Page 15 of Lady Diana's Lost Lord
Bending carefully, Diana slid her fingers into the silky mud, scooped up a fair-sized glob of it within the clasp of her palm, and hurled it with all of her might.
Splat.
Hannah shrieked, climbing to her feet as the lump of mud connected with the back of her head, saturating her blond hair with a thick layer of it. Her shocked eyes fell upon Diana, and she gawped like a freshly-caught fish, her mouth opening and closing in abject horror.
“You—you—you’remean!” Hannah cried, fisting her small hands at her sides. “You can’t throw mud at me!”
“Whyever not?Youthrew flour atme.”
If looks might have killed, Diana surely would have spontaneously burst into flames. “Isaidsorry!”
“Very well. I’m sorry, too.” The flat phrasing held about as much true contrition as Hannah’s apology had managed.
With a wild little cry, the child dived for the closest puddle, her small hands working furiously to collect as much as she could. Diana ducked away from the missile Hannah lobbed in her direction, wordlessly bending toscrape up a fresh lump as she did. She let it fly with a queer sense of delight.
Smack. It splattered with satisfying accuracy right against Hannah’s chest, eliciting another sharp screech. “Stop it!” the girl shouted. “I’m telling Papa!”
“You’re covered in mud already,” Diana observed. “What’s a little more when added to the rest?” Another throw; another successful strike. Hannah’s attempt fell far short, and Diana watched it land a full six inches before the toe of her boot with a disdainful laugh.
“It’s not fair!” Hannah shrieked. Her face was covered in flecks of mud, but the heat of her livid flush shone through beneath it. “It’s not fair, it’s not—”
“Do you want to know why I’m going to win, Hannah?” Diana asked, rubbing her hands together to wipe the mud free of her fingers.
Hannah paused, her fingers flexing. Her chest rose and fell with every frenetic breath. But her shoulders moved in a small, inquiring gesture, her head canted ever so slightly to the right.
“Because I am taller, faster, stronger, and smarter than you,” Diana said.
Hannah gave a tiny jerk of her chin. “I’ll grow,” she said, and it sounded like a threat, however childishly issued.
Diana laughed. “Not nearly fast enough,” she said. “You don’t have to like me. But I’m not so faint of heart that I can be so easily gotten rid of. You’ll find I’m quite determined in that respect.” She folded her arms across her chest and lifted her chin. “I’m certain you can be pleasant when it suits you to be,” she added. “I would recommend scraping up a bit of pleasantness for me. Because if you choose to turn every moment into a battle, make no mistake—I will fight back, and I willwin. Do we understand one another?”
Hannah’s eyes narrowed into mere slits. Her little shoulders set themselves with a sort of firm resolution more suited to a seasoned general than a little girl of eight years.
The skirmish might have been lost, but Diana knew that she would be a fool to think the child considered herself beaten. This was merely the opening volley.
∞∞∞
Ben’s brows lifted as Diana marched back inside the house, dragging Hannah along by the collar of her dress. “What the hell happened?”
“She threw mud at me!” Hannah accused, jabbing a finger at Diana as she dug in her heels. “Make her leave, Papa!”
“A bath,” Diana said, face arranged in the studiously serene expression of the consummate lady. But her free hand was, in fact, caked in drying mud. “Immediately.”
She hadn’tactuallyengaged in such a juvenile past time. Had she?
Something of his befuddlement must have shown on his face, for she said in a crisp, clear intonation. “Today’s lesson is knowing when you’ve been beaten and surrendering with good grace.” Her fist tightened in the collar of Hannah’s dress as his daughter wriggled within her grasp. “Hannah is struggling with that last bit.”
Ben issued a single, stunned bark of laughter.
“Papa!” Hannah wailed piteously. Tears trembled upon her long lashes, and her lower lip quivered. Her arms stretched out to him as far as the pinch of her collar would allow, pleading for rescue.
Diana lifted her chin. “Abath,” she repeated. “If one chooses to splash about in mud puddles, then one must accept the consequences thereof. Something tells me that Hannah has experienced precious few consequences of late.”
Orever, he guessed that the slight narrowing of her eyes was meant to imply, and it was…true enough, he supposed. He knew, in an abstract sort of way, that he had the tendency, perhaps, to overindulge Hannah. It was just that he had had so little time with her, it had seemed senseless to spend it in recriminations and punishments—even if her behavior might have merited more than a few.
But by the unyielding set of Diana’s chin, he suspected that she thought he’d done his daughter no favors in that—nor, in fact, himself. She had, after all, thrust the lot of them into this predicament. He couldn’t havepaidanyone in the village to mind her at present.
Ben cleared his throat and met Diana’s stern gaze. “The water is heating,” he said. “I’ll bring it up shortly.”
