“I do not like this,” Mrs. Somerville said, as she came into Diana’s room. In her right hand she held a jewelry case, covered in worn green velvet.
“What don’t you like, Mama?”
“This. All this,” Mrs. Somerville said, waving her unencumbered hand in a gesture that encompassed Diana, and her gown hanging on the wardrobe door.
Diana frowned. They had visited the dressmaker earlier in the week, but of course none of the gowns she had ordered were ready yet. Instead, they had altered one of the gowns made earlier in the season, replacing the plain white bodice with one of primrose satin, which contrasted nicely with the white silk skirt. She had thought the gown quite sophisticated, but now she had her doubts.
“Is it too plain? Perhaps I should wear the lilac silk instead, or is that too formal?” Diana asked.
“The gown is fine. You will look lovely,” Mrs. Somerville said. “It is the deception I do not like. Pretending to our friends and acquaintances that you and the viscount do indeed plan to be wed. And now tonight we will begin to deceive his friends as well.”
“The engagement was Lord Endicott’s idea,” Diana reminded her mother. “Surely he has thought through all the consequences.”
“And do his friends know you are only playacting at this engagement?”
“He did not say. For now, we must assume that only the four of us are privy to this secret. You, Papa, myself, and Lord Endicott. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, Lord Endicott and I are no different from any other couple that is pledged to wed.”
“I do not like this. I was never any good at secrets,” Mrs. Somerville repeated.
Indeed, her mother had a distressing tendency to blurt out the truth at the most inconvenient of times. Whether it was Mary’s infatuation with the son of the vicar, or Diana’s surprise gift for her father’s birthday, no secret was safe with Mrs. Somerville. Her daughters had learned the perils of confiding in their mother at an early age.
It would have been far safer to leave her mother in Kent, but that would have begged too many questions. And yet each day her mother was here increased the risk that her mother would accidentally reveal their deception.
Diana thought furiously. It was time to take a page from Lord Endicott’s book and bend the truth to fit their purposes.
“It is not a deception, Mama. We would not ask you to lie. Lord Endicott and I are truly engaged to be married,” Diana said.
Mrs. Somerville regarded her doubtfully. “You are engaged, but you do not plan to be wed.”
“That does not matter,” Diana replied. “We will not be the first engaged couple to part ways at the end of the season. What matters for now is that we are engaged, and you can tell your friends and acquaintances so with a clear conscience.”
“And if I am asked about the wedding?”
“Tell them we have not set a firm date. That we are still making our plans,” Diana advised.
“I will do as you say,” Mrs. Somerville said. “But this all would be easier if you were to marry Lord Endicott in truth. I don’t suppose—”
“No, Mama,” Diana said firmly. It would be cruel to encourage her mother in false hopes. She knew her mother wanted her to be happy, but she also knew her mother believed that such happiness was best found with a kind husband and a family of her own.
It was time to change the subject.
“There was a reason you came to see me?” Diana asked, indicating the jewel case.
“Oh, yes,” her mother said. She walked over to the dressing table and put the case on top of it. Opening the lid, she reached in and withdrew a pair of garnet earrings that glittered in the late afternoon sunlight.
“I thought these would go well with your gown,” Mrs. Somerville said. “And there is a pendant to match.”
“They are beautiful,” Diana said, reaching her hand forward to touch the delicate jewels. Until now she had worn only the pearls her father had given her or the diamond earrings inherited from her great-aunt Sophie.
“They were a gift from your father when you were born,” Mrs. Somerville said, smiling in remembrance. “William was so pleased he could hardly contain himself. You would think he had invented you.”
“I will take good care of them,” Diana said.
“They are yours now. Anyway, they will suit your coloring far better than mine,” Mrs. Somerville said, touching one hand to her graying curls.
“Thank you,” Diana said, swallowing around a suspicious lump in her throat. She wished for an instant that this was all real. That she was truly engaged to a man that she loved, and that her mother’s gift was something that Diana, in turn, would pass on to her own daughter some day.
Lord Endicott called for them at seven, and Diana and her parents rode with him the short distance to the Dunnes’ residence. They were the first to arrive, as Lord Endicott had no doubt planned. In her mind she had imagined that his friends would be much like the viscount, courteous, but reserved. To her surprise she found Mr. Anthony Dunne and his wife, Elizabeth, were two gregarious souls, who greeted the Somervilles as if they were old friends instead of newly made acquaintances. Within moments they were merrily chatting away, and by the time the guests began arriving, Diana had forgotten any trace of her nervousness.
Mrs. Dunne had described this as a simple dinner, but a full two dozen couples sat down at her table as the servants brought one lavish course after another. At the table, Diana was partnered on one side by Lord Endicott and on the other by an elderly Irish peer by the name of Lord Peter Quinn. Lord Peter nodded politely as she took her seat, but had little conversation, instead devoting his full attention to his plate.
Fortunately the Dunnes did not hold to strict formality, and conversation was general. She noticed that Lord Endicott seldom initiated conversation and, when addressed by the others, confined himself to the briefest of replies, stopping just short of incivility. Still, with so many lively conversationalists, she doubted anyone else would have noticed his restraint.
“Miss Somerville, I must confess the news of your engagement took me quite by surprise,” Miss Clemens said, catching her eye from her seat across the table. “I had not thought you so fickle-minded.”
Diana took a sip of her wine to cover her dismay. It had been too much to hope that no one would comment on the rumors that had linked Diana with Mr. George Wright.
And Miss Clemens had a powerful motive for stirring up trouble. Envy. After all, Miss Clemens was in her third season as one of the reigning toasts of London. Rumor had it that she had turned down dozens of eligible suitors, claiming that she was holding out for a title. No doubt she saw Diana’s engagement to the Viscount of Endicott as a personal affront.
“Fickle?” Diana repeated.
“Why, yes,” Miss Clemens said, with an artificial laugh. “I remember quite plainly the night of Lady Jersey’s rout. You were telling all who would listen that the institution of marriage was a trap, and that no intelligent woman would be part of such. And yet now you yourself are to be married. Have you so changed your mind?”
She thought for a moment, hearing the other conversations fall silent as the company awaited her response. “I believe I said that the institution of marriage benefits men far more than it does women. When a woman marries, she gives up her independence and, indeed, all her legal rights. That said, I have no objection to a marriage where the partners enter into it with their eyes wide open and the intention of making a match of equals.”
“And are these your sentiments as well, Lord Endicott?” Miss Clemens pressed.
Diana held her breath, wondering how he would respond.
“Only a fool would discount Miss Somerville’s worth simply because of her sex. As for myself, I count myself lucky that she agreed to have me, despite my own flaws,” Lord Endicott said.
His ready support pleased her, and she smiled at him, willing to believe for the moment that he did, indeed, respect her opinions and that this was not all just part of their
playacting.
“Gentlemen are poor creatures, indeed,” Mrs. Dunne said. “Where would they be if we did not take pity on them?”
Mr. Dunne laughingly agreed, praising his wife for having the great kindness to marry him, and Diana breathed a sigh of relief as the conversation turned to less dangerous topics.
After dinner, the ladies retired to the drawing room, while the gentlemen enjoyed Tony Dunne’s fine port. The talk soon turned to politics, but Stephen found his mind was elsewhere, wondering how Diana was faring.
Not that he did not trust Elizabeth Dunne to keep an eye out for her. But there were harpies aplenty in London society, as witness Miss Clemens and her insinuations. Even if Miss Clemens was hardly a match for Diana, who had put her in her place with a few choice sentences.
Still, it was a relief when the gentlemen finally rose to rejoin the ladies.
As Stephen entered the drawing room, his eyes were drawn immediately to Diana, who sat on the sofa, conversing animatedly with Mrs. Forsythe. Mrs. Forsythe was something of a bluestocking herself, and no doubt the two had much in common.
Stephen made his way through the room, paying his respects, until his footsteps drew him as if by accident to Elizabeth Dunne. He allowed her to pour him a cup of tea, though in truth it was far too late to drink such a beverage. Still, it gave him an excuse to linger, and he took a seat opposite his hostess.
“I think the evening is a success. As usual you have outdone yourself,” Stephen said.
Elizabeth Dunne shook her head modestly. “It was only a simple dinner party. Nothing to fuss over.”
“We gave you little time to prepare, and yet you still managed to plan the affair and assemble a respectable guest list.”
Indeed, the guests appeared to have been very carefully chosen. Most of them were friends of his or the Dunnes, leavened with a sprinkling of the leaders of London society, such as Miss Clemens and her brother, Matthew. And if asked, all who dined here would recount the tale that there was nothing at all remarkable in the evening, which was precisely as they had hoped.
“It was not difficult to convince folks to attend,” Elizabeth Dunne said. “Everyone was eager to meet your intended. As was I.”
He raised one eyebrow. “And?”
“And she is not what I expected,” Elizabeth Dunne said.
There was a strange heaviness in his chest, and Stephen schooled his face not to show the disappointment he felt.
“She is uncommonly intelligent and forthright,” Elizabeth Dunne added musingly. “An original, in the truest sense of the word. I find I like her.”
“I am glad,” Stephen replied. He wanted his friends to like Diana. Which was strange, he knew, since the engagement was only a pretense.
“But she is not a woman I would have picked for you.”
Ever since she had married Tony, Elizabeth Dunne had been trying to find a bride for his friend. She had introduced him to a score of eligible maidens: cousins, school friends, acquaintances from her home. Finally Stephen had had enough, and he had begged Tony to intercede for him. From then on the matchmaking stopped, although Elizabeth persisted in voicing her determination that what Stephen truly needed to secure his happiness was a wife.
“Under different circumstances we would probably have never met,” Stephen said.
Elizabeth Dunne glanced around, making certain no one was near enough to overhear. “How on earth did she get mixed up with George’s set? His reputation is well known, and surely she was not naive enough to fall for his wiles.”
Stephen shook his head as a trace of the old anger arose. “Do not mistake intelligence for common sense. Miss Somerville is still quite the innocent, for all her vaunted learning. And I dare say if her parents had moved more often in society, rather than rusticating in Kent, they would have known enough to warn her of my brother.”
“It was not your fault,” Elizabeth said.
It was kind of her to try and absolve him from blame, but Stephen knew full well where the fault lay.
“What is done is done,” he said.
“And what will you do this autumn? When she decides it is time to part ways?”
Diana’s laughter rang out from across the room, drawing his eye toward her. He had thought her pretty before, but now, seeing her cheeks flushed with laughter, he admitted that she was, indeed, beautiful.
Strange, he had known her for less than a fortnight, and already he felt protective of her. What would he feel four months from now, when it was time to let her go?
“By the autumn I will have plenty of practice at playing the part of a fiancé. When Miss Somerville decides to cast me off, perhaps I will let you give full rein to your matchmaking instincts and direct you to find me a wife.”
“It will be difficult to find you another such original,” Elizabeth Dunne said.
It would be impossible.
Seven
In the days after the Dunnes’ dinner party, Diana and her parents were besieged with invitations to fashionable gatherings. Hostesses who had before disdained the Somervilles as insignificant country gentry now wrote to urge them to attend their routs, balls, Venetian breakfasts, musicales and a host of other diversions. It would have been flattering, but Diana knew that most of the invitations were prompted by the novelty of her engagement and the desire to count a future viscountess among their guests. It was not as if these women truly knew her or were interested in Diana’s character.
But there were a few exceptions, friends she had made earlier in the season or new friends from Lord Endicott’s circle, such as the Dunnes. These invitations Diana eagerly accepted. For the rest, she let her mother and Lord Endicott decide which invitations needed to be accepted and which could safely be ignored.
A few people had the poor manners to comment upon the suddenness of Diana’s engagement, but they were in the minority. Indeed, some of those who knew that she had been seen with George Wright complemented Diana on her good sense. They, like Miss Clemens, seemed to think that Diana had used George Wright and then discarded him in favor of his older and titled brother. Such insinuations infuriated her, especially since she could make no defense without giving away the deception.
Before she knew it, three weeks had passed, and she found that she and Lord Endicott were becoming an accepted part of the London scene. To her surprise she found herself enjoying her stay in London, as she had not earlier. It was different now that she was an engaged woman. No longer did she fear becoming a wallflower or finding herself trapped at a rout with no one to talk to. At Lady Sefton’s ball, for the first time she found herself dancing every dance. She had expected Lord Endicott to claim the two dances that custom allowed, but was surprised to find other gentlemen eager to fill up her dance card. Perhaps, she mused, it was because the other gentlemen now considered her safe and had no fears that she would read anything into their attentions.
Lord Endicott continued to take his duties seriously. Indeed, she doubted he could have been more attentive if they were truly engaged. Though he did not see her every day, it was rare that two days passed without him calling at the town house or engaging to escort her to whatever entertainment was planned for that evening. Though she had resolved to maintain her distance from him, it proved impossible to do so. Despite their differences, the more time she spent with him, the more she came to think of him as a friend. And she knew she would miss his friendship when they finally called an end to this charade.
There was one thing that troubled her. Lord Endicott had generously introduced her to his friends and acquaintances, so that she was now an accepted part of their social set. But she had yet to meet his stepmother, despite hints to Lord Endicott from both her and her parents that it was past time for such introductions to be made. She even suspected that Lord Endicott was purposefully choosing social engagements where he could be certain they would not accidentally encounter one another, and yet that made no sense either. Why would he not want her to meet the dowager Lady Endicott?
<
br /> The time for subtlety was past, and Diana resolved to broach the subject with him at the first opportunity, which came that afternoon when he arrived to escort her to a lecture by the newly knighted Sir Henry Richman, the intrepid explorer of the Amazon.
Diana was writing in her journal when she heard a soft knock. As she looked up, the library door opened, and Lord Endicott entered the room.
“One moment,” she said, turning her attention back to her book. She finished the sentence with a flourish, then set her pen down and capped the inkwell. She carefully blotted the page before closing the precious book.
Through this process Lord Endicott watched her in silence. When she looked up again, there was a faint smile on his face. “Good afternoon, Miss Somerville, I trust I find you well?”
“Very well,” she said. “And yourself?”
“I am fine,” he said automatically. She realized she had never heard him admit to being otherwise. He was never bored, or fatigued, or anxious, or even excited. He was always fine, as if admitting to anything else would be in conflict with the code of honor that governed his life.
“I had thought your parents were to join us?”
“Papa is otherwise engaged,” Diana said. “I think he mentioned his tailor or some such. And Mama was to accompany us; indeed, she seemed quite amazed as I told her of Sir Henry Richman’s exploits. But then, unaccountably, she developed a dreadful headache and is now resting in her room. She sends her regrets.”
The faint smile ghosted across his lips again and was gone before she could be certain that she had seen it. “Then, I will have the pleasure of your company to myself,” he said.
“While we are private, there is one thing I wish to speak to you about.”
“And that is?”
“Is there some reason you do not wish me to meet your mother? We have been in London for nearly a month now, and it seems terribly rag mannered that we have not been introduced. I shudder to think what she must think of us.”
The Wrong Mr. Wright Page 6