Vanquished

“Ooh! What about this gingham?”A pause. “Del, are you evening listening to me?”

Francesca’s voice finally registered, and Delilah turned to see that she was holding up a black and white checkered fabric in the modiste’s shop. She wrinkled her nose. “That’s appropriate to attend a race?”

“Why not?” Francesca shrugged. “There have been stories that claimed villagers in Vichy, France used the very same sort of checkered pattern when they are having a piquenique. And since Castlemaine will likely be looking at you as if he wishes to feast, then I say it’s perfect!”

Delilah would have rolled her eyes if she wasn’t feeling so upset. Instead, she exhaled heavily and said, “I doubt that will be the case, but whatever you think is appropriate is fine with me.”

Once they had made their purchases and arrangements were made with the seamstress to deliver them by the appropriate date, Delilah and Francesca left the shop. The blonde tucked her arm through hers. “What about a straw bonnet to complete the ensemble?”

Delilah sighed. “Of course.”

With a long-suffering sigh of her own, Francesca dragged her near the entrance of a coffeehouse.

Delilah blinked curiously. “What are you doing? You don’t even like coffee—”

“This isn’t about refreshments,” her friend scolded. “I want to know what’s going on with you! You have been quite inconsolable ever since we met and while I was searching through fabric for something special to wear for the race and the upcoming celebration at St. James Park, all you did was rest your chin in your hand and stare out the window like a puppy dog who has lost its master!”

Delilah frowned. “I did not!”

“You did,” Francesca corrected, her blue eyes snapping with challenge to defy her again. “Now you better tell me what is going on, or else you give me no choice but to express my concerns to the baron.”

Delilah’s eyes widened at the threat that she might go to her father, but she realized that it would probably help if she had someone to confide in. “Fine. I’ll tell you what’s bothering me.” She glanced around at the crowd of people walking up and down the busy thoroughfare. “But not here.”

Francesca nodded. “I had planned on going to Drury Lane tonight with my mother, but she will spend most of her time sleeping in the back of the box rather than pay attention to the play.” She poked Delilah in the upper arm. “And you better not leave anything out.”

* * *

The entire auditorium was a crush,for Francesca had failed to mention that it was the opening night at the Theatre Royal for Miss Maria Foote, a celebrated actress who had made quite an impression on the city when she had performed at Covent Garden in May as she played Amanthis in the Child of Nature, a role in which she was reprising that evening.

However, Francesca continued to assure her that since they had a private box, they would not be disturbed.

As they settled inside, Francesca’s mother, Lady Mulberry settled herself in the far back of the section. She waved a hand at them. “Go enjoy yourselves, girls. I shall watch from back here until intermission.”

Francesca glanced at Delilah with raised brows, as if to proclaim, ‘I told you so.’

They sat down and Delilah had to admit that the view was quite impressive. Boxes were stacked all around the main auditorium about four high and they were on the second level, far enough away from the melee below, and close enough they didn’t have anything to obstruct their view of the stage.

The lights still glowed, and the din of the activity was almost deafening, but Francesca wasted no time in turning to Delilah for the full on dit of her recent interactions with the Irish earl. Reluctantly, Delilah told her everything that had happened, including her midnight tryst, which effectively caused her friend’s mouth to fall open. When she was finished, the lights were starting to dim, signaling the start of the play, but Francesca was focused on her.

“I daresay your actions do not seem like you at all, Del.” While Delilah was afraid that Francesca might judge her harshly, her eyes were almost reverent. “I wish I had the courage to go after what I wanted like that.”

Delilah’s lips twitched. “Well, as you can see, it hasn’t done me much good. He’s quite upset with me now.”

Francesca nodded. “That is regrettable, but at least you have something wonderful to carry you through the rest of your days.” Her focus drifted off. “Some of us can only dream of the same.”

Delilah didn’t know if it was her friend’s statement, or perhaps her own thought process that was changing, but she said, “You can take matters into your own hands, Frannie. Change the course of your future. I know you love Adam.”

Blonde hair whipped as Francesca turned back to her. “It’s not that easy for me, Del. You know my father and mother would never allow it.”

“Why not?” Delilah had never understood this part. “Adam is the son of a duke. Even if he doesn’t have a title because he is a younger son, I can’t imagine that there would be any objection on behalf of either side.”

“But that’s where you’re wrong.” Francesca’s lips pursed tightly. “You don’t understand everything…”

“Then tell me so I can!” Delilah said. “I just told you what happened with me and Conor, now you can’t do the same?”

Francesca’s normally bright blue eyes were flat. “It’s complicated.”

Delilah laughed. “And my situation isn’t?”

“It’s… different.”

Frustrated, Delilah put a hand to her forehead just as the curtain raised on the stage. While she had been excited to spend time with Francesca and see her first play in London, her attention was sadly lacking during the first half. Even the well-known actress failed to gain her notice—but the sight of a familiar figure walking among the crowd did not.

Delilah’s eyes were suddenly fixed on the tall, well-built man who had just returned to his seat just a few rows below her. She clutched the railing of the box and clenched her gloved hands as he sat down next to a buxom redhead and put his arm around her. He even leaned over and whispered something in her ear, and it must have been rather torrid, for she slapped his chest playfully and laughed.

Tears stung Delilah’s eyes, but she refused to let them fall. If Conor wished to court another woman for her charms, there was nothing she could do about it. They had no claim on the other. In truth, she ought to be relieved that he had decided to continue with his life, so that she could do the same with hers. Nevertheless, she wasn’t about to stay there and watch it transpire before her very eyes.

She stood.

“Where are you going?” Francesca asked, and Delilah couldn’t even talk, but rather gestured over her shoulder. It didn’t take long for her friend to find the object of her upset. “The cretin!” she spat.

“I need some air,” Delilah said, feeling as though the walls around her were suddenly starting to close in.

“Of course.” Francesca’s eyes were concerned. “Do you need me to come with you?”

She shook her head. “No. I’ll be fine. I just… need a moment.” …to remember that I don’t care about him. But this, she left unsaid.

Unable to leave without one last glance behind her, Delilah sucked in a breath when she found that Conor was looking directly at her. He frowned when he recognized her and immediately rose, the woman beside him temporarily forgotten. Fearing that he would attempt to converse with her, Delilah quickly rushed out of the box and headed for the safety of the ladies’ retiring room. At this point, it would be better than going outside where he could easily follow.

“Delilah, stop!”