a right uppercut. “Understandable, but because you’re upset, you are not thinking clearly. By this time tomorrow, you’ll be glad our siblings—”
“Do not tell me what I am feeling, or what I will be feeling.” And do not pat my shoulder as if I were one of Willow and Susannah’s dogs.
The fraternal concern in George’s eyes cooled to frank puzzlement. “Then you weren’t pulling a stunt merely to gain our notice?”
“I eloped with William Chastain, George. I didn’t drop my parasol in the Serpentine to see which bachelor would soak his breeches fishing it out for me.”
George draped an arm around her shoulders, which Della tolerated. Barely.
“Chastain’s a buffoon, Della dearest. What were you really about?”
She’d been trying to prevent a scandal, oddly enough. “Eloping. Trying to free William from a betrothal he never sought.” Taking a small risk for a larger reward. Or so she’d told herself. Chastain was a nasty dunderhead, an even greater dunderhead than she’d known. He’d bungled every possible detail in every possible direction, and she had been an idiot to trust him.
“I can’t credit that you truly intended to marry him.” George dropped his arm and retrieved his drink. “Men are generally troublesome. I will be the first to admit that, and my perspective is more informed than most. I thought you were merely taking your time, waiting for the right fellow to do the tender-kisses-and-moonlight-strolls bit.”
The right fellow had offered Della tender kisses and moonlight strolls. Then Ash Dorning had decided he wasn’t the right fellow, for reasons Della still could not fathom. Ash would not give a flying fig for Della’s irregular antecedents—he and Jonathan Tresham were fast friends and business associates—but something had deterred Ash from paying her his addresses.
“I grew tired of waiting,” Della said, and that much was true. “George, would you mind very much if I went up to my room for a lie-down? I’ve been somewhat short of sleep lately and could use a nap.” A hundred years wrapped in Mama’s shawl and buried beneath twenty quilts ought to suffice.
“Have your nap, but, Della, you should know that Leah and Nicholas are very concerned. Chastain has already been indiscreet. He hasn’t named you specifically, but he’s dropped broad hints. The Merryfield ball is Wednesday night, and Leah was making references to a show of strength and putting a brave face on matters. Do you want to know the real reason I came up to Town?”
“The other real reason?”
“To make sure our dear brother Nicholas doesn’t call anybody out. Fortunately, Nick is titled while Chastain is a mere baronet’s heir. Strictly applied, the rules don’t allow for Nick to call out a commoner.”
Della sank onto a hassock. “But Tresham is a commoner, Beckman is… And when have any of my brothers played by the rules? George, promise me there won’t be any duels. Please. I am happy to live out my days in obscurity at the family seat, and nobody need ever mention my name again.”
Happy would be a stretch, but contentment might still be possible.
“You deserve better than banishment, Della. Chastain abused your good name terribly, and then his idiot father had to make the situation worse. I could reconcile myself to having Chastain for a brother-in-law, but his parents are not to be borne.”
“William’s parents might be much of the reason why he is the way he is.” And conversely.
“You call him William. Do I understand that you would yet marry him, given the chance?”
While George swirled his brandy, Della reflected on plans gone awry, Haddonfields run amok, and William Chastain’s innocent fiancée.
“If I say yes, then Nicholas will try to bribe William into crying off his betrothal outright, and I don’t want that.” Not now, not when the poor woman’s family had stood by the agreement to marry despite William’s attempt to flee.
George finished his drink and headed for the door. “If you say no, that you won’t marry Chastain, then one has to wonder why the hell you ran off with him in the first place. Prepare yourself to face the tabbies at the Merryfield ball, Della. Not for your own sake, but for the sake of the family so bewildered by your actions.”
The ball would be a disaster, another way to fan the bonfire of gossip. “I am bewildered too, George,” Della said. “Bewildered and so very, very sorry.” She’d apologized to Nicholas before setting foot back in his house and to Leah ten minutes thereafter. “George?”
But George had already left and silently