And then suffer quietly and without comment. She knew how to do that very well.
“Well, we’ve a number of gentlemen staying with us,” Delilah confided. “In fact, one of our guests is a viscount.”
“Aviscount!” Mrs. Locksley was dazzled.
Angelique went rigid.
“How exciting! Is he young?”
“He is not old. He is, in fact...” Delilah lowered her voice to a whisper “...rather handsome.”
She left out the “notorious” bit.
“You must bethrilledto have him here,” Mrs. Locksley breathed.
“Indeed,” Angelique said.
In a tone that made Delilah slowly turn to stare at her.
But Angelique kept her own smiling face aimed in the direction of Mrs. Locksley. Who hadn’t seemed to notice anything odd.
“We were raised to be ladies,” Delilah continued, “and therefore we ensure that everything here is proper as can be. All of our guests currently present haveexquisitemanners, but our rather gentle rules are designed to ensure everyone enjoys each other and remains on their best behavior.”
The “exquisite manners” bit was a trifle exaggerated, but Mr. Delacorte considered it an aspiration, and it one day might be true.
“How very pleasant. I miss my own family, but they are so far away in Northumberland and they all agree my aunt could use the company. But one gets to wanting a family of her own, you see.”
“Oh, I know how you feel, Mrs. Locksley. I’ve only lately remarried,” Delilah said. “My husband, Captain Hardy, is away for a bit of business at the moment but he’ll return before a fortnight’s passed. You shall likely meet him.”
“Oh, that should be lovely. How exciting! A captain. He must be so brave.”
Which was the precise right thing to say to Delilah if Mrs. Locksley wanted a friend for life.
What would Mrs. Locksley think of Lucien? With his complicated gaze and lean body and a voice one felt at the base of the spine. A voice that could ignite desire with one whisper. Or was that just her?
Mrs. Locksley turned an expectant bright-eyed gaze to Angelique. Because this was where she was to volunteer something about her own husband, because it was what women did when they formed bonds with one another.
That was when Angelique realized with clarity how wrong Dot was. Angelique wasn’t a thing like Mrs. Locksley.
She wasn’t, in fact, like anyone, really.
For some peculiar reason her throat was thick. The benign lies she usually so smoothly offered could not get past. She’d never been a “Mrs.” of any kind. Before she’d arrived here she’d been the Earl of Derring’s mistress and he had died, leaving her destitute. Although she supposed it could be said that he’d indirectly bequeathed his widow, who was now her dearest friend, a way of life she desperately cherished.
She could never say these things to Mrs. Locksley. Somehow, as she’d once wanted to protect Delilah from various sordid truths about men and love, she wanted Mrs. Locksley to go on being innocent, so there was at least some proof walking about that life could be kind.
Odd how she had gone so long without realizing her past was, indeed, ballast. She’d once advised Delilah to abandon the guilt she felt over not loving her first husband. She’d advise Lucien of the same thing.
Angelique understood that all she’d done with her own past was to hide it, and it was as cumbersome as if she were smuggling a wheel of cheese out of the cheese shop under her dress.
“Mrs. Breedlove is also a widow,” Delilah said finally. Gently.
Angelique knew Delilah had said it so Angelique wouldn’t feel responsible for the lie. And the gentleness was because she’d gleaned a bit of Angelique’s mood.
“Oh, Iknewwe all had so much in common,” Mrs. Locksley said warmly. And she gently touched Angelique’s arm.
They brought Mrs. Locksley, who’d enjoyed a light repast in her bedroom, into the parlor after dinner to introduce her. All the guests sprang politely to their feet at once.
“Mrs. Locksley is a widow, and she will be staying in London with her aunt, but we’ll have the pleasure of her company for a few weeks at least,” Delilah told them warmly.