Page 86 of Miss Delightful
“Mrs. Oldbach, is that you?” Mrs. O, regardless of her other faults, was a willing worker.
A woman in widow’s weeds emerged from the corridor into the hall, Alasdhair MacKay at her side. The lady was heavily veiled and her cloak plain.
Dorcas registered those details in an instant, while the rest of her focus remained on Alasdhair. He looked tired, slightly weathered, and so very serious—and dear. The temptation to run to him, to hold him tightly despite the presence of the veiled woman, had Dorcas setting spoon number seventeen carefully in its tray.
“Mr. MacKay. Ma’am. Good day.”
“Miss Delancey.” He bowed. “Are you expecting anybody to join you?”
That he’d remain across the room, his tone frigidly civil, was both a boon—if he came nearer, Dorcas’s dignity might collapse altogether—and a blow.
“I am not. The gathering will not start for hours. Won’t you introduce me to your companion, Mr. MacKay?”
“No need for that,” he said, the words aimed at the woman beside him. “I will leave you two ladies to speak privately, but I won’t go far. I have a few words for you as well, Miss Delancey, though they can wait.”
He was angry. Of course he was angry, and Dorcas felt bad about that, but she also felt exasperated. She was beyond furious, and her anger had never made any difference to anybody. Not her anger about the wretched state of women’s jails, not about the utterly irresponsible use of government funds, and not about Isaiah Mornebeth.
“I will listen, Mr. MacKay.” And then she would send him on his way, again, and mentally don the emotional armor necessary to get through the evening, the week, the month, and her stupid, saintly life.
Alasdhair bowed and stalked off, his military bearing very much in evidence.
“Ma’am,” Dorcas said, gesturing to a pair of chairs along the wall. “Shall we sit?”
A vicar’s daughter grew accustomed to odd callers with odd problems, but Dorcas could not think of any recent bereavements among St. Mildred’s congregants. The widow took one of the proffered seats and pinned back her veil.
Melanie Fairchild sat quite tall on the hard chair. “It’s me, Dorie. I’m alive, and MacKay would not allow me to keep you in ignorance. He can be very persuasive, and he’s usually right, but I did not know what else to do. I’m sorry. Please say something.”
Dorcas sank onto the seat beside her cousin, felled by sheer joy. “I had hoped… I had prayed… I had wondered… You are alive.” She seized Melanie in a hug. “I am so glad, Melanie. So very, very glad.”
Melanie hugged her back, desperately close. “MacKay said you would be. He said you deserve to know the truth.”
“He’s a great one for insisting on the truth. I must commend him for that in this case. You look well.” Dorcas used the nearest table napkin to dab at her tears and passed another to Melanie.
“I look ghastly in weeds, but that was MacKay’s idea too. He’s been watching for a chance to find you alone, and I told him you always spend the afternoon before a fellowship meal here at the church.”
“I do, but Mrs. Oldbach might come by at any moment, so please explain why you felt it necessary to… do as you did. And, Melanie, I will help you. If you want to move to Ireland, or you need references as a housekeeper, or you—”
Melanie held up a hand. “I’m not fit to be a housekeeper, Dorie. You know that. I’m a pretty bit of fluff who can sew a straight seam and make endless small talk. I’ve heard from Beauclerk.”
Captain Amery Beauclerk had inveigled Melanie into running off with him. “What couldhepossibly want?”
“Me,” Melanie said. “He wants me, for his wife. He tried to transfer out of his unit so he wouldn’t have to go to Canada. His commanding officers would not allow him to marry, and thus we were at an impasse. He went away to Canada, promising me he’d come back to me or send for me.”
“What else could he have said, Melanie? That man ruined you, cost you your family, your good name, your security in life, and that he has the gall to—”
Melanie was smiling and not the darling smile of the bit of fluff she’d called herself. She smiled with the patient wisdom of a woman grown.
“You are so fierce, Dorie, but you must not slander my intended.”
“Yourintended? Melanie, no. Bad enough that I must marry the likes of Isaiah Mornebeth, but for you to trust the word of a man who expects you to leave everything dear and familiar, twice… What about John?”
What about me?Dorcas had missed Melanie sorely. Missed her good humor, missed her mischief. Missed a connection with somebody who had known her before Mornebeth had wrought his damage and before Mama had died.
“It’s complicated, Dorie,” Melanie said. “Beauclerk and I love each other, and in a simple world, that would be enough. In a world where commanding officers want to make examples of lovestruck subordinates, and where women and babies need to eat…”
“Explain the complications to me, Melanie. Please.”
Melanie rose and began a perambulation about the hall. “You were always so good at dealing with the practicalities. I just wanted to be happy, to make everybody happy. I know that’s not possible, but Beauclerk… he understands me. He likes me. He says I’m sunshine and laughter and the warmth in his heart.”
