“Yes, but to endure such an attack so soon cannot but aggravate your previous injury. A flesh wound from a bullet, I understand?”
Startled, Delia threw a look at her aunt’s complacent face and could not refrain from casting another, of reproach, at the Reverend Gaunt.
He put one hand palm up in a gesture of peace, ruefully smiling. “Your pardon, Delia. I could not remain silent when your aunt was in such a worry over you.”
“It’s not me, sir,” she returned, with a pointed look at Giff.
He appeared to be more amused than angry. Or was it a trick of his injured mouth? He was still standing, surveying his uncle through the one good eye. The other was becoming so swollen it took Delia’s attention.
“Your eye, Giff! You ought to have raw steak on it or something.”
His brows shot up as he turned to her, and Delia gasped. She’d said his name! Nothing could have prevented her from seeking her aunt’s reaction.
To her surprise, Lady Matterson looked more smug than angry. She nodded. “Just as I thought.” Her gaze returned to Giff. “Do you mean to stand there forever, Giffard Gaunt, or are you going to take a chair?”
Giff laughed, and then hissed in a breath, clenching a fist.
Exasperated, Delia got up, fetched the straight chair from near the door and plonked it down. “Sit!”
He looked rueful, moved the chair nearer to his uncle’s, and sat down. “Your niece takes after you, ma’am, does she?”
“Nothing of the sort. Though I’ll admit she’s a gel after my own heart.”
To Delia’s relief, Peggy came in with the tray and set it down. “Dinner will be half an hour, my lady.”
“Excellent. Delia, you may pour.”
Only too glad of an excuse to do something, Delia went directly to the table and lifted the decanter of Madeira.
“You’d best give young Gaunt brandy. He looks as if he needs it.”
Delia glanced at Giff and found him evidently enjoying her aunt’s acerbic utterances. His eyes danced and he nodded.
“That will be most welcome, ma’am.”
She set down the Madeira and picked up the smaller decanter, pouring a measure of the golden liquid into a glass. She took it across and handed it to Giff, who received it with a conspiratorial wink. Warmth rushed into Delia’s face and she made haste to cover her consciousness with serving the rector.
Lady Matterson broke out again. “Well, young Gaunt, what have you to say for yourself?”
“Why, nothing, ma’am, until I know what I’m getting myself into.”
Bravo, Giff! Delia picked up two glasses, handed one to her aunt, and sat down, raising her own to her lips as the rector took this up.
“I’ve explained the whole story, Giffard. When I knew Lady Matterson was exercised by a worry that Delia was in trouble, and might be in some kind of danger, I had to speak.”
Giff nodded, seemingly unperturbed. “I appreciate the necessity, sir. I’m afraid Captain Rhoades must also learn the facts.”
“Rhoades?” Lady Matterson’s penetrating gaze reappeared. “What does he have to do with it?”
“He knows too much already. Or suspects there is more to today’s attack. He’s a more astute fellow than that battle-axe gives him credit for.”
Delia saw a spasm cross her aunt’s face and knew Lady Matterson found this description both apt and funny.
“Are you referring to Miss Watkinson?”
Giff nodded. “Too busy for her own good, is that one.”
“You may say so with confidence. And if you don’t wish her to thrust several spokes in your wheel, however unwitting, I suggest you don’t give her any reason to suppose you are in fact the long lost Lord Baunton.”