Page 42 of Lady Diana's Lost Lord
Shehad been lucky only to witness it, she thought. Their easy affection was a balm to that part of her heart that had been wounded so long ago, and which had never quite healed. Even if she was not truly a part of it, still she would hoard those memories when she left.
Perhaps they would stave off the loneliness, at least a little.
∞∞∞
“Papa, did you know that Diana didn’t have a very good papa?” Hannah asked as she clambered onto her bed, fluffing the skirts of her nightdress about her knees.
“Hm,” Ben said, as he settled into the chair at her bedside. The legs wobbled just a bit upon the uneven floorboards, and he pressed his feet flat to the floor to steady himself. “I don’t remember him well,” he said. “But it doesn’t surprise me.” Not with what Diana had told him—and not with those few memories he still possessed. He’d been just a child on the rare occasions he’d met the man, but the picture that formed in his mind was of a stern, disapproving sort of man, with more of a propensity toward sneering than smiling.
“Did you know him?” Hannah asked, instantly interested. She flopped onto her back and shoved her legs beneath her tattered quilt, drawing it up to her chin.
“Briefly,” he said. “When I was about your age. Perhaps a little older.”
“And you knew Diana too?”
“Also briefly,” he said, with a chuckle at Hannah’s wide eyes.
“What was she like?”
“Rather quiet,” he said. At least whenever her father had been present. “Mostly well-behaved—although she had an excellent right hook.” He rubbed his chin. “She planted me a facer, once, for pulling her plait.”
“That wasn’t very nice of you,” Hannah said severely, turning a truculent frown upon him.
“Yes, well, it wasn’t very nice ofher, either,” Ben said, and tweaked Hannah’s nose.
Hannah rubbed the spot and stuck her tongue out at him. “Didn’t you like each other?”
“Not really,” he said. “Though I suppose we had got off on the wrong foot to start with.” And with that squint, he’d been certain that Diana had hated him, besides. “You see, our fathers had contrived to marry us off when we were only children. I don’t think either of us was particularly pleased by the arrangement.”
Hannah’s nose scrunched in confusion. “Why?” she inquired.
“Because my father needed money, and Diana’s father had a great deal of it.” Ben scooted his chair a little closer to the bed. “That’s just how it’s done in certain circles. Such arrangements aren’t generally made for children quite so young as we were, but if a man is in need of money, he might offer marriage to a lady with a significant dowry.” Or sell his son into the same. “Or a lady with a great deal of money might seek to marry a man with a title, if she fancies calling herself a countess or a marchioness, or even a duchess.” Though the availability of dukes in any given Season was a rare thing.
“That’s stupid,” Hannah said.
“I quite agree,” Ben replied. “That’s why Diana came here—to break off our engagement.” At least Hannah would never have to worry about fortune hunters currying favor to take possession of her dowry.
Hannah plucked at the pilling on her quilt, her brows knitting. “But you like each other now, don’t you?” she asked. “Couldn’t you get married?”
Ben heaved a sigh, scraping one hand over his face. “Sweetheart, it’s not that simple,” he said. “Even if Diana wanted to marry me—which she does not—I cannot support her in the manner to which she is accustomed. The whole of her life is in London, and she would have to leave it behind for, at best, a very small house in a town quite far away. The money her father paid to mine is already spent, and she wouldn’t even have a title for her pains.” Well, shewould, in theory—but not in practice, since he hadn’t used his in years. The better to remain largely anonymous.
“But we couldask—”
“Hannah,” he said. “Diana has been very kind to both of us. Much kinder than she ever had to be. And while we will miss her when she returns to London”—more, perhaps, than he could adequately express—“we must do her the kindness of letting her find her own happiness.” He tucked the quilt around her shoulders. “Would you be very happy,” he asked, “if you could never see me again?”
“No,” Hannah said. “But—”
“That is what we would be asking of Diana,” he said. “Never to see her brothers or her sister-in-law or her nephew. Never to see her friends. Never to write to them or invite them to visit.” It would be so easy for word to get back to his father. For Hannah’s sake, they could not take that chance. Hannah would be safest as the daughter of plain Mr. Gillingham—but plain Mr. Gillingham could never wed Lady Diana Beaumont, the daughter of a marquess. “Do you understand?”
“I suppose,” Hannah said in a small voice, with the tiniest quiver of her chin. “It’s just that I want her to stay,” she said. “I thought maybe she would want to be my mama, if we asked her.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Ben bent to press a kiss to her forehead. “She’d be such a good one,” he acknowledged. He had little doubt that she would love Hannah every bit as much as he did. But they could never ask that of her.Hecould never be responsible for the unhappiness she would inevitably find with them. “But we want her to be happy, don’t we?”
Hannah gave a small nod, shifting closer to him and stretching out herhand to grasp his. “I wish we could all be happy together,” she said.
“So do I,” he admitted, pitching his voice low. “But we will be happy, won’t we?” He tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “Now. Let’s have a story before bed.”
∞∞∞
