“I thought we weren’t speaking about him,” Charlotte hedged.
“Oh go on,” Dianna said with a sigh. “He is all I can think about anyways.”
“Very well. In that case, I never liked the idea of him. Forcing two children to become betrothed before they even know what marriage means is beyond antiquated, not to mention horribly cruel.”
“Miles had no control over that,” Dianna pointed out. “It was our parent’s doing.”
“Details, details. I forgot to ask, where are your parents? I don’t recall seeing them at the wedding or the reception.”
“In London. I will be joining them there at the end of the week.” To begin, yet again, another season. Dianna frowned faintly at the thought. She’d come to dread each season more than the last and was not looking forward to this one in the least. While most women - and even some men - lived for the months between November and May when high society came alive, Dianna positively loathed the endless parade of balls, parties, plays, and luncheons.
She had long ago grown tired of pasting a faux smile on her face and keeping it there from sunup to sundown. She’d grown tired of the whispers. Tired of the stares. Tired of thinking if things had turned out differently, she would be spending the winter tucked away in the country with her husband and their children, a daughter with her blonde curls and a son with his father’s piercing green eyes… “Although all things considered, I should be leaving before Saturday,” she said hastily, earning a raised brow from Charlotte.
“Why on earth would you be in such a rush to get back to London? Surely not to see your parents.”
It was no secret - at least between close family and friends - that the Foxcroft’s were not a loving family. They respected each other, but they’d never understood one another. As though as Dianna remained quiet and well-mannered they left her to her own devices, and she’d stopped expecting them to pay more attention to her than they did their never ending whirlwind of social events long ago.
Placing her half empty teacup on a glass topped coffee table, Dianna stood up and walked to the large bay window overlooking the front lawn. After the storm last night the foliage was lush and vibrant, from the gardens surrounding the manor to the trees lining the stone drive, their leaves caught somewhere between the lingering traces of summer and the bright colors of autumn. She braced her fingers against the sill, pressing until her knuckles turned white. “I am afraid of what will happen if I remain,” she whispered.
“With Radnor, you mean.”
“Yes.”
Dianna could not see Charlotte, but she heard her sigh clearly enough. “If you do not want anything to happen, then do not see him. It is as simple as that. After all, there’s nothing that says you have to. Don’t make it more complicated than it needs to be.”
“But it is complicated,” Dianna cried in a rare display of true emotion as she spun from the window. “It has always been complicated, and I fear it will always be complicated. I loved him Charlotte.”
Her gaze unreadable, Charlotte quietly asked, “Do you love him still?”
“I… I do not know,” Dianna confessed miserably. Shoulders hunching, she sat on the edge of the sill and looked down at her hands. “I don’t want to. But after I saw him at Aunt Abigail’s wedding reception and again last night… My mind is a jumble. I don’t know what to think anymore. It seems as though he has changed, and he says he wants to make amends, but I don’t know if I can trust him with my heart again.”
“Nor should you, until you are absolutely certain his renewed affections for you are nothing less than genuine.” Charlotte toyed absently with a loose curl hanging down behind her ear. “I will say that after speaking with him, I agree with you. He does seem to have changed. For your sake, I hope it is for the better, but only time will tell. Whatever happens, remember there is no rush. You waited for him for four years. He can certainly wait a bit as well.”
Yes, Dianna thought silently, he certainly could.
She may not have known what she felt for Miles, but she did know her feelings would not be clear in a day, or a week, or even a month. Perhaps returning early to London would be best after all. It would give her the space she needed, and enough distractions to keep her mind occupied on something other than Miles Radnor.
When they were young, he had consumed her entire world. Every thought had been of him. Everything she’d done had been for him.
If - and that was a very large, very questionable if - she decided to give him a second chance, it would be on her terms. Miles could be a part of her world, but he would never again be the entire thing.
She wouldn’t allow it.
“Aunt Abigail will be disappointed,” she said, thinking out loud, “but hopefully she will understand why I need to depart early.”
“Of course she will,” Charlotte agreed. “If you’d like, I can even go with you. Without you or Gavin here there would really be no reason for me to stay.”
“Aunt Abigail adores you.”
“As I do her, but there are a hundred and one things that need my attention at Shire House,” she said, referring to the Graystone’s palatial manor in the middle of London. One of the largest private residences in the entire city, it was where she and Gavin spent most of their time, for although they also owned a manor not far from Ashburn, nearly all of Gavin’s business dealings required him to be present and accounted for.
“In that case,” Dianna said, “I would love it if you came with me.”
“Excellent.” Springing to her feet with surprising quickness given the amount of food she’d just devoured, Charlotte clapped her hands together. “Now why don’t you go upstairs for a bit. Get out of those filthy clothes, take a nice hot bath, and a long nap. We’ll have one last dinner with everyone tonight and leave first thing tomorrow morning.”
Accustomed to following her mother’s orders without question, Dianna didn’t bat an eyelash at Charlotte’s, mostly because a hot bath sounded absolutely divine, as did a long nap. “What about you? What will you do?”
“Oh I believe I will stay here and read a bit,” the redhead said airily.
Perhaps if Dianna weren’t so tired and her mind not so preoccupied she would have been able to tell Charlotte was lying through her teeth. As it stood she merely smiled and nodded before slipping out of the solarium and dragging herself up the long staircase one step at a time.
Waiting until Dianna was gone, Charlotte hurried down the hall and into the front drawing room. Finding parchment and a quill inside the drawer of an antique writing desk, she penned a letter quickly and efficiently, scarcely lifting the tip of the quill from the crisp white page. When she was finished - a mere four sentences later - she blew on the ink to dry it, folded the letter into an envelope, and rang for a maid.
When one arrived a few moments later, slightly out of breath and cap askew, she pressed the letter into the girl’s hand and look her squarely in the eye. “I need this to be taken to Winfield with all haste. Do you know where it is?”
“Aye Mrs. Graystone. My little brother works in the stables. He can get it there.”
“Excellent.” Charlotte took a deep breath. “Might I ask your name?”
Looking slightly bewildered by the personal question, the maid said, “Nessa Roberts.”
“Nessa, I have one other request to make of you.” When the maid warily bobbed her head, Charlotte continued, “If anyone asks, I did not see you today and we did not speak.”
“We didn’t?” the maid said uncertainly.
“And you certainly did not deliver a letter to Winfield. Do you understand?”
“I did not deliver a letter to Winfield,” Nessa repeated after a long pause. “Aye. I understand.”
Ignoring the trickle of guilt at the back of her neck, Charlotte smiled and squeezed the maid’s arm. “Thank you ever so much, Nessa. I am in your debt.”
Bemused but obedient, the maid performed a short curtsy before she hastened from the drawing room, leavi
ng Charlotte standing in the middle of it, one hand wrapped around her belly while the other rubbed her chin.
She’d know soon enough if her decision had been a good one.
Now there was nothing to do but wait.
CHAPTER TEN
A handwritten note delivered to Winfield was received at half past one in the afternoon by the butler, who promptly turned it over to a maid, who carried it into the study on a tiny silver tray and left it on the edge of the late Lord Radnor’s massive oak desk.
“For you, my lord,” she said, her gaze flicking to the window where the newly returned Lord Radnor stood looking out across the back fields, his expression shuttered.
“Thank you,” he murmured without turning.
“Is there anything else you would like? Anything else I can… do for you?” the maid asked suggestively. Her name was Arlene, and she’d worked at Winfield for the past six months, first as a scullery maid and most recently as a housemaid. She was a pretty young thing with big doe eyes, thick dark hair, and a not-so-secret yearning for the lord of the manor.
“Nothing at the moment,” Radnor said.
Arlene’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. Handsome devil, she thought longingly, sneaking a glance at his trim backside before she left the study.
A woman of rather loose moral character, Arlene would have gladly indulged in a bit of slap and tickle with her employer, but if he understood her hints (none of which were very subtle) he never let on. Having learned all about him from a gossipy chambermaid when she first began working at Winfield, she knew he had once been engaged to a Miss Dianna Foxcroft. Everyone said the interest between the two had long since waned, but Arlene wasn’t so certain. Having been lovesick enough to recognize the symptoms in another, she knew Radnor was pining for someone.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t for her.
Miles waited until he heard the study door click firmly into place before he went to the desk and picked up the envelope the maid - Ana? Arliss? Arlene? - had left. Frowning when he recognized the Ashburn wax seal on the back, he opened it with a flick of his thumb and quickly scanned the contents, eyebrows rising higher and higher with every word read of the hastily scrawled letter.
I am as shocked as you that I am writing this letter, but I see
no other way. While I still think you are the equivalent of pond scum,
Dianna seems to believe otherwise, even though she refuses
to admit it. Come to dinner tonight and
prove me wrong, Radnor.
C.
(If you hurt her, I will kill you)
Miles reread the letter twice, then a third time just to certain he wasn’t hallucinating before he folded it in half and tucked it away in a drawer. Feeling as though he’d taken an unexpected blow to the solar plexus he stumbled towards the nearest chair and sat down heavily, burrowing his head in his hands.
Dianna had made it back to Ashburn, then. He’d had little doubt that she would, but still he’d worried and would have followed if his horse hadn’t come up lame with a stone bruise.
Before Charlotte’s letter arrived he had been contemplating riding over himself to make certain of Dianna’s safe return but he’d been torn, not wanting to upset her any more than he already had. Now he’d been given a reason to see her. No, not a reason, he corrected with an incredulous shake of his head, an invitation.
Why Charlotte Graystone, of all people, would encourage his presence he didn’t know, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. If she wanted him at dinner, he would bloody well be at dinner. The only question remaining to be answered was if Dianna wanted him there. After the way she’d run from him this morning, Miles rather thought not, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him. If she ran a hundred miles, he would run a hundred and one. It would take time and persistence, but he wouldn’t give up. He couldn’t. Not now. Not ever again.
Wrapping his arms around the womanly curves of her body, breathing in her sweet scent, holding her through the night and into the morning had only served to reaffirm what he already knew. He wanted her. Needed her. Yearned for her. Mind, body, and soul.
As a young man, inexperienced in love and the ways of the world, Miles’ passion for Dianna had ignited quickly, like a hot burst of flame. But a fire that burned too hot needed to be constantly fed, and he’d possessed neither the commitment nor the foresight to keep it going. When his dreams grew bigger than the flame he’d chosen his head over his heart, his thirst for exploration over his responsibilities, and places untraveled over a girl he’d known all of his life.
Miles did not regret leaving. He had needed to see the world with the same desperation a tree in a crowded forest sought the sun. But he did regret the way he left, and the damage he’d done to a young woman who had deserved so much more.
Now the flames of passion were burning anew, but instead of flaring brief and bright they smoldered deep within him, never again to be so thoughtlessly extinguished.
Cupping the back of his neck where the muscles were now stiffened and clenched, Miles surged to his feet and returned to the window he’d been staring out for the past hour, although he no more saw the scenery outside the glass now than he had before. Unbidden, Dianna’s parting words at the cottage suddenly ran through his mind.
You are so busy trying to get to the next thing, you never stop to see what is around you now.
Taking a breath, he closed his eyes. Opened them. And, for the first time in recent memory, allowed himself the time to truly see the world around him.
He saw the way the sunlight filtered down through the branches of a towering oak he’d never noticed before, turning its leaves from a dull orange to a brilliant, fiery red. He saw a rabbit, its brown coat sleek and lush, hop boldly across the lawn, tiny nose quivering as it paused to scent the air before dashing into a thick hedge of flowering rhododendrons. He looked up and witnessed a cloud slowly rolling across the clear blue sky, its fluffy white edges giving it the distinct appearance of a teddy bear he’d once treasured as a young boy.
The simple scenery outside the window was breathtaking, and beautiful, and he felt ashamed that he’d never bothered to notice any of it before this moment. He had done the same with Dianna, he realized with a pained grimace. He’d looked at her, but he’d never seen her. Not for who she truly was, and then not as anything more than an obstacle. Something holding him back from his aspirations. Something holding him back from his dreams.
So he’d blamed her, and in his blame he’d been cruel. In his blame he’d been unjust. And finally, four years after the fact, he was paying the consequences for his actions.
But I see you now, Dianna Foxcroft, he thought silently. I see you for the bright, beautiful, intelligent woman you are. A woman who loves to laugh. A woman who is as content in a grand ballroom as she is sitting in a library with an open book. A woman wise beyond her years. A woman who will do anything for those she loves.
A woman who wanted absolutely nothing to do with him.
Dragging a hand through his hair, Miles turned from the window and crossed the study, the heels of his riding boots echoing on the wooden floor. He could win Dianna back. The spark of attraction was still there, as much as she wanted to deny it. And it wasn’t only him who thought so. Charlotte must have seen it as well, or she never would have invited him for dinner.
He would need to act quickly. In two weeks’ time he would be escorting his mother and Harper to London, where they would take up residence for the entirety of the Season. It was to be his sister’s debut; something that should have happened three years ago when she turned fifteen but had been delayed, first due to his disappearance and then to mourn the passing of their father.
Miles had no designs on living in town for the next six months, but he knew offering his services as chaperone was the least he could do. After all, were it not for him Harper very well could have found a husband and been married by now.
Recalling his sister and Dianna had always got
ten along quite well (both of them close enough in age and temperament to share several common interests) he left his study in search of Harper, and after a half hour spent restlessly roaming the quiet halls of Winfield found her curled up in the library, her nose buried - as it always seemed to be - in a book.
She didn’t look up when he entered, but the tightening at the corners of her mouth and the tiny line of annoyance that appeared between her brows told him she’d noted his appearance and was choosing to ignore him.
Miles couldn’t say he was surprised.
Taking a sweeping glance of the library - while he liked to read, it was a room he rarely visited - he noted the subtle changes that had taken place during his absence. Namely, the amount of books had doubled and the shelves that had once been waist high now reached all the way up to the ceiling. Oversized leather chairs surrounded a dormant fireplace and a long table scattered with loose papers and opened books occupied the center. Tall windows covered with heavy curtains ran the length of one wall, diffusing the natural afternoon light and giving the room a somber air.
Miles’ footsteps were muffled by a thick green and gold rug with tasseled edges as he strode purposefully across the library and began to pull back the curtains one at a time, flooding the room with sun and forcing Harper to finally acknowledge his presence.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, closing her book with a hard snap.
Waiting until he’d secured the final curtain to reply, Miles turned to face her and said, “You need light to read, otherwise you’ll go blind.”
Harper’s eyes - the same dark, woodsy green as his own - narrowed to slits. “What do you care if I go blind or not?”
“And have to watch after you for the rest of my life to make sure you don’t go bumping into a table or stepping off the edge of a cliff?” Sinking into a leather chair opposite her own, he crossed his legs at the knee and stretched back. “I think not.”
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