mention his name, let alone to suggest an acquaintance with his family, would certainly raise questions. The moment she saw the speculative arch of Merribeth’s brow, she quickly went on. “Bree and I happened upon the sisters in the park one day, and the youngest was wearing a crown of flowers.”
“What are you two tittering about,” Penelope asked as she walked up to them on the arm of her husband.
Delaney looked to Merribeth to see if her ploy had worked. Apparently it had, because her friend’s attention was diverted by their companions.
“Our own portraits,” Merribeth said, amusement brightening her eyes. “I would dress in a flowing gown amidst meadow flowers—though I’m certain it would look out of place beside Mr. Clairmore’s. He’ll undoubtedly want his portrait to be severe and stately.”
“We haven’t discussed portraits yet,” Penelope said, gazing thoughtfully at Ethan, “although he requested a miniature for his birthday earlier this year.”
Mr. Weatherstone exchanged a look with his wife that made Penelope blush. “I keep it in a very important place.”
Delaney felt her heart pinch at the sight of her friend, their love for each other so clear it might have been written in lines of poetry across their faces. If it could be said that Penelope fairly glowed on Mr. Weatherstone’s arm, then it could also be said that he emitted his own light.
Penelope automatically settled a hand over her stomach. “Even though family portraits are uncommon, I prefer them. We’ll be in Surrey by the time the baby arrives. The manor has a splendid array of arched windows that would make a perfect background.”
“Aunt Sophie and I are already planning to be there for the event. I’m certain Mr. Clairmore would want to join us by then as well,” Merribeth added, beaming in expectation of a proposal any day now. “But what of your portrait, Delaney?”
She thought for a moment, hiding a sudden twinge of sadness at the knowledge that there would be no family portraits in her future. No doubt, hers would hang somewhere beside Montwood’s. “Perhaps I’ll stand for hours, posed outside Haversham’s.”
They all laughed, but Delaney knew only hers was forced. Truth be told, she’d been plagued by a bout of melancholy for the past week. Not even shopping had improved her mood.
After careful consideration, she’d realized the problem was that her plan wasn’t going as smoothly as she’d hoped. Even though a bargain with Montwood was the perfect solution, she was beginning to doubt herself. Now, a week and a half after their initial conversation, she hoped that he would return to town and pay a call on her in the next few days. Perhaps then she’d feel more like herself.
Just then, the dinner gong in the Binghams’ hall rang. Those who’d ventured into the gallery merged with those who’d remained in the parlor. It was at that precise moment that Delaney saw Mr. Croft. And what was worse, he saw her too.
“What is he doing here?” Merribeth leaned in to whisper. “I thought his sisters would be attending the Moncrieff ball this evening.”
“So did I . . .” she murmured.
From the dining room doorway, he inclined his head in her direction. She narrowed her eyes. He was here on purpose—the purpose being to unsettle her—she had no doubt. As if reading her thoughts, he flashed a triumphant smirk before disappearing through the door.
“But I don’t see his sisters nearby.”
Delaney gritted her teeth. Just this afternoon, Buckley had given her confirmation that Mr. Croft was attending the Moncrieff ball. So this must simply be a terrible coincidence. Either that, or he’d deliberately attempted trickery in order to mislead her spy. “Most likely, they are at Moncrieff House with their mother.”
The crackling sensation began again, stinging the center of her palms and working up her arms. She tried to calm herself. It would be impossible to avoid him all evening. Then
“What are you two tittering about,” Penelope asked as she walked up to them on the arm of her husband.
Delaney looked to Merribeth to see if her ploy had worked. Apparently it had, because her friend’s attention was diverted by their companions.
“Our own portraits,” Merribeth said, amusement brightening her eyes. “I would dress in a flowing gown amidst meadow flowers—though I’m certain it would look out of place beside Mr. Clairmore’s. He’ll undoubtedly want his portrait to be severe and stately.”
“We haven’t discussed portraits yet,” Penelope said, gazing thoughtfully at Ethan, “although he requested a miniature for his birthday earlier this year.”
Mr. Weatherstone exchanged a look with his wife that made Penelope blush. “I keep it in a very important place.”
Delaney felt her heart pinch at the sight of her friend, their love for each other so clear it might have been written in lines of poetry across their faces. If it could be said that Penelope fairly glowed on Mr. Weatherstone’s arm, then it could also be said that he emitted his own light.
Penelope automatically settled a hand over her stomach. “Even though family portraits are uncommon, I prefer them. We’ll be in Surrey by the time the baby arrives. The manor has a splendid array of arched windows that would make a perfect background.”
“Aunt Sophie and I are already planning to be there for the event. I’m certain Mr. Clairmore would want to join us by then as well,” Merribeth added, beaming in expectation of a proposal any day now. “But what of your portrait, Delaney?”
She thought for a moment, hiding a sudden twinge of sadness at the knowledge that there would be no family portraits in her future. No doubt, hers would hang somewhere beside Montwood’s. “Perhaps I’ll stand for hours, posed outside Haversham’s.”
They all laughed, but Delaney knew only hers was forced. Truth be told, she’d been plagued by a bout of melancholy for the past week. Not even shopping had improved her mood.
After careful consideration, she’d realized the problem was that her plan wasn’t going as smoothly as she’d hoped. Even though a bargain with Montwood was the perfect solution, she was beginning to doubt herself. Now, a week and a half after their initial conversation, she hoped that he would return to town and pay a call on her in the next few days. Perhaps then she’d feel more like herself.
Just then, the dinner gong in the Binghams’ hall rang. Those who’d ventured into the gallery merged with those who’d remained in the parlor. It was at that precise moment that Delaney saw Mr. Croft. And what was worse, he saw her too.
“What is he doing here?” Merribeth leaned in to whisper. “I thought his sisters would be attending the Moncrieff ball this evening.”
“So did I . . .” she murmured.
From the dining room doorway, he inclined his head in her direction. She narrowed her eyes. He was here on purpose—the purpose being to unsettle her—she had no doubt. As if reading her thoughts, he flashed a triumphant smirk before disappearing through the door.
“But I don’t see his sisters nearby.”
Delaney gritted her teeth. Just this afternoon, Buckley had given her confirmation that Mr. Croft was attending the Moncrieff ball. So this must simply be a terrible coincidence. Either that, or he’d deliberately attempted trickery in order to mislead her spy. “Most likely, they are at Moncrieff House with their mother.”
The crackling sensation began again, stinging the center of her palms and working up her arms. She tried to calm herself. It would be impossible to avoid him all evening. Then
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