“India? Brazil?”
“Miss Somerville wishes to be the next female explorer, following in the footsteps of her idol, Lady Hester Stanhope. She feels a husband would be an impediment to such a career, but if she had to choose, I am certain she would choose a gentleman who shared her interests. Not someone like myself, whose only explorations are done in a comfortable armchair while sipping port.”
“You value yourself too little,” Tony chided him.
“On the contrary, I am a realist.”
“And how do you plan to make this scheme work? If this Miss Somerville is as you describe, it will be difficult to pretend that the two of you have formed a love match,” Tony said.
“Society will see what they expect to see,” Stephen said. “A few public appearances should suffice. And as for Miss Somerville, I find that I like her. She is honest, which is a refreshing change from most women of the ton. Once you know her, I hope you and Elizabeth will learn to call her friend as well.”
“You can depend upon us,” Tony said. “For whatever you need.”
“Thank you,” Stephen said. It was something he had known, just as he knew that he would do anything for his friends. And yet there was a certain comfort in hearing Tony say the words aloud.
“I am to begin this afternoon by taking Miss Somerville for a drive in Green Park,” Stephen said. “Then I suppose it is time I begin accepting some of the invitations that have come my way.”
Indeed, although Stephen rarely attended social functions, he was nonetheless bombarded by London hostesses, each of whom hoped to claim the honor of attracting the elusive viscount. Now he would have to change his habits and let society see him and his fiancée.
“Elizabeth suggested that we could host a small dinner party to introduce Miss Somerville to our friends,” Tony said. “Perhaps Friday or Saturday, if that would suit your plans.”
Today was Tuesday. It was late to send out invitations for such an event, but then again Elizabeth Dunne was a peerless hostess. No doubt she had already considered such before making her suggestion.
“That is most kind. Please tell Elizabeth I accept her generous offer.”
“And shall we tell anyone else the real story of this engagement?”
“No,” Stephen said. He had given this much thought. It was not that he did not trust his other friends, but there was a limit to how many could be expected to keep a secret. “You may speak to Elizabeth, if you think it wise, but no one else. A secret shared is soon no secret at all.”
“I will tell Elizabeth,” Tony said. “I learned early in our marriage never to keep a secret from my wife. That is advice you would do well to heed, if you are considering matrimony.”
“I am a long way from making a husband,” Stephen said. “First, I must practice the part of being a fiancé.”
At the appointed hour Lord Endicott arrived, driving a fashionable curricle drawn by a matched pair of bays. A footman helped her into the carriage, which swayed alarmingly as she took her seat next to the viscount. Then, with a smart crack of the whip, they set off.
Diana clutched her straw bonnet with one hand and resisted the urge to clutch the viscount with the other. Far lighter than the sturdy gigs she had ridden in at home, the curricle seemed almost flimsy, balanced precariously upon its two wheels, as it was pulled by a matched pair of horses. Never before had she ridden in such a daring vehicle, nor been driven quite so fast. She swallowed nervously, feeling slightly queasy at the swaying of the curricle. But then she began to relax as she realized that the viscount was a very competent driver. He navigated the busy streets of London with great skill, weaving in and out among the congested tangle of coaches, horse carts, and pedestrians.
“There is no need for worry. The curricle is far safer than it looks, and I have never overturned a vehicle I was driving,” Lord Endicott said, after a sidelong glance.
“I am not frightened,” Diana said. “In fact, I am intrigued. I have never ridden in a curricle before.”
“And how do you like the experience?”
“It is interesting,” she said. She wondered how fast the horses could pull such a lightweight vehicle and wished for an empty country lane so Lord Endicott could put them through their paces.
“A new experience for you, then,” Lord Endicott said. “An adventure as it were.”
“I would like to learn to drive,” Diana said, voicing aloud the thought that had just occurred to her. “Perhaps someday you can teach me?”
“It is more difficult than it appears,” Lord Endicott said. “And Hector and Ajax here are very well trained, which makes my part look all the easier.”
Diana bit her lower lip as she often did when thinking. “I have driven the pony cart at home,” she said. “And as an adventuress I will need all sorts of skills. What if someday I encounter bandits and my coachman is wounded or killed? I may be called upon to drive my own carriage to safety.”
She found herself lost in visions of her future heroism. It would be in the Italian Alps, or perhaps along a desert trail in Arabia. She would win against enormous odds, driving the carriage to safety and acquiring universal acclaim. Newspaper correspondents would rush to pen her story, and her friends and family back in England would be astonished at her daring.
Lord Endicott interrupted her daydream. “I do not believe there is any risk of us being attacked by bandits between here and Green Park. Especially not on a sunny Tuesday afternoon in May.”
The poor man had no imagination whatsoever, she realized. No wonder he was so stiff and formal. She must remember to make allowances for him. It was not his fault that he could not share her vision. He was simply blinded by the limits of convention and of long habit.
“If you had an adventurous soul, you would understand. But I realize that is not your fault. Not all of us were born to lead exciting lives,” Diana said. She reached over and placed her hand comfortingly along his arm.
Lord Endicott looked down at her hand and then over at her, until an indignant cockney yell brought his attention back to his driving.
“I thank you for understanding my limitations,” he said, his voice stiff. “And I did not say that you should not learn to drive a carriage. If you do intend to travel, it will be a useful skill to have. But a curricle is not a carriage, and the streets of London are no place for a novice to learn.”
“Then, you will teach me?”
“We shall see,” Lord Endicott said.
She sank back against the cushions. He had not agreed, not exactly. But neither had he refused her.
“Smile,” he said.
“What?”
“Smile,” he repeated. “That gate ahead leads to Green Park. It is time to begin our performance.”
“Oh,” she said. She had been so intent upon their conversation she had almost forgotten the true purpose of this outing.
Lord Endicott slowed the horses to a walk as they passed through the gates onto the carriageway. The park was positively filled with people, some strolling along the grass, while carriages of every kind and condition made a stately procession along the carriageway. There were high-perch phaetons and gaily painted curricles, along with ancient carriages and a few light gigs. Lord Endicott nodded to acquaintances, who nodded back to him. A rider on horseback drew up alongside them, touching the brim of his hat with his whip.
“Endicott. A fine afternoon for a drive, is it not?” The speaker was a fashionably dressed gentleman wearing a pale blue coat over doeskin trousers, with sandy blond hair and a fair complexion.
“Indeed,” Lord Endicott said, drawing the curricle to a halt. “May I present Miss Somerville, who is to be my wife. Miss Somerville, this is Mr. Harold Walker, who was at Cambridge with me.”
“Delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Somerville,” Mr. Walker said, giving a very credible bow for one who sat in the saddle.
“A pleasure, sir,” Diana replied.
“It has been a long time since we last met. One despai
rs of seeing you in society,” Mr. Walker said. “Does your presence here mean that you plan on changing your hermit ways, now that you are engaged?”
A muscle in Lord Endicott’s jaw jumped, but then he smiled affably. “My fiancée and I will of course be delighted to take part in the season,” he said. “And now, if you will excuse us, I do not wish to keep the horses standing.”
“Of course,” Mr. Walker said. “Miss Somerville, I look forward to improving our acquaintance.”
Diana smiled and inclined her head, but said nothing. She had not liked the subtle mockery in Mr. Walker’s voice. She waited until they had driven some distance down the path before saying, “I do not think Mr. Walker is your friend.”
“He is not. He is an acquaintance,” Lord Endicott said.
“And is it true? That you never venture into society?”
“I am not quite the hermit that Mr. Walker claimed,” Lord Endicott answered. His gaze was fixed ahead. “But it is true that I lost my taste some time ago for large crushes, or attending five parties in a single evening, simply because one must be seen at all the most fashionable events.”
“I have little taste for such things myself,” Diana confessed. Though that was not precisely true. It was easier to lose oneself in a large crowd and to melt into the background. In a smaller party it was harder for her to remain in obscurity, while her unconventional views had brought her all too much attention, most of it unwelcome. In her brief time in London she had grown to loathe fashionable gatherings. In a way the scandal had been a blessing, for it had put an end to the season.
“It will be different now. For both of us,” Lord Endicott said. “I no longer have to fear hostesses trying to force their giggling, hen-witted daughters upon me. And you will find that what was distressingly eccentric in Miss Somerville is considered merely charming and original in the future Viscountess Endicott.”
His words were kind, but underneath them she heard a bitter cynicism. Or perhaps simply weary resignation. After all, Lord Endicott had been an eligible bachelor for years now. Perhaps he was tired of feminine wiles and stratagems, and that had prompted his retreat from society.
“And when the season is over?”
“Then there will be no need to dissemble,” he said.
His answer left her curiously unsatisfied, but there was no time to question him, for another voice demanded their attention.
“Miss Somerville,” a woman’s voice called out.
Diana looked, and saw Lady Spenser and her daughter, Joan, being driven in a gig.
“Miss Somerville,” Lady Spenser called out again, waving her parasol.
“That is Lady Spenser,” Diana said. “I know her, slightly.”
“And I know her well,” Lord Endicott said under his breath. “Or rather her reputation. She is a gossip, and precisely what we need.”
He maneuvered the curricle so it was off the path, drawing it up alongside the gig.
“Lady Spenser, Miss Spenser,” he said. “I trust I find you well?”
“Very well, indeed,” Lady Spenser said.
Her daughter, Joan, clasped her two hands in her lap and stared down at them, her face obscured by the wide brim of her bonnet.
“I must congratulate you, my lord, and you, too, Miss Somerville,” Lady Spenser said. “We were so pleased to read of your engagement. Weren’t we, dear?”
She poked her daughter in her side, and Joan Spenser lifted her head. “Most pleased,” she whispered.
“I thank you both,” Diana said.
She felt sorry for the girl. She had spoken with Joan Spenser a few times, when they both found themselves wallflowers at one of the many balls. Miss Spenser seemed like she would be a nice girl if she were ever allowed to escape from her mother’s domineering influence.
“Thank you,” Endicott said.
“Some of your acquaintances were surprised by the suddenness of the announcement,” Lady Spenser said. “And, of course, when we wished to offer you our congratulations, we found you had left London.”
There was a speculative gleam in Lady Spenser’s eyes, and Diana had a nasty suspicion that this horrible woman knew everything. She knew that the engagement was a sham and that Diana’s reputation had been hopelessly compromised. Why had she agreed to this madness? They were never going to be able to fool the ton. Never.
Lord Endicott came to her rescue, reaching over and taking her hand in his. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
“We were in Kent, of course,” Lord Endicott said. “Naturally, I wished to make myself known to Miss Somerville’s family. She has six sisters at home, who were not able to join the family in London. It seemed fitting that they make my acquaintance before the notice appeared in the newspapers.”
“Of course,” Lady Spenser said. “But you must admit it seems rather sudden. I was not even aware you knew one another.”
“Our families are acquainted,” Lord Endicott said. “And as for myself, I was never one to make my business public. Not until I knew for certain that Miss Somerville would have me.”
Every word he said was true, and yet at the same time they also served the deception. Their families had known one another, for she and George had been acquainted. And he had come to Kent to meet her family, though he had come to make his apologies and not as a suitor. At least not initially.
He gave her a conspiratorial smile, and Diana found herself smiling back. She realized Lord Endicott was very good at this game of deceiving with the truth, and she wondered what other surprises were hidden behind his reserved facade.
He bent his head down toward hers, and for a brief moment she thought he was about to kiss her.
“Ahem,” Lady Spenser said, clearing her throat.
Lord Endicott lilted his head with a guilty start, and Diana felt her own cheeks flushing.
“I see. A love match, as it were,” Lady Spenser said. Her lips were pursed as if she had tasted vinegar.
“I am very fortunate,” Lord Endicott said.
“As am I,” Diana echoed.
“Again our congratulations,” Lady Spenser said. “And now we must take our leave, before our carriages become affixed to the spot.”
She tapped the driver on his shoulder with the tip of her parasol, and the driver obediently coaxed the horses into a walk.
“That went very well,” Lord Endicott said. “By tomorrow morning Lady Spenser will have told half of London of our return to town. No doubt she will assure everyone that it is a love match, and she, and she alone, was privy to the secret of our courtship.”
“But why would she say that?”
“Because she wishes to puff up her own consequence by claiming to be the only one who knows the true secret of our engagement. And a love match is a far more interesting story than a mere marriage of convenience.”
“And will the rest of society accept us as readily?”
“If we play the part,” Lord Endicott said. “Show them what they expect to see, and in time they will forget that there was ever any whiff of scandal attached to your name. Indeed, they will forget that you were ever paid court by George.”
“Then, I will do my best,” Diana said. Though it was already hard to remember that it was only a part. There had been that moment there when she had felt such a clear connection to him, only to have the spell broken by Lady Spenser.
Her mood had unaccountably turned dark, and she tried a jest to lighten it. “I will have to be on my mettle. You, sir, are clearly wasted in the House of Lords. Your talents belong on the stage.”
“On the contrary, I will match Parliament against Drury Lane any day for histrionics and dramatic performances,” Lord Endicott said.
He pointed with his whip, and she saw that they had once again looped back toward the entrance gate. “Shall we call it a day? I believe we have been on display long enough.”
“I second that notion,” Diana said. Indeed, she had much to think about.
Six
They had bee
n in London for five days now, and Diana Somerville was still adjusting to her new status. On Tuesday, Lord Endicott had taken her driving in Green Park. On Wednesday, they had toured the larger, more fashionable Hyde Park, exchanging polite greetings with other members of the ton who had gathered to show off their finery and enjoy the pleasant day. For someone who claimed to rarely mix with society, Lord Endicott certainly had a wide circle of acquaintances.
On Thursday, her mother had held an at home, having sent notice of their new address to her acquaintances in London. The house had been thronged with callers come to offer their congratulations and inspect the future Viscountess Endicott. It was fortunate, indeed, that the viscount had offered them the use of this house and its excellent staff. Their former residence, while respectable, would never have held even one quarter of those who had come. As it was, Diana felt very much on exhibition, forced to smile and nod as middle-aged women congratulated her mother on her good fortune in firing off her eldest so successfully. Meanwhile, their daughters none so subtly questioned Diana, trying to discover the stratagems by which an insignificant country miss had captured the eye of such an eligible nobleman.
After three hours of such nonsense, Diana was heartily glad when the last of the callers had left, and she felt a new sympathy for the beasts displayed at the Royal Menagerie.
On Friday, Lord Endicott suggested another drive, but Diana had had enough of being on display. Instead, she proposed a trip to the bookseller’s, and after a moment of consideration he agreed. He had even gone so far as to present her with a copy of Sir Henry Richman’s account of his adventures on the Amazon, much to her delight.
Now it was Saturday, and they would make their first formal appearance as a betrothed couple, at a dinner party to be hosted by his friends. As the evening approached, Diana found herself growing more nervous. It was one thing to deceive strangers, or those whose opinion she cared little about. But these were Lord Endicott’s friends. Would they not see through the deception? And, if they did, what would they think of her for agreeing to this sham?
The Wrong Mr. Wright Page 5