“Oh, really?” Diana could hear the disappointment in her own voice, her eyes downcast.
“I’m afraid so, My Lady,” Mary replied.
“Is there anything the matter, do you think?”
“I don’t think so,” Mary replied with a shrug. “But I am not privy to Lord Estnell’s thoughts.”
Diana smiled at that, enjoying Mary’s wit and her willingness to use it, so different from most of the servants of the house. She closed her book with a thump and nodded her concession. She would do as her father asked.
“It is a shame,” Diana said with a sigh, “for I was enjoying my book here, in the peace and quiet. But I will not disrespect his wishes. I shall come with you.”
She tiptoed off the grass and onto the pathway. It crunched gently beneath her slippered feet, the rhythm of her footsteps matching the beat of her heart. She always felt a bout of anxiety whenever she was summoned to her father, because she feared the state he would be in. She hated seeing him so dejected with life, and yet he rarely seemed anything but.
“Does he seem well today?” she asked Mary, eyeing her cautiously.
“Well enough,” Mary said with a nod. “As well as he usually is, certainly.”
“Not so well at all, then,” Diana muttered.
The house loomed in front of them, large and somewhat sinister. Although it was her home, looking at the house from the outside always sent a shiver down her spine. The gray stone made it look forlorn, and the heavy drapes on the windows made them look like sad and drooping eyes.
It was a cold and empty place, a place her father preferred to keep sparse and functional rather than warm and homely. The walls were bare of paintings and the carpets were plain and simple. The furniture, where there was some, was modest, unassuming, and lacking in any style or design. Diana longed for a home that was modern and warm and full of life.
“We’ll go in the side entrance,” Diana said.
They slipped around the side of the building and entered through the French doors that went straight into the library. While not quite a secret entrance, Diana favored it for its isolation and privacy. There was rarely anyone in the library, thus no one to keep track of her comings and goings, and she preferred it that way. Having servants was wonderful in its way, but it meant she was hardly ever alone.
They wound their way around the large table in the middle of the room—perfect for spreading out books all around you—and exited into the entrance hall. The floors were tiled with a cold but colorful marble, and the ceilings were so high that the entrance became echoey and haunting.
Mary nodded to Diana and took her leave, and Diana stood looking up the stairs, a hand on the bannister. She remembered how different the house was when her mother was still alive, stuffed with soft furnishings and a touch of love. Since her death, her father’s sadness had laid a blanket over everything.
When she got to his study, she knocked on the heavy oak door then turned the brass handle. He looked up from his papers and smiled warmly.
“Diana, come in, please.”
She was pleased to see him smile, although she could see the dark circles beneath his eyes and the way his skin sagged, and that broke her heart. She could tell he was not sleeping well, something that happened with frightening regularity, and she wanted to see him as she did on those rare days when he was full of happiness and energy.
She opened her mouth to voice her concern, to ask again about the nightmares he suffered and the long nights he wandered the corridors, wraithlike and miserable. But she quickly closed it again. It would do no good, that she knew well enough. He would never answer her, in fact he rarely even acknowledged it, instead insisting she was imagining it, that he was fine.
“You wanted to see me, Father?” she said.
There had been a time when he was happy and full of life, but Diana’s memory of those days was distant and vague…and fading. It saddened her, but she had grown used to a father who had forgotten himself and lived as a ghost of who he had once been. All she could do now was care for him the best she could, and make him proud in everything she did.
She took a seat opposite him. Rather than at the desk in front of the window, he sat on one of the leather chairs that were placed on either side of the unlit fireplace. This was his preferred spot, and she often found him there with papers on his lap and scattered over the floor around him.
“Yes,” he said. His warm smile reached his eyes, and he looked at her with love. “Are you well today?”
“Yes, Father, quite well. I have been enjoying a little reading time in the garden. I do so love to be in the garden.”
“How lovely,” Henry replied with a smile, but then he paused and his smile became a grimace of concern. “We have something important to discuss.”
“Oh, yes?” Diana’s heart began to thud in her chest, her breath quickening. She suspected she knew what was to come, and she prayed it would not be what she thought.
“I know we’ve had this conversation before, Diana,” he said with a sigh. “But finding you a suitor really is—”
“Father—”
“Diana, I know you do not agree, but finding you a suitor is of the utmost importance. I can’t have you becoming a spinster.”
He paused and looked at her, a pleading look in his eyes. She stayed silent, letting him say his piece while she bit back her complaints. She, of course, did not wish to become a spinster, either, but that was better than an unwanted marriage.
“I know you dream of love,” he said, softly but with an authoritative air. “But if you do not act soon then you will miss your chance and you will grow old and lonely. That is not a life you want—nor a life I want for you.”
“You are quite correct, Father,” she said, trying to stop herself frowning at him but all the features in her face tightened and tensed. “We have had this conversation many times.” She paused, smiled up at him as though humoring him. “I will marry—I want to marry—but how, when I have no suitable suitor?”
“Well. actually, that’s the very thing I wanted to talk to you about. As you know, your Sister, Celine, has her coming out in a few days.”
“Yes?” Diana asked, anxious as to where this was going. It crept around her, gripping at her.
“I think that would be the ideal chance for you to…shall we say, search for a suitor or two.”
He grinned at her as though he had just offered her a slice of cake. She blinked, unsure what to say for a moment. She did not want to argue with him, especially not given his tired state, but she also did not agree with his point of view. She clenched her jaw tight to stop the words from tumbling out of her.
“Take a good look,” he urged. “For me? You never know where you will find your husband, and your Sister’s coming out is the perfect opportunity.”
“But—”
“And, please Diana, don’t focus too much on love. That is a benefit, certainly, but you will learn to love any gentleman you marry. Sometimes, you need a push in the right direction, and love will come. Just take a look at what’s on offer, and perhaps you will find someone appropriate, if not perfect.”
She closed her eyes briefly, then sighed. He did not understand—could not, seemingly—and she didn’t think she would ever be able to persuade him. The love that came with time was not the love she wanted. The love that developed was stale, insipid, uninteresting. She wanted passion and love at first sight.
“I will try, Father,” she said eventually. “And I promise to be on my best behavior at the ball. If there are any acceptable suitors, I will make an effort.”
Chapter 2
Lord Isaac Campbell, the Duke of Gallonon, picked up the short-stemmed brandy glass from the table and drank it back in a single gulp.
“Another, please,” he said to the servant, who nodded his understanding. He was at the club after a long day’s work, but he couldn’t deny the brandy helped calm his nerves, too.
“Is everything all right?”
&nb
sp; Isaac looked over his shoulder to see a gentleman, somewhat older than he, peering at him through his spectacles.
“Quite all right, yes, thank you.” Isaac was polite, although his tone spoke of his surprise at this stranger’s inquiry into his health and his body remained stiff, unwelcoming.
At thirty years old, the Duke was tall and well-built, with straight black hair and a well-trimmed beard. His handsomeness drew many a glance, although he had a modesty that ran deep enough to stop him noticing it. His brown eyes shone with intelligence, and they told a tale of a strong and determined young man with a kind and sympathetic nature.
Isaac had faced many tribulations through his life, from his mother’s death to his father’s murder, and he found himself often sighing with a tiredness that seemed to have settled within him. Life, for the Duke, seemed to have no spark, no light, and he didn’t know how to change that.
“It’s just—please forgive me if I speak out of turn—but that’s the third brandy you’ve had in ten minutes,” the man said, not having moved. “Seems to me the actions of a gentleman with something on his mind.”
“How very astute,” Isaac said with a smile on his lips. He turned fully to face the man, swiveling around in his chair, now enjoying the attentions of this gentleman. “It is nothing serious, though. I am thinking only of wooing a lady.”
“Ah,” the man said knowingly, waving a finger in the air. “Of that, I know a little, although I have been married for many years now. A lady is enough to turn anyone to drink. Would you care to join me? Perhaps I can allay a little of your concern?”
“That would be lovely, thank you. I’m Isaac Campbell, Duke of Gallonon. And you are?”
“Archibald Andrews, Marquess of Lunstable. A pleasure to meet you, Your Grace.”
Isaac rose from his chair and went to join Archibald, waving his hand at the formality.
“Please, call me Isaac. I tire of the title all too quickly.”
Andrews chuckled.
“And I. As well as the duties that come along with it. We noble gentlemen work altogether too much, don’t you agree?”
“Yes,” Isaac said. “Yes, I rather do.” He let his mind run to all his duties in running a Dukedom, of how tired it made him, but he was grateful for it all the same.
The waiter arrived then, depositing the brandy on the table. Isaac nodded his thanks then returned his attention to Archibald.
“Wait until you are married,” Andrews said, laughing. “Then your workload will double. Let me tell you, taking on a wife, as pleasant as it sometimes is, can be quite the challenge.”
“Of that I have no doubt,” Isaac replied. “I have a Brother who relies on my rather too much, I’d say. But I love him dearly, and I will do what is necessary to keep the family together.”
“Ah, rather like a wife, then? My own dear lady is of the haranguing variety, I’m afraid, but I would not dream of being without her.”
Isaac laughed, picked up his brandy and inhaled the sweet, strong scent.
“Sometimes it feels like Thomas is, indeed, a wife—although without the benefits of love and passion.”
Isaac took a sip, enjoying the burn in his throat, but letting this one sit a while, rather than drinking it back in one. He was enjoying this conversation with his newfound friend.
“And the young lady you wish to woo, if you don’t mind my asking? She is worthy of becoming Duchess, is she?”
Isaac tilted his head in consideration.
“I don’t really know. I know very little of her, in fact.”
“Then why, Dear Boy, are you even considering it? Surely a marriage of love would be more favorable? As you said yourself, you already have one wife without the added benefits that come with it.”
“Indeed,” Isaac said quickly, realizing he had almost given away his true intentions. “But I am thirty years old now. It really is time for me to take a wife. And I have heard enough of her to be sure we would make good companions. I suppose this evening will tell all I need to know.”
“As you wish, Your Grace,” Andrews said with a sad glint in his eye. “But I would advise against letting propriety get in the way of your happiness. There is more to life than following the rules.”
“I suppose you are right,” Isaac said. “For the meantime, though, I really ought to leave. It has been delightful getting to know you, Andrews. I trust I will see you here another time.”
During the carriage ride home, Isaac thought about the advice Archibald had given him. Love seemed rather too much of an ideal, especially when life seemed to have other plans for him. In fact, the thought of taking a wife at all seemed to him to be most peculiar. It had been only him and his brother, Thomas, for so long that it was difficult to imagine anything else. It was only at his brother’s behest he would be wooing anyone at all.
He thought then of Thomas, of the way in which Isaac had cared for him since their father died. He and Isaac were close—perhaps a little too close—as Thomas took up nearly every moment of Isaac’s free time. He was demanding and insistent, and although Isaac tired of it, he allowed it all the same. Isaac wanted only the best for his brother, and if that meant giving him what he needed, then so be it.
The coach slowed as they pulled up to Gallonon Hall, and Isaac looked up at the imposing building. It was a building that held, for him, mixed emotions—it was his home and had been for his entire life, but it was also the setting for his father’s death and it still held touches of his parents’ design.
It was not tall, but long, a grand entrance in the middle of an extensive stretch of brickwork. The stone was gray and had been carefully carved by the best masons in the country, and the windows were delicately draped with muslin and brocade. At the door, a servant had already opened the door and informed the butler of his arrival, and around him Isaac could see the gardeners busy at their work.
“Good evening, Your Grace,” the butler said as he took his coat and hat.
“Good evening, Hobbes. Is my Brother here?”
“Of course. He is in east wing, Your Grace.”
As if he’d be anywhere else.
“Then we shall dine together. Please pass on the message. I expect to see him right away.”
“As you wish, Your Grace.”
Isaac made his way straight to the dining room and waited for his brother to appear. It was a long, thin room, the mahogany table stretching out long enough to comfortably seat twelve. Across it lay a pristine white tablecloth, and over that a strip of white lace. Already, place settings had been laid for Isaac and his brother—one at either end of the table—and Isaac drummed his fingers on the table as he waited.
When Thomas did finally saunter in, he wore his usual sullen expression, matched by his sloping walk and his seeming lack of interest in anything. Isaac wondered—not for the first time—where the happy, mischievous boy of their childhood had gone.
Hobbes quickly followed and took up his position near the side cabinet, a white tea towel draped across his forearm. He looked pointedly at the wall, and he moved little enough that it was easy to forget he was there.
“Good evening, Thomas,” Isaac said, looking up from his seat. Thomas merely grunted in reply, plodded to his own chair, and pulled it out with a huff. “How has your day been?”
“All right,” Thomas said. with a shrug. He sagged into the chair, not looking at Isaac, then motioned for a glass of wine. He drank from it immediately, a long and thirsty gulp, then put the glass back down with a thud.
At eight-and-twenty, Thomas Campbell had none of the good looks of his brother. His eyes were dark but small and beady, and they were forever matched by the heavy circles beneath them. His skin was blotchy and rarely clear, with flaking, dry patches appearing regularly, no matter what he tried. He was tall but much too slim for his frame, and that gave him a fragile look, as though he might break in half or crumple under his own weight. He had grown into a bitter and impulsive man, one whose anger ran so deep it couldn’t be separ
ated from who he was, and Isaac often had trouble convincing him to converse.
“Did you do anything?” Isaac asked, urging for conversation.
“Not much.”
Thomas rarely smiled, except when caught up in some sort of scheme, and even then it was more a smirk than anything else. Isaac often despaired of his brother, did not know what to do to help him grow into a man instead of the miserable little boy he was trapped in. And yet, his heart cried out for his brother, pity and empathy and love all rolled up into one. He dearly wished he could find a way to entice Thomas back to a life worth living, and he wouldn’t stop trying until he had.
“I see,” Isaac said, sighing at the lack of enthusiasm. “Well I had a pleasant afternoon in the club. Had a lovely conversation with the Marquess of Lunstable.”
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