Authors: M.C. Beaton
At long last, the speeches and dances were over. The happy couple had gone to Lord Peter’s Town house to spend the first night of their marriage before travelling abroad and were locked naked in each other’s arms long before Amy and Effy returned wearily home, helped up the stairs to their drawing room by a sympathetic Mr Haddon.
‘Well, that’s that,’ sighed Amy. ‘Will there ever be another wedding, I wonder?’
‘I should not be at all surprised,’ giggled Effy, and batted her eyelashes at Mr Haddon.
‘I mean will we get another job? You silly fool,’ said Amy.
‘I am sure you will,’ said Mr Haddon bracingly. But privately, he doubted very much that they would.
Down in Kent, Squire Wraxall pulled a sheet of paper in front of him and began to write, shifting a branch of candles nearer to him to provide a better light.
The quill pen began to scrape across the paper. ‘Dear Misses Tribble,’ began the squire and then scratched his wig in perplexity with the inky end of his pen.
How could he describe Delilah?
How could anyone describe Delilah?