one heading for the Isle of Portland, Delia thought as she gazed idly across the waters.
She breathed in the salty tang in the air, the odour of fish melding with that of seaweed. The wind blew her loose hair about her face and she lifted a hand to clear her view, holding the tresses back. Like most females, she’d abandoned the attempt to dress her hair high in the day. The wind defeated all efforts to maintain elaborate styles. It was simpler to leave it loose.
She turned away from the boat where Scoley had joined the throng, not wishing to be recognised, if she could help it. One might suppose her tale had been told enough, but each new arrival at the resort provoked questions, since a discussion of each journey appeared to bederigueur.
It was infuriating. Every time she told the false story, images of the true version swam through her head. The whole thing had taken on the aspect of a dream. Without the repetition, Delia felt she might have been able to relegate it to just that status. A fairy-tale interlude existing only in her imagination, where it ought to remain. Would remain, if the wretched prince in the case had not been wounded. How was she to help wondering how he was faring? How to forget him, as she must, when his life remained in jeopardy?
She wished there were no single gentlemen in Weymouth. Then she would not have to keep comparing them with Giff when Aunt Gertrude gave her those horrid meaning looks at each introduction. A tiny giggle escaped her. Ironic, when she’d spent four seasons being ignored by every eligible gentleman on the town, that she must now appear of interest to those who could not hold a candle to her secret prince.
The thoughts died as an eerie sensation crept over her. She felt herself to be under scrutiny. A shiver shook her frame and she glanced wildly around.
Apart from the knot of persons surrounding the near fishing boat, there was a man walking his dog, a couple of riders in the distance, and two elderly women slowly traversing the Esplanade above the beach.
Delia could not shake the feeling. She trained her eyes upon the crowd around the boat. There was Scoley, thankfully now in discussion with one of the fish wives. He would not be long. A couple of gentleman, both armed with fish on a string, were moving up the beach. A stout woman was threading fish, several people watching her.
Delia eyed each in turn, but could see none staring in her direction. Was she mistaken, then?
The sensation persisted. Her eye was drawn to a moving boat near the shore. One man plied the oars, which splashed water at every drip. Another sat in the stern, his gaze on a skiff a little way out to sea.
Abruptly, Delia sensed eyes boring into the back of her head. She swung about, her gaze casting this way and that along the upper beach and the walk above. Her heart sank. Any one of several ambling males could have been watching her. But not now.
The elderly gentleman had his attention on his gouty foot, his servant hovering behind. And was that a groom, hobnobbing with a fellow in homespuns? A pair of maids tripped along, casting admiring glances at the groom.
“Are you ready, miss?”
Delia jumped and turned. “Scoley! How — how you startled me!”
“Beg pardon, miss.” He held up the fish. “We’d best get back. Mrs Tuckett will be waiting to get these cleaned and cooked.”
Feeling filleted herself, Delia began to walk at his side. She felt jumpy and could not refrain from staring at every person they met. Though the odd feeling had vanished when the groom came up.
Had her instincts betrayed her? Perhaps it was this concentration on the adventure that made her stupidly nervous. Why in the world would anyone be watching her? She was being ridiculous.
But the oddity clouded her day.
Her aunt rose late, in a twitty mood, and complaining of her maid’s neglect and Delia’s excursion both.
“Pegler should have woken me. She will cosset me as if I am not now perfectly well again. It’s far too late to take a dip. We will be at the back of the queue. And I wish you won’t go traipsing about on the beach alone, Delia.”
“I wasn’t alone. I went with Scoley.”
“There is not the least need for you to go buying fish.”
“I didn’t. I wanted some fresh air, that’s all. The beach was invigorating at that hour.”
Lady Matterson was chewing a portion of the freshly grilled fish and made no answer, instead throwing Delia a minatory frown. Delia could only be glad they had no company to breakfast today.
Her aunt swallowed down her mouthful and pointed her fork at her great-niece. “And another thing. I am not at all happy with you splashing about in the waves the way you do.”
Delia set down her fork and sighed. She’d had this battle already. “Aunt, I am not going to suffer myself to be dipped again by one of those dreadful creatures. Once was enough.”