by Devilish
Now, she had to throw up a diversion, and Lord Randolph was her victim. Though sorry for it, she flirted with him, lightly, but sufficiently to encourage him. Sufficiently to be noted by the king and queen, she was sure.
Of course, since they planned to choose her husband if necessary, favoring any one man was dangerous. Perhaps if she seemed to be flitting between a few, it would delay any choice.
Therefore, when Lord Scrope came over to inquire about her welfare, she smiled warmly at him. The viscount was a genuinely kind man, who enjoyed speaking of his children. He also spoke a great deal of his dead wife. Commendable, but Diana felt that his new bride would have a ghost in the bed.
As Bey’s bride would lie with the ghosts of his dead mother and sister? She stopped her eyes from seeking him out, and told herself that it would not be so, because he would take no bride as long as those ghosts lingered.
Unless he had to rescue her …
She caught the king’s eye on her, and he did not look pleased. Good. She laughed at Lord Randolph’s latest foolish sally, and patted Lord Scrope’s hand sympathetically. Sir Harry Crumleigh came over and started talking about horses, which was at least an interest she could honestly share.
All three returned her interest warmly, and she ached for it.
She wanted no more broken hearts in the world.
Weakly, she let her eyes slip once again to where Bey chatted with a lively group. He’d clearly said something witty, and Cynthia Hestrop clung to his arm, laughing up at him in a deliberately enticing way. He caught Diana’s eye, returned her gaze coolly, then smiled at his wanton admirer.
She made her eyes move on—and saw the king watching her. Had he caught that exchange?
Plague take them all.
Feeling like an animal in a cage, with every movement observed and scrutinized, she turned back to charming and encouraging her wretched suitors.
Chapter 25
The next day, Diana awoke with one pressing question—when would she see Bey again? Ridiculous to feel that he was the watch spring of her life, but a day without the sight of him, without a moment of conversation, seemed worthless.
Then she remembered that she had to continue to pretend that other men were of greater interest. She flopped back on her pillow with a moan. It had become clear last night that they were all taking her encouragement seriously, and beginning to compete.
There was also the matter of the masquerade that Bey was to host only three nights from now. When word of that had spread, the court had bubbled with excitement, and Diana had understood that his grand spectacles were eagerly anticipated. She’d heard of Grecian and Chinese themes, and one at the Abbey which had included medieval jousting.
It all sounded like great fun, except that the king had made it clear that she was to use the occasion to get to know her suitors better, and make up her mind.
Why the devil was he in such a hurry!
With a sigh, she rolled out of bed and took her breakfast while Clara prepared another modest outfit for the day. Perhaps she could put everyone off by looking sickly. She painted her face more densely than before, seriously wondering whether she could construct some of the ugly, pustulant pimples she’d worn last year. Too dangerous, however, for they could smear if touched, and this was not a game.
Thinking that she’d first met the marquess in that guise, she knew it hadn’t been a game then, either, but she hadn’t realized it. No, though cloaked in silk and smiles, this was a duel between herself and the world, with possibly fatal consequences. She checked her appearance one more time, then went to join the queen in the garden.
Because she was an addition to the queen’s circle, there was little for her to do, and many to be jealous of their duties. She sat quietly, therefore, occasionally joining in the conversation, but free most of the time to look for ways to change Bey’s mind about marriage.
She definitely had to gain access to the libraries here, but was afraid to damage her image as a rather silly woman. She doubted she would ever find conclusive proof that he could never father a deranged child, though. Such a thing was surely unprovable. So, she had to convince him in some way that the risk was tolerable.
She suppressed a sigh, sure that in his mind, no such risk was tolerable when by self-denial all risk could be avoided.
She could plead her own pain. Another suppressed sigh. He knew. Complaining to him would be to twist the blade in the wound.
The arrival of Lady Durham with her two-week-old baby was a welcome escape from these thoughts. The queen had apparently demanded the visit, for she loved babies, and she immediately insisted on holding the tiny creature, cooing to it in German.
Diana hovered with the other ladies, as charmed and enchanted as anyone. She rarely saw such new babies, and this was very tiny. Six pounds, the mother said, but healthy.
The baby girl was sleeping when she arrived, but soon obligingly opened huge dark blue eyes, and didn’t cry to see a strange face hovering. Diana was surprised by an intense longing to hold the child, but not surprised to instantly think how magical it would be to hold Bey’s child, him her loving husband close by.
A shadow fell over her shoulder.
“Lady Arradale,” said a man behind her.
Though disappointed, she turned to greet Lord Randolph. She would rather stay to watch the baby, but the queen urged her to step apart with him.
He carried her hand to his chest with embarrassing ardor. “Lady Arradale. A perfect bloom in a perfect garden. I vow, my lady, you have stolen the blush from the roses!”
Diana kept her smile in place and thanked heavens for a man who would never spout such nonsense. She had no choice, however, but to permit Lord Randolph to court her in his absurd fashion, so she tried to balance mild encouragement with suppression of his smug confidence.
It was a relief of sorts when the baby began to cry, but less of one when the crying wouldn’t stop. Diana turned to see the queen trying to sooth the babe while Lady Durham and her nursemaid hovered, clearly wanting to take the child but not willing to snatch it from royal arms.
“The dear thing is cold,” declared the queen. “Bring a blanket!”
The dear thing was now red-faced and warbling newborn outrage.
Very unwisely, a lady picked up a blanket that belonged to the prince. He shrieked and turned red-faced too, creating far more volume than the tiny baby.
“Herzleib, nein!” cried the queen, finally passing the baby to the anxious mother. “Bring my darling to me. Lord Randolph, run instantly for another blanket!”
Diana thought for a moment that Lord Randolph would refuse this menial task, but he bowed and did take off at a run. The prince’s nursemaid brought him over to the queen, but he squirmed and shrieked in a thorough tantrum, probably because his mother had been holding another child so long.
“Lord Rothgar!” The queen suddenly spoke in the tones of one who has seen the Second Coming. Diana whirled, and indeed, he was there, at the edge of the garden.
“Come,” cried the queen. “You will know what to do for my poor child!”
For some reason, the prince chose that moment to turn silent, staring at the still man. Thus, the frantic baby’s squawks were the only sound.
Bey turned and walked away.
The queen gaped, and for a moment everyone stared after the man who had just broken every courtly rule. Snapping out of shock, Diana cast reason and caution aside, picked up her skirts, and raced after him.
She had to pursue around the house, out of sunlight into shadows, before she found him, standing completely still.
She halted beside him, slightly out of breath. “What is it?” she asked, even though she guessed.
He breathed, and if it were not impossible, she’d think it was the first breath he’d taken in minutes. Still looking ahead, he said, “I cannot endure distressed babies. A weakness …”
His sister. His mother. “It’s just hungry.”
He turned to her, looking a
lmost normal, but pale. “I know.”
“You have offended the queen.”
His lips twitched a little. “I believe I understand the ways of royalty.”
Diana took a deep breath herself. “Well then, at least this will put you far back in the competition for my hand.”
She was rewarded by the ghost of a true smile. “An unintentional bonus. You are well?”
“Well enough.” She suddenly realized that they were alone here, so close to the house that they could not even be overlooked by a window. Could she go into his arms, particularly when he needed comfort?
Too dangerous. Too dangerous by far.
“What will you do?” she asked.
“Return to the queen and apologize. Once the crying stops.”
She realized that he had halted where he still could faintly hear the noise, and that it had just stopped. She realized something else. Bey had a powerful urge to cherish and protect. Walking away from distress must wound like a blade, and it spoke clearly of how terrible such things were to him.
All newborns cried.
Did he have another reason for not having children, one that even love might not be able to overcome?
He held out a hand. “Time to return, my lady,” he said, superficially the perfect courtier again.
She placed her hand in his and he led her back toward the queen’s garden. “What of your situation after racing after me?” he asked.
“I’ll say I thought the queen commanded it.”
This was their first private moment since the coach, and now they were approaching the corner of the building. When they passed it they would once more be in sunshine, and in view.
Will breaking, Diana halted and pushed him against the brick wall. There, one hand behind his head, she kissed him, not long, but deeply, and rested for a moment afterward inclined against his body.
She took, he did not give. Yet because he did not resist, she knew he took, too, took contact and comfort. He did not break free either, so they stayed together for perilous minutes, until she found the strength to step back from him, to take his hand and restore the way they had been before.
He stopped her then, merely by a pressure on her fingers, and they stood looking into one another’s eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“This is not another burden for your soul,” she stated. “I refuse to accept that role, Bey. We are as we are. I will not deny it. We will also survive, no matter what.”
He raised her hand and pressed a kiss to it. “Your courage shames me. I will endeavor to do better.”
“You are perfect.”
“Clearly not.”
Moments later, apparent images of propriety, they stepped into sunlight and view. Both children were gone.
“Lord Rothgar!” the queen screeched. “Present yourself!”
He dropped Diana’s hand to go forward and bow, but the queen snapped, “And you too, Lady Arradale!”
Diana sank into a deep curtsy, and let him raise her.
“Lady Arradale,” the queen demanded, “we did not give you permission to leave our presence. And you turned your back!”
“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty. I thought you commanded me to bring Lord Rothgar back.”
“Would I send you rather than my guard?”
“Yet she succeeded in the task, Your Majesty,” Rothgar said, drawing the queen’s fire, as he surely intended.
The queen’s eyes narrowed. “By what means, I wonder?”
“Sweet reason, ma’am.” He bowed again. “Forgive me. I was overset by the children’s distress. Your Majesty, in your wisdom, will know why.”
The queen’s glower softened slightly, but she said, “Then perhaps you should not have children, my lord.”
“My thought entirely, ma’am.”
Diana could have laughed at the queen’s look of annoyance, except that this was all so heartbreaking.
“Why are you here, my lord?” the queen snapped. “Disliking children as you do.”
He didn’t protest that unfair statement. “On a mission of charity, ma’am. Lady Arradale prepared to come south at a moment’s notice, and might need to visit the shops and merchants here to supplement her wardrobe. If she wishes it, I could arrange for my secretary to carry out any commissions she might have.”
“Lady Arradale?” The queen turned to her, still frosty.
“There are some items, yes, Your Majesty.” Despite logic, Diana’s heart began to dance with anticipation. To Hades with his secretary. If she went shopping, surely Bey could escort her.
“Why make do with a servant?” the queen asked, as if picking up her thought.
At that moment, Lord Randolph hurried up with a white blanket and didn’t quite manage to hide irritation that the children had been taken away.
The queen smiled at him anyway. “Lord Randolph will escort you, Lady Arradale, along with Mistress Haggerdorn and a footman.” She turned the smile, now almost triumphant, on Bey. “Thank you, my lord, for the suggestion.”
He seemed completely unmoved as he bowed and took his leave, and perhaps he was. Diana would like to think that his plan to spend some time with her had been scuttled by his offense to the queen. It was more likely, strong-willed as he was, that he had always intended his secretary as her escort.
His walls were still intact.
Or were they? He had come to see her at least. And she had stolen—seized—that kiss! If he were truly beyond hope, he would never have permitted that.
Fragile hope stirred, but for now, she must leave with the smug Lord Randolph. London was rivaled only by Paris for its merchants, but Diana was in no mood for shopping. She wanted to consider her minor victory, and plot new strategies.
Above all, she wished she were with Bey.
As they entered a coach for the short drive to Bond Street, Diana couldn’t help wondering what sort of shopping companion Bey would be. Strange to think of him in that role, but it was a fashionable diversion for a lady, even a married lady, to take male admirers with her on such expeditions. He must engage in it sometimes. His taste was excellent, and she was sure he knew all the special and unusual emporiums.
With Lord Randolph, alas, they promenaded along the obvious route, and Bond Street was horribly crowded. Diana decided to make the best of it, however. There were some items she needed, and she could perhaps use this to reduce Lord Randolph’s enthusiasm for marriage to her.
She became a very slow and indecisive shopper.
When that failed to wilt his good humor, she turned to wild extravagance. It only slowly occurred to her that this was a terrible mistake. The evidence of her wealth had him virtually licking his lips.
Oh, perdition. She must keep her wits about her instead of letting her mind drift all the time as to whether this material, that lace, or that hair ornament would most please Bey. Her head was spinning anyway from the press of people and the constant racket of wheels and din of street-sellers’ cries. York or Harrogate were never like this.
When she was jostled and someone stepped on her foot, she couldn’t help thinking that Bey would miraculously accomplish a shopping expedition in more comfort! When she saw the brass plate by a door, she dashed gratefully into the relative calm of a mantua maker’s house. The place was busy, but it seemed like heavenly peace.
As soon as her name was known, the proprietor herself swept out, to usher her into a private room, ply her with wine and cakes, and take her order. Fashion magazines and dolls were produced, and Mistress Mannerly began to make quick skillful sketches of ideas. Since both she and Diana knew what was wanted and were in accord, the designs were worked out efficiently, with Lord Randolph lounging nearby, knocking back the wine, mind obviously vacant.
A vacant-minded husband might seem better than a clever one—Bey excepting—but Diana thought it would drive her mad. An hour in Lord Randolph’s company had shown that he had no thought that wasn’t self-centered and selfish. It wasn’t that he was stupid, bu
t that he was mentally lazy. No one had ever given him reason to try to think, and it had never occurred to him to do so on his own. He was doubtless pursuing her fortune so keenly because it would mean that he need never think again other than what to spend it on.
With a sigh, she reviewed the orders and approved them. A new light traveling gown to replace the one ruined in the adventure, and another grand gown for evening affairs, though she hoped to be gone before it was ready. She couldn’t resist ordering a delicious powder gown in fine layers of pale green silk. That was definitely not for her role at court, however, but for after her escape.
She suddenly realized that she was planning to wear it for Bey, but stopped herself from canceling the order. She was still determined to change his mind, and it would be wonderful on a wedding night—
“Anything else, milady?”
Diana snapped herself out of dreams, and recalled a picture in the fashion magazine. She flipped back through pages.
“The Grecian costume, my lady?” said Mistress Mannerly, alert to a new commission. “Classical draperies are in vogue for masquerades.”
Diana considered the picture of the willowy woman in artlessly draped cloth that resembled a Greek peplos. “It could be Diana, could it not?”
“Indeed, my lady. A pretty conceit.”
She had brought her usual masquerade costume, that of Good Queen Bess, but now the idea of being the Virgin Queen had completely lost its appeal, and not because she was no longer a virgin. Now she could imagine only too well the lonely years of the great queen, whose position had made it perilous to have a man by her side. Diana had always liked to think that Elizabeth had at least enjoyed one lover—perhaps Courtenay, or Leicester—but now that didn’t seem consolation so much as torture.
If she went to the masquerade, she would rather be someone else, and why not Diana the Huntress?