What? Diana hadn’t been expecting her mother to take this so well.
She looked around the tavern. Everyone seemed to be taking this well.
“Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Nichols, catching on to the conclusion that was seemingly obvious to all but Diana. “We all know about Mr. Maidstone’s accident yesterday.”
Everyone in the tavern nodded and murmured in agreement.
“Mr. Dawes was called away to set a bone. Miss Diana must have heard the news. She was helping nurse an injured man, just like she helped with Finn’s surgery.”
“That is so like my daughter,” Mama crowed. “Always kind to the less fortunate.”
Oh, for heaven’s sake.
This was ridiculous. Diana couldn’t ruin herself when she tried.
She caught Aaron’s gaze. She knew they were sharing the same thought. They could let the mistaken assumption stand. Everything could be settled without any scandal at all.
But I don’t want to hide it, she told him with her eyes.
He nodded in agreement. “It’s all right. Tell the truth.”
Her heart beat faster. “You’re wrong, Mother. I went to Mr. Dawes’s cottage after he was finished tending to Mr. Maidstone. I . . . I spent the night there.”
Her mother laughed, incredulous. “Well, whyever would you do that?”
Diana smacked a palm to her forehead. Did she have to draw every conclusion with pen and ink? “We were making love!”
Now the tavern went stone silent.
Mama snorted. “I’m sure I don’t believe that. I’d sooner believe you were a thief.”
“It’s the truth, Mrs. Highwood,” Aaron said. “Whether you believe it or not. And I’m here to ask Miss Highwood to marry me.”
From his breast pocket he removed a ring and laid it on the table. A gold band shaped like two entwined vines, with golden leaves bracketing a ruby-and-diamond bloom.
She pressed a hand to her heart. Oh, it was lovely. His best work yet. How he must have slaved over the design.
“Miss Highwood.” Aaron cleared his throat and moved as though he would kneel. “Diana, I—”
“Stop!” Mama cried.
Aaron froze in an awkward half crouch.
“How can you expect me to allow this?” Mama glared at him. “How dare you impugn my Diana’s honor in this fashion! Grasping, awful man. Of course you’d leap at the opportunity to rescue her from these silly thieving suspicions, hoping she’ll marry you in gratitude. It’s not as though a man like you would have a chance at her otherwise. But I tell you, your scheme won’t work.”
“It’s not a scheme,” Diana said. “And he has more than ‘a chance’ with me, Mama. I love Aaron. And I am going to marry him.”
Diana reached for the ring he’d laid on the table.
Her mother smacked her hand away. Smacked it, as though Diana were a three-year-old child.
Diana simmered with anger. She was not a child. She was all grown up, and her mother was about to learn the truth of it.
“Mama,” she said coolly, “listen to me closely. I am in love with Mr. Dawes. I have been for some time. I collected his pieces from the All Things shop because I admired him. We shared our first kiss in the vicar’s curricle. He introduced me to his sister on our excursion to Hastings. I tried to kill an eel for him. I shot at a robber who threatened him. And last night . . . ?” She lifted her voice. “We. Were. Making. Love. In a bed. All night long. It was hot and sweaty and glorious. I left scratches on his back. He has a freckle just to the right of his navel. And if you don’t believe all that . . .”
She ripped her cloak open and threw it aside, exposing Aaron’s black, sooty handprint on her breast. “Here. See for yourself.”
Several moments passed, during which the only sound was the mad thump of her heartbeat in her ears.
Then someone shrieked.
Strange. Diana had expected a measure of shock at her revelations, but that seemed a bit extreme, shrieking.
Now another girl screamed.
And another. “It’s a rat!”
A rat?
Oh, God. It was a rat. A long-tailed, bewhiskered rat, big as a bread loaf, with a pink, twitching nose. The creature scampered onto the table—and absconded with the ring.
Her ring.
Aaron cursed and lunged to get it back.
“Mr. Evermoore!” Miss Bertram leaped to her feet. “Mr. Evermoore, no! You come back here right now.”
In an instant, the tavern was in upheaval. Some of the ladies jumped on chairs and tables. Others reached for any makeshift truncheon close at hand. Pots, pans, stray copies of Mrs. Worthington’s Wisdom.
“I knew it!” Charlotte cried in vindication. “I knew all along the thief had to be Miss Bertram.”
“I don’t think it was her,” Diana said. “I mean, obviously it was her . . . her pet. She must have left the rat behind last night while everyone went to Ambervale.”
“The little bastard’s over here,” Mr. Fosbury shouted. “In the kitchen.”
There was a crash of glass. Followed by an explosion of flour.
Mama crumpled into the nearest chair, her eyes rolling back in a dead faint. Just as well.
“Oh, please don’t kill him!” Miss Bertram sobbed. “He can’t help taking things. But he’s so intelligent. You don’t understand. Oh, Mr. Evermoore.”
Diana cringed at her sister. “ ‘No one understands our attachment.’ Isn’t that what she always said?”
Charlotte shuddered. “I don’t understand it, either. I don’t want to.”
The two of them laughed uneasily.
Of all the potential scandals that could have lessened Diana’s sordid revelation . . . this one would serve. Yes, she’d given her heart and her virtue to the local blacksmith. At least she wasn’t in love with a rat.
“Found it.” Aaron’s dark head popped up from the other side of the bar. He called to her. “I found the ring.”
Diana pushed through the crowd to meet him at the bar. But she couldn’t bear to remain separated from him, so she scrambled atop the counter on hands and knees.
He did the same.
They sat together, cross-legged atop the lacquered surface, while the wild rat hunt proceeded all around them.
Aaron huffed his breath, blowing a bit of flour off the jeweled setting. He shined the band with his sleeve. “I’d make a speech, but—”
She laughed and flicked a glance at the ongoing melee. “Just put it on, and quick.”
She offered her hand. He slid the ring on her finger.
“Oh, Aaron.” Emotion frayed her voice. “It’s beautiful.”
“Not as beautiful as you.”
He cupped her cheek in one of his strong workman’s hands and tilted her face to his.
And when he kissed her, the world went away.
“Wh- . . . Oh, where am I? Oh, my nerves.”
Diana winced, suddenly conscious of their surroundings. Her mother had revived just in time to see them embracing atop the bar counter, coated in flour and mud and soot, and locked in a deep, passionate kiss.
“Wonderful news, Mama.” Diana held up her left hand and waggled her ring finger. “I’m finally engaged.”
Her mother blinked at the ring. Blinked at Aaron.
And promptly fainted once again.
A few weeks later
“Are you very sure, my dear? It’s not too late to change your mind.”
Diana shook her head.
From the vestibule, she stood on tiptoe and peered down the long aisle of St. Ursula’s, festooned with bunting and posies of daffodils. All their family, friends, and neighbors sat crowding the pews in anticipation.
“Mama, the wedding will begin any moment. And it can’t start soon enough for me. I’m not going to change my mind.”
“I had to ask.” Her mother twisted a lace handkerchief in her hand. “I know you girls think me a silly, overwrought creature who thinks of nothing but marrying you to rich gentlemen. But i
t’s only because I love you so.”
Diana softened. “I know, Mama.”
“After we lost your father, I was anxious every moment. How would we live? Where would we go? How could I provide the best for you?” She dabbed at her eyes. “I only wanted to spare you girls the same nervousness.”
Diana’s heart twisted in her chest. “I understand. I do, and I love you for it. Please be happy for me today. I promise, you will never need to worry for me again. With Aaron, I will be loved and safe and protected. Always.”
“I suppose that is all I can ask.” Mama noisily blew her nose into the handkerchief. “Oh, but I had such dreams for you. My intuition insisted that one day a handsome duke would roll into this village in a splendid carriage, ready to choose his bride. But I suppose it’s not likely to happen.”
“I suppose not,” Diana said. “And even if it did, I would still marry Aaron.”
Mama grasped her hand and squeezed it fondly. “Mr. Dawes may not be a gentleman, but your ring is nicer than Minerva’s. There is that.”
Diana smiled. Some things never changed.
“Are we ready?” Colin Sandhurst, Lord Payne, appeared in the vestibule, looking as handsomely attired as always and quite ready to have this done.
He offered an arm to Mama and walked her down the aisle. Charlotte followed, fizzing with joy for her role as bridesmaid—or at least, for the new frock it occasioned.
Diana brought up the end of the procession.
As she walked down the grand, carpeted aisle, moving ever closer to the handsome, broad-shouldered figure at the front of the church, she saw their whole future painted for them in rich, stained-glass hues. They would marry here. They would make Christmas and Easter memories here. They would christen their children here.
If her arithmetic was correct, they could be doing that christening part in a little less than nine months. She hadn’t given Aaron any idea—it was too early yet to be sure. But she thought he might have formed his own suspicions.
As the organist played the last verse of the hymn, he drifted close. His strong arm brushed hers, and a shiver of delight passed through her. Strangely enough, she couldn’t gather the courage to look up at his face. Her whole heart would be in her eyes, she knew. And though her heart would be forever his by the end of this ceremony, she wanted to guard it just a few moments more.
“You are radiant,” he murmured. “And you look like a woman with a secret.”
“Just a little wedding present for you,” she whispered. “You’ll find out later.”
“Good. Because I have a present for us both.”
“Oh?”
He leaned and spoke in her ear. “I hired a cook.”
She had to clap her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing aloud. Oh, she loved him so.
“Who gives this woman to be married to this man?” The vicar looked to Lord Payne, who was standing in the first row.
Luckily, her brother-in-law remained enough of a scoundrel to be easily corrupted. As she’d asked of him, he remained silent.
“I do.” Diana looked up at Aaron and smiled. “I give myself.”
Not ready to leave Spindle Cove yet?
Keep reading for an exclusive, extra-long peek
at Tessa Dare’s delightful
ANY DUCHESS WILL DO
Coming soon from Avon Books
CHAPTER ONE
Griff cracked open a single eyelid. A bright stab of pain told him he’d made a grave mistake. He quickly shut his eye again and put a hand over it, groaning.
Something had gone horribly wrong.
He needed a shave. He needed a bath. He might need to be sick. Attempts to summon any recollection of the previous evening resulted in another sharp slice of agony.
He tried to ignore the throb in his temples and focused on the tufted, plush surface under his back. It wasn’t his bed. Perhaps not even a bed at all. Was it just a trick of his nausea, or was the damned thing moving?
“Griff.” The voice came to him through a thick, murky haze. It was muffled, but unmistakably female.
God’s knees, Halford. The next time you decide to bed a woman after a months-long drought, at least stay sober enough to remember it afterward.
He cursed his stupidity. The epic duration of his celibacy was no doubt the reason he’d been tempted by . . . whoever she was. He had no idea of her name or her face. Just a vague impression of a feminine presence nearby. He inhaled and smelled perfume of an indeterminate, expensive sort.
Damn. He’d need jewels to get out of this, no doubt.
Something dull and pointed jabbed his side. “Wake up.”
Did he know that voice? Keeping one hand clapped over his eyes, he fumbled about with the other hand. He caught a handful of heavy silk skirt and skimmed his touch downward until his fingers closed around a stocking-clad ankle. Sighing a little in apology, he rubbed his thumb up and down.
A squawk of feminine outrage assailed his ears. An unyielding object cracked him over the head, but hard. Now to the pounding and throbbing in his skull, he could add ringing.
“Griffin Eliot York. Really.”
Bloody hell.
Forget the headache and piercing sunlight, he bolted upright—bashing his head again, this time on the low ceiling. Blinking, he confirmed the unthinkable truth. He wasn’t in his bedchamber—or any bedchamber—but in the coach. And the woman seated across from him was all too familiar, with the double strand of rubies at her throat and her elegant sweep of silver hair.
They stared at one another in mutual horror.
“Mother?”
She smacked him again with her collapsed parasol. “Wake up.”
“I’m awake, I’m awake.” When she readied another blow, he held up his hands in surrender. “Good God. I may never sleep again.”
Though the air in the coach was oven-warm, he shuddered. Now he most definitely needed a bath.
He peered out the window and saw nothing but vast expanses of rolling green, dappled with cloud-shaped shadows. The coach’s truncated shadow indicated midday.
“Where the devil are we? And why?”
He tried to piece together memories of the previous evening. This was hardly the first time he’d woken in unfamiliar surroundings, head ringing and stomach achurn . . . but it was the first time in a good long while. He thought he’d put this sort of debauchery behind him. So what had happened?
He hadn’t imbibed more than his usual amount of wine at dinner. By the fish course, however, he seemed to recall the china’s acanthus pattern undulating. Swimming before his eyes.
After that, he recalled . . . nothing.
Damn. He’d been drugged.
Kidnapped.
He snapped to alert, bracing his boots on the carriage floorboards.
Whoever his captors were, he must assume they were armed. He was without a blade, without a gun—but he had eager fists, honed reflexes, and a rapidly clearing head. On his own, he would have given himself even chances. But the bastards had taken his mother, too.
“Do not be alarmed,” he told her.
“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it. Bad for the complexion.” She touched the double strand of rubies at her throat.
Those rubies. They gave him pause.
What shoddy excuse for a kidnapper used the family coach and left the captive wearing several thousand pounds’ worth of jewels?
Devil take it.
“You.”
“Hm?” His mother raised her eyebrows, all innocence.
“You did this. You put something in my wine at dinner and stuffed me in the carriage.” He pushed a hand through his hair. “My God. I can’t believe you.”
She looked out the window and shrugged. Or rather, she gave the duchess version of a shrug—a motion that didn’t involve anything so common or gauche as the flexing of shoulder muscles, but merely a subtle tilt of the head. “You’d never have come if I asked.”
Incredible.
Griff closed his eyes. Times
like these, he supposed he ought to remind himself that a man only had one mother, and his mother only had one son, and she’d carried him in her womb and toiled in labor and so on and so forth. But he did not wish to think about her womb right now—not when he was still trying, desperately, to forget that she possessed ankles.
“Where are we?” he asked.
“Sussex.”
Sussex. One of the few counties in England where he didn’t claim any property. “And what is the purpose of this urgent errand?”
A faint smile curved her lips. “We’re going to meet your future bride.”
He stared at his mother. Many moments passed before he could manage coherent speech.
“You are a scheming, fiendish woman with entirely too much time at leisure.”
“And you are the eighth Duke of Halford,” she returned. “I know that doesn’t mean much to you. The disgraces at Oxford, the gambling, the years of aimless debauchery . . . You seem determined to be nothing more than an unfortunate blot on the distinguished Halford legacy. At the very least, start on the next generation while I still have time to mold it. You have a responsibility to—”
“To continue the line.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “So I’ve been told. Again and again.”
“You’ll be five-and-thirty this year, Griffy.”
“Yes. Which makes me much too old to be called ‘Griffy.’ ”
“More to the point, I am fifty-eight. I need grandchildren before my decline. It’s not right for two generations of the family to be drooling at the same time.”
“Your decline?” He laughed. “Tell me, Mother, how can I hasten that happy process? Other than offering a firm push.”
Her eyebrow arched in amusement. “Just try it.”
Griff sighed. His mother was . . . his mother. There was no other woman in England like her, and the rest of the world had better pray God had broken the mold. Like the jewels she delighted in wearing, Judith York was a formidable blend of exterior polish and inner fire.
For most of the year, they led entirely separate lives. They only resided in the same house for these few months of the London season. Apparently, even that was too much.
“I’ve been patient,” she said. “Now I’m desperate. You must marry, and it must be soon. I’ve tried to find the most accomplished young beauties in England to tempt you. And I did, but you ignored them. I finally realized the answer is not quality. It’s quantity.”
Tessa Dare - [Spindle Cove 03.5] Page 12