Page 24 of Lady Diana's Lost Lord
“Hannah read to me this evening,” he said as he settled into his chair and splashed the dregs of the tea within his cup. “Sheread tome. From a book of nursery rhymes.”
“Ah,” Diana said, with a little laugh over the rim of her cup. “I’m afraid she didn’t. She’s got them memorized.” The tea in her cup had grown tepid, but she sipped at it anyway. “But she’s a clever child; she can already sound out some of the more complicated words. It won’t be long until she’s reading in earnest.”
“And doing sums.”
“She’s not quite so proficient at anything beyond simple addition,” Diana said. “But she will learn.” She braced her elbows upon the table, a flagrant violation of etiquette—but there were no little eyes to witness it, and she doubted very much that Ben, who had stretched out his legs beneath the table and crossed them at the ankles, would chide her for it.
“Where did you find the book?” he asked. “The nursery rhymes, I mean. We haven’t got any books.”
“In the village.” It had been tucked away in a dusty corner of a shop. Probably it had been there for years. Books were generally an expensive indulgence—too expensive for the average person to buy. Especially when many could hardly read anything beyond a few simple words themselves. But then, the price of it had not been so very dear, since there was little need for itwithin so small a village. “It wanted only a shilling.”
Still, a shilling had been beyond his meager resources. Nursery rhymes were a bit too juvenile, perhaps, for a child of Hannah’s age, but it had been the only book suitable for a child readily available.
Ben brought his cup to his lips. “I tell her bedtime stories,” he said. “She’s never had a book before now. She was delighted to show it to me.” A rueful shake of his head. “Somehow, I am going to have to find a way to keep her supplied with books.”
“A circulating library, perhaps,” Diana suggested. Still quite an expense, but less so than the outright purchase of books. She finished the last of her tea and wrapped her hands around the empty cup. “What will you do,” she asked, “when your finances have recovered themselves?”
Briefly his dark eyes closed, and he tipped his head back as if summoning to mind a dream, a brilliant fantasy. “Buy a cottage somewhere,” he said. “Somewhere quiet. By the sea, perhaps. In a small town, where we can live peacefully. Where Hannah can have a proper education, and we can live a simple life. Be a part of a community.”
Acommunity; notsociety. Hesitantly, she inquired, “And…when your father passes on?”
Ben lifted one hand and rubbed his forehead. “That’s a long time yet,” he said. “The old bastard has probably got another twenty years in him at least.” He took a deep drink of his tea, a muscle working in his jaw as if he’d had to chew it. “And when he does, well—if by some miracle he hasn’t completely bankrupted the estate, surely there’s a cousin somewhere to inherit it. Or it could well enough go into abeyance. I really don’t care.”
“You would have to be declared dead for anyone else to inherit.”
Those dark eyes sheared to hers. “I was dead to my father the moment I told him I had a child. I’ll not complain if some distant cousin wants to make it legal.”
But that would mean he could never return to London, even if someday he wished to. And everything to which he—and Hannah—were rightfully entitled would be lost to them forever.
What a sad circumstance for all of them.
“We’ll have a good life,” he said in a voice half-wistful. “Justoneproper vein will see us to security.”
Diana’s brows lifted. “I beg your pardon?”
“Mining. It’s what I do.” A tiny lift of his shoulders.
Mining? “For…coal? Diamonds?”
“Graphite.” He gave a little nod to indicate the pencil still laid out upon the table. “The best graphite in the world comes from around here,” he said. “It’s very fine, very pure, and extremely valuable. Not long ago, the majority of it went to the war efforts. Most of the larger mines have been stripped of their deposits, but there’s still a few producing. Often small amounts, not worth the effort for a large mining operations. But enough for us.”
“You…mine graphite.” For pencil lead?
“I purchased the right to work a small mine. I got it for a song, because the previous owner thought he’d stripped it all bare. And mostly he had.” Another small shrug. “Graphite forms fairly close to the surface, generally in short-lived veins and small pockets. It makes it a time-consuming effort to mine, for little reward a good portion of the time.”
“Then why continue to do it?”
“Because even a very small vein could be worth thousands of pounds,” he said. “Enough to set us up comfortably for life. And I’ve found evidence of one nearby. Pockets of graphite that, in themselves, have been enough to tide us over for a month or better each time.” He blew out a breath. “The profit—even from a small vein, mind you—if properly invested, could see us to an income of two hundred pounds per annum at least. Enough to settle somewhere.”
In a small town by the sea. A peaceful life. A life that belonged to only the two of them. And once he had found his vein, the two of them would have it.
Onlythe two of them. Of course. Their finances would be secure enough that he would never have to leave Hannah to the care of another again. Their engagement would be formally broken. She would be free, and they—
They would forget all about her. Hannah was so young still; probably it would be only a matter of months before Diana became nothing but a vague, distant memory.
It shouldn’t have made her feel so sad. This had always been meant to be a temporary arrangement. Her life was in London. What there was of it, anyway. And once their engagement had been formally dissolved, then—her life could be anywhere at all.
Perhaps even in a small town somewhere by the sea.
