Lord Endicott’s face tightened. “My mother has been dead for over twenty years. And as for my father’s second wife, I see no reason to inflict her acquaintance upon you. The less you have to do with her, the better.”
The venom in his tone took her by surprise. It was so unlike his normally calm demeanor.
“But I do not understand. In less than a week she is to host a ball to celebrate our engagement. The invitations have all been sent out. Why would she do this and not wish to meet me?”
“You can rest assured that the ball was my idea and not Caroline’s. But you should have no fears. As the dowager Lady Endicott, Caroline knows that her presence in the house at Grosvenor Square is conditional upon her acting as my hostess. And she has too much pride in her own reputation to let anything go wrong. The ball will be a success, she will see to that.”
Lord Endicott turned, walking over to the window, so that his face was hidden from her. He ran the fingers of one hand along the globe that stood next to the window, and Diana was reminded anew that this was his house, filled with his possessions, for all that she and her parents now resided here.
“I do not understand. Is Lady Endicott upset over the deception? Is that why she does not want to meet me?”
Lord Endicott shook his head, then turned around so that he faced her from across the distance of the room. “She does not know it is a sham. Lady Endicott believes, as does the rest of London, that we are, indeed, to be wed.”
“No,” Diana said, rising to her feet. “I will not have that. We cannot deceive her in that way. I will not deceive her.”
Lord Endicott’s face remained cold and unreachable. “It is not your choice to make.”
Diana crossed the room until she stood before him, close enough to touch him.
“But will she not be hurt when she finds out the truth?”
“On the contrary, she will be delighted when the engagement is called off,” he said. “My dear stepmother very much enjoys the privileges of being Lady Endicott and has no wish to relinquish the title. No doubt she will hold another party to celebrate the end of our engagement.”
The bitterness in his voice shocked her.
“I am sorry,” she said. She realized she had misjudged the situation. Whatever the relationship between her fiancé and his stepmother, it appeared to have been a difficult one. Not to mention that Lady Endicott was the mother of George Wright, his errant half brother. Perhaps he blamed her for his younger brother’s misconduct.
“In truth, these days I find myself very much tempted to be married,” Lord Endicott said. “If for no other reason than the pleasure of casting my stepmother down from her lofty perch.”
Diana could not repress a shiver. His words were cruel, and she found them hard to reconcile with the man she thought she knew. And she felt a certain sympathy for Lady Endicott. It must be difficult to be a widow and to be dependent upon your stepson for your very existence. It was another reason why many enlightened thinkers argued against the institution of marriage.
“Do not waste your sympathy on my stepmother,” Lord Endicott said, as if he could read her very thoughts. “My father left her well provided for. Very well provided for, indeed, though she prefers to come cry upon my shoulder rather than to use any of her fortune to pay off her son’s debts.”
“I cannot judge a woman I have never met,” Diana said. She was inclined to trust Lord Endicott, but she knew that there were two sides to any story. And Lord Endicott was hardly an unbiased observer.
“All I ask is that you reserve judgment until you have met her. Then you will see her pettiness for yourself.”
“Now we are truly behaving as an engaged couple,” Diana said, trying to lighten the mood. “For we have had our first quarrel.”
“Let us hope it is our last,” Lord Endicott said.
“It was during the third week of our travels upriver, on a Sunday evening, that I sensed our native guides were becoming restless. I summoned their leader, a fellow called Samuel, and asked for an explanation. In his broken English, he explained that one of the paddlers had seen an evil sign in the water, a warning that danger was near. Of course I dismissed this as so much superstitious nonsense. Indeed, I would have given the matter no more thought had that not been the night that poor Mr. Watkins fell from the boat into the river and perished. Were it not for my quick thinking, I dare say…”
As Sir Henry Richman droned on, Stephen turned his attention to Miss Somerville, who sat beside him in rapt fascination, her eyes shining as she took in every word. At least Mr. Watkins’s death had been quick. Sir Henry Richman’s victims seemed destined to perish from boredom as the self-aggrandizing lecturer continued his tale.
He glanced around and saw that Miss Somerville was not the only one entranced. Every seat in the assembly room was filled with folk eager to hear the firsthand account of the dangerous and exotic Amazon. And Sir Henry certainly knew his audience, for he played to their sensibilities, modestly deprecating his own abilities, yet somehow managing to make himself the hero of every incident he described.
If there was even a grain of truth to these tales, Sir Henry should have been killed a dozen times over, rather than living to return to London in triumph. Stephen wondered cynically just how far Sir Henry had ventured up the Amazon River, before turning back. A day? A week? He looked too pale, too well fed, to have endured the hardships that he described in such detail to his fascinated listeners, who hung on his every word as if they were gospel truth.
He suspected the unfortunate Mr. Watkins would have told a far different tale had he survived.
Stephen shifted uneasily in his seat, then glanced over, but Miss Somerville did not appear to notice his restlessness. Then again, he knew she was not in charity with him at the moment. Not after their earlier quarrel.
He knew he had handled that badly, but her innocent questions had touched him on a raw spot. And so he had let her see the anger he carried inside, anger he only rarely acknowledged even to himself.
No doubt Miss Somerville now thought him a prickly sort of fellow, easily stirred to anger. Perhaps she saw him as holding a grudge against the woman who had tried to replace his mother. And a part of that was true. As a child he had resented the beautiful young woman whom his father had brought into the house, a woman he was to call mother, but who clearly had no use for him. But as he had grown older, he had set that anger aside, only to find Caroline gave him new cause for grudges.
Stephen knew she had been unfaithful to his father, though he did not know if his father had ever realized that the wife he had doted on had made him a cuckold. Stephen had borne his knowledge in guilty silence. There was no sense in confronting Caroline, and he would not be the one to tell his father. Such knowledge would have only hurt his father and forced him to choose between believing in his wife or his eldest son.
After his father’s death, Caroline had continued her affairs. Society was content to turn a blind eye as long as she did not flaunt her indiscretions. At least now she was no longer Stephen’s concern, and he had ignored his stepmother to the best of his abilities.
But now circumstances had forced them together, and Stephen was finding it harder and harder to maintain a civil composure in the face of his stepmother’s provocation.
Earlier this week he had reached his limit. He had come down one morning only to find that Caroline had preceded him and was waiting for him in the breakfast room. Her early rising was out of character, but it seemed she had been impatient to confront him. Only the night before she had learned of Miss Somerville’s previous connection with her son, George.
Rather than being scandalized by George’s behavior, Caroline professed herself vastly entertained. She praised Stephen for being willing to accept his brother’s castoffs, but suggested that due to her experience, Miss Somerville was far better suited for the position of mistress rather than wife.
Stephen had blinked, seeing red. It had taken all of his self-control not to give in
to the urge to slap the supercilious smile off Caroline’s face. Instead, he had grimly informed her that this topic was never to be spoken of again. Ever. Or Lady Endicott would find herself banished to the dower house in the country.
Even Caroline seemed to realize that she had finally gone too far, for later that day she had begged his pardon and promised that she would treat Miss Somerville and her family with due respect and was looking forward to making their acquaintance. But he knew better than to trust the sincerity of her repentance. It would be best if she and the Somervilles had as little contact as possible.
A nudge on his arm roused him from his dark musings, and he heard the sound of thunderous applause. Miss Somerville rose to her feet, her gloved hands clapping, and Stephen rose to his own feet as well.
“Was that not absolutely marvelous? Sir Henry Richman is such a gifted speaker. He made me feel as if I had been to the Amazon myself,” Miss Somerville declared.
“He has a way with words,” Stephen agreed.
Miss Somerville was positively beaming with happiness, and Stephen wondered what he would have to do to make her look at him in such a way.
“Would you like to meet him?” he asked.
“Can we?”
“Of course,” he said. There were some privileges to being a viscount, after all.
He waited until the crowds had thinned a little, then took Miss Somerville’s arm and led her to the front of the hall. There Sir Henry Richman stood, surrounded on all sides by his enthralled admirers. At his side was Mr. Adam Baldwin, the secretary of the Explorers’ Society. Stephen caught Mr. Baldwin’s eye, and Mr. Baldwin nodded in recognition.
“Sir Henry, if I may,” Mr. Baldwin said, as Sir Henry paused to take a breath. “There is a gentleman here you should meet.”
The crowd parted, making room for him and Miss Somerville to approach.
“This is Viscount Endicott, a member of the Explorers’ Society and a patron of your expedition to Brazil,” Mr. Baldwin said.
Sir Henry smiled broadly. “Lord Endicott, I am at your service. Indeed, I am in your debt, for without benefactors such as yourself, my great explorations would still be but a dream.”
“Sir Henry,” Stephen said neutrally. “And may I present my fiancée, Miss Diana Somerville? She is a great admirer of yours.”
Sir Henry gave a small bow. “I am honored.”
“The honor is mine,” Miss Somerville said. “The viscount was kind enough to give me a copy of your book, and ever since reading it, I have been longing to meet such an intrepid adventurer.”
Sir Henry rocked back on his heels, his chest puffing out in self-congratulation. “It was nothing,” he said, with false modesty. “Indeed, I am certain any Englishman would have done as well in my place.”
Of that Stephen had little doubt. A trained monkey might have done as much.
“Or Englishwoman perhaps?” Miss Somerville prompted. “In these enlightened times, would not a female be just as suited for explorations?”
“No, no,” Sir Henry said, and there were mutters of agreement from the gentlemen who surrounded him. “A female is too delicate to undertake such a journey. And to deliberately expose yourself to such dangers, not to mention the uncouth natives, is sheer folly.”
“But Lady Hester Stanhope—”
“Is hardly a model we would wish our wives or daughters to follow. Is that not right, Lord Endicott?”
At least now the gentleman was talking sense. And Miss Somerville was glaring daggers at Sir Henry, which perversely made Stephen feel more in charity with the gentleman.
“I know the life of an explorer carries risk, and the families they leave behind must worry about them. It is only natural to wish that those we love remain safe,” Lord Endicott said diplomatically. He sensed Miss Somerville was prepared to stay and argue her case, and he moved swiftly to forestall the inevitable scene.
“Come now, Miss Somerville, we must not monopolize the gentleman’s time. Sir Henry, Mr. Baldwin,” he said, with a nod of his head in dismissal.
Miss Somerville was still fuming as they stood on the steps waiting for a hackney coach to arrive.
“For such a great explorer, Sir Henry has a very limited view of the world,” Miss Somerville said. “He was entirely too quick to dismiss the idea of female explorers.”
Stephen said nothing, hoping she would change the topic. But Miss Somerville was nothing if not persistent.
“And you, my lord, what do you think? Do you think women should be allowed to take their place in the world? Or are adventures the sole province of the male sex?”
Stephen looked at her, knowing she would not be put off by half-truths. “I do not think women are fit for the hardships of exploring. But in honesty, I do not think Sir Henry is much of an explorer either. I will wager the unfortunate Mr. Watkins did the real work. His death was the real reason why Sir Henry turned back. It was not out of grief for the loss of his companion, but because he was too chicken-hearted to go on alone.”
Miss Somerville glared at him, and then her face relaxed in a smile. “You are too cynical for your own good, my lord,” she said.
“And you are too innocent,” he said. And far too trusting to be allowed out in the world on her own, where others would be certain to take advantage of her.
“Then, we make a fine pair, indeed,” she said.
That night, Diana dreamed that she was with Sir Henry Richman’s party as they began the exploration of the Amazon. They sailed up the broad river, deeper and deeper into the dense green jungle, leaving civilization far behind. And when they were attacked by hostile natives, and Sir Henry wounded, it was she who rallied the party and held them together until they could make their escape. Her companions were lavish in their praise for her cool-headedness, but when she turned to receive the approbation of the expedition leader, she found Lord Endicott had taken the place of Sir Henry.
A most odd dream, indeed, she mused, for her waking mind knew how improbable it was that someone as conservative as Lord Endicott would ever leave the comforts of civilization to embark upon the hazardous life of an explorer. Perhaps she had dreamt of him because he was a friend. Or perhaps because she had found Sir Henry to be a bit of a disappointment, with his old-fashioned views on the capabilities of the female sex. One would have thought that an explorer would be more openminded about such things. Still, there was no denying that Sir Henry, despite his own shortcomings, was an inspiration to her, and she longed for the day that she could set off upon her own adventures.
Perhaps she was wrong to think of exploring Brazil. No doubt other explorers were already following in the path that Sir Henry had blazed. It might be better to start somewhere fresh, to blaze her own trail. Egypt, for example. The ancient land of the Pharaohs held its own exotic secrets, and only the lower part of the Nile River had been traversed by Europeans. Who knew what wonders she might find if she journeyed along the length of the Nile to find its legendary source?
“What do you think, dear?”
“The Nile,” Diana replied. “But I must seek out books on their native tongue, and perhaps I can find an instructor who is willing to tutor me in Arabic.”
“What on earth are you talking about?” her mother asked.
Diana blinked and looked around. She was not sailing on a barge along the Nile, nor was she in her own sitting room. Instead, she was in the back room of the mantua maker’s, surrounded by bolts of fabrics and open pattern books.
Her mother sat on a small chair across from her, and her face bore the expression of one long resigned to her daughter’s follies.
“I am sorry, Mama. I was woolgathering,” Diana apologized.
“Evidently.”
Mrs. Somerville gestured toward the open pattern book and picked up one of the fabric swatches in her hand, rubbing it between her fingers.
“So, which fabric do you prefer? The figured muslin is nice and could be trimmed in red to match the flowers. Or there is the French washing
silk. It is quite elegant, but I do not know if such a fabric is sturdy enough for a walking dress. Perhaps in London, but it would certainly never do for a country outing.”
Diana shrugged. She had little interest in clothing and did not understand why her mother felt compelled to order these new gowns for her. It had been tedious enough enduring the fittings back in the winter, when she had been preparing for the season. But now, merely because she was engaged to a viscount, her mother seemed to think that an entirely new wardrobe was required. And nothing Diana said had any effect upon her mother’s determination to see that Diana was displayed to her best advantage.
“The figured muslin,” Diana said, after a long pause. “If the dress does not suit me, I know it will become Mary nicely.”
“Mary will have her own dresses made when it is her time,” her mother said. “Today we are discussing your wardrobe.”
Which was a shame, really, for both their sakes. Mary enjoyed discussing fashions, and she loved nothing better than pouring through the latest fashion plates. If Mary were here, she would be in her element.
Unlike Diana, who thought longingly of making her escape.
“I see no reason to order so many new frocks,” Diana said. “The new ball gown I understand, but, as for the rest, once I return to Kent, I will have no use for them.”
“A viscountess must be fashionably dressed,” her mother said.
Diana glanced around.
“Yes, but I am not to be a viscountess,” Diana said, keeping her voice soft. The mantua maker had disappeared upstairs to fetch more samples of her work, but there was no telling when she would return. “When the summer is over, we will put this folly behind us, and I will have no use for fine dresses when I am off upon my adventures.”
Mrs. Somerville shuddered and made a moue of distaste. “Do not speak of such things,” she said. “I cannot bear to think of a daughter of mine off wandering in such distant lands. I am hoping you come to your senses and see the folly of your course.”
“I know my own mind,” Diana said.
The Wrong Mr. Wright Page 7