Sara Lindsey - [Weston 03]

by A Rogue for All Seasons

  “Madness,” he grumbled. “I did it because…”

  “Perhaps you did it for yourself,” Diana suggested.

  “What do you mean?” He looked lost and uncertain. Surprisingly vulnerable.

  “Maybe you needed to prove to yourself that you are a good man.”

  He shook his head, and Diana wasn’t sure if he was rejecting her reasoning or the idea of himself as a good man. She saw, with not a little relief, they were close to where her mother and grandmother were sitting. The evening had been so peculiar; she needed time to sit and consider everything that had happened.

  Thinking was all but impossible in such close proximity to Henry. She felt too much around him for her brain to function properly.

  “What I did… I didn’t do it for myself.” His sigh ruffled the curls at her temple. “I did it for you.”

  “For me?” she exclaimed. “Why?”

  “I have no idea,” he admitted bluntly. “As a rule, I try to avoid matchmaking.”

  Diana laughed. “That, I can well believe. My mother and I called on Lady Weston last week.” She lowered her voice to a whisper as they took the final steps to her seat. “I do believe your mother is nearly as put out by your unwed state as my grandmother is by mine.”

  “I see.” A thoughtful expression came over his face.

  What he saw, Diana wasn’t certain. She saw nothing but the brilliant blue of Henry’s eyes. The deep cobalt reminded her of the blue and white Chinese vase that had been in the library at her childhood home study.

  The piece had probably been worth a small fortune, but her father had allowed her to hold it. She remembered sitting by his feet, tracing the flowers and swirls with her fingertips, listening to the scratching of his quill as he made notes in his studbook.

  A simple memory, but a happy one.

  “Do you plan to attend the Keltons’ soiree?”

  Henry’s question brought Diana back to the present. “Ah, yes, I believe so.”

  “Good. I shall look forward to seeing you there. Thank you for the dance, Miss Merriwether.” He bowed to her, then acknowledged her grandmother and mother before walking away.

  Watching him go, Diana almost felt as though she were holding that Chinese vase again. It had been, she recalled, a wedding gift to her parents from the Prince of Wales. Fit for a princess. Those had been her father’s words. And since she was the Princess Royal of Swallowsdale Grange, just as long as she was careful and her mother didn’t see, Diana could hold it.

  She had thought herself so special when she held that vase. She’d had the power to capture fairies and conjure magical potions. Nothing had been beyond her reach.

  But no matter how particular his attentions had been this evening, Henry Weston was beyond her reach. And no matter how he made her heart pound, Diana knew better than to reach for him. Or rather, because he made her heart pound, she knew better than to reach for him.

  She remembered what had happened to that blue and white vase.

  Yelling. Crying. Breaking.

  The porcelain shards had lain on the floor alongside the pieces of her parents’ shattered marriage. She would never risk that kind of hurt for herself. She ought to run far from Henry and hide herself away. That’s what a smart woman would do. Unfortunately, Henry had a way of stealing her wits, and she knew nothing would keep her from the Keltons’ soiree.

  “QUITE A CRUSH TONIGHT,” HENRY remarked as he joined his sisters and James in the small garden off the ballroom. His parents were ushering the remaining few guests off to their own homes. He could have left earlier. He didn’t live there anymore, and he wasn’t one of the guests of honor, but leaving hadn’t crossed his mind. Besides, he’d promised to take some of the remaining sweets upstairs for his siblings who were too young to attend the ball.

  “Indeed,” agreed Olivia, fanning herself. Though the temperature outside was noticeably cooler, the night air was warm and heavy. “Jason went to fetch some champagne.”

  “Unfortunately for you, Hal, he’s only bringing four glasses,” James pointed out, “though perhaps that’s for the best. I’m not certain you should be allowed anything more to drink.”

  Before Henry could ask what he meant, Sheldon strode through the French doors that led into the garden. He held a glass of champagne in either hand; a footman followed him bearing two more.

  “Beg pardon, Weston,” his brother-in-law apologized, handing a glass to his wife. “I didn’t realize you would be joining us.”

  “Shall I fetch another glass, sir?” the footman volunteered.

  “No, thank you,” Henry replied. He waited until the servant had gone inside before arching an inquiring brow in James’s direction. “Why do you think I’m in my cups?”

  James gestured in the direction of the ballroom. “Unless my eyes deceive me, you danced with Miss Merriwether twice this evening.”

  “I did.” Henry shrugged. “What of it?”

  “Is there some reason he shouldn’t?” Sheldon whispered to Olivia.

  “He hates dancing with Miss Merriwether,” Olivia whispered back. “My mother was friends with Miss Merriwether’s mother when they were younger, and she believes gentlemen have a duty to dance with the wallflowers, so Mama forces Hal to dance with her.”

  Henry winced at her choice of words, though he’d likely used them on more than one occasion. “I don’t hate dancing with Miss Merriwether. I asked her to dance a second time because I wanted to” —he gave a pointed look in James’s direction—“and I had all my faculties about me when I did so.”

  “Are you feeling quite well?” Isabella reached out to touch Henry’s forehead.

  He stepped backward, out of her reach. “What is the matter with all of you?”

  “I could have sworn you just said you wanted to dance with Miss Merriwether,” James said slowly, as if testing out the words.

  “So what if I did?” Henry crossed his arms over his chest. “One dance means nothing.”

  “Oh, no,” James agreed. “But surely you can understand our surprise given your usual moaning and groaning about being made to dance with her. I thought perhaps this had to do with your project.”

  At the word “project,” Isabella and Olivia snapped to attention, like two hounds scenting prey.

  “Project?” Olivia probed, taking a step toward him.

  “What project?” Isabella queried, taking two steps in his direction.

  Henry sighed. He’d hoped to keep the stud a secret for a bit longer, but he knew his sisters—they wouldn’t rest until they knew everything.

  “I mean to purchase a stud,” he told them. “I figure I ought to do something more with my life than attend balls and hunting parties but, unlike present company, I’m not ready to settle down and start a family just yet. A stud seems like a natural fit, given my interests.”

  “Yes, it’s a definite combination of your two great loves,” Isabella said, a devilish grin lurking about her mouth. “Sex and horses.”

  Sheldon choked on a mouthful of champagne. Olivia giggled and pounded him on the back.

  “I’ve tried to instill some sense of propriety in her, without much success,” James said by way of apology.

  Olivia gave Henry a quick hug. “I think it’s a very good plan. You’re certain to be a great success.”

  “Indeed!” Isabella agreed.

  Olivia’s lips quivered. “We already know all the fashionable ladies will come see you when seeking a g-good m-mount.” She dissolved into laughter.

  Isabella shrieked, and then clapped her hands over her mouth.

  Sheldon shook his head, trying to mask his amusement behind disapproval. “Clearly my efforts have been similarly unsuccessful.”

  Henry glanced back and forth between his brothers-in-law and sighed.

  “Oh, pish. As if you have any great regard for proper behavior,” Olivia accused Jason. “Besides, if I have any improper thoughts, you are certainly to blame for them. Well, you and the Minerva Press,” she
conceded.

  “Careful,” Isabella warned. “Hal is starting to get that look in his eyes. It was there just before he tried to destroy my breakfast room.”

  “I would like to hear more about your project,” Olivia said quickly in an obvious effort to distract him. Obvious, but successful. He unclenched his fist. “How exactly does dancing twice with Miss Merriwether fit in?”

  Henry was about to tell her that he hadn’t the faintest idea when Isabella grabbed his arm. “Oh!” she breathed, her eyes growing wide. “You will need money. Father will advance you the sum, and if he will not, James will. There’s no need to marry—”

  Henry shrugged her off. “Izzie, calm yourself! I have no intention of marrying anyone.”

  She eyed him suspiciously before turning to her husband. “Why did you say Hal was dancing with Miss Merriwether to further his project?”

  “Miss Merriwether’s father is a well-respected breeder,” James explained.

  “My understanding has always been that Miss Merriwether and her mother are entirely cut off from the man,” Olivia said.

  “Let me assure all of you,” Henry stated firmly, “especially the two of you who are incapable of restraining your wild imaginations, my interest in Miss Merriwether has nothing to do with her dowry and even less to do with her estranged father.”

  Olivia pounced. “Then you do have an interest in her?”

  Before he could say anything, Isabella laughed. “Livvy, you read too many novels. Can you imagine Hal courting Miss Merriwether?”

  Perhaps Isabella couldn’t imagine it. Maybe Olivia didn’t see it. But Henry could. A plan was quickly taking shape in his mind. He didn’t have everything worked out, but enough to know that courting Diana Merriwether was, at this particular moment, less of an impossibility than a probability.

  One he found himself looking forward to, oddly enough… but there was no need to tell his sisters that just yet.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The household is asleep, and so should I be, but the baby is most decidedly nocturnal, and she prefers to have a companion sit up with her. Thus, I shall subject you, dear aunt, to my late-night ramblings, starting with my thoughts on a phenomenon so incredible that I know you must believe my words a hoax. After all these years, my brother has taken an interest in Miss Merriwether! Naturally, Isabella and I plan to meddle. I do not doubt Hal will kill us if he finds out but, oh, I do believe it will be worth the grave discomfort of being dead!

  —FROM THE MARCHIONESS OF SHELDON TO HER AUNT THE DOWAGER MARCHIONESS OF SHELDON

  DIANA WAS IN HIGH SPIRITS when she and her mother set off in the carriage for Lord and Lady Kelton’s dinner party. Her grandmother was feeling poorly and had elected to stay home, and her grandfather never attended Society events unless forced, so the evening was off to a fine start. It wasn’t that Diana wished her grandmother ill, but to say the Duchess of Lansdowne was critical was a bit like saying Alexander the Great had been ambitious.

  Diana was constantly aware of being a disappointment, but tonight she was free of her grandmother’s watchful eye, which meant she might have some small chance of enjoying herself. Of course, there was another reason Diana was looking forward to this evening.

  An impossibly foolish reason.

  An impossibly handsome reason.

  Henry.

  Just thinking his name sent a ridiculous, giddy rush through her. Not only had he gone out of his way to do something kind for Eliza, he’d asked Diana to dance of his own accord. He might not do so again. He had probably come to his senses, but as she had yet to come to hers, the bubble of hope within her had not yet burst.

  She knew nothing could come of her infatuation. Henry wasn’t the sort of man to settle down, while she was ready—past ready—for that. In truth, she was ready to settle. She wanted her own home and a child, and she needed a husband for that.

  He didn’t have to be athletic or terribly handsome. As her grandmother was also willing to settle, he need not have a grand title or a great fortune. Diana wasn’t even that particular about his age or intellect. All she asked in a prospective spouse was that he be even-tempered, treat her and their offspring kindly, and inspire no more than modest affection in her heart. Was that really so much to ask?

  Still, no one would be hurt if she danced with Henry again….

  “Oh, the endless waiting!” she fretted to her mother. The Kelton residence wasn’t very far from Lansdowne House, but the line of carriages moved at a snail’s pace. By the time their carriage neared the front of the line, Diana could have walked there and back at least half a dozen times.

  Her mother tweaked one of Diana’s curls. “You are unusually eager tonight. I thought you would beg off once your grandmother took to her bed.”

  “Then I might have been summoned to read to her.” Diana wrinkled her nose. “Do you know, she even objects to the way I read?” She imitated the duchess’s haughty tones. “‘No, Diana dear, you are speaking too quickly. You must learn to e-nun-ci-ate your words. You have had the best governesses money can buy, granddaughter, yet you still sound like a shop girl. That must be your common blood showing.’”

  Her mother drew in a sharp breath. “She said that to you?”

  “No,” Diana admitted. “She’s never said those precise words, but I know that’s what she’s thinking.”

  “Oh, my sweet girl.” Her mother wrapped an arm around Diana’s shoulders. “Believe me, your grandmother found just as many things wrong with me when I was your age. Age has actually gentled her tongue somewhat.”

  “But you’re so perfect!”

  “Hardly.” Her mother laughed bitterly. “I made mistakes, and now my children are made to pay for them. I don’t worry so much about your brother. Alex is happy away at school, or at least he always seems well on those rare instances when we get to see him. As I doubt my brother will marry, or return to England for that matter, it’s likely he will someday inherit the dukedom. No, it’s you I—” She broke off as the coach door opened.

  Diana said nothing as she accepted the footman’s proffered hand and stepped down to the ground, but as they made their way up the front steps she whispered, “Don’t worry, Mama. I have a feeling about tonight. Something good is going to happen.”

  She wondered at her words—wondered if she’d inadvertently cursed herself—when the guests proceeded from the drawing room downstairs to the dining table. Diana had no expectations of sitting next to the most eligible bachelors—no, that honor fell to her hostess’s youngest (and only unmarried) daughter—but she considered mutiny—or perhaps she ought to say muttony—when she found herself seated beside Lord Blathersby.

  Baron Finkley was on her other side, and Diana could not say which man she was less pleased to see. Finkley was eighty if he was a day, and when he spoke to her, his eyes never ventured north of her chest. Being next to either man would have been bad enough; together, they bordered on cruel and unusual punishment.

  She was never so glad of the practice of leaving the men to their port and politics as she was tonight. It was all she could do not to rush ahead of her hostess as Lady Kelton led the women upstairs. Diana glanced around, looking for the least conspicuous place to sit for the remainder of the evening, as she felt a hand on her shoulder.

  “Diana!” Her mother’s face glowed with excitement. “Oh, my dear, I think you were right about something good happening tonight. I sat next to the nicest young gentleman—”

  “That makes one of us,” Diana muttered.

  “Sir Samuel is a cousin of Lady Kelton’s, recently arrived from Wiltshire. He is just turned thirty—”

  “Oh, tell me you did not ask his age!”

  Her mother didn’t even have the good grace to look guilty. “The information came up naturally in the course of our conversation. Sir Samuel came into his title a few years ago, but he wanted to spend some time modernizing his estate before setting out to look for a wife.”

  “So far, he sounds too good to be tru
e. Does he have warts on his nose? A passel of incorrigible younger siblings? Is he losing his hair and running to fat?”

  “Nothing of the sort. He has one brother, a little younger than Alex, and a sister still in the schoolroom. As for his looks, Sir Samuel is not, I grant you, the sort to turn ladies’ heads in the street, but he is pleasant looking. I haven’t told you the best part.” She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I mentioned I had a daughter and— Oh, you will never believe his response. He said, ‘My lady, while I’m sure any daughter of yours must be exceedingly lovely, I pray, do not think to match me with a young girl in her first Season. My head is as apt to be turned by a pretty face as the next man, but I want a woman ready to be a wife and mother.’”

  Diana shook her head in disbelief. “Are you certain this paragon is real?”

  “You shall see for yourself when the gentlemen come in.”

  They found a group of empty seats and, before too long, Lord Kelton led in the gentlemen. He stopped to speak with his wife before making his way over to them. Diana looked a question at her mother who shook her head, clearly just as puzzled as to why their host would seek them out. They stood as he neared them.

  “Good evening, ladies.” He bowed, and they curtsied in response. “Lady Linnet, I have come with a message from Sir Samuel. I believe he sat next to you at dinner.”

  “He did. Is everything all right, my lord?”

  “A messenger arrived just as you ladies left us. There is some pressing matter on Sir Samuel’s estate that requires his immediate presence. The poor fellow has not been here a week. What good is a steward, I ask, if he wants your advice every time the roof threatens to cave?”

  Neither Diana nor her mother had a response to that.

  “He has gone upstairs to pack and will leave straightaway,” Lord Kelton continued. “He asked me to impart both his regrets at being called away and his hope of renewing your acquaintance upon his return to London.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” Though her mother kept her voice even, Diana could sense her disappointment. “If you see Sir Samuel before his departure, please convey my wishes for a speedy resolution to his troubles.”