“Oh, my dear.”
“And I could have—but for the snow. By the time I realized it wasn’t going to let up, I’d already gone too far. I could barely see my hand in front of me.” She could tell the countess some of this.
But most definitely not the wicked morsels.
“How ever did you make it here in one piece?”
“I very nearly didn’t.” Delia recalled the moments before Jack and his driver had stopped for her; she had genuinely believed she was facing her demise. “If not for a kind stranger who stopped to assist me, I would have died.“ Delia blinked. The story sounded rather dramatic, even to herself, but all of it was true. “He didn’t have to stop. I got mud all over the floor of his coach, but he didn’t once complain. He ensured I had a warm bed for the night and that I didn’t go hungry. There are good people in the world, my lady. It’s easy to forget that sometimes.”
“It was a gentleman who stopped for you?”
Delia nodded and then swallowed hard. Yes. Jack was, indeed, a gentleman. “He was noble and charming and honorable.”And handsome.“I was lucky,” Delia needed to change the subject before she told her new employer everything. “Very lucky. And I’m sorry for arriving late. I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you.”
“I’m only happy you arrived safely.” The countess stared at her curiously. “Was your hero a local gentleman? I’d like to offer him my thanks, and of course, we can repay him any money he spent on you.”
“I… don’t believe that he was.” Delia remembered the paper Jack had handed her. After returning from the shops, she’d tucked it safely away in her reticule and would only take it out when she was prepared to send him back the money he’d loaned her.
“He sounds like a wonderful person.”
“He was…” Delia trailed off—her chest tight and cold at the reminder that she’d never see him again.
“And rather heroic.”
“Oh yes,” Delia sighed. “He was most heroic.”
The countess smiled fondly. “Ah, to be young again. Did you take a fancy to him?” Mrs. Finke might be cold and rigid, but Lady St. Vincent was…
Lovely.
“Perhaps a little.” Delia didn’t dissemble. The countess was no fool and seemed to have already guessed at the truth. “He was very, very handsome. So handsome that I can’t imagine any ladynottaking a fancy to him.” Delia grinned sheepishly. This conversation was moving into dangerous territory.
Fortunately, the distant sounds of carriages approaching saved her from admitting that she’d fallen in love with him.
Her heart had been doomed the moment he lifted her out of the snow. He truly had come along like a Christmas miracle. She’d never stood a chance.
Delia smoothed her skirt self-consciously.
“How many guests are you expecting? Do you wish to receive them downstairs or perhaps wait until dinner?” Delia wasn’t sure how spry her new employer was, but she ought to do something. This was her job, wasn’t it? “Would you prefer that I leave you to rest?”
“Not at all. And although I know you’ve just arrived, I’d like you to come down with me if you don’t mind. There are just over thirty in all, what with a few friends and my granddaughter’s brood. You should meet them.”
“Of course.” Delia gulped. Ever since she could remember, she’d provided company for her mother’s friends—voluntarily. Delia had imagined her new position wouldn’t be much different.
But, although the countess seemed beyond kind, the uncomfortable cap ensured that no one would mistake Delia for a lady. She was not a guest.
She was a servant.
“I suppose we ought to go down now,” the countess said.
As the two of them made slow progress along the corridor, Lady St. Vincent asked Delia questions about London. She then went on to explain the expectations she’d had in mind when agreeing to a companion—which had been her grandson’s idea—and that she couldn’t knit like she used to, and although she loved music, she no longer played because of the pain in her hands.
She had a few unfinished projects in her knitting basket and hated the music room sitting empty.
“I’m proficient at both, my lady,” Delia answered as they entered the formal drawing room on the main floor. “But not much more than that.”
“That’s fine, fine.” The countess waved away Delia’s concerns. “This way, dear.” She gestured toward the formal staircase that Mrs. Finke had said was off-limits to servants. “As you’ll soon learn about me, I tend to complain even though I’m more than content. And I am quite looking forward to having family at home—especially for the holidays.”
“Then you must enjoy the season as much as possible.” The countess clutched Delia’s arm as they descended and then accepted assistance into a large wing-backed chair. Delia drew up a cushioned ottoman for herself as chattering voices and footsteps sounded from the front foyer.