Delilah quirked the corner of her mouth. “I am sorry for your misfortunes,” she said gently.
Angelique gave a short nod. “And I yours.”
The silence that followed marked an unusual mutual sympathy and détente.
“What you said about working at the tailor... it reminds of how I felt when we stayed in a coaching inn once when I was a little girl—we were quite poor and trying to disguise it—but I never forgot it. People who had unusual accents, spoke different languages, from all different walks of life, all convening in this one place, in bonhomie or temper... I thought how lovely it would be to live there.”
“Variety. Just the sort of thing Derring would hate,” Angelique mused.
Delilah quirked the corner of her mouth.
Angelique cleared her throat. “You should know that despite our arrangement, I didn’t see Derring often. Once or twice a month I’d host a dinner for his friends and their mistresses in my flat. He liked me to sparkle and flatter and flirt.”
Never had three such lively words sounded so acid.
“Interestingly, those were my duties as well,” Delilah said, abstractedly. Which made Angelique smile again. “Were these titled friends, or...”
“Mostly titled. Some, like Tavistock, were not.”
“Any dukes?”
“No dukes.”
“I could imagine the Duke of Brexford would have a mistress, given the wife he’s saddled with.”
“The duchess? Saw her once at the theater and her eyes were so cold it near froze my liver to look into them.”
Delilah gave a little laugh. “She hadn’t the time of day for a little bumpkin like me, the daughter ofsucha minor lord. She never missed an opportunity to make me feel that way, whenever our paths crossed. But she did finally succeed in stealing my cook, the envy of all the households in London.”
A snore crackled through the air. It was Dot, whose head was tipped back, her mouth open wide. The hatpin remained still gripped in her fist. Her cap was sliding off the back of her head.
“Now, Lady Derring, I wish to ask you a question,” Mrs. Breedlove said.
“Very well.”
She was quiet so long that Delilah thought perhaps she’d forgotten what she intended to say.
When she took a breath, it became clear that Angelique was mustering nerve.
“Do you hate me?” She said it quietly and evenly. Her chin had gone up ever so slightly.
Delilah drew in a sharp breath.
She knew what she ought to say.Ought.It was a bully, the oppressor, the weight, that word. What need of it did she have?
“No.” Her voice was low and nearly wondering. “I know you’re asking because it’s the sort of thing one might expect. Granted, at first I was furious to learn about... well,you...and my pride was rather wounded... but none of those feelings lasted terribly long. Maybe it’s the sherry, but I can think of more reasons to like you than to hate you. Though you are a trifle bossy.”
That last bit was definitely the sherry talking.
Angelique’s face illuminated in bemused relief. She leaned back in her chair and Delilah saw her release a breath she seemed to have been holding.
“Perhaps you are a saint,” Angelique mused after a moment, critically. She sounded like a dressmaker eyeing a client who’d been wearing the wrong kind of sleeve, one that didn’t suit her. And she had in mind the perfect alternative.
Delilah leaned forward. “Oh, I wish that I were, but I fear I am not. I have simply resolved to be real and truthful when I speak and to live a real and truthful life since so much of my life has apparently been something of a mirage. And being truthful is a bit like forgoing my stays. It’slovely.”
Angelique gave a startled laugh.
“Can I tell you a shecret? I mean secret.” All at once, the sherry had gotten control of her consonants.