Delia groaned and dropped a curtsey. “Goodnight, Aunt Gertrude.”
She retreated in disorder and found Sally waiting to put her to bed.
“Dearie me, Miss Delia, you look worn to a frazzle and cross as crabs!”
“I’m both, and I don’t want to talk about it!”
Sally fussed and soothed as she divested her mistress of her garments and bundled her into her nightgown. “Shall I fetch you up a cup of warm milk, Miss Delia?”
Knowing she was unlikely to sleep, Delia thanked her and climbed into bed, there to give herself over to incessant and useless fretting which culminated in a single determination. If Giff truly believed, as Aunt Gertrude seemed to think, that he had to marry her to save her reputation, she must disabuse him of the notion at once. She could not endure to marry him for such a reason as that. It would be too humiliating. Inexpressibly painful too.
Until she’d been accused, she had not examined her true feelings. She’d been dazzled by Giff’s first appearance. And subsequently both amused and infuriated by him as well. The thought of his danger had occupied her mind to the exclusion of all else. But now she was forced to think about it, she could not help recognising the force of her emotions. She couldn’t bear the idea of his dying because it would be torture to lose him.
Not that she held him, nor expected to. But to know he was alive somewhere in the world would, she’d thought, have been her comfort. Only now did it occur to her that she did not want to lose Giff at any price. Except the price of the anguish it would cause if he married her because he must and not because he loved her.
It became imperative to ensure he made no such offer, if it could not come from his heart. And Delia had no reason to suppose that it could. Once or twice he’d looked as if he might take the liberty of kissing her. A guilty thought when she recalled Aunt Gertrude’s suspicions. He’d been possessive when she’d mentioned Captain Rhoades that first time. But she dare not take either of these things for proof of his affections being engaged.
Men, after all, were possessive by nature. And they made no qualms about taking liberties with girls, if she was to judge by the conduct of her brothers. Felix had kissed one of her school friends, but was not in the least in love with her.
No, and merely because Giff called her his flower girl, she could not suppose he meant anything more by it than a careless endearment. She dared not suppose it. Better to believe him indifferent. Or not quite that. He valued her friendship and her loyalty, that much was true. But if there was more, Delia had not seen it.
She slept only fitfully, beset by nebulous dreams she could not remember on waking. Except that Giff figured in them and her cheeks were damp with seeping tears. The morning could not come soon enough.
Yet no sooner did sleep leave her completely than her heart misgave her with the necessity to broach the whole affair with Giff. How in the world did you tell a man you had no intention of marrying him if he offered without love? Especially when he had not brought the subject up.
Feeling worn, her nerves shredding, Delia got out of bed and rang for Sally. She must get out. The sun was up and the day looked fine. She would dress quickly and go with Scoley to see if there was any fish to be had.
Sally arrived with her morning chocolate, which she drank while the maid went for hot water and passed a message to Scoley to wait. Delia endured Sally’s clucking as she dressed, but refused her offer to accompany her mistress to the beach.
A brisk breeze was blowing as she went down the Esplanade with the groom, but several boats drawn up the sand indicated that the fishermen’s catch had been successful.
“Looks like we’ll get some today, miss.”
“Let us hope so.”
It always put her aunt in a better frame of mind when she was served freshly caught fish. Mrs Tuckett, knowing Lady Matterson’s preferences, always removed all the bones and presented the fillets lightly fried in butter with a parsley and cream garnish. Delia might hope to escape further discussion of the business now preying on her mind.
She did not accompany Scoley to the boats, choosing instead to stroll down near to the edge of the surf where the salty wind on her cheeks blew off a little of her agitation.
Delia breathed in, watching the glint of golden light upon the blue deeps. She shifted her gaze to the far horizon, her mind trying for an image of a foreign shore. India. Such an enormous distance! It took months to travel the seas between, so she had heard. If Giff should fail! If he should sail away…
A sharp pang seized her. She could not do it! She could not speak to him of obligation, of offers, or even the very idea of marriage. She might as well cut her own throat!
“Well met, Miss Burloyne!”
The familiar voice shattered her thoughts and she spun, blinking into the sneering features of Piers Gaunt.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The usurper had come up all too close, crowding Delia even on the vast expanse of beach. She could see the mockery in his eyes. He had meant to astonish her.
“Sir?” She stepped back a pace, trying to gather her scattered wits.
He was as well turned out as he had been upon the last occasion, sporting a maroon frock-coat and tight breeches, both much more stylish than Giff’s. But Delia had no attention to spare for anything but the fact of his accosting her in this manner.
“What do you want with me, sir?”
His lip curved into the sneer he’d shown her last time. “Can’t you guess, ma’am? You are my conduit to Giffard, since he will not face me in person.”