Oh, Thomas. She had loved him from the first. Even with the years of separation, and in spite of all the hurt and anger, she loved him still. But the price paid for that love—by her, by Thomas, by her children, by her family…
She wanted better for Diana. She wanted safety. Marrying for love was foolish, especially in their class. She had followed her heart, and it had only brought her pain. She’d been so certain that love was enough to span the gap between their stations, to bridge their differences, and for years, it had seemed to work. And then her world had fallen apart, everything crashing down at once, collapsing like a house of cards caught in a tempest gale.
She’d been so shocked. She’d believed her marriage was as enduring, as stalwart as a fortress. But she and Thomas had built on rocky foundations, and tiny cracks she hadn’t thought worth noting had accumulated over the years.
There were some larger cracks, too, and when they became impossible to ignore, they patched them as best they could and went on with their lives. Each of those repairs had weakened her marriage a bit more, but she never realized how fragile it had become. Not until it crumbled at the slightest push.
The tears welled up again, and she let them come. When she felt she had herself sufficiently under control, Linnet headed to see her mother. The duchess sat before the fireplace in her bedchamber. Like the rest of Lansdowne House, the room was formal and grand, opulent and… oppressive.
“Good evening, Mother.” Linnet pressed a kiss to her mother’s wrinkled cheek. “Lady Kelton sends her regards. Are you feeling at all improved?”
The duchess shrugged. “At my age, one becomes accustomed to feeling poorly. I doubt I shall feel improved until I am dead.”
Ever the optimist, Linnet thought wryly. Aloud she said, “Please don’t say such morbid things. I am sure you have many years left on this earth.”
“All I ask is to see my granddaughter wed.”
“I want that as much as you do,” Linnet reminded her. “As it happens, at dinner I was seated next to a very promising suitor for Diana.”
“His name?”
“Sir Samuel Stickley. I understand he is a cousin of Lady Kelton’s.”
“A baronet,” the duchess said with distaste. “At this point, we cannot afford to be particular. Did he seem taken with Diana?”
“Unfortunately, Sir Samuel received a summons home before he and Diana could meet, but I believe he means to call upon his return to London.”
“We shall have to wait and see, then.” The duchess motioned for Linnet to sit on the footstool by her chair. “Martine,” she called, “bring the hairbrush from my dressing table.” She untied the strip of linen from the bottom of Linnet’s braid and unplaited her hair.
Taking the silver-backed brush the maid brought over, she began to brush Linnet’s hair. This was a familiar ritual, one Linnet usually found calming; tonight she found it cloying. She was still a child in this house, no matter that her own child was grown and of marriageable age. She would always be a child in this house. Like a child, she couldn’t escape punishment for her mistakes.
Despite assurances of forgiveness from her mother—her father refused, then and now, to speak of his daughter’s fall from grace—Linnet knew the truth. Her parents had accepted her back into their household, but they would never forgive her. Neither would they forget, or let her forget, the failed marriage that had predicated her return. In what time she had left after regretting the past, Linnet worried for the future; she preferred either to dwelling on the present.
“Go on,” the duchess urged. “Who were Diana’s dance partners?”
“She spent a good deal of time with the Weston boy.”
“He is a handsome fellow. Being seen with him can do her nothing but good.”
“I’m worried she is too taken with him,” Linnet fretted. “His reputation…”
“He is a young man.” Her mother dismissed Linnet’s concerns. “He is from a good family and will inherit a viscountcy. As the wife of the oldest son of a viscount, Diana would take precedence over a baronet’s wife. She cannot depend upon her father’s rank as you can.”
There it was—a not-so-subtle jab at Linnet’s socially inferior choice of husband.
“Henry Weston may be from a good family, but he isn’t right for Diana,” she insisted. “Why should he suddenly start paying her attention now?”
“Perhaps he is ready to do his duty by his family.”
The “unlike you, you undutiful child,” went unsaid. Linnet decided to change the subject. “Diana asked me the other day if this could be her last Season.”
“Perhaps it should be. If she does not make a match this year, there is little reason to think she will make one next year or the year after.”
Linnet blinked. “I thought you were determined to see her wed.”
“If my determination were enough, she would have wed years ago, but I do not intend to give up. If Diana has not managed to bring a gentleman up to scratch by the end of the Season, and you know as well as I the unlikelihood of that coming to pass, we must consider other possibilities. Perhaps we should spend a few months in Bath or Brighton. Such places force one into much more mixed company, which is distasteful, but some men of good breeding must be there. Then again, I have thought for some time now that an older gentleman would suit Diana nicely. I shall ask Lansdowne to make a list of his acquaintances that are in need of youthful companionship.”
“No!” Linnet leapt to her feet. She would sooner see Diana in a nunnery than married to some lecher old enough to be her grandfather.
“I beg your pardon?” The duchess’s voice was soft—Linnet could not recall having heard her mother speak in anything other than this carefully modulated, ladylike tone—but steely.
“I would not wish to put Father to all that trouble just yet,” Linnet lied, sitting back down. “The Season is only just beginning, after all.”
“You have a point,” her mother agreed as she resumed brushing. “And there are worse things in life than Diana remaining unwed. She would be a comfort to you in your old age, just as you have been to me.”
But I want more for her than that, Linnet wanted to yell. I don’t want her living my life. Unlike you, I care about my child’s happiness more than my own comfort.
Her parents’ selfishness had ruined her marriage and any chance of happiness she might have had. No, that wasn’t entirely fair. Her marriage had fallen apart for other reasons, but her parents’ refusal to approve of the union had not helped matters. They had worked to drive a wedge between their daughter and her undesirable husband, and it had worked.
The duchess set aside the hairbrush and began to braid Linnet’s hair. “Have you any news of my grandson?”
“None since last I told you.”
The duchess made a sound of annoyance. “That was nearly three weeks ago.”
Linnet laughed. “I would have news of him every day if I could, but young men at university have better things to do than write their mothers. I am certain you need not worry. Alex has always been sensible and even-tempered; he has never given me a moment’s worry.”
“I cannot help worrying about my grandson. What with your brother off in India, refusing to come home and take some of the burden of running the estates off your father…”
She had heard this diatribe against her older brother so often she could have recited the words along with her mother. Linnet hardly knew David. Eight years her senior, her brother had gone off to school before she could talk. She’d seen him during school holidays, but he hadn’t wanted much to do with her. Once he finished at Cambridge, he’d sailed off to India on some business, apparently never-ending, for the British East India Company. Though she didn’t know David well, Linnet certainly understood his actions. There were times when she wished herself as far away as possible from her parents.
“…I am fortunate to receive a letter every six months letting me know he is still alive. As David seems ill-inclined to do his duty
,” the duchess continued, “Alexander is as good as the heir to all of this.” She waved her hands in an encompassing gesture.
“I am aware,” Linnet said tightly. Her parents had cut her off after her marriage. They had only tried to reconcile after Alex’s birth. Linnet had known what they were after and, to some extent, she even understood. Her son might someday wear the Duke of Lansdowne’s coronet and mantle; in order to wear them at all comfortably, he needed to grow up with certain privileges.
She’d tried to explain as much to Thomas, when her parents had arrived at their house shortly after Alex’s birth. They’d come with a retinue of servants and carriages full of extravagant gifts. Thomas had wanted to close the door in their faces, but she’d swayed him, hoping to mend the rift between them and finally earn their approval.
“Don’t try to make this into some outpouring of familial love, Linnet. Your parents are only here because they chased off your brother, and Alex looks like a welcome replacement.”
She wrapped her arms around him, trying to ease some of the tension pouring off him. He resisted, standing stiff and unyielding as one of the tall elm trees lining the drive. Lord, how she loved this strong, stubborn man.
“I know,” she agreed, “but once they begin to know the children they can’t help but love them, and Diana and Alex should be allowed the chance to know their grandparents. My parents haven’t always behaved well, but they are family. You have no kin to take the children if, heaven forbid, anything should happen to us. And you can’t deny that my parents’ acceptance will give the children certain advantages. One day, when Diana is grown and ready to be married, she will be able to make a better match as the beloved granddaughter of the Duke and Duchess of Lansdowne. Alex—”
“Alex doesn’t need five nursemaids to powder his bottom, or velvet nappies, or a damned ducal cradle. I see your mother’s face when she looks around our home. We might as well live in squalor. She couldn’t decide which was the worse, Swallowsdale or the village inn.”
“The cradle was a bit much, but they did bring it here. I half expected them to demand to raise Alex at The Hall.” Her laugh came out forced and shrill.
He gave no answering smile. If anything, his face grew stonier.
“I know this is difficult for you,” she said. “But it’s difficult for them—”
“I don’t give a damn about their feelings!” He raged around their bedroom. “Your parents lost my respect forever when they forced you to choose between us. Now they want to sweep back in and take what’s mine. Alex is my son, Linnet, my son, and I’ll be damned before I let those unfeeling monsters you call parents have the raising of him.”
Linnet stepped in front of him and took his face in her hands. “Thomas, please, I wasn’t seriously suggesting the possibility. Alex is staying here with us, where he belongs.”
Rather than calming him, her words seemed to ignite some wild terror in him. He gripped her wrists, his big hands closing around her flesh like shackles. “It isn’t only Alex they want.” His voice was little more than a ragged whisper. “They want you, too. They want to take you from me. They never meant to let me have you.”
“Hush, my love. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I won’t let you go, Linny.”
As always, her knees felt a bit weak at the use of his pet name for her.
“You are mine—my wife. You chose me over them. Damned if I know why, but—”
She stopped him with a kiss. When they finally came up for air, she placed her hand over his heart. “I chose you because I love you. My place is, and always will be, with you and our children. If I were forced to choose again right now, I would still choose you.”
He nodded, not meeting her gaze. His uncertainty, even after so many years of marriage, fractured her. “I know—” His voice wavered and cracked. He wet his lips, drew in a shaky breath and tried again. “I know you love me and the children, but you gave up so much when you chose me. You lost more than your family; you lost your entire way of life.”
“I made a new family, a new life—”
“I used to hear you crying in the night, and I’d lie there, saying nothing, just hating myself for being too selfish to let you alone…”
If only Thomas knew how often she cried in the night now, Linnet thought. She pressed the heel of her hand against her chest trying to drive away the ache that surfaced every time she thought of her husband.
“Are you unwell?” her mother asked.
“A bit of indigestion is all. I’m certain I shall feel better in the morning.” That was what she told herself. Perhaps one of these days it would be true.
DIANA STARED INTO THE DARKNESS and listened to the clatter of horse hooves on paving. Most of the rooms in Lansdowne House boasted views of the large garden out front, or of Berkeley Square, or of the sweeping landscape of Devonshire House. Her bedchamber, though spacious enough, sat at the back of the house’s west wing and faced Lambeth Mews. Should she ever question her position in this household, she need only open her window and breathe deeply.
With her thoughts scattered from her argument with her mother, she’d made the mistake of doing just that. There was nothing like the fetid odor of equine droppings to jolt a person awake. Not that she could have slept in any case. There were too many questions racing about in her head.
Had Henry been similarly distracted tonight? Had he just been going through the motions he always went through? Had he smelled some horse dung and come to his senses since then? Did he regret proposing that mad scheme or… kissing her? But regret implied he cared at all, which she knew he didn’t. He’d kissed so many women. A kiss that had meant so much to her was commonplace to him. A wave of guilt washed over her as she acknowledged her mother had every cause for concern.
She tensed as she heard her door open. She stayed on her side, her back to the door, undecided if she should feign sleep or admit she was awake. She knew she ought to talk to her mother and apologize, but she couldn’t handle any more emotional upset tonight.
Light footsteps whispered across the rug as her mother approached the bed, her movements perfuming the air with the calming scent of lavender. Her mother always kept bunches of dried lavender in her clothes press. In the past, the two of them had spent happy, sunny days gathering the fragrant flowers in the garden at The Hall. Now they spent those days in London, husband hunting.
Diana flopped over on her back with a sigh. She much preferred the flowers.
Her mother perched on the edge of her bed and made shushing sounds as she drew the disheveled coverlet up over Diana. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I was awake,” Diana admitted. “I couldn’t get to sleep. I apologize for what I said. I didn’t mean—”
“I know. Our minds often lose control of our mouths when we are hurting. Your unhappiness is what truly hurt me. You are my child, and I want to protect you. Mr. Weston has a reputation with women. You would do better to spend your time with a man like Sir Samuel.”
At that, Diana sat up and took her mother’s hand. “Sir Samuel isn’t here, Mama, and for all we know he may never return. Even if he does, there’s a possibility that he could take one look at me and run screaming for the hills.”
“He would not!”
Diana couldn’t help but laugh at her mother’s outrage. There was something truly lovely in knowing at least one person believed her the catch of the Season. Her thoughts turned to Henry’s offer. Again. She couldn’t think of much else. Well, perhaps the actual offer featured less prominently in her thoughts than Henry’s persuasive tactics.
Could he possibly do what he claimed? Only her mother would ever consider her the catch of the Season, but might Henry’s attentions convince a few gentlemen that she was, indeed, a catch… or at least a fish worthy of closer inspection? Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so dismissive.
In all likelihood, Henry would change his mind. When he awoke, he would probably think the night’s events but a strange dream. The
y would never speak of their private interlude, and everything would be as usual. That was for the best. Although, as she had mentioned earlier to Henry, she’d gone on the same way every Season and had nothing to show for it. Maybe she did need a bit of change.
“Mama, what you said earlier about Mr. Weston… You’re right. He’s not truly interested in me.”
“Dearest, I never meant to suggest the man wouldn’t be attracted to you, only that you should be wary.”
“Yes, well, I spoke with him tonight. He—” She took a steadying breath. “He suggested we enter into a mutually beneficial arrangement of sorts. Nothing improper,” she added quickly at her mother’s startled gasp. “He wants to court me, or pretend to court me at any rate, which he believes will have the result of attracting the interest of other gentlemen.”
She shrugged through the tension weighing down her shoulders. “I can’t say if it would work, but I can’t imagine what I have to lose. His reputation is wild, I know, but no woman in the ton would refuse him as a suitor. I feel certain he’ll take very good care with my reputation. He doesn’t wish to marry me any more than I wish to be bound to him.”
Her mother looked unconvinced. “Aside from the pleasure of your company, how is courting you beneficial to Mr. Weston?”
“He believes that if he’s courting me, his mother won’t spend the Season pressuring him about getting married. He means to involve himself in a business, and I won’t make too many demands on his time since we won’t truly be courting.”
Her mother looked far from convinced.
“He also wishes to improve his reputation,” Diana continued. “He likes that I’m proper.” She was glad of the darkness in the room, for it hid the color staining her cheeks. She hadn’t been at all proper earlier that night.
Those kisses. That heat. The hard strength of his body pressed against hers. The sighs, groans, and rasp of harsh, heavy breathing. The taste of him…
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