freely in his favourite port. Perhaps Lord Delagarde might respond more readily if his head were not aching so badly.
Maidie leaned forward a little, and addressed him in a tone of solicitude. ‘Shall I send for some coffee?’
Delagarde started. God, was she still here? For a brief moment of silence, in which he had allowed his seething brain to subside a little, he had almost succeeded in forgetting her unwelcome presence. Dropping his hands, he gripped the wooden arms of his chair and braced himself to look at her again.
What had she said? ‘Coffee?’
‘I would strongly advise it. My great-uncle used to say that it was the best cure for your sort of condition.’
Delagarde opened his mouth to consign her great-uncle to the devil, and instead drew a steadying breath. Be calm, he told himself resolutely, be calm.
‘I do not want any coffee,’ he said carefully.
‘I assure you—’
‘No!’ A pause, then pointedly, ‘Thank you.’
She relaxed back. ‘As you wish.’
Resolutely, Delagarde sat up. ‘Now then, Lady Mary, let us be sensible.’
Come, this was an advance, decided Maidie eagerly. He had used her name at least. ‘Indeed, I wish for nothing better.’
‘What you wish for is quite out of the question,’ Delagarde returned. ‘Surely there must be some other person than myself more properly suited to the task of bringing you out?’
Maidie resolutely shook her head. ‘There is no one. You, Lord Delagarde, are my nearest male relative—other than Shurland—and it is nothing less than your duty.’
‘But I don’t know you from Adam! As for being your nearest male relative, I have no recollection of even the remotest connection with the Hopes.’
She raised her brows. ‘Who said anything about the Hopes? The relationship is on my mother’s side. She was one of the Burloynes.’
‘I have never heard of them,’ said Delagarde, not without relief. ‘Which proves they can have nothing to do with the Delagarde family.’
Maidie clicked her tongue. ‘Did I say so?’
‘You said…’ Delagarde began, and paused, realising that she had set his mind in such a confusion that he could no longer untangle one thing she had said from another. ‘It matters little what you said. The point is—’
‘The point is,’ she cut in, ‘that even if you refuse to recognise the relationship, you cannot escape the obligation.’
Delagarde stared at her with a good deal of suspicion. What new ploy was this? ‘What obligation?’
Maidie shifted in her seat and produced the reticule that had been hidden under her pelisse. Searching within it, she brought forth a folded sheet of yellowed parchment, upon which he glimpsed the remains of a broken seal. Maidie got up and held it out to him.
‘This will explain it.’ As he rose automatically to take it from her and open it out, she added, ‘It is from your mother. You see there the name of Mrs Egginton, to whom it is addressed? She lived nearby and very thoughtfully befriended me, and sent to Lady Delagarde after my father died. You will notice that Lady Delagarde promises to lend me countenance when I should at last come out.’
Delagarde ran his eyes rapidly down the sheet. It was indeed a letter written by his mother to this effect, for he recognised the hand. But what obligation did this constitute?
‘What possible reason could this Egginton woman have for choosing to batten upon my mother?’
‘Your mother was born Lady Dorinda Otterburn, was she not?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Well, then. The Burloyne connection comes through the Otterburns. So you see, we are related.’
Delagarde saw nothing of the sort. The name of Burloyne had no meaning for him, although he had to admit to unfamiliarity with all the ramifications of his mother’s family. But he was not going to waste time finding them out.
‘The relationship,’ he said firmly, ‘if there is any—which I take leave to doubt—must be remote in the extreme.’ He was still studying the letter. ‘What is this offer my mother mentions to send someone to live with you?’
‘But I told you that my duenna is your cousin. Have you not been listening?’
Delagarde found himself contemplating the desirability of boxing her ears. He restrained himself with difficulty, and once more bade himself be calm.
‘Lady Mary, while it may prove to be out of my power—regrettably!—to repudiate some sort of relationship with you, allow me to draw to your attention that this letter is over ten years old. Moreover, my mother has been in her grave these many years.’
‘I know that,’ agreed Maidie patiently, ‘and therefore the obligation devolves upon you.’ She retrieved the letter and pointed to one sentence. ‘You see here that your mother even states that you may be counted upon to aid the project.’
‘Good God, girl, I was barely eighteen at the time!’ He thrust away, throwing up a protective hand as if she might threaten him. ‘Take the wretched thing away before I rip it to shreds! It has no bearing on the case. I knew nothing of the matter then, and I wish to know less of it now. In any event, my circumstances hardly make me a suitable person to lend you countenance. And if you think it escaped me that you mentioned Shurland when you gave me this cock-and-bull tale of being your nearest male relative, you are mistaken. So answer me this, if you please: why cannot he bring you out?’
‘Because he is dead,’ stated Maidie doggedly.
‘He can’t be dead,’ protested Delagarde, pacing in some agitation. ‘He only took over the title a year or so ago.’
‘I meant my great-uncle, the fifth Earl,’ she explained. ‘He was my guardian.’
‘Then why didn’t he arrange for your debut?’
‘Because he was eccentric.’
‘Evidently it runs in the family.’
Maidie merely gazed at him with her wide-eyed look. She folded the letter and replaced it in her reticule. She then reseated herself and looked up at him again. As calmly as if she owned the place! Delagarde eyed her in frustrated silence for a moment or two. He had half a mind to ring for Lowick and have him forcibly remove the wretched female, but he supposed such a course was ineligible. He was, after all, a gentleman. But he was not going to accede to her nonsensical demand.
He resumed his post by the mantelpiece. ‘What about this female who befriended you, the Egginton woman?’
‘She died, too.’
‘She would! Well, the other one, then.’
‘Which other one?’
‘Your duenna. Don’t
