Mr. Farraday’s willingness to assume that all compliments were meant for them.
“Dot, go and bring her maid in. Miss Bevan-Clark, give me some money to pay the hack.”
She looked startled, but she dipped into her reticule without question and pressed a handful of coins into Dot’s hand.
“Miss Bevan-Clark, have some bracing tea. Why don’t you take a moment to look over our rules and conditions?” Delilah leaned over and handed the rules to the girl. “We are not at all unsympathetic to your position, but we do not allow just anyone to stay at length at The Grand Palace on the Thames. We prefer our guests to behave like adults.”
Now Miss Bevan-Clark looked worried.
“If we do admit you as a guest, we shall make you as comfortable as you would be in your own home and treat you as family,” Angelique added.
The word family caused something like guilt and the faintest hint of yearning to flicker across Miss Bevan-Clark’s features.
Delilah and Angelique stepped outside of the room and into the opposite drawing room, and spoke in whispers.
“I don’t think we ought to mention Mr. Farraday, though the coincidence is delicious,” Delilah said. “Could there be two such twits in the world?”
“I’ve come to believe nearly anything is possible. I suppose we shall find out later this evening—I’m given to understand Mr. Farraday will be out all day, and will miss dinner, but not chess with Delacorte. But what shall we do? We could have angry parents and Bow Street Runners convene upon us if someone sensible, like Miss Wright, sends a message to them from here.”
“How much do Bow Street Runners make? Do you think they would like to stay here?” Delilah said.
Angelique stifled a laugh.
“And if we allow her to stay here and her parents discover that young Farraday is in the same place, they’ll assume they ran off together,” Delilah mused. “She’ll be ruined, while he’ll go on to make another match unscathed. Or he’ll marry her out of honor and they shall both be miserable.”
“Perhaps. But the odds of having a miserable life are about the same for nearly everyone. One just never knows. They like each other, or so she says, and many marriages begin under worse circumstances. We can address complications as they arise. We cannot pitch her out onto the street tonight. More to the point, we will make twenty pounds if she stays.”
“You make an excellent point, Angelique.”
“We must compel her to send a message to her parents informing them of her safety.”
“Perhaps they’re meant for each other,” Delilah surmised. “And they don’t realize it.”
“Is anyone meant for each other? Or are we all just rationalizing accidents of fate?”
It was a very good question, and one she ought to keep in mind should she be tempted to fall again into Captain Hardy’s arms.
Chapter Twenty
Captain Hardy was, as usual, an island of calm in the little sea of gaiety in the drawing room after dinner, which had been a splendid lamb with mint that had the guests rhapsodizing and Helga blushing and curtsying.
Delilah noticed he’d reached page ten of Robinson Crusoe when she pulled out the chair to sit opposite him at the table.
“Good evening again, Captain Hardy.”
“Good Evening, Lady Derring.”
The mere act of meeting his eyes had become an act of sensual daring. She was rewarded with a jolt of heat between her legs.
“Could we perhaps interest you in joining a game of Faro?” She gestured behind her to Angelique and Miss Bevan-Clark, and Dot and Mr. Delacorte.
“Faro,” Tristan repeated thoughtfully. “Next you’ll tell me you’re opening a gaming hell.”
She smiled at him.
He smiled, too.
“I grant you it’s a bit daring for our cozy parlor, but given that we have younger guests at The Grand Palace on the Thames Angelique and I thought it might be invigorating for them.”
“I am content listening to the ambient sounds of other guests as they go about their mandatory enjoyment. A bit like listening to birds in the cages in the Gallerie.”
But she merely smiled at that, more broadly. It was clear the guests were enjoying themselves and each other. Captain Hardy included.
She’d done that. She’d helped create a place where disparate people could feel cared for, comfortable, safe, and amused.
“Speaking of the sounds of the other guests, I’m given to understand that our new guest, Miss Bevan-Clark, plays the pianoforte rather well.”
He heaved a great sigh.
Miss Bevan-Clark had been gazing at Tristan with fascination, silently, since their introduction at the evening meal. Occasionally dropping her eyelashes