Midnight Star (Star Quartet 2)

“Whatever for?” her husband asked in some surprise. “Thought you’d already proffered all the right sentiments.”

“Her mother died when she was a little girl,” Agatha explained as if to a dull-witted child. “I shouldn’t wonder if she were quite ignorant about the more intimate parts of marriage. Maybe as an older married woman—”

“Lord, Aggie, leave off! Del can handle all of that. He’s not a randy boy, after all. I doubt the girl’s all that naive in any case.”

“She’s English,” Agatha said with some asperity. “You know how well-bred girls are raised there.”

“No, I don’t, but no matter. The last thing she needs is an old battleax like you advising her!”

“Uncouth bore!”

“Well, I suppose you could tell her that she’ll have the time of her life.”

Agatha poked him fondly in the ribs. “Well, I refuse to leave until that silly little fool Penelope Stevenson is safely out the door. And Sally Stevenson! You’d think the world has come to an end.”

“All right. I’ll go collar Bunker. He’s beginning to look the worse for wear. Excellent champagne, and all Bunker has swilled is brandy.”

“And I’ll rescue poor Tony from Penelope.” Agatha smiled politely to the remaining guests, keeping on course to where Tony stood, a look of long suffering on his handsome face. “How are you, Tony, Penelope?” she asked brightly. “What a lovely wedding it was, don’t you think? And this magnificent reception. I vow I’ve eaten enough for three days!”

“The wedding cake was too dry,” Penelope said. “I’ll bet that Chink cook of Del’s made it.”

“You know, Penelope,” Agatha said thoughtfully, staring down at the girl, “there is nothing more repugnant than a show of bad manners, particularly when the show derives from jealousy. Don’t you agree?”

“You’ll see,” Penelope said stiffly, looking from Agatha Newton, silly old cow, to a flushed Tony Dawson, “Del will tire of her quickly enough. Then he’ll be sorry.” With that obscure parting shot, she turned and flounced toward her mother.

“Thank you for the rescue, Agatha,” Tony said fervently, swallowing the remainder of his champagne.

“My pleasure, dear boy.” She patted his hand. “We’re leaving now. Would you like to accompany us?”

Tony gave her a crooked grin. “Why? Do you think I’ll say something repugnant if I remain?”

“Oh no,” Agatha said cheerfully. “It’s just that it’s sometimes better to spend time with friends than alone.”

“Just so, but not this evening, thank you.”

“Damned fine filly you got, Del,” Sam Brannan was saying to Delaney as he walked him to the front door.

“Thank you, Sam. I agree, you may be sure.”

“The poor girl looks quite tired,” Sam continued, unable to contain the leer that made his full lips pout. “Lord, I hope she won’t be exhausted tomorrow!”

Delaney stiffened, his smile forced. “I’m glad you could come, Sam,” he said.

After a sharp, jovial poke in Delaney’s stomach, Sam Brannan took his leave, followed by the Stevensons and the Newtons.

Chauncey, finally released from the proselytizing endeavors of Reverend Barkeley—“the Church of England, indeed, ma’am!”—and still reeling from all the people she had met for the first time, eased herself into a comfortable velvet chair and leaned back, closing her eyes.

She heard Delaney’s smooth voice from the entryway, deftly turning the more suggestive comments from the single men and complimenting the ladies on their apparel as they filed out the front door.

“I am Mrs. Delaney Saxton,” she murmured, her voice revealing the shock of it. “I don’t believe it.”

“I imagine that you will soon enough.”

Her eyes flew open. Tony Dawson was smiling down at her, but his left hand was fisted at his side.

“Ah, Tony,” she said, regaining her control quickly. “I thought you’d left.”

“I am going now. I wanted to wish you well again, Elizabeth.”