It had been Susan Armitage, always straight and to the point, who had been working in her office in the ante-room off the library, who advised him Delia had heard every bit of his conversation with Margaret.
“I stood up and crossed to the window for a breath of fresh air. I saw Lady Delia listening to you and Her Grace outside the library … to be honest I didn’t know what to do. I tried to get her attention but with the phone still ringing constantly, I had to deal with that. Then, later on, after you had left Canleigh, the Duchess came through to the study to ask for a telephone number and when she went back to the library, she left the door ajar. I’m afraid I could hear her conversation with Lady Delia who must have seen the newspaper. She was screaming at Her Grace … and crying … and then Her Grace … she hit Lady Delia … and then I heard the Dowager intervene. It was heart breaking.”
Charles groaned at the memory of Susan’s words, wishing he hadn’t left Canleigh so quickly that day. He could have prevented that dreadful scene and what followed. He was as much to blame as anyone.
He walked along the corridor to Delia’s room, the old wooden floor creaking loudly under his weight which would have alerted her to a visitor. He knocked and opened the door with one hand while balancing the tray with the other. Delia was lying motionless in the big bed, looking small and fragile, her face pale and her long dark hair resting limply on her shoulders. Charles knew she was awake but as she did every time he entered the room, she closed her eyes and blatantly ignored his presence. Yet again, his heart sunk heavily.
Charles carefully repositioned the vase of flowers brought up by Philip when he had popped up with the breakfast tray. He had been out early and with Constance’s approval had picked a huge bunch of carnations and cornflowers from the garden, hoping they would cheer Delia up. It hadn’t worked.
Charles placed the lunch tray beside the vase, sat down in the chair nearest the bed and smiled at the dog laid next to Delia. Philip and Delia had found Gruff last year, tied up in a sack in the corner of a field, starving and exhausted. He was devoted to Delia and since she had been ill, remained at her side on the bed, only tempted out of the room for meals or toileting. Constance had placed his basket by the side of the bed but he wanted closer contact with Delia and spread himself out on the bedding, resting his head on her legs, gazing at her with worried eyes and every time she moved, giving her a loving lick. He liked Charles. He licked him too as Charles patted his head and smiled at him again.
Charles bent and kissed Delia’s cheek. He cleared his throat.
“I do love you, Delia. I know I don’t always show it but you are very special to me and I do so want you to get better and get back to your old self. Everyone up at the Hall is missing you, especially Hardy. He has no idea what to do with himself now he isn’t doing the school run every day,” he said, hoping his words would penetrate her wall of hostility.
Charles took his daughter’s hand in his, willing her to open her eyes and look at him.
“Delia, darling, I can’t change anything that has happened,” he said for the umpteenth time, so badly wanting her to react to his words. “I only wish I could. But I want you to know how truly sorry I am that you heard your mother and me and that I rushed off without talking to you. It was hugely remiss of me and I can only apologise and do hope in time you will be able to forgive me. I am so very sorry.”
Gruff shifted position, thumping his tail on the bedcovers but Delia didn’t move.
“I was so angry with your mother and knowing you were safe at Canleigh with her and Granny, I could only think of getting down to Richard and Victoria. I shouldn’t have gone without speaking to you. I am so sorry Delia. I really am. And you shouldn’t blame yourself for what happened to Granny. She was already very frail and wasn’t feeling well that morning. Dr. Arnold said she could have had that dreadful stroke at any time. It was just so unfortunate it happened that morning but it was certainly nothing to do with you. You must believe that.”
His words, stilted and awkward, were heartfelt but did no good. Delia kept her eyes firmly closed, her head tilted away from him. Miserably Charles stood up, patted Delia’s hand, smoothed Gruff’s head and left the room, hoping to receive a better response the next day. She couldn’t keep up this silence forever.
Constance looked up hopefully as Charles re-entered the kitchen. She was desperate for Delia to speak to him, give the poor man some kind of sign she was getting better and would forgive him.
“How was she? I do hope she’s hungry and doesn’t give her food to Gruff again,” she said with a smile.
“The same,” said Charles glumly. “Is Ralph back?” he asked, noticing the two Labradors tucked up in their baskets, tired
