Page 47 of Lady Diana's Lost Lord
“My father,” she said, “couldn’t even love me at my best. There was a time that I knew it to be my fault. And, oh, God, ithurt.” The woeful little laugh that trickled up her throat tore at his heart. “I might well have gone the rest of my life being so very certain of it. But I was wrong, and you—both of you—showed that to me. What a father ought to be. That it was never my fault that my father couldn’t be what I needed him to be.”
No, of course it hadn’t been. But she had learned a harsh lesson too early, and had taken her father’s failings as her own. He had been so wrong to suppose that she might have grown taken with Hannah’s current pleasant disposition, that that very esteem would fade at the first sign of discord. In fact it would only strengthen, for that very discord would represent a little girl who had notbeen cowed into unerring submission.
Hannah had never had toearnhis love. But Diana, he thought, had had to learn that for herself. That she had deserved it every bit as much as Hannah.
“I’m grateful to you,” she said. “To both of you. For showing me all that I didn’t know. Perhaps it will always hurt, at least a little, to never have had it for myself. But I think—I think now I can let it go. Those last little bits of him, I mean. The ones I’ve held onto all these years, which I should have exorcised long ago. The ones that have always prevented me from doing as I please or saying what I please or behaving as I please. He is gone, and I—I have been so weak. Still seeking approval from a man who can never give it, when all that matters is my own.”
“For God’s sake, don’t be grateful.” How could she be, when it was he who owed her every bit of gratitude? When he had all but stolen her away from her family, away from her life, to take advantage of her better nature for his own benefit.
“I know,” she said softly, “that this is only temporary. But I have been so happy here. With you. With Hannah. I wish—”
“Don’t.” Christ, she was going to claw his heart clean out of his chest with only a few well-chosen words. “Don’t. Please.”
“I wish it didn’t have to end.” She took a trembling breath, and gave a brisk nod. “There,” she said firmly. “That’s as maudlin as I can bear to be for the moment. There will be time enough for that later.”
Yes, Ben thought, scrubbing one hand across his eyes, which had begun to sting. Years and years of time. Stuck upon the other side of that spindly bridge that would forever separate them, staring ceaselessly toward the opposite bank. Wishing for a raft, a ferryman, even a slowing of the river’s current.
“So I am staying,” she said, as she rose to her feet, her peach-hued skirts swishing delicately about her ankles. “Until such a time as you and Hannah must leave. And when we part, I will allow myself to grieve you both. But until then—I am going to be happy. Likely,” she said, “the happiest I will ever be again.”
Probably it was madness, to humor such an assertion. She would end up breaking her own heart upon them, and he didn’t know how he was meant to live with the guilt of it. But he hadn’t the strength to pit against her own. He hadn’t the heart to snatch what happiness she would claim from her fingers, when he had nothing else to offer her in exchange.
And instead he could only watch as she slipped out the kitchen door and stepped lightly across the grassy lawn—only to frolic across it with Hannah, joyously squishing their bare toes in the mud.
∞∞∞
The afternoon sun grazed Diana’s face as she floated on the surface of the pond. Somewhere nearby, Hannah kicked through the water, creating a strong series of ripples that bounced Diana about, on a lazy course toward the eastern bank.
They had both gotten more than a little muddy. It was the sort of play she had never indulged in as a child, but there was something thrilling to the child who still lingered somewhere in her heart to feel the squish of mud between her toes and to splash in puddles despite the ruin it had made of her dress. The day had been warm, and the heat of the sun had dried up the muddiest parts shortly after noon, and they had both been too filthy even to consider stepping foot in the house.
Instead they had raced one another through the thin stretch of woods tothe bank of the pond. Hannah had beaten her there by a few fractions of a second, with a flying leap straight into the center that had sent a wave of water careening toward the edge.
Another memory to be stitched within her heart. Her fingers pruned as they splashed about in the cool, clear waters. She’d expected leeches or worse to be residing within the pond, but had yet to glimpse even one. Though there was silt in places that could be disturbed with too much kicking, in the places where it had settled, she could see straight through the water to the very bottom of the pond.
Hannah spat a mouthful of water at her. Diana retaliated with a sweep of her arm, sending a wave of water toward the little girl, who shrieked with laughter and dove beneath the surface.
She really did swim like a fish. Probably she and Ben had spent more than a few hours crawling in and out of whatever water source they could find, to have produced such agility in the water. The thought lightened her heart just a little, and she hoped—she hoped that in their little town by the sea, they would swim just like this. At least, she would imagine it to be so.
Probably she would imagine quite a lot. Hannah growing into a young woman, joyfully reading the books that Diana had left to her. Stitching samplers and handkerchiefs and perhaps adding little touches of lace to the sleeves of her gowns, or bands of ribbon at the waists. Ben living the quiet, modest life of a country gentleman, watching his daughter grow into a woman, a wife, a mother.
They would be happy. She believed that with all of her heart.
A splash somewhere over her left shoulder. Diana tilted her head, peering through the water spots on her spectacles to where Hannah hovered, kicking her legs to stay afloat.
“Why do you have to go?” Hannah asked, swiping a few wet tendrils of blond hair away from her face. “Couldn’t you stay with us?”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Diana said, and turned to face the girl, balancing on her toes in the depths of the pond. “I would love that. Really, I would.” She held out her arms, and Hannah came swimming into them, wrapping her chilly arms about Diana’s neck. The ripples of water rocked them like a cradle. “But it’s not what’s best for you. Your papa knows that,” she said. “You’ll understand better when you’re a bit older.” She hoped that much was true.
“But will I get to see you again?” Hannah mumbled the question against her throat.
“I hope so,” Diana said. Perhaps there would be a time not too distant,when she had taken her leave of society as a woman of appropriate age, and she could move about more freely that she might otherwise. A time when she could travel, and no one would wonder at her absence. “Oh, I do hope so.”
Perhaps, in a few years or so, those travels would take her to a quiet seaside town for a summer holiday.
Was it better to hope instead that she had been only a temporary friend to a little girl in need of one? That when they had found their permanent home, Hannah would find a community of her own, with playmates enough that eventually the woman who had so briefly shared her home would be naught but a distant memory?
Hannah heaved a sigh, her breath a puff of warmth against Diana’s left shoulder. “If you came with us,” she said, “I wouldn’t have to miss you.”
“I don’t want to have to miss you, either,” Diana said. “But when I do, I shall have the handkerchief you’ve made for me. And I will hold it in my hands, and think about how very much I”—she took a breath and pressed a kiss to the top of Hannah’s head—“how very much I care for you.”
