Page 12 of The Spinster’s Last Dance (One Night in Blackhaven #7)

F rom the wings of the stage, hidden in the gloom, Elise Manners searched the rows of boxes, looking for the face that was her entire reason for being here.

She had seduced one of the hotel footmen last week, just so that he would point Mr. and Mrs. Harris out to her. Their faces were indelibly etched on her memory, but she saw them in none of the small rows of boxes. Nor were they in the pit, although she never expected them to be.

They must be coming later, just to see the play. According to the footman, Mr. Harris had confided to him that he had a long-term crush on Helena Hampshire, ever since seeing her in a play in Paris. Silly old goat. He should see her up close without her stage makeup.

Elise backed away from the wings. It looked as if she would have to perform the play after all, and complete her task either after the first act or during the curtain call. She would modestly wave the others onto the stage ahead of her, and she would be gone before anybody realized what had happened.

On her way back to the dressing room, she all but ran into Stephens, the hotel footman.

“What the devil are you doing here?” she said, glancing around her in case Reggie Miller should see her with this other useful fool.

“Just keeping you informed as you asked,” Stephens said petulantly. “They’re not coming.”

“What are you talking about? And keep your voice down!”

“The Harrises. They’re still at the hotel. He’s already gone down to the gaming club. She’s retiring early.”

She stared at him in mounting fury. How could this be? Everything was set up… And now she was stuck here every damned night until her targets appeared. Damnation!

“Five minutes, Miss Manners!” came the call.

Grimly, she began to think her employer was an idiot. This was a ridiculously elaborate charade for a very simple task that she could achieve anywhere in the town—any town!—with one hand tied behind her back.

On impulse, she whisked herself back to her previous observation point, and, from the pile of ropes used for changing background scenery in a previous production, she removed her pistol.

It was not large, but it its accuracy was lethal up to a certain distance. Which was, of course, the beauty of this little theatre. She could easily fire from the edge of the stage, right across the tiny auditorium to any of the boxes above, and still hit her mark.

Hiding the pistol in her skirts, she hurried back to the dressing room, mingling with the dancers running off stage. There would be a short interval now, but she was already dressed for the first act of the play. She had not been able to win herself a private dressing room—bloody Nell had seen to that—but it was easy to slip the pistol into her coat.

After the performance, she could easily visit the hotel and finish the deed. Thanks to Stephens, she knew which was the Harrises’ suite. And that Mrs. Harris would be alone while her husband played the tables of the gaming club.

Then she could get out of here and let bloody Nell have back this stupid role that seemed to mean so much to her.

And Elise, finally, would be paid.

*

At the first interval, Denzil escorted Delilah to the Lamptons’ box, where they were introduced to several other Blackhaven residents, all of whom seemed curious but delighted to make their acquaintance. One of them had met both Aubrey Vale and Elaine at the pump room.

Their courtesy and friendliness certainly contrasted soothingly with the blatant rudeness of Mrs. Match, and it soothed Denzil somewhat. He had been worried that she faced such incivility all the time. But Delilah was outwardly so calm and self-possessed that he could read nothing beyond her amiable pleasure in new acquaintance.

When the little box grew too crowded—Dr. Lampton’s social appearances were clearly rare enough to be sought after—Denzil and Delilah squeezed their way out and returned to their own seats. Kicking his heels in the narrow passage outside was a very dandified young man, who straightened as they approached. With surprise, Denzil recognized young Mr. Match, whom he had glimpsed in his mother’s box, clearly on escort duty.

Hoping the youth had come to apologize for his parent’s lapse in manners, Denzil greeted him with calm civility.

“I’m sorry we were not here to greet you,” he added, “but you had better hurry back now or you’ll miss the start of the play.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to stop,” Match assured him. “Just bearing a message from my mother. She invites you to join her in our box—next but one to yours, if you didn’t notice—at the next interval.” His eyes drifted from Denzil to Delilah and gleamed with open admiration. The way they raked her from head to foot, however, was anything but respectful.

“We are already committed,” Denzil snapped, which at least drew Match’s attention away from Delilah. “Please thank your mother for her kindness. You will excuse us.” He pulled back the curtain and handed Delilah into the box.

To his amazement, Match leaned confidingly closer to him. There was wine on his breath, a slightly unfocused look about his eyes now they weren’t leering at Delilah.

“Tell you the truth, my lord,” Match said in what he probably imagined was a discreet tone, “the invitation is to you . Got m’sister present, you see. But she’s prepared to overlook your…” His eyes flickered past the open curtain to Delilah, sitting down at the front of the box. “Your indiscretion,” he finished.

Denzil stared at him until the boy began to look rather like an alarmed rabbit. “It is certain that I have not overlooked yours or Mrs. Match’s,” he said freezingly. “Goodnight.” He stepped inside and let the curtain fall before Match’s face.

“Puppy!” he uttered with some restraint as he took his place beside Delilah.

Her smile was unexpectedly warm. “I rather like puppies. He is foolishly foxed and, besides, merely the messenger.”

“His mother must be addled.”

“No. His mother wants you for her daughter. I should be flattered she considers me competition. She is merely trying to discredit me in your eyes.”

“She discredits herself.”

To his surprise, Delilah smiled again, and this time it was she who took his hand and briefly pressed his fingers, as though to comfort him, when it was she who had been insulted.

“You really are an amazing woman,” he said softly, and rejoiced in the responsive warmth of her eyes and her glowing cheeks.

The audience abruptly quietened down, and he realized the curtain had risen on the play.

It was an entertaining play, a mild comedy of manners, and Reginald Miller was very good. His leading lady, Elise Manners, looked lovely and simpered a lot. But when Helena Hampshire finally appeared in the final scene of the first act, the stage came suddenly alive.

Mrs. Hampshire played the heroine’s long-suffering mother, but she did so with such comedic genius that she brought the house down in gales of laughter that did nothing to detract from the touching pathos of the character. Beside Denzil, Delilah was smiling broadly, laughing silently to herself.

“Oh, brava, Nell, brava!” she murmured, clapping furiously as the curtain came down. Her eyes were sparkling with delight. “She acted everyone else off the stage! One in the eye for anyone who dares say she is past her heyday.”

“I don’t think anyone at all is saying that,” Denzil said, regarding the small but vocal audience who were still clapping and cheering.

“She can play anything, make you believe anything,” Delilah said with pride. “It’s nothing to do with her age, just sheer talent.”

Denzil regarded her. “Precisely.”

Her gaze flew up to his face, an oddly arrested expression in her eyes.

“Life is not over at fifty, is it?” he said softly. “And certainly not at thirty. There are more dances to be enjoyed, Delly.”

Her lips parted, glistening in the candlelight. It was all he could do not to kiss them there and then. She had never looked more beautiful, more his . His heart swelled.

He swallowed, reminding himself where he was. He pushed back his chair. “Let me fetch you some refreshment.”

*

Delilah felt enveloped in the doubly warm glow of her mother’s success and Lord Linfield’s understanding. In truth, the whole evening felt magical and wonderful, and she was totally enchanted by him.

“There are more dances to be enjoyed, Delly.”

The timbre of his voice made her shiver with pleasure even as the words struck a chord deep within her. Was her last dance really not over? Was it truly to be with him? She had never looked for such happiness, not now… Not ever, probably. No one had ever affected her as he did. She felt as if she had lost her iron grip on her life and was tumbling out of control—and it was lovely, not even remotely frightening, because she knew he would catch her. He defended her, protected her, saw her, and still…loved her?

Does he love me? Could he?

Dazed, she moved to the chair at the back of the box, afraid of betraying her emotion to casual passing glances.

A snort, a scuffle, and some male giggling sounded in the passage behind the curtain.

“Ma’am, are you alone in there?” The speaker sounded like a young man, trying for seriousness in a fit of mirth. “Would you care for some company?”

Delilah saw no need to answer that, but the curtain twitched aside and a young man she might have seen once with Aubrey smiled at her in what he probably imagined was an alluring manner. In fact, he looked fatuous and foxed.

“I would not,” Delilah said, and turned her shoulder to the curtain, which she heard swish back into place.

“Oh, don’t be so tame, Frobisher,” came another male voice, and this time, the curtain pulled right back and three large young men—including the first speaker, presumably Frobisher, and Mr. Match—invaded the box.

They seemed so delighted with their boldness that they were no more frightening to Delilah than Aubrey in his cups. Though she hoped Aubrey had better manners.

“Won’t you invite us to sit down?” Match said insolently.

“No. I invite you to leave.”

The third man, who appeared more reckless than the others, took a step nearer. “You don’t seem the type to be overcome with shyness.”

“Not shyness, merely distaste. Begone before I inform your mothers of your ill manners.”

Frobisher tugged uneasily at his friend’s arm. “Come on,” he mumbled. “She ain’t interested.”

“Neither is my mother,” Match said with some amusement. “She’d never get near enough the old lady to inform her of anything”

“I won’t need to,” Delilah pointed out. “I expect she can see you. Good evening, gentlemen.”

While Frobisher stepped back in fresh alarm, the third man dropped to a crouch beside her chair and, before she could prevent it, seized her hand. His eyes gleamed with lust and belief in the irresistible nature of his charms. For the first time since the initial giggle, she felt truly uneasy. She wished she had not removed her glove.

She tugged to free her hand but wasn’t entirely surprised when his grip merely tightened.

“You really are rather lovely,” he said admiringly, kissing her hand with wet lips and insolent tongue. “Damned if I won’t invite you to supper.”

“Perhaps you could accommodate us, too,” Match said. “We come as a set, don’t you know.”

“Which is precisely how you’ll go,” said a somewhat grimmer, masculine voice, and abruptly Match and Frobisher vanished from her view. In their place stood Lord Linfield, coldly, haughtily angry.

Amidst her surge of relief, Delilah was now frightened for him against three feral youths. She searched wildly for a way to defuse the situation.

The third man blinked rapidly, his jaw slackening with astonishment before he began to flush with embarrassment to be discovered on his knees.

“Have I interrupted a proposal of marriage?” Linfield drawled, amused contempt dominating his expression. “Or are you just too drunk to stay on your feet? Allow me to assist.”

Reaching down, he hauled Delilah’s chief tormentor upright by his coat front and pushed him inexorably beyond the curtain.

Delilah jumped to her feet, ready to intervene, for Linfield stepped beyond the curtain too. As it fell back into place, she reached for it, then, through a chink, she saw the vignette on the other side and paused.

Linfield’s manner had changed. All amusement had vanished from his face and voice—presumably it had only ever been there for her benefit. The three young men stood before him ill at ease, yet defiant, brash, and belligerent.

Linfield’s lips curled. His scornful gaze lashed them. “Clearly,” he said in soft, chilling tones, “you were not beaten enough at school to teach you manners. Don’t make me remedy the oversight.”

“Now, look here…!” the third man began to bluster. Encountering Linfield’s gaze, his one raised eyebrow, the youth fell into confused silence, his throat working.

“I suggest you learn to be gentlemen, very, very quickly. Such behavior is not tolerated in the circles you apparently aspire to. Trust me, I shall see that it is not.”

“Who the devil are you to issue such orders over a—”

“Be quiet!” Match said savagely, dragging his friend back by the arm. “He’s Lord Linfield, friend of my parents’, and probably yours, too.”

Linfield’s expression did not change. “A note of apology will be delivered to Miss Vale, care of my sister Miss Talbot, at the hotel, first thing tomorrow morning. It will be signed by all of you, and it had better be gracious. Try to pretend you are gentlemen.”

The third man scowled. “Sir, that is the second time you have impugned—”

“Make sure there is not a third,” Linfield said without raising his voice.

Perhaps it was the sheer force of his personality, which during the whole scene had been considerable. There was far, far more to Lord Linfield than the clever, charming gentleman he presented to Society. Or perhaps people moving in the passageway reminded the trio how easily their transgression could be made public, and in what light it would show them. Either way, they melted from view.

Linfield reached for something on the table beside the curtain, and Delilah fell hastily back into her chair. He entered with a glass of wine in either hand.

“Mannerless cubs,” he observed, so mildly that she knew he was trying to lessen whatever fear she had felt at such treatment. “I believe there will be no repeat.”

“I believe you are right,” she said, accepting a glass. “And I daresay other women are all the safer for your intervention.”

He met her gaze, and she thought a glow of pride or admiration softened his eyes. “How awful were they?”

Delilah thought about it. “Just egging each other on toward dangerous. They imagined they were entitled, and for that, I believe Mrs. Match must bear some blame.” She tried to smile. “You may find our friendship difficult to maintain.”

Linfield smiled, genuinely amused by the concept, which was rather touching. “In Blackhaven? She has less than no influence. Even in London, she is merely one matchmaking mama among many and has considerably less influence than an annoying fly. To friendship.” He raised his glass. “And the considerable talents of Helena Hampshire.”

She drank happily to that. Then, lowering her glass, she said as lightly as she could manage, “Thank you. I am glad you were there.”

“I would not have them upset you for the world.”

She thought about it. “I don’t believe I am upset. Though I was beginning to be.” She shook her head quickly. She didn’t want to think about disrespectful drunks. They detracted from this special evening, and the increasingly special man by her side.

The curtain rose for the second act.

*

There was no doubt that Helena Hampshire won all the plaudits. Delilah was delighted for her, though she did wonder if her mother’s triumph would affect her desire to see her daughter. The adoration of the audience and the approval of her peers had always meant far more.

“I suspect she will have no time for us,” Delilah said to Linfield as Nell finally left the stage and the audience kept cheering, making enough noise for several times their numbers. “We should probably just go.”

Lord Linfield’s eyebrows flew up. “Do you really believe that?”

Confused, Delilah blinked at him. But yes, she did believe it. Nell sought her out when she was unhappy or needed something. Only, she could not say such a thing. It demeaned Nell as well as Delilah.

Linfield smiled. “Come. I would like to pay my homage.”

After that, there was little she could do except lead him downstairs before the crowds emerged. A mere wave of Nell’s note got them past the porter and behind the stage. Nell had her own somewhat cramped dressing room, and her dresser admitted them.

Still in her stage makeup, sharing a glass of champagne with her husband, Nell rushed to them in delight.

“Delilah! Lah-Lah, how wonderful!” She seized both Delilah’s hands and kissed the air above her cheek. “And who is this gentleman?”

“Lord Linfield. My lord, Mrs. Hampshire, and Mr. Miller, her husband.”

“Charmed, ma’am,” Linfield said, bowing over her hand. “I have to congratulate you on a splendid performance. Utterly delightful.”

Beneath her makeup, Nell actually blushed, her smile widening impossibly.

“Is she not?” Reggie also beamed from ear to ear, and Delilah could not doubt his pride in her, his genuine pleasure in her triumph. “I am so glad you were here tonight,” he added to Delilah. “I must just go and congratulate the rest of the company. You certainly gave them something to aim for, Nell!”

Nell laughed, though as soon as the door closed behind her husband, she winked at Delilah. “Gave Elsie Manners something impossible to aim for. Don’t think she’ll be stepping into my shoes anytime soon, not on stage or otherwise. Whatever you said to him, my sweet, it worked wonders.”

Delilah, very aware of Linfield’s presence, shrugged uncomfortably. “I think it was you rather than me. But you were wonderful, Nell, and I’m very glad for you. All is well now?”

Linfield backed away. “Allow me to leave you for a few moments. I’ll go and find Mr. Miller, if I may…”

Delilah knew he was being tactful, giving her privacy with her mother. She actually ached with love for him.

“Well,” Nell remarked as the door closed softly behind him. “A lord, eh? Isn’t Linfield one of the Talbots?”

“It is certainly his family name,” Delilah said, surprised that her mother should know such things. “He is a diplomat, and was granted a barony for his work in Vienna, I understand.”

“Ah, of course, now I remember.” Nell spun around, sat before the mirror, and picked up the cloth to remove her makeup. Then she bounced to her feet again. “Actually, he’d no need to work for his living. Heir to massive lands and considerable fortune. The family was against it, but he insisted.”

“How do you know all this?” Delilah asked dubiously.

Nell laughed and winked. “I once knew his uncle very well, if you understand me. Charming man and very handsome, though I have to admit your Linfield might have the edge. What is he doing here with you, Lah-Lah?”

“He merely escorted me to the theatre. My family all happened to have previous engagements.” That was, mostly, true.

“Nothing mere about him,” Nell said shrewdly.

Hastily, Delilah changed the subject. “And you, Mother? Apart from your undoubted triumph on stage, are you truly happier?”

Nell sniffed. “Well, he still hangs around her too much, but I truly believe he is actually coaching her. He insisted she take the role, which, frankly, she is not up to, so he has to justify his choice. On the other hand, he doesn’t come home late anymore, and I believe he realizes where his bread is buttered.”

Unexpected laughter caught in Delilah’s throat. “You are rather wonderful, Mother.”

Nell looked both surprised and delighted, preening slightly. “Do you think so, darling? Was I really good tonight?”

“Utterly stole the show. You know you did.”

Nell laughed, but more than that, there was relief and genuine joy in her expression. She really had wanted Delilah’s approval. Perhaps she always had, as Delilah secretly wanted hers.

Nell sat down again and, while removing her greasepaint, launched into a critique of her own performance and everyone else’s. “As for Elise Manners,” she said, “she really shouldn’t be on the stage at all. Reggie was carrying her the whole time. Never judge a book by its cover, I always say, and I doubt he will again. He was very good, though, wasn’t he? One would never have believed his true age…”

Nell, having applied subtler paint to her face, was ready to meet her adoring public.

“You won’t want to be seen with me,” she said bluntly. “I’ll send your gentleman back to you and you can leave discreetly.” At the door, she turned and smiled directly into Delilah’s eyes. “Bless you for coming, my dear. You’ve no idea how much it means to me.”

To her horror, Delilah felt the prickle of tears. She had to blink several times, swallow, and pace around the room to dispel the rush of silly emotion.