Page 90 of Miss Delightful
Alasdhair wanted to kiss Dorcas. He desired her—he would always desire her—but desire wasn’t driving him as he held her hand and searched for the right words. He wanted closeness and accord with her, a shared future, shared dreams. He wanted to kiss the hope back into her, the confidence and courage, as she’d brought those gifts to him.
“Alasdhair, I haven’t any thunderbolts.”
“Oh, but you do.” He did kiss her, gently at first, because he had missed her so and because he still feared to lose her, but Dorcas was apparently not in the mood for gentleness. She got hold of him by the hair and came a-viking into the kiss, until Alasdhair was ready to wrestle her into his lap.
“You’ve missed me,” he said, more than a little pleased.
“Sorely. Desperately, but what does that change?”
He kept his arm around her, lest she go marching off to count the silver. “Everything. Do you know why we sent the Corsican packing?”
“Because twenty years of mutual slaughter were enough?”
“Because he spread his forces too thin, my darling dear. He lost half a million men on that horrific dash to Moscow, and that didn’t leave much for the war in Spain. On the Peninsula, Wellington’s army was better provisioned, better led, and better trained. A single soldier could not have lasted a moment against the French, but an army got the job done.”
“I have no army.”
“Neither does Mornebeth, but you have me, and that means you also have—”
“Miss Delancey!” The voice was elderly, female, and imperious. “Miss Delancey, are you here?”
“That is Mrs. Oldbach.” Dorcas could not have sounded less pleased. “Away with you, Alasdhair. We will speak more later.”
“Don’t accept his proposal, Dorcas. Isaiah Mornebeth will try to ambush you, but you must stand fast. Reinforcements are at hand.”
He kissed her cheek and withdrew through the door that led directly to the churchyard, while Dorcas remained in the hall, looking disgruntled and weary.
And also as if somebody had just kissed the stuffing out of her.
* * *
Mrs. Oldbach,while discoursing confidently on everything from the best polish for everyday silver to the current fashion for shorter hair, had soon put the church hall to rights, which was fortunate.
Dorcas was reeling both with the fact of Melanie’s survival and with Alasdhair’s parting warning:IsaiahMornebeth will try to ambush you, but you must stand fast. Reinforcements are at hand.
Mornebethhadambushed her, both years ago and with his marital aspirations. He joined the convivial crowd milling about in the church hall, and Dorcas was almost relieved. When Mornebeth was in plain sight, bowing over the hands of the eligible young ladies, she knew where he was. She knew what he was about.
“Did you invite him?” Michael asked, passing Dorcas a glass of punch.
“Certainly not. Perhaps Papa did, but we cannot toss him out on his ear, can we?”
Michael took a sip of his punch. “Mama’s recipe?”
“With a few variations. Have you retrieved your promissory note from Mornebeth?”
Michael peered at her over his glass. “That is an odd topic to bring up in this crush, Dorcas.”
Dorcas had odder topics than that to discuss with Michael, such as the depths to which she’d stooped in hopes of appeasing Mornebeth. “Please answer the question.”
“I called upon him at the Ingleby residence,” Michael said. “He danced and dithered and pled forgetfulness and moving quarters and so forth. In the midst of this performance, old Zachariah Ingleby happened into the parlor, supposedly looking for his spectacles. Ingleby noted that Isaiah’s worldly goods were all tidily packed and awaiting his remove to Southwark, and any necessary papers ought to be easily retrieved with a few moments’ effort. I had my promissory note not five minutes later. I had to remind Mornebeth to initial it ‘paid in full.’”
“Mr. Ingleby is friends with Lady Phoebe, if I recall correctly.”
“He’s like Papa. He gets along with everybody, especially with the old guard. I do believe it’s time I reminded Mrs. Oldbach how fond I am of her baking.”
“No snitching, and, Michael…”
“Dorcas?”
