Charlotte rubbed her chin. “You know,” she said after a thoughtful pause, “I have absolutely no idea. Perhaps it is because I have always needed to be the recipient of advice instead of the giver. Either way, I am only here to help. If you do not wish to see Radnor again, there is nothing that says you have to.” Her face suddenly brightened. “And if you’d like, I could probably have Gavin find someone to break one of his legs.”
Because she knew Charlotte was only half-joking, Dianna quickly shook her head. “No. Leg breaking will not be necessary.”
“What about an arm? Or a finger? After everything he did he deserves at least a finger.”
“No,” she said firmly. If there was going to be any punishment meted out, she would be the one delivering it. Of that, at least, she was certain.
“Well the offer stands if you change your mind.” Charlotte stretched her arms high above her head and yawned. “I should be getting back to my room before Gavin sends out a search party. You will join us for breakfast, won’t you?”
Dianna hesitated. As things currently stood the very last thing she felt like doing was having breakfast with a roomful of people who would no doubt still be discussing the wedding from the day before. Given the choice she would rather not think or talk about weddings or marriage for, oh, about a decade or so. “I am not certain-”
“It will only be the three of us. I promise. I shall have a maid bring up cold water and lemons to put on your face. You’ll look right as rain in no time at all and a bit of food will make you feel better. Sausage and toast in the solarium in half an hour, then? I will make certain they bring out that raspberry jam you so adore.”
“I really do not think-”
“Half an hour or I am coming back in here and dragging you out of bed myself if need be,” Charlotte called over her shoulder as she sailed out of the room as abruptly as she’d entered it.
Feeling a bit as though she’d just been visited by a whirlwind, Dianna stood up and, knowing Charlotte would make good on her promise to return in thirty minutes and drag her downstairs willing or not, began to get dressed.
Chapter Five
It wasn’t only the three of them.
When all was said and done, Dianna found herself having breakfast with Charlotte, Gavin, Aunt Abigail, the Duke of Ashburn, his daughter and son-in-law, their two children, and an elderly man who, by all appearances, seemed to have fallen asleep in his bread pudding.
The mood was high, the conversation lively. From her cushioned seat beside a potted fern Dianna sipped her coffee - extra cream, positively no sugar - and did her best to make it appear as though she were listening to every word even though her mind was far, far removed from the glass solarium and its lively occupants.
Instead she thought of a man. A man with piercing green eyes and rich brown hair just a touch too long. A man who still managed to make her pulse quicken and her heart pound. A man she hated… and a man she feared she was still very much in love with.
Had Miles returned to Winfield after she left him last night? Like her, was he having a late morning breakfast with friends and family? Or had he already eaten and gone out for a ride?
How easy it was to recall his habits. His likes and dislikes. Even his daily schedule. Dianna’s fingers tightened imperceptibly on her delicate porcelain cup. They may never have lived together as husband and wife, but growing up with their estates within easy walking distance of one another had given her more than enough insight into Miles’ life.
As a child, often bored and left alone for days on end with only her Aunt Abigail for company, she had spent more time under his parent’s roof than her own. Was it any wonder, then, that she knew Miles liked to rise early and retire late? Or that he liked the taste of coffee over tea? Or that he always preferred riding astride to sitting in a carriage? Or that-
“Miss Dianna, what do you think?”
Startled by the sound of her name, Dianna jumped to attention, gaze flicking around the room as she tried to find the person who’d asked for her opinion. Discovering all eyes on her - a rather discomfiting notion - she managed a strangled laugh and said, “I do apologize. It seems you caught me daydreaming. Might you repeat the question?”
The Duke of Ashburn’s daughter, Lady Patricia Herring, a woman not much older than Dianna herself with warm brown eyes and dark brown hair tucked neatly beneath a white lace cap, smiled in a friendly manner and said, “The fault is entirely mine. I was merely asking where you think Abigail and my father should spend their honeymoon, in Bath or Scotland?”
“Scotland,” Abigail said immediately.
“Bath,” her new husband put in at same time.
They exchanged a significant look, their mouths settling into identically stubborn lines. The Duke of Ashburn - better known as Reginald by his close friends and family - was the first to crack. Countenance softening, he reached out and took Abigail’s gloved hand. “Scotland it is, my dear. We shall go to Bath another time.”
Abigail smiled as Dianna felt an empty pang reverberate inside of her chest.
What would it be like to love someone more than you loved yourself? To put their interests above your own? To have their happiness be your happiness? Lovely, Dianna thought with the tiniest of sighs. It would be positively lovely.
“I have heard Scotland is quite nice this time of year,” she said with an encouraging smile, refusing to let her melancholia dampen the spirits of those around her. “A fine choice, Aunt Abigail.”
“It certainly is,” Abigail said with a snort. “Which is why I made it.”
Despite her pensive mood, Dianna found herself biting back a smile. Though she was rapidly approaching her forty-eighth birthday, Abigail remained as lively and beautiful as ever.
Her hair, once as blonde as Dianna’s, may have dulled and begun to turn silver, but her eyes were the same deep, intelligent blue and her smile still as bright and infectious as it had always been. It was wonderful to see her so happy, especially since Dianna knew her aunt had suffered more than her fair share of heartache.
They’d only recently exchanged the vows that made them husband and wife, but Reginald and Abigail’s story actually began many decades ago. In love as reckless teenagers, they were even engaged for a short time before Reginald’s mother put an abrupt end to the nuptials and coerced her only son and heir into taking a far more suitable - in her eyes, at least - woman for a wife and future duchess of Ashburn. As a result Reginald and Abigail went nearly thirty years without seeing one another… but even separated by great time and distance they never forgot the love they’d once shared, and when Reginald at long last returned to England following his wife’s passing, he wasted no time in seeking out his childhood sweetheart.
While their reconciliation had not been without its bumps and bruises, there was no denying the fact that Reginald and Abigail were meant to be together. There was also, Dianna thought darkly as she raised her cup and took a small sip, no denying the similarities between her past and her aunt’s.
For she, too, had been engaged at a young age and she, too, had been abandoned by the man she loved. But as far as Dianna was concerned that was where the similarities most definitely ended. Unlike Reginald and Abigail, there would be no reconciliation between her and Miles. Not now. Not thirty years from now. Not a hundred years from now. Lifting her coffee again she took one more slow, deliberate sip, using the brim to disguise the faint quivering of her bottom lip.
Between dressing and coming downstairs for breakfast, Dianna had made up her mind. No matter what lingering feelings she may or may not have had, what happened between her and Miles was in the past. It had no place in her present, and certainly no place in her future. If for some inexplicable reason he came to call, she would simply ignore him as she had done with all of her other suitors. From personal experience she knew that once shown the door, they rarely came back around a second time.
And why should they?
Other than a pretty face and a good family
name, she had nothing to entice them with. She had no impressive dowry of which to speak. No duke’s in her lineage. No property of value her future children might one day inherit. In short, nothing to make her stand out from the countless other young women of similar age and social standing.
If Miles had any abiding interest in her it would soon wane. Dianna was certain of it. She was also certain it was better to protect herself now rather than risk losing her heart all over again. Having already once suffered the consequences of love gone awry, she intended to learn from her experience... not repeat it.
“Where in Scotland will you be going Aunt Abigail?” she asked, needing something to distract herself from her somber thoughts. Tempering her abrupt question with a smile, she added, “I hear it is quite nice there this time of year.”
“Yes dear, I know,” Abigail said with a quizzical glance at her niece. “You said that already. Are you feeling alright?”
“I have a modest country estate on the coast of Aberdeen,” Reginald put in quickly. “You will love it there, Abby. There are lots of ducks this time of year.”
“Ducks? Oh, I do so love ducks!”
Reginald met Dianna’s gaze. There was a silent question in his clear blue eyes. A question she wasn’t yet prepared to answer, especially not in front of company. After a few seconds he shrugged and looked away, attention refocusing on his animated bride as she went on (and on) about her favorite feathered fowl.
“Aberdeen…” Charlotte mused. She sat opposite Dianna in a high backed drawing room chair upholstered in rich red velvet. “Isn’t that close to where you travel for business, Gavin?” Busy devouring everything on her plate - and the plates of those around her - it was the first time she’d spoken since breakfast began.
Expecting her first child in May, Charlotte was still very much in the early stages of her pregnancy and thus far had nothing to show for it but the tiniest of bumps easily hidden beneath an empire waist. With the exception of a few close family members and friends she and Gavin were choosing to keep the news of their pending arrival a secret for now, although Dianna thought it rather obvious by the protective gleam in Gavin’s eyes every time he looked at his wife.
“It is,” he said. “I visit with partners in Larne.”
“Larne?” Reginald repeated with interest. “That is the next village over. You will have to pay us a call.”
“And interrupt your honeymoon?” Gavin’s teeth flashed in a wolfish grin. “I think not.” Extending an arm, he gently caressed Charlotte’s shoulder, the gesture so absentminded Dianna imagined he didn’t even realize he was doing it. A spark of jealousy ignited inside her chest, catching her by surprise and bringing with it a swift feeling of shame.
How could she be jealous of something her friend so rightly deserved? Especially when she’d been the one who encouraged Charlotte to pursue Gavin in the first place! As the pounding she’d felt in her temple upon waking returned full force she pinched the bridge of her nose and grimaced. Perhaps she was merely feeling a bit under the weather. Not entirely unfathomable given that she’d been up most of the night tossing and turning.
Fresh air, Dianna decided.
She needed it.
Immediately.
Do excuse me,” she said, standing so suddenly she sent her chair scraping loudly against the marble tile, accidentally waking the elderly gentleman who’d fallen asleep in his pudding. He sat up with a snort and a cough, watery eyes squinting as he looked all around him.
“Why? Who? What is happening?”
“Nothing, Father. You merely fell asleep. Again.” This came from Patricia’s husband, a studious looking man with a tan moustache and resigned hazel eyes. “He tends to do that now and again,” he added in a loud whisper.
The old man coughed once more. “I heard that Harold. I am old, not deaf. Who are you?”
It took Dianna a moment to realize the question had been directed towards her. “Miss Dianna Foxcroft,” she said, dipping into an automatic curtsy. “A pleasure to meet you, Lord Herring.”
Rubbing his chin, he sized her up, rheumy blue eyes inscrutable. “Where is your husband? Everyone is here with their husband. So where is yours?”
Feeling the weight of everyone’s stares as though they were boulders being rolled over her body, Dianna drew back her shoulders and took a deep, even breath. Catching Charlotte starting to stand out of the corner of her eye, she gave a tiny, imperceptible shake of her head. Lord Herring was not the first to ask questions, nor would he be the last. “I am not married, my lord.”
“Not married? Why not?”
“Father,” Harold said sharply.
“What?” Lord Herring demanded. “I can’t ask the girl a question?”
This time it was Patricia, her expression slightly strained, who intervened. “You are upsetting her.”
“Upsetting her?” He blinked twice in rapid succession, staring hard at his daughter-in-law before his gaze swerved back to Dianna. “Am I upsetting you?”
“Not particularly.” Given that she’d already been upset before Lord Herring spoke a single word, it was somewhat true.
“See?” Tone smug, Lord Herring lifted one bushy white brow. “She says otherwise. I am not married either, you know. Well I was.” A flicker of a frown pulled at the corners of his mouth, deepening the grooves and thinning his lips until they all but disappeared into the heavy folds of his countenance. “Harold isn’t a bastard, if that is what you are thinking. Although he can certainly act like one from time to time.”
“I like Lord Herring,” Charlotte decided as she eased back into her chair and gave Dianna a wink.
“As do I,” Abigail agreed.
Surprisingly, Dianna rather did as well. Having been the recipient of many a curious stare and poorly disguised whisper over the past four years, she much preferred it when questions were presented to her directly. She could also appreciate Lord Herring’s candor, so rarely found amidst members of the ton.
“My lord,” she began, speaking up so he could hear her clearly, “would you care to accompany me outside? I was just about to take a walk around the gardens.”
“Oh, you do not have to do that,” Patricia interrupted.
“I would greatly appreciate the company, but only if your father-in-law feels up to it,” Dianna said, belatedly recalling she’d see Lord Herring walking about last evening with the aid of a wooden cane.
“Take a stroll through the gardens with a beautiful woman?” Lord Herring’s frown immediately reversed itself as he heaved himself to his feet. “You don’t have to twist my arm, missy.”
“Careful,” Harold said, his tone resigned. “Father is a bit of a flirt.”
He could be more than a bit as far as Dianna was concerned, especially since he’d given her the excuse she needed to leave breakfast early without arousing any pitying stares. “We will not be long,” she promised, discreetly holding out her arm when she saw Lord Herring fumble for his cane and take a wobbly step to the right.
Revealing himself to be shorter than she by a good four inches now that they were standing side by side with slightly stooped shoulders and a left foot that twisted stubbornly to the right, Lord Herring took her offered forearm in a surprisingly strong grip and pointed the end of his cane at the glass doors leading out of the solarium. “If memory serves the exit is this way, I believe.”
“I believe you are correct,” Dianna said solemnly. Exchanging a quick, amused glance with Charlotte she accompanied Lord Herring through the doors as they were opened discreetly by a maid and down a long, sun drenched hallway that led directly to the rear courtyard.
Fairytale-esque in their color and beauty, the gardens of Ashburn were centered around an enormous stone fountain boasting three cherubs suspended in flight, their expressions devilishly puckish as each one pointed a bow and arrow at the other.
Given the season many of the flowers had gone by, leaves darkening and curling inwards as the plants prepared themselves for a long, cold
winter, but the asters were still in full bloom as were the dahlias and an entire golden blanket of marigolds. Bending, Dianna picked one of the latter and held it out to Lord Herring.
“For your lapel, my lord.”
He took the single flower and, after only two tries with fingers that had grown swollen and arthritic with age, managed to slip it through a buttonhole. “You have a kind way about you,” he said as they meandered down a stone walkway. “Most women your age wouldn’t give an old man like myself the time of day, let alone invite them outside for a walk.”
“I do not see why not. Why walk by yourself on such a fine day when you can have a bit of company?” In truth, Dianna would have been perfectly fine walking by herself. She might have even preferred it. But she knew what it was like to be the odd person out in a room. The person who didn’t match up with anyone else. The person who didn’t have a husband or, in Lord Herring’s case, a wife. She patted his hand. “It seems you and I will be the only ones without someone else during our stay here. Why not make the most of it and enjoy each other’s company?”
“Indeed.” Lord Herring was quiet for a moment, but Dianna felt his eyes upon her. She kept walking, chin up, shoulders back, carefully keeping her step in time with Herring’s as she waited patiently for the question she knew would inevitably come. It always did, in all manner of shapes and forms. There was no escaping it. No ignoring it. But how much longer? She wondered silently. One year? Two? Another four? Until she became a spinster, or would the gossip die down before then?
How much longer before people saw only her, not the empty space beside her?
“How is it such a beautiful, intelligent lady such as yourself is here alone?”
As far as probing questions went, it was hardly the worst. Dianna’s shoulders relaxed ever-so-slightly, the muscles slowly unraveling themselves like a ball of tangled yarn being gently pulled apart. “You flatter me, my lord. I suppose the only thing I can tell you is that I am currently devoid of any and all suitors.”
London Ladies (The Complete Series) Page 37