Elizabeth Bailey - Misfit Maid

Delagarde ran his eyes rapidly down the sheet. It was indeed a letter written by his mother to this effect, for he recognised the hand. But what obligation did this constitute?

‘What possible reason could this Egginton woman have for choosing to batten upon my mother?’

‘Your mother was born Lady Dorinda Otterburn, was she not?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Well, then. The Burloyne connection comes through the Otterburns. So you see, we are related.’

Delagarde saw nothing of the sort. The name of Burloyne had no meaning for him, although he had to admit to unfamiliarity with all the ramifications of his mother’s family. But he was not going to waste time finding them out.

‘The relationship,’ he said firmly, ‘if there is any—which I take leave to doubt—must be remote in the extreme.’ He was still studying the letter. ‘What is this offer my mother mentions to send someone to live with you?’

‘But I told you that my duenna is your cousin. Have you not been listening?’

Delagarde found himself contemplating the desirability of boxing her ears. He restrained himself with difficulty, and once more bade himself be calm.

‘Lady Mary, while it may prove to be out of my power—regrettably!—to repudiate some sort of relationship with you, allow me to draw to your attention that this letter is over ten years old. Moreover, my mother has been in her grave these many years.’

‘I know that,’ agreed Maidie patiently, ‘and therefore the obligation devolves upon you.’ She retrieved the letter and pointed to one sentence. ‘You see here that your mother even states that you may be counted upon to aid the project.’

‘Good God, girl, I was barely eighteen at the time!’ He thrust away, throwing up a protective hand as if she might threaten him. ‘Take the wretched thing away before I rip it to shreds! It has no bearing on the case. I knew nothing of the matter then, and I wish to know less of it now. In any event, my circumstances hardly make me a suitable person to lend you countenance. And if you think it escaped me that you mentioned Shurland when you gave me this cock-and-bull tale of being your nearest male relative, you are mistaken. So answer me this, if you please: why cannot he bring you out?’

‘Because he is dead,’ stated Maidie doggedly.

‘He can’t be dead,’ protested Delagarde, pacing in some agitation. ‘He only took over the title a year or so ago.’

‘I meant my great-uncle, the fifth Earl,’ she explained. ‘He was my guardian.’

‘Then why didn’t he arrange for your debut?’

‘Because he was eccentric.’

‘Evidently it runs in the family.’

Maidie merely gazed at him with her wide-eyed look. She folded the letter and replaced it in her reticule. She then reseated herself and looked up at him again. As calmly as if she owned the place! Delagarde eyed her in frustrated silence for a moment or two. He had half a mind to ring for Lowick and have him forcibly remove the wretched female, but he supposed such a course was ineligible. He was, after all, a gentleman. But he was not going to accede to her nonsensical demand.

He resumed his post by the mantelpiece. ‘What about this female who befriended you, the Egginton woman?’

‘She died, too.’

‘She would! Well, the other one, then.’

‘Which other one?’

‘Your duenna. Don’t dare try to kill her off as well, because you have already threatened to bring her to live here.’

For the first time, a smile broke across Maidie’s face, and she laughed. ‘What, poor Worm bring me out? Why, she has no connections, apart from you. She is one of your poor relations. I dare say your mother had it in mind to settle her, poor thing, when she suggested that the Worm came to me.’

Delagarde was so surprised by the change that a smile wrought in her countenance that he forgot to ask for an explanation of this odd name. It was a countenance alight, the dowdiness given off by her unfashionable apparel fading into the background. He did not realise that he was staring until the smile vanished and Maidie’s brows rose again, widening her eyes.

‘Are you thinking that there might be some other female relative I could turn to? I assure you there is not. I am wholly dependent upon you.’

This snapped his attention back to the matter at hand, and he frowned. ‘No, you are not. You have no real claim upon me at all. If all you say is true, then the charge of you falls not upon me, but upon Shurland. And don’t tell me he cannot bring you out, because I know very well he is married.’

Maidie put up her chin. ‘Well, I do tell you so. The plain truth is that Adela cannot abide me, and I cannot abide her.’

‘Is Adela his wife?’

‘Yes, she is, and we quarrelled.’

‘I wonder why I am not surprised.’

‘Besides,’ continued Maidie, unheeding, ‘Adela treated me abominably until I came of age. Only then, as if nothing had happened, she began fawning all over me, and determining to bring me out.’

‘Then why the devil,’ demanded Delagarde, exasperated, ‘have you come to me?’

‘Because,’ stated Maidie in steely tones, ‘I am determined never to marry Eustace Silsoe.’

Delagarde’s head began to reel again. ‘Who in the world is Eustace Silsoe? Why should you marry him if you don’t want to?’

‘He is that hateful woman’s brother. Nothing will do for her but that he should succeed with me, and that is all the reason she has for offering to bring me out.’

‘Just one moment,’ begged Delagarde, sitting down again. ‘Are you telling me that you are trying to involve me in this preposterous and impossible scheme you have concocted, when you have a perfectly acceptable alternative, only so that you can escape a marriage you don’t want?’

‘Yes,’ Maidie said, as if there was nothing at all out of the way.

‘But—’ Words failed him.

‘Adela and Eustace think they can trap me, but I am going to spike their guns,’ she went on in a tone of gritty determination. ‘And you are to help me. I have thought it all out. We will say that you are my trustee, and that I cannot marry without your consent.’

Delagarde rose again. ‘We will say nothing of the kind. The whole enterprise is unnecessary, as well as ridiculous. I will have nothing whatsoever to do with such a masquerade.’

He sounded so determined that Maidie began to fear, for the first time, that her mission might be in vain. Consternation filled her, showing in her face as she got up again and took a hasty step towards him.

‘But you must,’ she uttered desperately. ‘Your mother promised me.’

‘My mother, as I have pointed out, is dead.’

‘Which is why I have come to you.’

Delagarde threw up a warning finger. ‘We are going in circles again.’

Maidie came a step closer, reproach filling the wide-eyed gaze. ‘Lord Delagarde, I never dreamed you would refuse me!’

‘Then you must be off your head—as I would be were I to agree to participate in this monstrous scheme,’ he averred, retreating from her.

‘But I am depending on you!’

‘Well, don’t,’ he advised in a harassed sort of way. ‘You will have to think of something else.’

‘It is such a little thing to do for me.’

‘Little!’

‘And you will be well compensated, I assure you.’

‘For living with you? Impossible! I dare say I should count myself fortunate not to end in Bedlam!’

The door opened, and a glance over his shoulder showed him a welcome interruption. Entering the room was an elderly lady, fashionably attired in a demure version of the season’s new high-waisted gowns, a figured green muslin with half-sleeves overlaid with a light woollen shawl of darker hue. A lace-edged cap like a turban bedecked with ribbons and feathers did not quite conceal her hair, which was dark like Delagarde’s, though streaked through with grey. She held herself well, and Maidie immediately noted a resemblance to the Viscount in her softer features, although she looked to be readier to laugh.