She hurried downstairs, telling a passing maid to send her mother to the drawing room and for a servant to bring refreshments. Only a few minutes passed after she entered the room before the butler opened the door, and Mr. Goldworthy was announced.
Diana liked him immediately. He was a large, burly man, with apple cheeks, a snub nose, and merry eyes. He was perhaps almost fifty; his graying hair was neatly arranged, as was his neckcloth. Though he dressed plainly, his clothes were well-tailored, if a little old-fashioned.
“I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Goldworthy,” she said, holding out her hand. “I am Diana Carlyle, the late earl’s niece. I have ordered refreshment. I hope you do not mind that I have taken the liberty of assuming you would like some after traveling so far.”
“Aye, I would at that, thank you, miss,” he said, smiling gratefully as he bowed over her hand. “For it’s a trifle sharp-set I am, and as you see, there’s quite a bit of me to keep up.” He looked about the drawing room, his brows raised. “Well, it’s a fine bit of property Gavin has got himself, I must say.” Diana gestured him to a chair, but he grimaced and shook his head. “Nay, I’m still in my travel-dirt, I’m afraid, and would dirty the furniture.”
She smiled at him. “You need not worry; I have come in very dusty from outdoors many times myself, and so my mother has made sure to cover the furniture well.” She gestured at the embroidered cloths pinned to the chairs and sofa.
Mr. Goldworthy hesitated, eyed with distrust a chair that looked much too delicate for him, then sat in a sturdy armchair with a deep sigh. He was silent for a moment, then looked at her keenly. “Well, you’re the young lady Gavin—I suppose I should be calling him ‘his lordship’ now—has been telling me about.”
“Has he?” Diana said as indifferently as she could, and gave a surprised smile so that there would be no doubt there was nothing between herself and the earl.
“Not that he’s said much—he’s a closemouthed lad, for all his chatter.”
“So I have noticed.”
Mr. Goldworthy nodded knowingly. “A grand strappin’ wench, he said, one who’ll have none of him.” He leaned forward confidentially. “But I’ll tell you, lass, he’s a good ‘un, and you’ll not wish for a better man in a scrape.” He chuckled. “Aye, and I’m betting you’ll be more than a handful for him, and good for you, Miss Carlyle, for a milk-and-water miss could never bear his fits and starts. I’ll wager you’ll set him straight.”
Diana opened her mouth and shut it, unable to decide whether to laugh or be offended. But she looked at the man’s guileless eyes and cheerful smile, and found herself chuckling in return. “To be sure, I am not at all a milk-and-water miss, but I’ll not marry him. For one thing, he hasn’t proposed.”
Mr. Goldworthy rocked back in his chair and his blue eyes widened. “Well, and I never thought the lad backward, for he always did have a way with the—” An alarmed look flashed across his face. “Eh, never mind that!”
Unease mixed with amusement made Diana’s smile turn wry. But it occurred to her that she might get the best of Lord Brisbane after all, for she perceived Mr. Goldworthy to be unusually garrulous. A maid entered with tea and biscuits, and after Diana poured, she waved the maid away.
“So, Mr. Goldworthy,” Diana said, and smiled brightly, “have you known Lord Brisbane long?”
His anxious look fled, and he smiled widely. “That I have, miss, since he was a lad—fifteen, if I remember.”
But Mr. Goldworthy said no more, for the door opened once again, and he rose from his chair as her mother entered, and behind her, Lord Brisbane. The earl grinned and held out his hand. “Well, Mr. Goldworthy, I see you have arrived in fine shape.”
“Eh, Gavin my boy—er, my lord—it does my heart good to see you.” The man shook his hand warmly.
Lord Brisbane grimaced. “Not you, too. I swear if I hear you ‘milording’ me I’ll go into an apoplexy. I’m not used to it, Ned, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be.”
Mr. Goldworthy nodded his head wisely. “Well, it’s a thing you’ll have to get used to, and soon, for you’ve got a right good business here on this property. You wear the title along with the business, I’m thinking.” He glanced at Mrs. Carlyle, who stood next to the earl.
“Ah, I have been remiss,” Lord Brisbane said apologetically. “May I present Mrs. Cecelia Carlyle? She is Miss Carlyle’s mother, and the widow of the late earl’s brother. Mrs. Carlyle, Mr. Edwin Goldworthy.”
Mr. Goldworthy sighed deeply as he bowed over Mrs. Carlyle’s hand. “A great pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” He smiled at her. “A great pleasure, indeed.”
Mrs. Carlyle smiled in return, and Diana was surprised to see a light flush appear in her mother’s cheeks. “I thank you, sir,” replied Mrs. Carlyle. “I see my daughter has been entertaining you—do you wish for more refreshment?”
“Nay, it’s enough, thank you ma’am. I’ll need to see how the servants are unloading my trunks—” He turned to Lord Brisbane. “Which reminds me, my boy, I’ve fetched the boxes from Madame—”
“You’re a devilish rattle, Ned!” Lord Brisbane interrupted, frowning. “I tend to forget it when I’m away from you, but now that you’re here, I’m sure I’ll not tell you anything of importance for the whole of your stay.”
Mr. Goldworthy grinned, nudged the earl with an elbow, and winked at Diana and her mother again. “Never you mind him, ladies. Gavin pretends to have a poker up his—er, back, but he’s always been an openhanded chap, though you’d never hear him say so.” He gazed at the earl fondly. “Good as a son, he’s been to me, give you my word!”
Lord Brisbane rolled his eyes, and Diana bit her lower lip to suppress a giggle at his discomfort. She must definitely make a better acquaintance with Mr. Goldworthy. He was a font of information, and had no hesitation putting the earl to the blush. She watched the earl talk to his friend and her mother, and was content to observe. How amusing it would be to have Mr. Goldworthy about! Yes, if Lord Brisbane would not reveal anything about himself, Mr. Goldworthy certainly might. In fact, Diana thought, she would make sure he did.
***
Somehow, though Diana meant to talk to Mr. Goldworthy at some time between his arrival and Lady Jardien’s musicale, she rarely saw him except at dinner. Indeed, she rarely saw Lord Brisbane, either. Both of them had much business to discuss, apparently; Mr. Goldworthy was clearly some sort of merchant seaman, and Lord Brisbane clearly had an interest in his business, and from their conversation, it seemed that the earl had even worked for Mr. Goldworthy at one point. But she could get no other information from either of them; Lord Brisbane was as uninformative as ever, and Mr. Goldworthy only laughed and referred her to his friend whenever she asked questions.
Frustrated, she turned her thoughts to the work she was supervising at the stables, and inevitably thought of McKinney. There was still no sign of him, no word, and Diana could not help thinking that he had encountered some mishap. She hoped whatever it was, he was in good hands, and that he would return soon, or send some word about his condition. He would not have gone so suddenly without taking leave of her, or at least of the earl.
The clock chimed on the mantelpiece of her chamber fireplace; she had perhaps half an hour before she must begin to dress for the upcoming musicale. Despite the fact that Diana had gone to Lady Jardien’s house before, she did not care for parties and she could not help feeling a stupid anxiety about it. She would be stared at, and she hated it, for it made her feel like some freak of nature—awkward, even afraid. It would make her feel more confined than she did now.
She glanced out her chamber window—the sky was becoming dim—and she rang for her maid so as to begin dressing. She sighed impatiently, wishing she had more freedom, as much as any man might.
It was not that she rode about the estate any less, but that Lord Brisbane insisted she take a groom with her. She had not complied the first time, leaving before a groom could set out with her, but the uncomfortable look in th
e servant’s eyes when he did catch up with her and his apologetic determination to stay by her side made her realize that she was not going to escape.
She protested, but only a little. The earl was concerned for her safety, and coupled with McKinney’s disappearance, even she could see there might be good reason for his concern. Going to a musicale was not the same as riding a horse, of course, but it was going elsewhere and that at least was something.
A light knock at the door announced the maid, who entered at Diana’s “Come in” with a dress draped over her arms. Diana frowned.
“I do not recall asking for this dress, Annie—indeed, I do not think it is my dress at all, for I have never seen it before.”
The maid smiled shyly. “His lordship asked that you be given it, miss—a present. He’s given one to your mother as well. It’s straight from London, too.” She tenderly laid it on the bed, spreading out the skirts and smoothing out any wrinkles.
Diana stared at it, uncertain. She had never seen a dress like it. It was very beautiful, clearly an evening gown, but no one could say that to wear it would be disrespectful to Uncle Charles, for it was black, and very well suited to mourning. She shook her head. “No, I do not think I should wear it—it could not be proper for me to accept such a gift from Lord Brisbane.”
The maid looked disappointed. “I’m that sorry, Miss Diana.’Twould have looked right pretty on you, I’m sure.”
Another knock sounded on the door, and Diana’s mother entered in a rush, her eyes sparkling. “Oh, my dear, did he give you one, also? He is too, too generous!”
Diana gazed questioningly at her mother. “I am not sure we should accept them, Mama. Is it proper to accept such a gift from an unmarried gentleman?”
Mrs. Carlyle’s brows rose in surprise. “Well, I am glad you are thinking of the proprieties, Diana.” She worried her lower lip for a while in thought. “You may be right, for he is a distant relation . . . perhaps it would not do, though how kind of him to think of us!”
“Indeed, Mama,” Diana said, and could not help looking with some wistfulness at the dress laid out on her bed.
Her mother sighed, and turned to the maid. “Annie, do bring out the dress that we made from one of Miss Marling’s designs.” The girl nodded, and went to the wardrobe with reluctant steps.
When Diana was finally dressed for the evening, her mother nodded in a satisfied manner, but Diana barely kept herself from grimacing. The black frills at her shoulders made her look a yard wide, as did the white bows just under her bosom. It made her glad she had worn the stays that made her bustline smaller; she would have looked like a milch cow without them. The hem was lined with batting—the latest style, she had heard from Miss Marling herself—and stood out away from her feet. She looked for all the world as if she were some highly decorated and black-creped funeral bell.
“How pretty you look,” Mama said, and patted her daughter’s cheek. Diana smiled weakly. “Now, I shall put on my dress, and then we shall be ready, with at least half an hour to spare.”
Diana nodded, and when her mother left, she gazed at the dress Lord Brisbane had given her and sighed. It was beautiful, with puffed sleeves so tiny they hardly deserved to be called sleeves. The only relief from the severity of its cut was from the gold net overskirt and the gold bands along the bodice and the hem. But what could she do? She had felt distinctly uncomfortable thinking of her conversation in the maze, and how she had teased Lord Brisbane about asking for extravagances, and how he had said he would spend his fortune upon her. It had all been teasing, and yet here was this lovely dress, a thing a lady did not accept from a gentleman. She could not accept it, and had taken refuge in propriety. She sighed. How ironic it was that she now found propriety so convenient, where she had thought it very inconvenient before Gavin Sinclair arrived.
Her mother called to her at last, and Diana descended the stairs, hoping she could put on a pelisse before Lord Brisbane saw her. Her hope died aborning, however, for he was standing at the foot of the steps, impeccably dressed in black, his neckcloth a pure white, and his black knee breeches with one crease. He looked up at her, transferred his gaze to her mother, and frowned.
“Did you not receive the dresses I sent to you?” he said abruptly.
Her mother stopped, and looked confused. “I did, my lord, but—”
He smiled at her. “Not ‘my lord.’ ‘Gavin,’ if you please.”
She looked more flustered than ever. “Gavin, then. Well, we did receive the dresses, but we cannot accept them, I’m afraid.”
A sad, wistful look crossed his face. “You do not like them, then?”
“Oh, no, no!” Mrs. Carlyle said hastily. “They are lovely, to be sure! So beautiful.” She sighed longingly. “Indeed, I wish we could wear them, for I cannot help thinking they would suit us perfectly.”
“Do they not fit, then?” he asked. “I asked your maid for one of your old dresses and sent them straightaway to Madame LaSalle’s on Bond Street to pattern from.”
Madame LaSalle’s! Even Diana knew that the woman was one of the best modistes in London, and made her clothes with precision and style. She watched her mother’s eyes widen and heard her draw in a long, melancholy breath.
“Ohhh . . .” Indecision flickered over Mrs. Carlyle’s face, then she shook her head. “No, we did not try them on—”
Lord Brisbane’s face took on an aggrieved expression, and Mrs. Carlyle began to look guilty in response. “You did not try them on.” He sighed mournfully. “I see.” Her mother looked more guilty than ever.
Diana gazed at him sharply. A glance in her direction showed a distinct twinkle in his eyes. She lifted her chin. “I am afraid it is not proper to accept such gifts as these from an unmarried gentleman, my lord.”
He smiled pleasantly at her. “‘Gavin,’ please.” She gritted her teeth. “Gavin.”
He pursed his lips thoughtfully, then turned to her mother. “Is this true? Even if the gentleman is a relative, though distant?”
“Well—” her mother began to say.
“A distant relative who is grateful he has a hostess—indeed, two hostesses—and wishes them to be well rewarded for their work.” He looked at Mrs. Carlyle earnestly. “Indeed, I do not know how I would manage without your supervision in this household. It is you who approves the dinner menu, and makes sure the housekeeper does all she should, is it not?”
“Yes, it is,” Mrs. Carlyle replied. “But it is in return for giving us a home—”
The earl raised his chin and looked down his nose at her, the picture of offended hauteur. “Are you saying that I am not conscious of my duties to the Carlyle family? That I would throw defenseless females—ladies who are related to me—out into the cold unless they become my household drudges?”
Mrs. Carlyle looked alarmed. “No, no, I would never say such a thing!”
“Then you must see that I am very grateful for what you have done for me, and am only expressing my gratitude.” He smiled cheerfully at her. “Certainly you can see I cannot have you dressed in anything but the best?”
“Oh, no, of course not,” Mrs. Carlyle said, looking at once anxious and bewildered.
“Besides, it would never do for his consequence,” Diana snapped. Oh, how cleverly he managed to twist her mother around his finger! But she would not give in, no, she would not.
“Diana!” her mother said in a scandalized voice. “How could you?”
The earl sighed. “I see it now. She does not even wish to try it on—no doubt she believes my taste is execrable, or perhaps she thinks me overbearing.”
Mrs. Carlyle shook her head. “No, my lord. She will try it on. Then we shall see.” She turned to Diana. “Come, my dear. You cannot be so rude as to refuse to try on the dress, can you?” A pleading look entered her mother’s eyes, and Diana felt helpless before it. She knew it would give her mother great pleasure to wear such a fine dress, and to see her daughter try on hers. Indeed, it was probably many, many years s
ince her mother had worn such a gown, if it was anything like the one the earl had given Diana. It was a London dress, one only ladies of very high ton would wear, the height of fashion. A stab of guilt went through her, and she nodded reluctantly. “Very well, Mama, I shall try it on.”
Her mother sighed in relief. “Come then, hurry. We have not much time.” She almost ran up the stairs, and summoned a passing chambermaid to help her, while she requested Annie to help Diana dress.
Annie beamed with enthusiasm when she found she was to put the black-and-gold dress on Diana, and hastily shook it out and unbuttoned the frilly one that her mistress wore. Diana grimaced when the maid said, “You’ll have to wear other stays, miss, not these. They’d show above the bodice, you see.” She shrugged, and the maid pulled out another, less confining set of stays. If she was lucky, the color and line of the dress would deemphasize the unfortunate shape of her body.
Fifteen minutes later, Diana looked into the mirror and her heart plummeted to her stomach. “Oh, no,” she whispered.
Her maid gazed at her, clearly puzzled. “What is wrong, Miss Diana?”
“I—I—cannot wear this!” She tried to swallow down a panicked nervousness and failed.
It was not Diana Carlyle she was staring at in the mirror, but some other woman—queenly, majestic. Her maid had redressed her hair in a severe knot at the back of her head, with long curling strands streaming down below her shoulders to complement the style of the dress. She had thought the gown would be fairly plain, even austere, and it was, compared to the frilly dress she had worn before. But the waistline was a little lower than the other—she remembered there seemed to be an emerging fashion for a lower waistline than before—and hugged her very closely. The sleeves were little nothings of puffed black silk gauze bordered with gold piping; her arms, if it were not for her gloves, would almost be bare. But the gold net overskirt gave it an exotic Byzantine look, and the bodice—
Diana closed her eyes and groaned. The bodice was also of many-layered black silk gauze and on anyone else it would have been modest. But the gold band that lined the top of it barely restrained the expanse of flesh that almost overflowed the edge. She could not even bind her bosom as she often did, for it would make the bodice too loose and reveal more than it should.
Miss Carlyle's Curricle: Signet Regency Romance (InterMix) Page 11