“That I can understand. I doubt you’ll avoid one in the end, however.”
Which was all too true. Had he been unnecessarily cautious? No, because revealing his true identity might give rise to the truth of his adventure with Delia, and he could not endanger her reputation.
Rhoades got up. “If I can be of assistance, call on me.” He grinned. “I’ll do a little flaunting of my own, Mr Giffard. It can’t hurt for your cousin to see you’ve a redcoat among your acquaintance.”
Giff returned the smile. “Good of you, Captain. Who knows? Your presence might even induce Piers to come into the open.”
“Because he can’t get at you secretly. You know, it occurs to me that his scheme to make you disappear becomes less viable the more you are seen to be surrounded by people who know you.”
“That is just what Delia said. It would make a deal of noise.”
“Yes, I think we must alert Mr Piers Gaunt to the fact you are not without friends and well-wishers who, should you inexplicably vanish, might be inclined to ask questions.”
Waking betimes after a restless night, Delia was conscious mainly of a desire to see Giff at the earliest possible moment. She wanted to know how he did, of course, but his health was not the most urgent of her preoccupations. She must make it clear to him that he was under no obligation to make her an offer, though the necessity was galling.
It was all Aunt Gertrude’s fault. She might have known the worst would be saved for the gentlemen’s departure last night. No sooner had the parlour door closed behind them, with Miss Pegler to lead the way downstairs, than Lady Matterson fixed Delia with that gimlet eye.
“You will oblige me at once, Delia, with the answer to one question.”
Unsuspecting but wary, she’d set down her empty teacup. “Yes, Aunt?”
“Have you taken leave of your senses?”
Delia blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“We will set aside the saving of lives and escaping from the coach —”
“You told me to escape from the coach!”
“— which appears to have been unavoidable, but what in heaven’s name possessed you to become embroiled in that young man’s struggle to regain his title?”
“It was not by choice!”
“Not by choice that he came to Weymouth, of all places? Not by choice that you went apart with him at Sandsfoot Castle? Not by choice that —”
“No, I don’t mean that!” Delia defended herself with vehemence. “I didn’t ask those ruffians to come here, did I? I had no thought of seeing Giff again once the rector brought me here, only those men were watching me. And though indeed I didn’t know it, Giff’s servant was here too because he was watching them. It was not by my design, Aunt, and I won’t be blamed!”
Which did not appease Lady Matterson in the least. “Don’t tell me, girl! You are in a fair way to doting on that boy and he on you, if I don’t miss my guess.”
Heat flooded Delia from head to foot as embarrassment warred with resentment. She hit back strongly. “My feelings are irrelevant, ma’am, and so are his.”
“Not to my way of thinking, miss. I don’t deny he’s a handsome creature, but what if he can’t regain his patrimony? Have you thought of that?”
She’d thought of little else for the past weeks, but it would not do to say so.
“Then he’ll go back to India and I’ll never see him again,” she snapped. And found herself weeping like an overflowing river. Shocked, and struggling to stop, Delia turned away from her aunt’s too knowing eyes and hunted her pockets for a handkerchief.
“Here, take mine.” Aunt Gertrude’s hand appeared, a folded white square in her fingers. “Just as I thought. You’re in love with the wretch, aren’t you?”
Delia snatched the handkerchief and wiped her eyes, blowing her nose with defiance. “It’s b-been a t-trying d-day, that’s all.”
She choked a little over the words as the tears kept coming. Her aunt said no more, for which she was grateful as it enabled her to resume control and swallow down the urge to cry until she could cry no more.
She heard Lady Matterson moving about and presently a silver flask appeared in front of her face. “Medicinal brandy, my child. I keep it handy for emergencies.”
It was so typical Delia hiccupped on a laugh as she took the open flask. “You are perfectly dreadful, Aunt Gertrude. Brandy flasks and pistols! I don’t know how you have the gall to ring a peal over me.”
“Drink, girl! At my age I’m entitled to ring all the peals I want.”