how kind the proprietresses?
They’d turned away a few hopefuls looking for the Vicar’s Hobby, however.
And not even the mysterious tenant of the room on the first floor with the tunnel appeared. Delilah couldn’t decide if he was a hero or villain. If not for him, the Gardner sisters (a John Garr and a Lee Rufkin, they were told), might have gotten away so easily. Then again, perhaps she would have let Captain Hardy into the room sooner, and perhaps he would have found that tunnel, and . . . perhaps they would never have made love at all.
Perhaps perhaps perhaps.
They could survive such a lull in business for a fortnight or so. They could make their usual adjustments: no fires in the downstairs rooms. No beef for dinner. Tallow candles in the sconces.
Perhaps they could survive it even a bit longer than a fortnight.
But when she was out doing the marketing with Helga, Delilah could have sworn she’d seen the Duchess of Brexford’s crest on a carriage, out of the corner of her eye.
Here at the docks.
Three different times.
Like a vulture circling, she wanted to steal Helga away again from The Grand Palace on the Thames.
And vultures only circle things that are dead or about to die.
“Well, that was work well done, sir. It’s right proud I am to be part of it, and to serve under you.”
They sat across from each other at the Stevens Hotel, breakfast devoured in front of Massey, untouched in front of Tristan.
Massey had found it futile, over the past week, to talk to Captain Hardy.
It was as though the captain couldn’t hear a thing.
Massey was worried. They were due to go in person to speak to the king very shortly, something he couldn’t wait to tell his grandchildren about, once he and Emily had a slew of children who then had a slew of children. And the king had asked what sort of award Captain Hardy wanted.
All Massey really wanted to do was go home and marry Emily.
“Will you come to our wedding, sir?”
“Yes, Massey. I would be honored.” Captain Hardy pushed at the eggs with his fork.
“Will you stand up with me?”
“Certainly. Of course. I would be honored.”
Massey, who’d actually been nervous about asking that question, quietly exulted and forgave himself for taking advantage of the captain’s obvious distraction, or, more specifically, misery.
Another silence fell.
“Do you regret the end of the excitement, sir?”
“No.”
They’d rooted out the entire Blue Rock gang. It was the triumph of his career. Of a lifetime, really.
And yet Tristan felt as hollow as a bell.
“After this, no one is going to want to let a room in the Palace of Rog—”
“It’s called The Grand Palace on the Thames, Massey.”
“Yes, sir.”
But this was what ate at Tristan the most. He was going to leave soon, set sail across the world in his lovely new ship. After Massey’s wedding, of course. But how would Delilah survive if no one came to stay at her boardinghouse? She didn’t love him. He knew her to be truthful, and surely she’d meant it.
On the way to being a hero, he’d inadvertently crushed her dream.
“Sir . . .” Tristan looked up at Massey.
“Sir, you ought to go and tell her how you feel.”
A long, long silence while Tristan glared at Massey.
Then he released a sigh. He swiped his hands down his face.
“She hates me, Massey. She’s stubborn. It wouldn’t matter a damn what I said, even if I could get in the door.”
“Then maybe you ought to show her instead.”
Tristan went still.
And then he stared at his lieutenant, a fierce hope and inspiration dawning. “Thank you, Massey.”
It was so heartfelt Massey blushed.
“No need to thank me, sir. Just go get your sweetheart.”
“Lady Derring. Mrs. Breedlove.”
Delilah and Angelique were in the drawing room at the top of the house, and Dot’s constrained delivery made them both look up sharply.
“Dot . . . what’s the matter? Dot, my dear, are you ill? Sit down at once.”
“I can’t . . . you must see . . .” Dot was white in the face, but she had a strange, beatific, saintly glow, as if she’d just been visited by a vision.
“She is going to faint. Quick, your vinaigrette, Angelique!”
“I’m not,” Dot insisted, sounding a little less ethereal and more indignant. “But I can’t say what I’m supposed to say because you won’t believe me.” And her voice took on that solemn, awestruck hush again. “You’ll think me a looby, so I cannot say it. You must come down to