He wasn’t about to open that barrel of rotten fish. “Why squire you about? Because I thought I could arrange for others to play that role, but the three I recruited tonight made a hash of the business. I’ll play the doting swain for a week or two, and then you can break my heart and cast me off.”
A fine plan indeed, offering Della a chance at reparation for the bad turn he’d been serving her for months.
“You never cast me off,” Della said. “We shared a few harmless kisses, nothing more.”
Those kisses had been luscious and unforgettable, also far from harmless. “I don’t see the past as you do,” Ash said, “but one doesn’t argue with a lady. Why not give my plan a try, Della? It can’t hurt to have a friendly escort while the gossip runs its course.”
Friendly. She’d probably thought of him as a friend at one point and hoped he’d become much more than a friend. So had he, but could she afford to scorn what he offered now?
“I will drive out with you tomorrow if the weather’s fair, and I will think about what you propose.”
“Excellent. I won’t fail you, Della.”
She finished his toast without replying, but they both knew what had remained unsaid: I won’t fail you again, Della.
Chapter Three
“I cannot drive out with you, Jonathan,” Della said, “though I appreciate the offer.” She received him in the family parlor because he—at least behind the walls of the Haddonfield home—was her family, and she—not that she would admit it—was pathetically glad to see him.
“What you cannot do,” he said, closing the door, “is hide. Last night’s ball went surprisingly well. You danced exactly enough dances with exactly the right sorts of partners. You did not arrive too late, you did not leave too early. You neither hung your head in shame nor indulged in unseemly arrogance. You might weather this storm, Della, but not if you throw away the luck that’s been handed to you.”
Ash Dorning had handed her that luck, and he’d done so in a way that trod the line between clever subterfuge and the loyalty of a family connection. If she hadn’t loved him already, she’d love him for that alone.
“I am not hiding, and last night did not go entirely well.”
Jonathan Tresham, as a duke’s heir, a man of substantial means, and a handsome devil, had been considered the matrimonial catch of the decade. He’d ignored the heiresses and blue bloods to marry a widow of modest station and enormous personal merit.
To Della, though, Jonathan was the only brother who shared her brownish hair, the only brother to share a paternal bloodline. He was also her only brother who still labored under the delusion that he could lecture her.
He stalked over to the window, peering out into a garden full of blown roses and tired chrysanthemums.
“Theodosia claims that an initial appearance after falling from grace could not have gone better. Today is a fine day, you appear to be wearing a carriage dress, and my tiger is walking my curricle. Let’s be off, shall we?”
“You may take yourself off,” Della said. “We have agreed that appearing together in public will only fuel speculation, Jonathan. We have the same mouth, the same chin, the same brows… I appreciate your willingness to show the colors, but you may tell Theodosia that I have refused your escort.”
Unlike Della’s Haddonfield brothers, Jonathan was hard to read. He could be vastly entertained and look utterly bored. He could be in a violent rage and appear amused. He had a gambler’s ability to control his expressions, a skill Della envied him.
“Theo did not put me up to this,” he said, pacing between the parlor’s floor-to-ceiling windows. “She approved, though. And so what if people talk? I will eventually step into Quimbey’s shoes, and you are a Haddonfield by birth. I honestly don’t care if people speculate that you and I are related.”
Della smiled at him sweetly. “Perhaps, when the good folk of Mayfair tire of pillorying me for running off with Chastain, we can revive their efforts with mention of my bastardy, hmm?”
Jonathan stilled before a bust of Pliny the Elder, to whom he bore a resemblance about the nose. They both had an air of aggrieved masculinity, though Jonathan was of course more imposing.
“I did not deserve that, my lady.”
No, he did not, but as was often the case, Della had spoken more sharply than she’d intended. Worry did that to her.
“I’m sorry. I am not myself. Shall I ring for tea?” Ash wasn’t due to come by for another twenty minutes, and Della would honestly rather not be alone.
“A cup of tea would be appreciated. How are you, Della?” His tone was brusque, and Della was abruptly weary.
She sank onto the piano bench. “I am overwhelmed. I knew I was embarking on foolishness, but I did not expect to get caught, and I did not expect…” She hadn’t expected to be nearly raped, disgraced, then made to—of all things—face down polite society one dance at a time.
“I wanted to call the perishing varlet out,” Jonathan said, looking self-conscious. “Ash Dorning talked sense into me, but it was a very near thing.”
Him again? Della was surprised, also a little pleased. “Mr. Dorning is taking me driving shortly,” she said, getting up to tug the bell-pull twice. “His good sense is one of his most commendable qualities. May I ask you something, Jonathan?”
The door was closed, they had privacy, and Della had been looking for a moment to put this question to her brother for quite some time.
“Ask me anything. If it’s within my power, I will see your request granted.”
Typical of Jonathan, he thought she wanted a material boon from him, or perhaps a service. What she needed was an answer.
“Have you ever felt as if the entire world is about to end? As if everything you’ve ever feared, every nightmare you’ve dreamed, is about to come true all at once?”
He studied her in an unnerving silence. “Yes.”
A trickle of relief coursed through Della.
He sank into a corner of the sofa and crossed one booted ankle over the opposite knee. “When Theo refused to marry me, I nearly went mad. I could not make sense of her refusal. I was a ducal heir, not too bad looking, able to provide well for her, and she rejected me out of hand. Given the cards I held, I could not fathom why mine was a losing hand.”
This was not the answer Della had sought, but it was still an interesting reply. “What was that like? Being rejected by the one person you thought to give your heart to?”
“Damned awful, pardon my language. Everything I’d strived for—wealth, standing, influence, the respect of my peers—crumbled to dust. I was so overwrought I nearly got drunk.”
“You nearly got drunk?” Della had not been raised with Jonathan, had not known of her connection to him for much of her childhood. He was still in some regards a mystery to her.
“I am not a teetotaler,” he said, “but as owner of the Coventry, I had to keep my wits about me. I learned to imbibe judiciously. One suggestion I conveyed to both Sycamore and Ash Dorning was that they do likewise as they took over the club.”
“How is the club faring?” she asked, joining him on the sofa.