Page 70 of Lady Scandal
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” she muttered in complete exasperation,staring at Cassandra Hayden’s name. Was she never going to stop being reminded of that man?
She stared at the letter, torn between curiosity and the rather craven impulse to shove it in a drawer. Curiosity won.
“Oh, dear,” she murmured a few moments later, staring at the penned lines, sympathy replacing her earlier aggravation. “Poor girl.”
Her own troubles forgotten, at least for the time being, she read the letter again, wondering how she could be of help. The girl was clearly in over her head. Perhaps she could write to the ladies of the county and put in a word? But there wasn’t much time. And in any case, would that be—
“Delia, my dear!”
She looked up, and at the sight of the balding, mustachioed man in the doorway, she dropped the letter in complete surprise. “César?”
He bowed. “In the flesh.”
“Back at last!” She jumped up, circled her desk, and flung herself into his arms with the familiarity of their long acquaintance. “I was beginning to think you’d vanished from the face of the earth, and I’d never see you again,” she declared, pressing a kiss to each of his cheeks with profound affection. “How was Paris?”
He rolled his eyes, his smile fading. “Chaos, my dear. I wish you had been with me to help straighten out the mess. How we’ll ever be ready to open by June, I cannot think.”
“You could delay the opening,” she replied, moving to return to the chair at her desk and gesturing for him to take the chair opposite. “Give yourself more time.”
“Only if I must. How have things been here?”
There was a nuance in his voice as he asked the question, a casual indifference that was unlike him, making her appreciate at once what he was really asking, and she decided a bit of flattery wouldn’t go amiss. “As well as they can be when you are away.”
“Yes, yes, you try to put the good face on, but the staff is unhappy. This I know.”
“There has been some grumbling,” she admitted. “But things are getting better.”
“Are they? I do not think so.”
Delia gave a diplomatic shrug. “I can only say that no one has come to me with any complaints for several weeks now. I take that as a good sign.”
“You are always so optimistic, my dear friend. But I appreciate your honesty.”
“I’m always honest, César. You know that.”
“Yes, of course. You are too honest, sometimes, I fear.”
That took her aback a bit, but before she could ask what he meant, he went on, “And what of our friend Lord Calderon?” he asked. His voice was light, almost unconcerned, but Delia heard the tension beneath the question. “What is your honest opinion there?”
She wriggled a little in her chair, sensing that in this case, César would definitely not appreciate her honesty. “Well, it’s early days yet,” she hedged. “I think it’s too soon to judge.”
“You form no opinion, even though he makes the Duchess of Moreland and Lord Synby take their parties elsewhere?”
“You heard about that, did you?”
“Of course. But I am curious why I didn’t hear it from you before I left for Paris.”
The rebuke was plain, making her grimace. “I was completely inundated the day you wanted to meet. And then you left for Paris, and you’ve been away ever since. And you know how bad I am at writing letters, darling!”
That was something he could not refute, and she was relieved when he nodded his head. “I know, but I need you to help me againstCalderon. If we let him have his way, he will be the ruin of everything we have built here.”
“That was my opinion, too,” she acknowledged. But before she could point out that for the good of the hotel, she had changed her mind, Ritz spoke again.
“We must fight him, all of us. Together.”
“Fight him?” Delia echoed in dismay, appreciating that what she’d blithely assumed was a minor skirmish between two powerful men was in fact a full-fledged war. And she was caught squarely in the middle. “I’m not sure what can be done in that regard,” she murmured tactfully.
“Ah, but I do. I know.” He smiled, rubbing his hands together as if quite pleased with himself. “We shall have a party.”
