And over the next few hours, the drawing room gradually filled with guests of all ages. First came Lady Lavinia, her ladyship’s granddaughter, along with her twin daughters, Mary and Gloria. Next, the four older boys—all in their teens—dutifully greeted their great-grandmother and then huddled in a corner, laughing and joking with one another.
“Mr. Glass needed the older boys at home.” Lady Lavinia grimaced as she informed her grandmother. She was a lovely woman, despite greying hair and lines around her mouth, and her eyes matched those of her grandmother. Delia wasn’t quite sure why the hair on the back of her neck had pricked up.
“So, we won’t have the entire family?” Lady St. Vincent asked with a pout.
“I’m afraid not.” Lady Lavinia turned to Delia. “My husband is the blacksmith in our village. He allowed two of his workers to take the holidays off, so he needed the boys at home.”
Her smile was tight and didn’t quite show in her eyes, giving her the look of an incredibly weary traveler.
“We will make the best of it, then,” Delia offered. “And send treats home with you at the end of the party.”
“We?” An older woman drawled with a chortle. “Since when are we consorting with servants, Helena?” The older woman was stunning, with bright red hair streaked white and grey. She stepped around Lady Lavinia to take Lady St. Vincent’s hands in hers. She wore her confidence like perfume.
“Iam consorting with my new companion, Simone. Allow me to present Miss Somerset. Bedelia, this is Lady Bromcroft, one of my oldest friends.”
Lady Bromcroft stared down her nose, making Delia feel as though she ought to apologize for her presence—something she’d tolerated many times in the past.
Delia straightened her back.
Delia belonged here today. She was going to be valuable to Lady St. Vincent. She was going to do all she could to ensure her comfort.
“I’m honored to meet you, my lady.” Delia curtseyed.
Delia recognized a few of the remaining guests who trickled in: the Duke of DeClair and his daughter, along with the Baron and Baroness Piedmont. None of them recognized Delia, of course, and for that, she was grateful.
After most of the arrivals had been led away to their chambers, Lord St. Vincent appeared belatedly. The earl was a handsome and sturdy-looking gentleman despite his advanced age, but upon seeing him, Delia shivered.
Her mind was playing tricks on her. It must be.
Lord St. Vincent’s resemblance to Jack was uncanny.
The countess smiled up at her husband. “I should have sent Bunker up to find you.” Their shared look was an affectionate one.
“Archibald, allow me to present Miss Somerset—” But before she could finish the introduction, the countess turned her attention toward the door. “There you are, darling! I was beginning to think you had returned to London. Did you find what you were looking for?”
“I’m afraid not,” the late arrival answered, causing Delia’s breath to catch and the world to spin around her.
She would recognize that voice anywhere.
“Perhaps it wasn’t meant to be,” her ladyship suggested.
“Or perhaps I need to look harder.”
“You always have been stubborn. Now come sit down so you can tell me all about this quest of yours.”
“I’ve half the road on me, Grandmother. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll wash up and then stop by your sitting room before dinner.”
The countess leaned forward. “What have you there, Jack? Luggage and a lady’s reticule?”
Delia peered around Lady St. Vincent’s chair. Sitting in the doorway was—
Her valise—along with her reticule resting beside the handle.
They were covered in mud and certainly worse for wear, but there was no mistaking the well-worn brown fabric of the case she’d never expected to see again. The embroidered flowers that trimmed the purse had been sewn by Delia’s own hand.
She blinked as her secret world collided with this new one.
Of course, Lady St. Vincent’s eyes were the same color as her grandson’s—as were his sister’s.