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,