Free Grenville 02 - Lord John's Dilemma by G.G. Vandagriff

carriage for the fête. A day to spend completely at her own disposal was rare, indeed.
    Delia debated the idea of writing to Permelia, but decided that could be done any evening. It was another fine day, and she itched to get out her watercolors.
    It took two trips, but she managed to get the schoolroom easel and her paint box out onto the terrace. Then she left them and went in search of a new view. Walking south, she soon forgot her purpose in the novelty of taking a walk completely on her own. She wandered through a pasture, climbed over a stile into a small wood, and came out into a field of wild yellow daisies. The cheerful flowers, together with her unaccustomed freedom, touched her fancy and she forgot herself completely, waltzing through the field, humming a popular tune.
    Delia’s heart soared. Growing dizzy, she fell to the ground on her back, laughing. She studied the sky. In bygone days, she and her brother had done this—twirling until they were dizzy and then calling out the names of the pictures they saw in the clouds. She had not felt such unrestrained joy since his death. For months, there had been nothing but black despair. She had only pulled herself out of it when dealing with her uncle’s machinations made action a necessity.
    Delia heard footsteps. Sitting up, she put her hand to her hair, which had fallen out of its coil on top of her head. Before she could even stand, a shadow loomed over her.
    “Would you like a partner for your waltz?” asked Major Lambeth.
    She said the first thing that came into her head. “I thought you were indisposed. I had been imagining all sorts of awful things!”
    Grimacing, he sat down on the ground next to her, plucked a daisy, and began denuding it of petals. “I was not fit for Miss Lindsay’s company this morning.”
    Delia frowned and plucked a daisy of her own. Before she could stop herself, she asked, “You suffer from melancholia, do you not?”
    His head came up and he looked at her with raised brows. “However did you know that?”
    “The timbre of your voice. The sadness in your eyes. My father suffered from it.”
    What was she thinking of, speaking out so frankly?
    He smiled at her. “Seeing you dancing in a field of daisies has sent it scurrying away for the moment.”
    Vastly heartened by this response, she smiled back. “I am glad. Thank you for not taking offense at my impertinence. ”
    An awkward silence descended.
    “It was downright mean of the Lindsays not to take you to the fête,” he said.
    “Perhaps. But I am nigh delirious with happiness at having a day on my own.”
    “Hence the dance.”
    “Yes. I am meant to be water coloring, but I came looking for a view. Did I stray onto your estate?”
    “It does not signify,” he said. “If you feel like walking a bit more, I can show you our most famous view.”
    She stood. “I should like that very much.”
    They began to walk through the field, continuing south.
    Noting the loveliness on all sides of her, she could not bear to think of him struggling with such dark thoughts on such a glorious day. “If you do not mind my asking, have you always suffered from melancholia, or is it to do with the war?”
    “I was a very sunny-natured child,” he said. “I am hoping that living in these pastoral surroundings without the din of guns will restore me to myself.”
    “I hope so, too,” she said.
    He drew her hand through his arm as they walked, watching out for places that might cause her to stumble. “I must go up to London for a few days, however.”
    “You have business there?”
    “In a manner of speaking.” He paused. “I think I should like to tell you about it. Some other officers in my unit and I are founding a charitable institution to provide decent housing for the foot soldiers in our regiment.”
    “That is a marvelous idea,” Delia said, grinning. “That should help alleviate some of your melancholy, do you not think so?”
    “I sincerely hope it