Except that Phoebe hadn't truly thought through the practicalities of that last suggestion however, as was her habit, Diana was quickly coming to realize. Still, the young woman would not leave the Saintwood town home without the promise of Diana's company for the evening. In fact, Diana was rather certain that if Phoebe had felt she could have gotten away with it, she would have indulged in a full-blown temper tantrum in order to get her own way.
Truly, the last thing Diana wanted was to accompany Phoebe to the theater and sit in Hathaway's box like some dowdy old maid. She did not want to play chaperone, either, especially not when she finally had a suitor of her own. One that she liked very much. Especially his kisses.
When Diana had protested that she had already accepted Lord Hallstone's invitation to sit in the Duke of Radcliffe's box, that had sent Phoebe into a rather spectacular pout, something that Diana had not thought the young lady in question capable of in the least. Phoebe had also complained that this was her one chance with the duke, especially since he had made his feelings - or lack thereof - towards Diana plain. And really, Phoebe insisted, she quite liked the man. And his wealth. And his title, which, of course, went without saying.
That last bit had nearly caused Diana's mother to resort to violence. Or at the very least some fit of madness as she had begun sputtering incoherent words and was turning a rather alarming shade of purple. All the while, Diana stood there in the middle of the room, mute, while words and actions swirled around her, unable to get in a single word between Phoebe's endless chatter and her mother's garbled, rage-filled words. Thankfully, Diana's father, upon hearing the ruckus in the drawing room, had once more left the safety of his study to intervene. It was at times like that when Diana was truly grateful for her father's steadying influence on all of their lives.
Viscount Westfield had made the rather sensible suggestion that Phoebe return to Lord and Lady Hollinworth's home and dress for the evening while Diana readied herself here at home as well. Then Diana, along with Marie, would arrive at the Hollinworth's town home later that evening in the Westfield coach to collect Phoebe so that both young ladies could be on their way to the theater. Once there, Diana could join "her young man," as her father had already taken to calling Lachlan in the span of a single afternoon, since Lord and Lady Radcliffe were more than appropriate chaperones for Diana. Marie could then accompany Phoebe to Hathaway's box since the duke's sister, Lady Sophia, was hardly considered an appropriate chaperone, though it was understood that she would be present as well. Even if the duke's mother was there - which no one was certain she would be - it would not matter and all proprieties would be observed.
It was a splendid plan and one that Diana silently thanked her father for as the carriage rolled forward a bit in line, ever closer to the steps of the theater. She had expected that opening night would be crowded of course, but she had not been prepared for such a crush.
"This will be your first time at the theater, will it not, Phoebe?" Diana asked, a bit surprised that Lady Hollinworth had allowed the girl out of the house in a deep blue sapphire dress that was not at all appropriate for a girl so young. Or so innocent.
"It will be," Phoebe practically sighed, delight mixed with a good dose of anticipation. Then she searched Diana's face, as if looking for confirmation of something. "You do not mind that Lord Hathaway asked me to accompany him this evening, do you?" Phoebe was doing her best to appear as if she had a true concern for Diana's feelings on the matter, but by now, Diana knew that it was most likely the girl did not. Miss Banbrook had come to London to secure a splendid match and would accept nothing less than a duke if she could manage it. "I would not wish to offend you. It is merely that after the other night...well, I did not think you would mind. Though I am sorry about informing the duke that you would chaperone us. It did not occur to me that you might have an engagement this evening as well."
No, it probably would not have, Diana thought to herself, and in another time, Phoebe would have been correct. But that was before Lachlan and his desire to court her, even if it was only for appearances and only then because he was smitten with her to some degree. The situation was different now, and Phoebe needed to understand that she could not go promising away another's time. Even if Diana had not accepted Lachlan's invitation, Phoebe's actions were still far from appropriate.
"I am not bothered in the least that you are meeting Lord Hathaway." It was nothing less than the truth. Diana refused to admit to this woman that the dream of him as her husband had died long ago. She had simply clung to the notion for so long merely because it had been what her mother desired. For Diana, it was simply easier not to argue. "However, you cannot simply assume that someone - whether it is me or Sophia or another lady of your acquaintance - will always be available to accompany you on such short notice. Nor should you give away another's time as you did mine. Tonight it has worked out for the best, but it may not always." Diana knew she sounded like an old maid but she could not help it. Phoebe really did need to learn some boundaries. So much for her supposedly courtly manners that had been so highly touted but a few days earlier.
Diana also suspected that at least some of the girl's innocence a few days ago had been all an act, as if she was judging the situation, deciding how much she could get away with and what she likely could not. Phoebe was clever, probably more so than was good for her. Diana would grant her that. However clever and cunning often had dangerous consequences. Diana knew she would do well to keep her guard up around the young woman. Phoebe Banbrook was not nearly as innocent as she pretended to be.
"But then I would have had to turn down the duke's invitation." Phoebe did not sound as if she cared for that idea at all.
"Perhaps. But perhaps not." Diana said the words as gently as she could. "In any case, the proper and polite thing to do would have been to accept the invitation with the caveat that you would need a chaperone in case his mother was not available."
For a long time, Phoebe said nothing, the lamp inside the coach casting dark shadows across her face. Then finally she nodded and heaved a great sigh, one which Diana suspected was more for effect than anything. "Very well. It seems foolish, as this is not the way of things back home, but I will allow that you probably know more on this topic than I do."
Diana resisted the urge to remind Phoebe that she was no longer a young girl in Ipswich, but decided it was unnecessary. The point had been made and all had worked out well in the end. Not to mention that Diana was unwilling to allow Phoebe to spoil the evening for her. For the first time in longer than she cared to remember, Diana had an actual escort for the evening - the Marquess of Hallstead. Lachlan.
Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, the Saintwood carriage rolled to a stop at the steps of the theater and the two ladies disembarked, followed closely by Marie. Diana felt a little foolish in her sage green watered silk gown, especially next to Phoebe in her stunning dark blue confection that made her appear far older than her scant eighteen years. Diana's only consolation was that her gown was a Madame LaVallier creation and Phoebe's was not.
Diana hated that she was feeling so petty and petulant that evening. It was unlike her, after all. However, her new and growing feelings for Lachlan - not to mention his delicious kisses - were building turmoil inside of her unlike anything she had ever known. She truly wasn't bothered by Hathaway's treatment of her. In fact, she was rather glad of it. However, in a very short time, Lachlan had turned all Diana knew upside down, making her question the path for her life that she had been following for a very long time.
It was also one of the reasons Diana had not been particularly disturbed when Phoebe had announced she was meeting Lord Hathaway at the theater. The duke did not inspire half of the feelings in her that Lachlan did. He never had and it was unlikely that he ever would. She simply did not care for the man, at least as a wife should feel for her husband. Not to mention that marriage to a duke was her mother's dream. It was not Diana's and never had been. Not even when s
he had been a child.
As they stepped out of the carriage, Diana was surprised to see Lord Hathaway already there and waiting for Phoebe. He looked, well, Diana would not want to call it happy precisely, but he wasn't scowling or looking as if he had just swallowed a live toad either. That was his usual expression on most occasions, at least in her opinion. If Diana had to venture a guess, she might say that he looked almost eager for the young woman's company.
Since Phoebe was the first out of the carriage, due largely to her impatience more than anything else, the duke easily snagged her by the arm, leaving poor Marie, who had been behind Diana exiting the conveyance, to scurry behind the couple, trying to keep up. Diana could hear the maid uttering a string of French obscenities under her breath, which made Diana think that Phoebe did not speak nor even understand the foreign language. If she had, the poor girl would have been blushing all the way down her neck. Not even her thick cascade of sable-brown hair could have hidden it.
Unfortunately, since Hathaway only had eyes for Phoebe, he hadn't noticed that Diana had stepped from the Saintwood's carriage and required assistance as well.
Men, Diana thought to herself in disgust as she watched the trio wind their way up the stairs and through the crowd after a kind footman hurried to assist Marie onto the massive marble staircase. They cannot see what is right in front of their faces. He would not know another lady was present if he tripped over her.
"I would know if there was another lady present, I assure you. Especially if that lady is you."
Diana looked up to see Lachlan waiting for her, looking far more dashing than Hathaway could ever hope to in a silver-hued waistcoat and topcoat of midnight blue superfine that matched his eyes perfectly.
"Did I actually utter that last part aloud? I truly did not mean to," she whispered as she took the arm he offered her, embarrassed now and afraid that the marquess would think her either a ninny or still infatuated with the duke. "I was just..."
"Frustrated. I know." Lachlan's gaze followed the path Hathaway and Phoebe had cut through the mass of people. "She is a handful, I dare say, and the man can be a lout most of the time. The lass is trouble, and do not think it has gone unnoticed. Nor has his seeming infatuation with her. I fear this can come to no good end."
At that, Diana began to fret. "Oh dear. Should I speak to Lady Hollinworth, I wonder? I don't wish Phoebe's actions to reflect badly upon her. She's a very kind and gracious woman."
Lachlan shook his head as he steered Diana gently through the crowd. "No, lass. Let that one be. She is beyond your ability to help her. She will either snare her duke or she will return home in disgrace. I could tell from the moment I met her at the jeweler's that there are only two paths for her in life. It will be one or the other, and you'll not dissuade her from it." Then he grinned at her, a rather wolfish look that sent shivers of heat racing along her spine. "Besides. I thought you no longer cared for the duke."
He was teasing. Diana knew that. However she felt the need to reassure Lachlan that she was not disappointed in the turn of events, for despite his air of jaded sophistication she detected a hint of uncertainty in his tone. "I don't. Care for him, I mean. I'm not certain I ever did." Then she lowered her lashes a bit, playing the coy debutante that she had never truly been but in this moment wanted to be. "At the moment, all I can think of is a certain marquess that has quite captured my imagination. And perhaps more." She was flirting with scandalous behavior, she knew. However she could not quite bring herself to care.
"Ach, love." Lachlan tucked her more securely against his side, his hand resting possessively over top of hers. "No more of that or I just might spirit you away to Tinsburg Castle, my family's home in the Highlands, and be done with it. And we've only just begun to properly court. You tempt me to break the rules, lass, and we both know I don't wish to do that."
As they walked through the throng of people into the theater, Diana replayed Lachlan's words to her just now over and over in her mind. Did he realize that he had called her "love"? Probably not. It was a term men used often towards women they were fond of, and it was well established that Lachlan was extremely fond of her, even though they did not precisely know each other well.
More importantly, would he really whisk her off to Scotland if he had the chance? Again, probably not. After all, Claire was there and she had made it clear she wanted to be Lachlan's wife after his father passed. Then again, Gretna Green was in Scotland, too. In fact, marriage in Scotland was very different than it was in England. All one really needed was a blacksmith and for some reason, Diana suspected there was most likely one not far from Lachlan's castle.
But Diana had the impression that Lachlan, despite his name and his accent, was more English than Scottish. He would not risk her reputation - or his, especially the family one he was so desperately attempting to rebuild - for such a fool's errand. He could not desire her that much. No man could. But there was a part of her that wanted him as well. And it made her think that this pretend courtship - if that was truly what it was - might not be such a good idea after all. After their carriage ride that afternoon and more of his sinfully delightful kisses, she was no longer certain what this game was that they were engaged in. Or if she wanted to stop playing and move on to the real thing.
"Of all the comedies, I do enjoy this one the most. There is a timelessness to such a love story, is there not? Even when wrapped in the guise of a comedy. I have not enjoyed myself like this in ever so long." Lady Julia Radcliffe's smile was among the most serene and peaceful that Diana had ever seen. Not to mention that the woman dazzled everyone around her with a simple glance, like the truly radiant new mother that she was. Around the Radcliffe's private box, the rise and fall of the crowd's conversation at intermission seemed to flow like a river, adding a surprisingly relaxing backdrop to the evening.
"I quite agree, my lady. About all of it, actually." And Diana did agree. Though she often times preferred The Bard's tragedies, there was something about his comedies that appealed to her as well, at least if they were performed correctly. Tonight's actors were a cut above the usual talent for Drury Lane, which only enhanced Diana's enjoyment.
"Please. Call me Julia. I know we are in public, but it is foolish to stand on formalities after so long." Then she cast a long look at where Lord Hallstone sat conversing with Lord Radcliffe. "And unless I miss my guess, you might be joining the ranks of us married women soon enough."
Diana shook her head, praying that the usual tell-tale blush that appeared when she thought of Lachlan did not spread across her cheeks. She also prayed that the dim lighting in the theater might hide the blush if it did. "Oh, no. Lord Hallstone is just...that is to say..." Then she sighed. "Very well. I do not know what we are, precisely. I like him. Rather a lot. And I know that he enjoys my company as well. We have also agreed to court. I think. But there are outside factors."
"There always are, Diana. There always are." Then Julia rose from her seat and looked out across the theater where people were shuffling about, the heavy red velvet curtains that hung from the wall fluttering in the breeze, indicating that the theater's large rear doors were probably open on such a blasted hot spring night. "But let us not spoil such a fine evening with debate about the state of such things. As I said, it is a fine night, the first I am out with my husband since the babe was born. We must leave early, I know, but I think a bit of a stroll is in order first. It feels simply wonderful to be seen on my husband's arm again and not looking like an overstuffed armchair ready to burst." Then without waiting for Diana's approval, Julia took her friend's hand and they departed through the red velvet curtain that separated the private theater box from the hallway.
As soon as they stepped outside and into the hall, they were practically mobbed by well-wishers, mostly women who wanted to congratulate Julia on successfully bringing the new Radcliffe heir into the world. Even though the duke and duchess had only recently hosted the Crystal Ball, this was Lady Radcliffe's first foray back into soc
iety outside of her own home and everyone, or so it seemed, wanted a moment of her time. For a woman who had once been considered an outcast, it was a lovely change and Diana was truly happy for her friend.
Not wishing to intrude, Diana took a step back so that others might congratulate the duchess when she spotted her brother Oliver and Patience a bit down the hall. Or rather, Oliver with another drink in his hand, and Patience hanging onto the arm of Lord Henry Fontaine, the future Comte de LaCroix. There were a few members of French nobility who had enough English blood to mix in with the ton, and Fontaine was one of them. He also looked completely petrified as Patience hung off his arm like some sort of strange ornamentation bent on sexual seduction.
It was the ugly scene from the Crystal Ball all over again, and Diana fought back another sigh. She truly wished that her brother would either talk to his wife about her unseemly behavior or send her to the country where she could do no more harm. Allowing her to run amok in society did no one any good and certainly did the family as a whole no credit. Then Diana thought of Lachlan and his quest to restore his family's name after all of the damage his father had wrought. Would Oliver's child - the very same child that nearly all of society knew was a bastard - some day have to do the same? Only in this case because of what his mother had done? Diana prayed that would not be the case. Though she was also afraid that she was wrong.
When Fontaine finally managed to break free of Patience's clawing grasp and scoot off down the hall, Diana decided that a chat with her family was in order. She would not berate them now, of course, but she did want to know exactly how foxed her brother was. If he was not up to fulfilling his duties as the next viscount due to excessive drink, that was something their father needed to know. Now. She did not wish to snitch on her brother but the truth was, when her beloved papa passed, their mother's security would likely be in Oliver's hands. Possibly Diana's as well if she did not marry. If Oliver was a drunkard who allowed his wife to rule him - or worse, an inveterate gambler or a man who allowed his wife to drain the family coffers on useless fripperies - then her father needed to know now rather than after it was too late.
A Marquess Is Forever Page 13