Could she sense it, too?
Ernest’s heart beat quicker, like a rabbit’s. He had the sudden, urgent desire to thrust himself toward her, to kiss those perfect, supple lips. She gazed at him as though he was the only creature in the world, her stronghold, her only friend. How he yearned for that to be so!
It seemed impossible that they wouldn’t kiss.
Now, the rest of the family had retreated into the house, leaving Ernest and Diana in the shadows of the garden, in the lingering, late-spring evening. He squeezed her hand a bit harder, willing himself to do it—to press forward. To get the thing he yearned for more than anything else in the world.
But just before he made the move, she unlinked her hand, allowing it to drop to her side. Her black curls wafted through the wind. They held one another’s gaze for a long moment, and then she strode forward, passing him. When she reached the gate to the garden, she hustled into a run, her little feet scampering across the garden path. Of course, this much adrenaline caused her to burst into her now-familiar round of coughs, causing her to falter to the side. Immediately, Ernest rushed to her, drawing his hand across the softness of her back. He heard his words, not fully recognizing them as his own.
“Shhh. It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m sorry. It’s okay.”
Chapter 7
Once again, Diana stretched herself back onto the pillows, gazing up at the ornate chandelier above the bed. Her skin tingled with memory of Ernest’s touch. When they’d been alone in the garden—a far cry from anything proper, although she supposed she and Ernest were far from the bounds of propriety as it was—she’d thought surely Ernest was going to kiss her.
Knowing what she now knew about his fiancée, Lady Grace Bragg—a woman her aunt termed to be quite beautiful, quite regal—Diana knew that she couldn’t allow this to occur. Thusly, she’d dropped her hand, causing her heart to clench in pain.
Dinner had been another grand affair, with Ernest requesting all his cook’s finest recipes. He’d cited that he wanted the Harringtons to have the utmost of comfort throughout their stay. Of course, her father had insisted that they could eat toast and beans for the remainder of their time at the estate, without complaint. Throughout dinner, Diana had grown increasingly fond of Ernest’s younger sister, finding her eager to make a quick joke, to cite a literary journal she’d recently read, or just pick and prod at her brother in a manner that put Diana in stitches of laughter.
At the base of this laughter was the memory of her own sister, squabbling with her at dinnertime until her mother all-out screeched with annoyance. Throughout this display, Diana and her father exchanged glances, seemingly holding onto the same recollections. How funny it was to feel ghosts beyond the walls of their own home.
Throughout the night, Diana tossed and turned, falling in and out of strange images of the fire, and of her sister’s and her mother’s deaths. At various times she awoke, stuffing her pillow across her mouth to cry into it. There didn’t seem to be a reprieve from the chaos between her ears. She prayed that she would one day find solace.
The next morning, there was a creak at her door. Flustered, in the midst of a half-dream, Diana yanked herself from her pillow and blinked at the crack in the door. “Who is it?” she asked, her voice far harsher than she’d planned.
Rose appeared in the crack, bright-eyed and eager. She bounded toward Diana’s bed and brought her feet across the mattress. In a split-second, she leaped up, making the mattress quake. Diana burst into laughter, stretching her palms across her belly.
“What on earth are you doing, sweet girl!” she cried.
Rose plopped on her bottom, then crossed her legs in front of her. She peered at Diana through narrowed eyes.
“I’ve always wanted a sister,” Rose said—words that Diana had certainly not expected.
“Is that so?” Diana asked, giving Rose a smirk. “Sisters can be quite difficult. Yes, I lost mine when I was rather young—but I still remember it. She would steal my dolls.”
“I’m far too old for dolls these days,” Rose said, sounding almost as though she was lying, as though she missed the days of doll-playing and found it to be a sensitive subject. “But I wouldn’t mind a sister like you.”
“I wouldn’t mind a friend,” Diana replied, arching her brow playfully. “Perhaps you could give me a sense for how things work around here. I haven’t spent much time outside of my own estate—well, ever. The rules could be far different.”
Rose sputtered. “There aren’t any rules here. My brother hasn’t a clue what he’s doing.” She leaned closer, her face growing mischievous. “But I think he might have a bit of a crush on you.”
Diana tossed her eyes back. As she was quite certain Rose hadn’t witnessed what had occurred the previous evening in the garden, she sensed she could fully stride through this lie without problem. “That’s ridiculous, Rose. Although I find Ernest to be quite lovely and brave—he is the very reason I’m alive, you know—I consider him far more a friend than anything else. Besides. He has this fiancée.”
“Oh, yes. The fiancée,” Rose echoed, her voice mocking.
There was the clattering of kitchen pots and pans downstairs. Like the weather, the smell of toast and smoked sausages swirled up from the ground floor, filling the air like smoke. Rose’s stomach grumbled. Diana lent her a wry smile, saying, “I suppose that means we should go downstairs? Your body seems to think so, at least.”
Rose hobbled back to her bedroom to dress, leaving Diana alone with her own whirlwind thoughts. She dipped her legs into her dress and then stitched it up the back, making a mental note to request that they head into the shopping area of Bond Street to purchase a better selection of gowns. This one would do for a second day, absolutely—but a third? She simply couldn’t live with it.
Or, she couldn’t live with the earl knowing that she didn’t care for such things. She had to be a proper lady, in a sense. Otherwise, he would dismiss her as messy, chaotic, muddled.
After breakfast, Ernest requested that the five of them go for a jaunt through the estate grounds. Throughout the meal, he’d avoided eye contact with Diana, and continued to do just that, directing his words toward her father. For this, Diana was grateful, as she felt the intensity of his gaze forbade her from focusing on anything else. As such, she continued to eat her eggs, to grow her strength.
Lord Harrington agreed to the walk through the estate grounds on the condition that he could rest afterwards, as he was no longer as spry as he once was. Diana had the sudden urge to tell her father that it was unnecessary to continually remind Ernest of this fact—that she felt sure Ernest would remember everything from the very basic to the very unique facets of their personalities. She kept her lips together.
Once outside, Diana felt an arm slip through hers and turned quickly to find the bubbling form of Rose beside her. “Shall we walk together, Diana?” she asked, batting those long lashes.
Once she began courting, Diana had a feeling Rose would have no problem ruling whichever man she put her eye on.
“Of course, darling,” Diana agreed, adjusting her arm. “You are always such a spritely thing, aren’t you? Always ready for whatever’s next.”
Rose shrugged slightly, turning her attention to her brother, Diana’s father, and Aunt Renata. “I don’t know if you heard at breakfast, but we’re expecting Lady Grace Bragg for dinner this evening.”
The words infected Diana’s stomach. Whatever she’d munched on for breakfast felt suddenly sloppy and gurgly, like something that belonged on the floor of the horse stables. Rose seemed to pick up on this fact, as her smile only grew.
“I knew it,” she muttered.
“What? What could you possibly mean by such a thing,” Diana asked, her voice far too high-pitched.
“You know precisely what I mean,” Rose said, her voice low. She yanked Diana a bit further back, drawing a bigger distance between them and the three others. “Listen. I know you think that my brother is in love with hi
s fiancée—”
“That would be a perfectly reasonable thing to think, wouldn’t it?” Diana interjected.
“Perhaps if you lived in a different world,” Rose continued. “But in this world, my dear brother hasn’t a single powerful feeling toward Lady Grace Bragg—except, perhaps, resentment. You see, our father always had this idea that Ernest would marry Grace. She’s the daughter of our father’s best friend, Lord Bragg. While I do believe Lord Bragg to be a quite stellar figure—certainly, he gives wonderful birthday presents—I don’t believe his daughter to have the same flair. Rather, she’s entirely shallow. She’s dull. She never picks up on my jokes—whilst I know you to see my jokes plainly, immediately, and to laugh just-so in the moment.”
“I didn’t realize that Lady Bragg’s lack of laughter made her such a villain,” Diana pointed out, giving Rose a smile.
Rose sensed she was kidding. “See? You already pick up on it. Whilst Grace? When I’m poking fun at her, she just stares at me, waiting for me to stop speaking. She hears only noise.”
“I’m sure she can’t be so bad…” Diana tried, hearing the doubt in her own voice.
“She truly is,” Rose continued. “And to make matters worse, I don’t think my brother truly understands what it means to be in love. He’s never allowed himself any interest in women, as he always sensed this would be his fate.”
“You speak of this marriage as though it’s a death sentence,” said Diana.
Rose gave her an ominous look. “If I’m unable to stop this marriage, I know my brother will die a very, very unhappy man. I simply cannot live with that. He’s already been a shell of his previous self in the wake of our father’s death.”
Diana fell silent, as did Rose. They crept closer toward the others, listening in on their conversation as Ernest described the various gardens, the stables, the yonder woods. Diana knew that these woods linked up with the ones that lurked beyond her burnt-down mansion, the very ones in which her sister had met her end.
With this fresh information regarding the earl, however, Diana felt her opinion of him shifting. She gazed at the width of his back, at the way he shifted his head to speak with her father and aunt. His tone was firm yet interested, without any of the arrogance she was accustomed to hearing with men of such titles.
So, Ernest wasn’t some mindless seducer, a man willing to tear past his own engagement to sleep with whatever body he found in his presence. Rather, perhaps he, too, felt the undeniable electricity between them. Perhaps he felt it beyond the limitations of his own situation.
How wretched for Ernest. His attempts to honour his father’s wishes had led him to this shallow, dull woman—all Rose’s words, not Diana’s. Diana told herself to wait for the hours ahead, to craft space in her mind to find Lady Grace Bragg to be entirely pleasant, even warm and interesting. Rose was only 15 years old, after all. Although Diana knew her to be an excellent humourist, a marvellous creature—and certainly on her way to becoming a remarkable woman—there was surely so much of the world she didn’t yet understand.
But now, as she marched behind the earl, he turned around spontaneously, his eyes enormous. He gazed at Diana with such tenderness that her cheeks immediately felt flushed. She bowed her head quickly, squeezing Rose’s arm a bit too tight as they walked.
“See?” Rose muttered, seemingly unwilling and unable to miss a single beat. “I told you. He’s absolutely smitten with you.”
“There’s very little to be done about it, even if it was true,” Diana whispered, squeezing Rose’s arm still tighter. She felt she might tilt to the ground without her. “I’m only grateful for his warmth and generosity. How could I ask for anything else?”
Chapter 8
Ernest admired the ease with which Diana took to Rose. Admittedly, Rose could be a difficult person to know, as she had impossibly high standards, and took these standards to heart. He sensed that she could manipulate people, if she wanted to, which gave him increasing alarm for the coming years of her courting. Of course, by then, he would surely have three or four kids to tout about, along with a wife to nag him—on top of an immense, life-long career as an earl.
These thoughts chilled him. He grew sombre for a moment, plodding toward the outer cropping of trees beyond the main gardens. Lord Harrington entered the ring with a story about the gardens he and his wife had planted when they’d first been married—one that filled Ernest’s heart with increased sorrow.
Although it was wretched that Lord Harrington’s wife was now deceased, at least he’d made those now-glittering memories. He’d shared something enormously special with someone. No one could take that away from him.
Throughout this meditative moment, Ernest wasn’t fully aware that he was leading his crew toward an enormous, beautiful tree at the edge of the forest. Throughout his youth, he’d often clambered up this very tree, if only to peer back at his house and attempt to “spy” on his father and mother, prior to her death. He blinked up at it, almost hearing the echoes of his own childhood hollers.
“My goodness, what a beautiful tree,” Diana remarked, her voice a half-whisper. She crept up beside Ernest.
The energy of her gravitated toward him, making his throat tight. Of course, Diana had seen the beauty in something he’d always held close to his heart. When he and Grace had once taken a stroll past this very tree, she’d been in the midst of a complaint-session regarding her brand-new shoes, and how they tore through her toes. At that moment, Ernest had gazed up at the tree, marvelling at how quickly time could pass—and how terrible the current timeframe tasted in his mouth.
“I would surely like to climb it now,” Diana continued. She drew her finger across her lips, as though she was attempting to shush herself.
“I did the same as a boy,” Ernest returned, ensuring that he kept his eyes toward the tree. “It was remarkable, seeing the entire estate from up on that fifth branch. Of course, my mother almost murdered me when she caught me doing it one day. So high up in the tree, and only nine years old. I was a bit reckless as a child.”
“As was I,” breathed Diana.
“I would say that you still are,” Ernest countered. He swallowed, trying to rebound from this moment of intense truth, and continued, “I reckon that you could get up to that first branch whilst still maintaining your dignity. Why don’t I help you?”
The words fled his lips before he could catch them. Diana hopped a bit on the tips of her toes, her cheeks curving with her smile. Pleasing her in this way felt like something he wanted to do for the rest of his life. Ernest swept his palm outward, dropping his chin, asking her to take it. This felt enormous, almost like a marriage proposal. Put your trust in me, Diana. I will help you to the top, he seemed to say.
Diana chuckled, drawing her hand across his palm. It seemed that, in the humour of the moment, she’d forgotten how much she’d tried and tried to avoid him that day. He’d sensed it completely, noting how her eyes diverted from his the moment he turned his head. How he wished he could blurt out how little he cared for Grace! How he wished he could demand that they speak in hushed whispers in the woods and reveal the inner workings of their souls.
This was strange. This was something else.
But, as Diana giggled, Lord Harrington cleared his throat. When he spoke, his tone was menacing. “Diana, I wish you wouldn’t.”
Immediately, she seemed to remember herself. She dropped her hand to her side once more, leaving a sad, chilly feeling across Ernest’s palm. He turned to see Lord Harrington pale, his skin nearly green. His chin crunched back and forth, making his teeth grind.
“I absolutely forbid it,” he continued. “Please, Diana. Remember what happened to your sister. Remember how much we’ve already lost.”
Diana’s own face grew flushed. She took a slight step back, pulling her chin toward her chest. “I’m terribly sorry, Father,” she whispered. “I simply wasn’t thinking.” She drew a finger across the bottom of her nose, then turned back toward Rose. “Per
haps it’s best we continue walking.”
A Seductive Lady Rescued From Flames (Historical Regency Romance) Page 7