Read Palace Circle for Free Online

waltzed with Lord Curzon. When she wasn't dancing, Ivor introduced her to so many people that her head spun. Just when she thought she might be able to speak with Jerome, Ivor's hand tightened on her arm and he said with a throb in his voice, “Sylvia has arrived. It's finally time for me to introduce you to her, Delia.”
    She allowed him to lead her through a throng of people to a dark-haired woman who was seated on a spindly legged gilt chair, one hand languidly holding a fan of ostrich feathers.
    She looked like a queen holding court, for though she was seated there was a semicircle of gentlemen around her, all paying her avid attention. Her gleaming hair was drawn to a flat coil on the crown of her head. Her midnight-blue sequined gown was very slim-fitted, very
soignée.
Even before she turned her head at their approach, Delia knew her face would be spectacularly beautiful.
    Ivor cleared his throat. “Sylvia … I would like to introduce my wife. Delia, Sylvia, Lady Bazeljette.”
    As Sylvia Bazeljette turned, Delia was aware of two things.
    The first was that she had been right in her assumption, for Sylvia Bazeljette was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen.
    The second was that Ivor had been wrong. Her worries were not now at an end. They were escalating with such speed she could no longer breathe, for the face of the woman now regarding her with mocking amusement was the face in the photograph that had spilled from Ivor's diary.
    Jerome's wife was the woman whose photograph Ivor needed to see on a daily basis. Jerome's wife was the woman who had written on the back of the photograph that her love was for him, and him alone.
    It was all too bewildering for her to take in.
    “How lovely to meet you at last.” Sylvia's husky voice was like cracked ice and the smile on her beautifully curved ruby-red lips was patronizing. “Ivor tells me you are to be my protégeé.”
    Delia gasped, bewildered no longer.
    With utter certainty she knew that Sylvia Bazeljette had been Ivor's mistress. The knowing expression in those sloe-dark eyes told her so as clearly as words. Ivor's barely suppressed impatience in the Rolls-Royce had not been because he was impatient to show Delia off. It had been because he was impatient to see Sylvia. When Jerome had warned her of the lack of marital fidelity among British aristocracy, he had done so in order to prepare her for this moment.
    The realization was so earth-shattering that she swayed.
    Jerome, not Ivor, steadied her.
    Out of nowhere he gripped hold of her elbow, saying nonchalantly to Sylvia and everyone around her, “It's devilish hot in here, isn't it? I think the heat is proving too much for LadyConisborough. It might be as well if I were to take her outside for a breath of fresh air.”
    And without waiting for Ivor to answer he propelled her away from the group. Only when they had stepped through open French windows onto a blessedly empty balcony did he swing her toward him, saying fiercely, “How, in the name of God, do you
know
?”
    “Her photograph is in Ivor's diary.” She began to shiver. “I thought it was a photograph of Olivia.”
    He swore beneath his breath and she said, “I don't understand, Jerome. Was it after Olivia's death that… that…” She wanted to say “that my husband and your wife became lovers,” but she couldn't.
    He didn't finish her sentence for her. Instead he said brusquely, “You're cold. I'll go get your evening cloak.”
    “No!” She put a hand on his arm, appalled at the thought of being left alone on the balcony. “I'm not cold, Jerome. It's the shock. I thought Ivor kept the photograph where he could see it every day because despite his being so much in love with me, he was also still grieving for Olivia. And I could understand that…”
    “Stay here,” he said, his voice charged with emotion. “I'm going back to give your apologies to Lady Digby. I shall say I'm escorting you home as you have a headache and that I am