‘Thank you. I appreciate how hard it is for you to share control over your safety and James’s with anyone,’ he told her, both pleased and humbled by her trust. ‘So, no more running away into the night! We’ll stand and face Graveston, stare him in the eye, if necessary, in the full light of day. Fight, not flee.’
Taking a shaky breath, she nodded. ‘Fight, not flee.’
He released her hands and motioned to her glass. ‘Finish your wine, then, and get some rest. I’m off tomorrow to find Will—I could send a message and ask him to Barton Abbey, but it would be faster to seek him out. I’d like him to head to Graveston Court as soon as possible.’
Obediently, she sipped the last and rose to leave. As he escorted her out, she paused at the doorway to look up at him. ‘Thank you, too. For protecting us.’
She lifted her face. He pulled her to him, and she clung to him through a lingering kiss that set every part of him throbbing with the need for fulfilment.
Oh, that he could make her his—truly his! But that couldn’t happen here and now, so he’d better disentangle himself.
Heeding Jane and his mother’s warnings, he’d better maintain a little more emotional distance, too.
Reluctant despite those cautioning thoughts, he released her. ‘I only wish there had been some other, equally safe place to bring you. I’m already missing Green Park Buildings.’
She sighed as well. ‘So am I.’
Chapter Sixteen
The next morning, Diana woke with a start. Her heart pounded through a moment of panic before she recalled where she was, in a pretty guest bedchamber at Barton Abbey, with James safe in the nursery on the floor above.
Safe.
It had been so long since she’d experienced the condition, she found it still difficult to believe. Like an injured soldier testing a wound, she prodded the edges of her anxiety, feeling for tender places where such concern was justified.
She and James were safe for the moment, but the confrontation had hardly begun. Still, Alastair had an ally who could probe into the circumstances of her husband’s death and produce testimony to validate her innocence. Something she could never have managed on her own.
She leaned back against the pillows. Alastair was right: he was far more than the charming, impetuous young man she’d once loved. If he could face down a charge of French cuirassiers, facing down the Duke or a court of inquiry would hardly faze him. A battle-tested soldier of ingenuity, strength and courage, he would protect her and his family.
Her struggle with Graveston...might even end well.
And if their plan were successful...what then?
She couldn’t summon up a single image of a future beyond that. Despite her confidence in Alastair’s abilities, the confrontation still to come loomed so large, her mind could not yet envisage anything beyond the yawning abyss of Graveston’s threats.
However, until Alastair returned—and his cousin, if Will were amenable to assisting them, completed his work—there was nothing to be accomplished by worrying over the matter any further.
She should instead go down to breakfast and express her thanks to a hostess who, amazingly, had prevented her from departing in the middle of the night and taking her tawdry problems with her.
Hopping out of bed, she crossed to the bell pull. She was inspecting her meagre selection of gowns when a knock at the door heralded the arrival of an apple-cheeked maid.
‘I’m Meg, Your Grace,’ the girl said, bobbing a curtsy. ‘Mrs Ransleigh says I am to attend you while you’re here. I pressed and hung up the gowns; I hope I done it how you like them.’
‘Thank you, Meg, they look quite fine. Is your mistress at breakfast now?’
‘She should be, or if not, she’ll be with the housekeeper. Shall I find her for you?’
‘No, I’m sure I shall see her there, or later.’
Diana let the maid help her into a modest yellow day gown, then direct her to the breakfast room. She’d seek out her hostess, express her thanks, and go see James.
Having agreed to Alastair’s plan, while he pursued the matter of testimony to dissuade the Duke from persecuting her, she’d have more time to get to know her son, she thought, her heart warming with gratitude. And perhaps while they sheltered at Barton Abbey, she might take some lessons from Mrs Ransleigh in how to become a proper mama.
* * *
A few moments later, after only a single wrong turn, she arrived at the breakfast room, to find Mrs Ransleigh still sitting over her cup of coffee. As Diana entered, her hostess rose and gave her a curtsy. ‘Good morning, Duchess.’
Returning the curtsy, Diana grimaced. ‘Please, Mrs Ransleigh, I should so much prefer that you not use the title. Could you not call me “Diana”, as you once did?’
Mrs Ransleigh inclined her head. ‘It’s certainly not proper. But if you truly prefer it...’
‘I would consider it a great favour.’ She managed a slim smile. ‘Anything that helps me put the last eight years behind me is preferable.’
‘Very well...Diana. I hope you slept well—once you slept,’ she added with a lift of an eyebrow.
Diana felt her face warm. ‘I did sleep well, thank you. Though I cannot imagine why you didn’t let me leave.’
‘Can you not? I admit, I did not believe the circumstances of your marriage when Alastair first apprised me of them, but as I considered them again after you spoke with me, I changed my mind. Your testimony reminded me that when I knew you before, you never could lie—truth always rang in your voice and illumined every expression of your face.’
A lump rose in her throat. Convincing Alastair had been a gift—she’d never expected to regain the respect of his mother.
‘Please, fill your plate!’ her hostess urged her. ‘Then we can chat.’
Marvelling that, if she’d followed her own plans, she’d now be riding in some farmer’s cart towards her reckoning with Graveston, rather than sharing breakfast with the mother of the man she’d wronged, Diana served herself and took a seat.
Once the footman had poured her coffee and withdrawn, Mrs Ransleigh said, ‘I liked you immediately when Alastair introduced us years ago, you know, and happily anticipated welcoming you to Barton Court as my daughter. Of course, I was appalled when you jilted Alastair. Incredulous, too,’ she added with a smile. ‘What girl of sense would give up my son for a mere title?’
Diana had to return it. ‘What girl indeed!’
‘I’ve been fortunate,’ Mrs Ransleigh continued, ‘I was allowed to marry a wonderful man for whom I cared deeply, to bear three children who returned a thousandfold in pride and pleasure for any trials experienced in raising them. But I know many women are not as lucky. Men have their land, or their skills or trade; they can choose how to earn their bread, settle in the community where they were born, or leave it to find new adventures—or to forget disappointments. Whereas most of our lives are dictated by others—fathers, husbands, brothers. But within the narrow range of our choices, I believe we women can display bravery and endurance equal to that of any soldier upon a battlefield. “Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for a friend.” As you did. But one sacrifice was enough, Diana. This time, Alastair will fight to protect you, and I’ll do all I can to assist.’
Diana’s hard-won control seemed to be unravelling, for she felt tears prick her eyes. Once again, from deep within where she’d shut away all memories of that long-ago affair, a recollection slipped out: how much she, who’d never known her own mother, had eagerly anticipated sharing Alastair’s. The flush of warmth—and longing—that followed in its wake, she made no attempt to suppress. ‘Thank you for believing me,’ she whispered.
‘It’s a travesty that you were distanced from loving your son! To have been forced to miss his first six years! Fortunately, you have several more
before he’s old enough to prefer friends to his mama. You need to make the most of them.’
‘I know,’ she replied, brought back to her first, most pressing concern. ‘But I’m not sure how.’
‘Having already met the young lad, I think I can with confidence advise you just to spend time with him and let him be himself. He can’t fail to delight you.’
Diana smiled faintly. ‘Alastair gave me the same advice.’
Mrs Ransleigh laughed. ‘That’s how he was beguiled by my rascal of a grandson! Robbie reminds me so much of Alastair. Watching your son grow is a joy you must experience. And now, you shall.’
Oh, how much she wanted to create for James the sort of loving home that had produced an Alastair! ‘Will you...help me?’
His mother’s face softened. ‘I don’t think you will need much help, once you are truly convinced you may love him openly without danger, but of course I will. By the way, the two of you may stay here as long as you wish. Treat Barton Abbey as the home we once hoped it would be.’
She’d hardly dared expect forgiveness from Mrs Ransleigh—and never imagined she would be treated with such generosity and compassion.
‘There are no words to express how much I appreciate your kindness, to me and to James. How can I repay you?’
‘Be happy, for Alastair.’
Be happy. Could she ever discover how to do that—to thaw out the frozen lump of emotions still trapped within, let go of fear and restraint, finally allow herself to feel again freely?
‘He still cares for you deeply. But you must not worry Alastair will try to push you into anything you do not want, once this is all over,’ her hostess added quickly. ‘Nor would I let him. You’ve been coerced quite enough.’
‘He’s already promised to respect my wishes, and I believe him.’
‘Good,’ Mrs Ransleigh said with a nod. ‘What do you wish for, once this is all over? If I may ask—I don’t wish to pry.’
‘I really don’t know,’ Diana admitted. ‘I lived a virtual prisoner for so many years, with no hope of escape, I ceased to imagine a life beyond the walls of the estate. I’m not even sure where to begin.’
‘You might start by taking up activities you used to enjoy. We’ve a fine library; make use of it. There’s a pianoforte at your disposal. Supplies for painting, sketching and needlework. You’re welcome to borrow my mare, Firefly, if you’d like to ride. Join me for tea, for dinner, cards and conversation after if you like, or dine alone, if you prefer.’
Gently she took hand Diana’s hand, and to her own surprise, Diana did not instinctively flinch away. ‘You’ve been hurt and battered for too many years. Give yourself time to heal. And don’t worry. Alastair will make sure no one harms you ever again.’
‘I know he will try.’
‘He will succeed,’ his mother said firmly. ‘Alone, my warrior son is a formidable force, but with Will by his side? Invincible! You will see.’
‘I certainly hope so.’
‘Never doubt it. You can relax and focus on your son—and regaining your life.’
Regaining her life... What would that life look like? Completely absorbed since her husband’s death with protecting James—and dealing with Alastair—she hadn’t begun to consider. Even now, it seemed somehow to be tempting fate to dare envisage anything beyond the end of Graveston’s looming menace.
After taking a final sip, Mrs Ransleigh set down her cup. ‘I enjoyed our chat, dear, but I must get to work.’
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’
‘It’s a fine day, with the autumn flowers in the garden in brilliant hue. Perhaps you could gather some?’
Swift as a darting lark, a memory swooped back. Papa had delighted in having fresh greenery nearby as he worked, so she’d made a ritual of seeking the most unusual plants and flowers to arrange in every room.
A faint flicker of what she realised was anticipation stirred. ‘I could arrange cuttings for the house, if you like.’
‘I would like that.’
To Diana’s surprise, her hostess leaned over to give her a hug. ‘Life will be better. You’ll see. Why not take that young scamp into the garden with you? Teach him about the plants his grandfather loved. I also seem to remember the coachman mentioning that one of the dogs had pupped. I wager James would love to have a dog of his own.’
A walk through a brilliant autumn garden, blooms to gather and arrange—and time with her son. From within a tender warmth welled up, like the small brilliance of the first yellow crocus emerging from the snow.
‘Thank you, I’d like that.’ After hesitating a moment, she allowed herself to voice the other concern that had occupied her thoughts. ‘Has Alastair gone yet, do you know?’
‘Yes, he left at first light this morning.’
She felt a flash of disappointment, quickly squelched. Having settled everything last night, there was no reason he should have come to see her before he left.
As if privy to her thoughts, Mrs Ransleigh said, ‘He asked me to pass along his good wishes. He would have delivered them in person, but he didn’t want to disturb your sleep. More than anything, he wants you to rest—and heal.’
Diana nodded. ‘He’s been very good to me. As have you. Far better than I deserve, though I’m grateful for James’s sake to have found such strong champions.’ Foreboding about what that might cost Alastair swept through her.
‘You mustn’t worry about him,’ Mrs Ransleigh said, seeming to sense Diana’s concern. ‘It’s hard not to worry when you care for someone, as I know only too well. After Alastair’s break with you, he was in such despair, I feared he might throw his life away in some great battle.’
Feeling the words as a reproach, Diana said quietly, ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘No point repining,’ Mrs Ransleigh said. ‘You had good reason for your actions, as I now know. In any event, I was so relieved when he returned from the war unharmed! But the man who came back brought me new worries. Harder, more distant, and cynical about everyone but his immediate family, he seemed to think females served only one purpose—and not one he would discuss with his mama! I could understand at first why he kept that distance, not wishing to risk a heart once so severely wounded. But as time went on, my worry deepened, for neither his many mistresses nor the proper young ladies to whom Jane tried to introduce him—whom he scrupulously avoided, I might add—seemed able to touch him. I have to admit, when Jane told me he was seeing you, I hoped the experience might break through the wall he’d erected around his heart. It has certainly done that. Whatever happens next, for that, and for the sacrifice you made for him earlier, I will always be grateful.’
Along with teasing out threads from the skein of memory Diana had kept so tightly wound within, Mrs Ransleigh seemed to be able to evoke long-repressed emotions. Once more near tears, Diana said, ‘I never wished to harm him. I pray every night these new troubles will not.’
Mrs Ransleigh smiled. ‘Prayer is always valuable. I’d best get along now, before Mrs Andrews sends a maid looking for me. We dine early, but if you wish something before then, nuncheon is available. Just ring. Shall I see you at dinner, or would you prefer a tray?’
Having not been given that choice for years, Diana hesitated. She could visit the library, choose a book, sit over her dinner reading.
But she didn’t have to hurry off—she might choose a book at leisure, and read whenever she chose, for as long as she liked. The idea seemed strange—and wonderful.
But for the first time since she’d left her father and Alastair, Diana felt an inclination for company. To get to know better the remarkable woman who’d raised such a remarkable son—and forgiven her for hurting him. To learn all she could from her, to better raise her own son. ‘I’d like to join you, if you don’t mind.’
‘I should be delighted. I’ll loo
k forward to those flower arrangements as well.’ Giving Diana’s hand another squeeze, she rose from the table. ‘Try to enjoy the day, my dear. I’ll see you at dinner.’
* * *
As her hostess walked out, Diana sipped her coffee. Enjoy the day. A whole day, for nothing but her pleasure.
The notion seemed almost impossible.
For all pleasures but one, she amended, remembering last night’s single kiss. Her body aflame, she’d regretted as keenly as Alastair the need for the celibacy now imposed upon them. She hadn’t expected to miss their intimacy quite so dreadfully.
Would Alastair wish to resume their relationship, once the confrontation with the Duke was over?
This last battle might be the end of the episode for him, the denouement that allowed him to finally close the chapter of his life labelled ‘Diana’. Distress, a tangled mix of anxiety and sadness, arose at that possibility.
She would have to accept that, of course. The Alastair she’d known, the Alastair she was coming to know again, would support the cause he believed in and fight to the end. If that end was scandal and disgrace, he would see her comfortably established before moving on.
But what if he were not ready to move on? It required but a moment to conclude she’d welcome him back as a lover. More than that, she couldn’t yet envisage. Would he be content for long with such a restricted offering? A man who should command not just the passion, but the unrestrained love of any woman lucky enough to be chosen by him?
She wouldn’t think about that now.
Though slowly coming to believe she was truly freed of her prison, she hadn’t yet untangled the twisted threads of her thoughts, desires and still-repressed emotions to figure out who she might become—whether it would ever be possible for her to love again with the passionate intensity she’d been capable of before Graveston. She hadn’t the energy to contemplate her life beyond tomorrow. All she could manage at the moment was to begin working on dismantling the automatic ban she’d imposed over things which gave her pleasure, lest the Duke take them away.
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