by Bree Wolf
Why did he want her? Diana wondered. Never had she been a mother to him. Why would her presence comfort him?
You’re his mother.
Again, Lord Stanhope’s voice echoed in her ears, and for a reason Diana couldn’t name, she believed him, believed that−despite all the evidence to the contrary−there might still be a connection between her and her son. If only she could find a way to…
Coming to stand in front of the crib, Diana lift her arm and carefully−and a bit awkwardly−patted her son’s head. “Hush, hush,” she whispered. “Go back to sleep.”
However, her son had another plan.
The moment her hand came within reach, his own reached up and closed around it, holding on tight as though for dear life.
Stunned, Diana tried to pull back, but her son held on, pulling himself toward her, his left foot already lifted off the mattress.
Afraid he might fall, Diana suddenly acted on instinct.
Stepping forward, she bent down and scooped him into her arms, feeling his little hands curl into the fabric of her sleeves as his tiny head came to rest on her shoulder. Then a loud yawn reached her ear, and she could feel his soft breath against her neck before he snuggled closer.
As her son fell back asleep, feeling safe and content, Diana stood stock-still in the middle of the room, staring at the far wall, overwhelmed and unable to process the myriad of emotions that suddenly flooded her heart.
How had this happened? How had she gotten here? And what was she to do now?
Feeling his tiny weight resting in her arms, Diana noticed the gentle sway that had come to her movements as she carefully walked around the room. He warm and soft in her arms, and a sudden desire to protect him washed over her. How could she ever have seen him as an extension of her husband?
Coming to stand in front of the small mirror on the side wall, Diana glanced down at his sleeping face and delighted at the gentle smile that came to him as he dreamed. In answer, the corners of her own mouth strode upward, and Diana’s gaze shifted from her son to the image of the two of them together.
In that moment, she noticed that she was crying.
Large tears ran down her cheeks and dropped onto her dress as well as her son’s nightshirt. And yet, the image she saw was incredibly peaceful, and Diana wondered how she could have ignored him for that long. Had she truly never longed for him? Or had she never allowed herself to feel that longing out of fear?
What if she had tried to love her son only to discover that she couldn’t? That thought had always been in the back of her head, urging her to stay away, whispering that it would be better for her not to know.
Only now he was here, sleeping peacefully in her arms, and although her hands were trembling and her legs felt as though they were made of pudding, Diana felt something stir deep inside her that wasn’t fear.
It felt warm and comfortable, and yet, she was afraid to trust it for love was inevitably lost, was it not?
Could she risk her heart yet again? What if she simply couldn’t be the mother her son needed and he would come to resent her? Would she be able to survive being rejected by her own child? Would it not be better for them to maintain a safe distance?
As though in answer, her son’s little hands curled more tightly into the fabric of her sleeves as he snuggled closer, his little nose resting against the side of her neck.
In that moment the door opened and the nurse walked in, her eyes widening as she saw Diana. “Mrs. Reignold,” she exclaimed a bit too loudly.
Instantly, Benedict stirred, a small noise of complaint leaving his lips.
“Hush, hush, little man,” Diana whispered in his ear, gently rubbing one hand over his back. “Sleep.”
When he had quieted down again, the nurse stepped forward. “Do you want me to take him?”
As though in reflex, Diana’s hands tightened on her child. However, her mind reasoned that she didn’t even know how to take care of him. After all, she couldn’t spend the whole night in the nursery holding him in her arms, could she? No, of course not. What a ridiculous thought!
“Yes,” Diana finally said, feeling her muscles tense in objection when she handed her son to his nurse. Her arms felt suddenly empty, and a shiver ran over her at the absence of his warm, little body. Somehow, it was as though he belonged in her arms.
“Good night, Mrs. Reignold,” the nurse whispered, and reluctantly, Diana turned to the door, wondering about the strange events of that night. Nothing had gone as planned, and yet, Diana had no regrets.
On the contrary, new possibilities seemed to be waiting for her around each corner.
***
Sitting down for breakfast with his mother and sister by his side, Arthur was still contemplating the events of the previous night. As promised, he had not breathed a word of Mrs. Reignold’s appearance at the theatre to anyone, especially not to his mother, who would in all likelihood have spread it to the rest of the ton in less than a day.
And yet, Arthur felt the inexplicable desire to know more about the contradicting woman he had met the night before. Although he had spent all night convincing himself that her well-being did not concern him, the early morning sun had found him still remembering her soft kiss. Despite her frank way of speech and the scandalous behaviour she openly portrayed, Arthur did not believe that she was the kind of woman who went around, kissing strangers.
Then why had she kissed him?
“Arthur!”
His mother’s sharp voice cut into his thoughts and his head snapped up. “I apologise,” he stammered, clearing his throat. “What did you say?”
A frown on her face, his mother looked at him, her eyes watchful. “You seem distracted today, my son. Is something on your mind?”
“Nothing important,” Arthur lied, almost cringing at the breach of his own principles. After all, he could count on two hands how often he had been dishonest with his family. “I’m merely thinking about Mr. Hill’s last visit.”
“The steward?” his mother asked. “Is something the matter?”
“Nothing that would concern you, Mother.”
“Very well.” Taking a sip from her teacup, his mother turned her attention back to the breakfast on her plate. However, Arthur could tell from the slight tension in her shoulders that she wasn’t convinced.
Apparently, he wasn’t a good liar.
Arthur chuckled silently, wondering if he ought to consider that a compliment or not.
“Lady Oxbridge told me last night,” his mother began, dropping another lump into her tea, “that she saw Mrs. Reignold in Hyde Park that very morning.”
Arthur’s head snapped up once more, his ears eagerly awaiting the next bit of information.
“Once again, she was in Lady Norwood’s company,” his mother continued, glancing at her daughter as though trying to determine if Eleanor possessed a deeper knowledge of the woman’s whereabouts, “and once again, she had accentuated her gown with…accessories.” Her nose crinkled at the last word as though she smelled something rotten. “Unbelievable! Apparently, she is determined to continue her outrageous behaviour. Poor Mr. Reignold. After he saved her from ruination, she treats his memory with such disrespect.”
Arthur gritted his teeth, feeling the sudden and rather inexplicable need to defend Mrs. Reignold. However, that would only draw his mother’s suspicion and so he held his tongue on the matter.
“Eleanor,” his mother said, turning sharp eyes on her daughter, “I want to take this opportunity to remind you to keep your distance from that woman.”
“I barely know her, Mother,” Eleanor objected. Her voice, however, held no strength. “I only spoke to her once, but I have to say she was very kind.” Her eyes dropped to her plate, and Arthur thought to see a similar sadness to the one he had seen in Mrs. Reignold’s eyes. Had his sister noticed a certain kinship to her as well?
“That is of no importance, Eleanor,” Lady Stanhope protested. “I insist that you keep your distance lest an associatio
n to that woman ruin your marriage prospects.”
An even darker cloud descended upon Eleanor’s face. “Yes, Mother.”
After breakfast, Lady Stanhope strode from the room, calling for her carriage. However, Eleanor stayed behind, waiting until her mother was lost from sight before she approached her brother. Wringing her hands, she looked up at him, the expression on her face strained.
“Is something wrong?” Arthur asked, finding himself concerned for his sister’s well-being. “Are you unwell?”
A sarcastic snort escaped his sister before she nodded her head. “I’m fine,” she insisted, however, the look on her face spoke to the contrary. “I only meant to ask you…”
“Yes?” Arthur prompted, wondering why his sister would barely meet his eyes. “Why are you so nervous?”
Closing her eyes, Eleanor took a deep breath, then met his gaze. “I meant to ask you about Mr. Waltham.”
“I see,” Arthur mumbled, finally understanding and wondering why he had not seen this sooner. “And what would you like to know?”
Eleanor swallowed. “What did you talk about at the theatre? Did he say anything?”
“About what?” Arthur teased, carefully trying to gauge how deep his sister’s feelings were for the man their mother spoke about so harshly.
As her eyes narrowed, Eleanor fixed him with an impatient stare, her hands coming to rest on her sides. “Me, of course.” She took a deep breath. “I would ask you not to tease me so. Believe me, it is most hurtful.”
Placing a gentle hand on his sister’s shoulder, Arthur said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I merely wanted to see how much he means to you.”
Dropping her gaze, Eleanor sighed. “He’s my other half,” she whispered much to Arthur’s surprise. Because of their age difference, Arthur still saw her as the little sister he had doted upon. It was difficult for him to see her as a grown woman.
“He said that it was his intention to marry you,” Arthur said, finding the breath catch in his throat at the sight of his sister’s happiness. A deep smile came to her face and her cheeks flushed red as she stared at him with huge eyes. Strangely enough, in that moment, she seemed more like the little sister he had known than ever before.
“Truly?” she asked almost breathless.
Arthur frowned. “Has he never said anything like that to you?”
Eleanor shook her head, a hint of doubt coming to her eyes. “I sometimes wondered why, but I was afraid he didn’t…”
“Care about you the way you care about him?” Arthur prompted, feeling slightly uncomfortable about the emotional depth of their conversation. Matters of love were not his strong suit as he usually found them confusing and far from rational.
Eleanor nodded, a question burning in her eyes.
Arthur sighed, yielding at the sight of her unease. “He said he would even marry you without your family’s consent,” Eleanor sucked in a sharp breath, and Arthur wondered if it was truly wise telling her this, “however, he knows that you would never agree, and he didn’t want to put you in a position where you would have to choose between him and your family.”
A large tear rolled down Eleanor’s cheek before she turned away, trying to hide the evidence of her emotional upheaval. “Thank you,” she whispered after a while, silent sobs echoing to Arthur’s ears. “Thank you for telling me. I’ve always wondered. Now, I know.” She nodded and strode for the door. “At least, I know.”
Then Arthur was alone, and the many emotions that suddenly assaulted his heart felt like a burden he had never known before. Life had been far easier without this marriage business!
Chapter Eight − A Desperate Attempt at Happiness
About a fortnight after Diana had returned from the theatre and gone into the nursery to comfort her son, she still did not know what to do. More than once−actually whenever she laid eyes on her little boy these days−did she feel a strange yearning to wrap her arms around him and feel the warmth of his little body hugging hers. And yet, something stopped her.
Standing in the downstairs parlour, Diana spent many hours staring out the window at the busy street below, wondering what she ought to do. Torn between Lord Stanhope’s advice as well as her own desire to change her life, Diana knew very well that she had not the slightest idea what it was she truly wanted.
Yes, she wanted to be happy, to feel something, to feel alive, and here and there, she had actually experienced moments that had made her skin tingle and placed a deep, heart-felt smile on her face.
And yet, these moments had been fleeting. They had vanished as quickly as they had seized her, and she did not know how to bring them about…even though she wished for nothing else more desperately.
Despite Lord Stanhope’s counsel, Diana still went out wearing colourful accessories. However, she refrained from exchanging her black gown for a more scandalous variation. Strangely enough, there was a part of her that could not bear the thought of disappointing him.
Except for Rose, he had been the only one in a long time who had spoken to her without distaste, without condescension. He had seemed truly concerned for her, trying to understand why she would desire to provoke a scandal.
If only Diana could explain it beyond the almost desperate urge to rebel against those who had never even given her a chance when she had tried her best to act as expected. Deep down, Diana knew that she was acting out of spite. She wanted to show the whole world that no matter what she would not bow her head and simply accept their rejection.
No, she did not need their approval. She would find her place without it.
And still, Diana did not feel better. Her life did not truly change. She was still trapped in the same old life she had hated from the first day.
“Maybe I need to try harder,” she mumbled to herself, wondering what would have happened if she had not run into Lord Stanhope that night at the theatre. What if she had made it to her cousin’s box? What if all of the ton had seen her out of mourning barely two months after her husband’s passing?
Would something have changed? Would she have felt liberated somehow?
Diana sighed, remembering the night at the theatre. At first, she had not seen the concern in Lord Stanhope’s eyes. All she had been aware of had been his censure of her behaviour. However, then he had risked his own reputation in order to protect hers.
The day after the performance Rose had called on her, and Diana had taken that opportunity to enquire after Lord Stanhope, mentioning that she had met the man’s sister at a ball not too long ago.
And although Rose did not know Lord Stanhope personally, she had shared what little she did know about him.
Now, Diana knew that the man who had acted so gallantly had in fact been London’s most notorious stickler for etiquette. Still she could not believe it! In retrospect, she would have expected him to leave the moment she had shown up unchaperoned. She would have expected him to be appalled by her lack of decorum.
Only he hadn’t been.
Instead, he had been kind.
And in return, she had kissed him!
A deep smile came to Diana’s face. Yes, he had made her feel. The moment he had pulled her behind the column, her heart had thudded in her chest in a way she hadn’t expected it ever would again. If she were to meet him again, would his presence have the same effect on her?
For two days, Diana mulled over what to do. Yes, she wanted to feel, and although she did not dare risk opening her heart to her son, she could not help but yearn for the feeling Lord Stanhope had evoked in her. After all, it was a mere flirtation. Nothing to endanger her heart for it had already learnt its lesson long ago.
And so with her mind firmly made up, Diana awaited her cousin’s carriage two nights later, after having spent the entire afternoon persuading her to be allowed to attend Lord Timbell’s ball alongside Rose and her husband.
Strangely enough, the presence of Lord Norwood did not affect her as it usually did when she climbed into their carriage that
night, her thoughts focused on the ball and the question whether or not Lord Stanhope would attend.
“Are you certain this is a good idea?” Rose asked, her forehead in a frown as her gaze swept over Diana’s midnight blue gown.
“I cannot attend a ball wearing black, now can I?” Diana retorted, still exhausted from their to and fro that afternoon. “What choice did I have?”
Apparently, Rose knew when a battle was lost, and so she leaned back in her seat, exchanged a knowing look with her husband and said not another word on the matter.
When they finally reached Lord Timbell’s townhouse, Diana had to admit that she felt sick to the stomach. Following her cousin out of the carriage, Diana took a deep breath, steeling herself for the hateful stares and appalled whispers that awaited her inside, and for a moment, she could not recall why she was even here.
Surely, she was mad to subject herself to such censure!
Upon entering, Diana forced a sweet smile on her face, which barely faltered as Lord and Lady Tinwell’s jaws dropped open when they caught sight of her. “You have a lovely home,” she said in greeting, pushing her shoulders back and raising her chin to meet their eyes unflinchingly.
In that moment, Diana couldn’t help but be proud of herself.
The rest of the night continued as expected. Wherever Diana went, whispers and stares followed her. While some guests at least attempted to hide their interest in London’s latest scandal, others made no effort to appear unobtrusive.
However, Diana couldn’t have cared less. With each moment that her eyes failed to detect Lord Stanhope’s presence, her heart sank.
“Where is he?” she mumbled venturing through the many rooms, eyeing her cousin with a familiar touch of envy as her husband twirled her across the dance floor.
“Mrs. Reignold?”
Turning around, Diana felt her heart thudding in her chest as her eyes fell on Lady Eleanor. Hearing her name called, Diana thought she had strayed into a dream as the general consensus of the assembled guests was to not interact with her at all.