“To my mind he is planning something, for I can’t think what possible proposition he could make that might satisfy Giff.”
“I wonder.” Lady Matterson appeared to give the matter some thought, sipping her chocolate. “A bribe?”
“Hardly, when Giff has his own cotton plantation.”
“A division of the spoils?”
“How does one divide up an earldom?”
“Young Giffard retains the title, but leaves Gaunt in possession of the house and lands, perhaps.”
“Which would mean Giff returning to India.”
Her aunt eyed her. “Is he averse from so doing?”
Delia’s heart dropped. “I don’t know. The rector told me Giff has said more than once that if he failed he would go back.” Aware of her aunt watching her, Delia tried to keep her face from showing the dismay this engendered. She managed a shrug. “It’s been more home to him than England. Perhaps he prefers it.”
“He has not been in the country long enough to know which he prefers, I surmise.”
“But his stepfather is in India. And he refuses to seek out his family here. Apart from the Reverend Gaunt, that is.”
“Then it’s feasible such an arrangement might suit him.”
An image of Giff came into her head, restless and energetic. “He wouldn’t agree, even if it did suit him. You’ve no notion how stubborn he is, and he’s furious with Piers besides. He would refuse it on principle.”
Lady Matterson set down her empty cup. “I’m glad to know the boy has backbone, if he is as reckless as everyone claims.”
“He is shockingly reckless! And proud. And pig-headed to boot. But he’s a far better man than Piers will ever be!”
A snort of laughter escaped her aunt. “Bravo, child! There speaks the perfect helpmeet.”
Heat flew to Delia’s cheeks and she shot up from the bed. “As to that, I have nothing to say, Aunt. But are you determined on bathing today? Or —”
“It’s already too late, and I’m not in the vein in any event, what with all the excitement. Ring the bell for Pegler. And send your Sally to ask Mrs Tuckett to bring breakfast forward.”
Relieved, Delia did as she asked and hurried away to ring her own bell for her maid. If only Giff was sufficiently recovered to make an appearance, she had hopes of passing the message quickly. And, if possible, finding opportunity to discuss the ramifications.
As it chanced, she was escorting Lady Matterson across to the Assembly Rooms after breakfast when Captain Rhoades hailed her from a little way down the street. Delia stopped and her aunt cast an exasperated look upon the militiaman as he came up.
“Now what’s to do? Is there to be no respite from this affair?”
“I beg your ladyship’s pardon,” bowed the captain. “I only wanted a word with Miss Burloyne.”
He cast a questioning look at Delia. Did he fear to speak in front of her aunt? All at once she recalled Giff saying he was going to tell Captain Rhoades the truth.
“You’ve been with Mr Giffard?”
He nodded, again throwing a dubious glance at Lady Matterson, who snorted.
“Speak your mind, Captain. I’ve no doubt there are aspects to this business I have yet to learn — and disgraceful ones at that! — but I know at least as much as you clearly do.”
“Mr — er — Giffard has been good enough to honour me with his confidence, yes, ma’am.”
Impatient, Delia broke in. “Is he coming? How is he? His wounds, I mean. Don’t tell me he is too sore and unsightly to walk abroad, for heaven’s sake! I’ve got to speak to him urgently.”
“Delia, will you be quiet? We are exposed here. Someone may come out of the Assembly Rooms at any moment.”
Disregarding this except to lower her voice a trifle, Delia fixed the man with a compelling eye. “Well, Captain?”