Page 38 of Merry Miss

Lavinia was—his sister—who had not married well. Delia inhaled a deep breath. She ought to have realized.

He carried his essence in the tilt of his head, the set of his shoulders. She would have known it was him even without her spectacles.

Had he come for her? Her heart leapt. Was it possible that he too, had fallen in love?

“Cyril found it on the side of the road.” He addressed his grandparents. He hadn’t seen Delia yet.

“How very odd,” the countess said. “Ask Mrs. Finke to have them cleaned up. If there’s no name inside, Mr. Bunker can place an ad.”

“They are mine,” Delia said.

Jack pinned his gaze on her. He looked confused at first. But of course. Delia doubted her own mother would have recognized her beneath this ridiculous cap.

“Pardon?” Lady St. Vincent turned to Delia.

“The valise and reticule. They are mine. I lost them in the snow.” Delia added.

“Jack, darling, this is my new companion, Miss Bedelia Somerset. Bedelia, this is my grandson, Viscount Stark. Don’t allow his ill manners and traveling clothes to fool you. He cleans up rather well and is charming when he sets his mind to it.”


Jack, the man who knew Delia more intimately than any other person, was a viscount? His brow furrowed. “Delia?”

“Yes. It’s me.” Delia’s heart raced.

“The two of you know one another?”


Jack blinked. He’d just spent half the day trying to find information regarding her whereabouts and all along she’d been here? He had spent the other half searching the side of the road where he’d picked her up in the first place hoping he’d find some clue in her belongings.

And had no luck with that, either.

“You are employed here,” Jack cleared his throat. “At Thorncliffe Abbey?”

“Yes,” Delia answered.

“To act as companion to my grandmother?”

“That’s what I just told you, Jack,” his grandmother said. “Miss Somerset is my new companion.”

“Jack,” Delia said and then addressed his grandmother. “I mean, it was Lord Stark who… came to my rescue.” Her eyes, which looked even more prominent behind the lenses, darted back to him.

“So it was my grandson who rescued you…?” His grandmother raised her brows. “Let’s leave these two alone a moment, shall we, Archibald?”

“Oh, no, I can help you, my lady,” Delia rose to take hold of Jack’s grandmother’s arm, staring everywhere but at him. “I needn’t take up any of his lordship’s time.”

“Stay,” he said, and she finally met his eyes. “Please?”

She is here.

That niggling regret he’d felt for two days now vanished. And the empty space inside his chest filled with warmth.

“Come along, dear.” Jack’s grandfather took his grandmother’s arm, and Delia stepped back and then dropped onto her chair.

She is here.

His Christmas Angel.

Tags: Annabelle Anders Historical
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