Chapter Two
Delia took in a breath even as everyone else seemed to let out a giant exhale.
“Delia!” Stone’s voice cut through the room.
“Crum,” Delia whispered. She rarely expressed this thought because it angered Stone beyond reason.
Manchester’s mouth hung open as he looked at her with shock. A small pang of regret made her grimace but she pushed it back down.
“Forgive my sister, she does not always think her thoughts through before she speaks,” Stone gritted out.
“There is nothing to forgive.” Manchester waved his hand, his look of shock vanishing. Delia looked at him in surprise. She had expected him to make a hasty retreat after that rather cryptic and honest admission.
“How…kind of you.” She gave him a falsely bright smile. If honesty would not work in scaring him off, she would have to try another way.
He gave her a brilliant smile in return. It made her toes curl and her nether region ache. Giving her head the tiniest shake, she tried to clear the feeling.
“Let’s speak of something else.” He nodded encouragingly.
Gathering her wits about her, she turned her head to assess him further. “Perhaps I can tell you a story.”
“Please do.” His smile broadened, making his eyes dance. Her insides clenched tighter.
“It is about a fair maiden.” She wiggled her eyebrows. A girl did not survive with five brothers by being a wilting flower. This story would sting.
“Was she the most beautiful in the land?” he gave her a devilish grin and she nearly giggled. Dear Lord, the man was handsome. But she wouldn’t allow him to distract her.
“She was fair enough. But she was held prisoner by no less than four boorish beasts who told her what to do all day and never took her anywhere fun. In fact, they even took to keeping her in the tallest, north tower of their dastardly castle.” She took a breath but her brother Stone interrupted.
“Delia, really, you’ve turned us into—”
“Shush, Stone, you are interrupting.” She held her finger up to her eldest brother and guardian. He grew silent but frowned terribly at her. Her other brothers shifted in discomfort and Matthew was eyeing her with suspicion across the room.
Manchester gave a look back over his shoulder, his lips pressing together as though he was trying not to laugh. “I have to admit, Lady Delia, this is a good story.”
Something in her warmed at those words. Her brother, Reginald, had always been her partner in crime, her confidante, the person to laugh at her jokes. But Reginald was the very reason she could not let this man into her heart. “Then one day, the boorish beasts unlocked the tower and announced they had finally found a use for the maiden. She was to be sold on the marriage market to His Grace, the fourth Duke of—”
“Delia!” Stone’s interruption was far louder, but her arrow had hit its mark. Manchester’s face went from laughing to hard as rock. He would have fit right in in the Alban family. Another pang of regret reverberated in her chest but she ignored it. Marriage to him was not an option.
Manchester stood, and Delia followed suit, certain she had killed any hope he may have harbored. Stone would have to find her a fat old earl that would make her perfectly miserable. It was the only way she could see a future for herself at all. Truth be told, she’d rather be a spinster, but Stone simply wouldn’t allow it.
“Lady Delia, it is always a pleasure. But I would ask, since I am sure we will be well acquainted, that you call me Roderick, rather than His Grace.”
She gave a nod even as she pursed her lips. Apparently, he wasn’t going to be so easy to scare off.
Rising early was Delia’s custom. So the next morning she was up before the sun. It was a chance for quiet reflection in a house that was often mad with people. And today, she had a great deal to think about. Namely, ridding herself of her pesky duke.
It also gave her the opportunity to participate in her one hobby since the death of brother, cooking. Strictly speaking, it was not considered a lady’s pursuit but she enjoyed it so much, and her brothers preferred she stayed close to the house, so they had allowed her as much time in the kitchen as she wanted.
Stone often grumbled about what a mistake it was. “You should be doing needlepoint or taking dancing lessons. Your husband is going to think he has married a peasant.”
She didn’t care at all. In fact, his comments only seemed to fuel her infatuation. Delia loved Stone with all of her heart but his ambitions near drove her mad at times. In the end, he always got his way, except for this one thing. The rest of the family liked her cooking so much, they overruled him, and Delia remained in the kitchen. And he didn’t admit it often, but he’d always loved it too.
Dressed in a simple gown with her hair loosely braided down her back, she tied an apron around her waist and began pulling out the flour and butter to make a nice pastry crust. She smiled with satisfaction as she worked the dough into a perfect ball, then she wrapped it in a cloth and set it aside, as she began to prepare the meat filling.
The sound of the back door made her glance up. Cook always joined her. With four brothers, their three wives, and seven children thus far, there was a great deal of food to be prepped.
But it wasn’t Cook. Her spoon paused mid-stir as Manchester walked into the kitchen. It could only be Stone who had told Roderick where she would be and given his permission for the duke to join her. The spoon clattered against the side of the bowl as she slammed it on the counter. “I’ll murder him,” she muttered.