Rejected

Chapter 22

"You are wounded; you have bruises up your arms. Why do you think my grievances are worthy of any comment."

"You are upset about the Prince," Cecilia stated astutely, "What did he say to you?"

"Nothing," And that was the truth, he had said nothing except kiss her.

"He was the last person to see you off. I saw you talking to him in a distance," Cecilia paused because her comment caused her cousin even more discomfort, "What has he done?"

"Rest Cecilia," Delilah forced a very large smile, "You are seeing conspiracy everywhere. The Prince was just as annoying as he always is, that's all."

Delilah knew her cousin was looking at her back with a forlorn expression but there was nothing in the whole story that could be shared. It was too personal; too private; too painful. She had started to believe him; really started to believe what she was seeing was the real man beneath the pomp and the swagger. He was still overly bold, arrogant and ridiculously egoistical but he was also a kind and earnest man who loved his family and his Kingdom. His head wasn't in the air as she had previously though, oh well, maybe it was a bit in the air but she was starting to find that quality endearing. But now her perception of him had crumbled like soft dough and landed on her feet in pathetic disarray.

Delilah walked into the bathing area with a comfortable cotton gown to replace her ruined rag of a dress and closed the door softly. Her hands rose to undo the lacings but they landed on damp, green tweed instead that most definitely was not from her own wardrobe. She instantly lost her poise like a house of cards going down. Her knees wobbled and she tried to find stability but ended up sliding down the tiled wall and landing on the cold floor in a heap. The only sound that could be heard was the trickle of the rain water outside through the small window in the room and Delilah's muffled sobs. She had tried so hard to feel nothing throughout the month long trip but even she knew her efforts were doomed to fail. She felt raw, trembling, aching pain run through her body making her tremble as if she had a fever. She struggled to subdue herself but the tears fought their way down her pale cheeks.

"Liar, Liar, Liar," She sobbed softly through clenched lips. She had desperately wanted the Ball to go smoothly especially any interactions with the Prince and things had gone better than expected. Other than his blatant efforts to befriend her he hadn't brought up the past, hadn't tried to question her or disgrace her publically. But now it was as clear as day that he wanted to humiliate her. Did he think she was such a fool to believe his overtures were real? What other purpose could he have to...kiss her?

He had told her he admired her, respected her and in spite of herself she had been pleased. But it was obvious every word that had come out of his mouth was a lie.

Maybe first impressions were true after all.

_______________________

It seemed destiny was a cruel, cruel mistress. After all it was she who decided to allocate the Winsham cousins rooms without a balcony. If that hadn't been the case then Damian was convinced Lady Delilah would have utilized it to the fullest, admiring the views and letting herself inadvertently be admired.

Damian hadn't seen her for the last three days which was why he was standing miserably under what he knew was her room, feeling like a wretched fool, hoping to see one glimpse of her.

He had expected reticence from the wounded Winsham girl after her attack from the still free criminal but the opposite had happened. The girl had made her appearance the very next day adorning a smile on her face with her cousin and friends on her side. At least that was what he had heard because it had been a ladies only event and even Damian could not have procured an invitation even if he had tried so his report was only second hand. The young Lady had continued to make appearances for the next few days culling the twisted and tangled grape vine that was determined to find a blemish on her name.