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of her departure drew near. She had never been to London. Of course, the idea of staying with strangers was a bit lowering. She did wish her father would tell her a little more about these Tribble sisters, but he was infuriatingly vague.
    She called again on Mrs Cavendish to make her goodbyes.
    ‘So sensible of you to go,’ said Mrs Cavendish comfortably. ‘Everyone should go to London at least once.’
    ‘Have you been?’ asked Delilah curiously.
    ‘I made my come-out at the Season,’ said Mrs Cavendish. Her eyes suddenly became dreamy. ‘How wonderful it all was. Oh, the balls and suppers and carriages in the Park. What a fuss and flutter I was in, for my parents were expending a great deal of money, you know, and it was my duty to become engaged before the end of the Season. And I was so very dutiful. I would have settled on anyone at all suitable just to please them. In fact, I nearly accepted the hand of old Lord Lissom, who was quite twenty-five years older than I. He had wooden false teeth, quite off-putting. But one must always do one’s duty. And then my late husband arrived on the scene. It was at a Wednesday night at Almack’s. How surprised you look! But I was staying with my aunt, who was
very
good
ton
, and she was a friend of one of the patronesses, so I got my vouchers. John, my husband-to-be, asked me to dance. It was one of those hurly-burly Scotch reels where one does not have much opportunity for dalliance or conversation, but we knew then, from that first moment, that we were in love. I never looked back, never regretted it.’
    Delilah looked at her wide-eyed, reflecting that the late Mr Cavendish had hardly been a model husband. He had left his poor wife a mountain of debt and she had had to sell her large and comfortable home and estates and all her jewellery to meet the costs.
    Mrs Cavendish laughed. ‘You are thinking it was a poor sort of man to leave me in such straits, but we were very happy. You cannot do much about gambling, you know. His grandfather was a gambler. The Fatal Tendency missed a generation and then descended on my poor John. It is of no use telling gentlemen not to gamble, you know. They
will
do it.’
    ‘But did he never feel remorseful, ashamed of himself?’ asked Delilah.
    ‘Well, I suppose he sometimes did. But hardened gamblers are such charmingly optimistic creatures, you know. They are always quite sure that something will turn up to get them out of the mess. Strangely enough, something usually does, but it only makes them gamble harder than ever.’
    ‘Did you never wish you had children?’ asked Delilah.
    ‘I do now. But, of course, my John was not only my husband but my child as well. He was all I ever thought about and cared about. I fear you are too nice in your tastes, Miss Wraxall. No man is perfect. You must make allowances.’
    ‘Perhaps I do not wish to marry,’ said Delilah. ‘I do not see why one should if one does not wish to do so.’
    ‘Have you never thought that your father might have married again had he not had the care of you?’ asked Mrs Cavendish.
    ‘I never really thought about it,’ said Delilah, ‘until recently, that is. I suppose I
should
think about it. He seems quite taken with this Miss Amy Tribble. I imagine she is very beautiful. No, I did not consider such an eventuality. After all,’ she said with a light laugh, ‘there is no one in this village Papa could honestly be interested in.’
    Mrs Cavendish was normally a happy and contented woman who had come to terms with the narrowness of a life of genteel poverty. But as she looked at Delilah’s laughing and beautiful face, she experienced a strong impulse to slap it, and was immediately shocked at her reaction.
    There came a knock at the door. Glad of the diversion, she got quickly to her feet just as her little maid announced Sir Charles Digby.
    Delilah rose and curtsied.
    ‘You are come just as I was taking my leave,’ she said.
    As if to give the lie to her