Page 56 of Lady Diana's Lost Lord
But not a farewell. Not yet.
“I see.” She dipped her fingers back into the jar of soap, rubbed the dollop between her palms, and scraped her fingers through his hair, which elicited a fresh groan. “What a pity. I would have liked the opportunity to have you repay me for this.”
“Oh, I will,” he said, determination saturating his voice. “Tomorrow evening. I’m afraid I’ve ruined the water for you tonight. It would hardly be a pleasant experience for you.”
“Best not to make promises,” she said, her nails raking across his scalp.
“This one I can make.” Reaching behind him, he caught one of her wrists in his. “We will have tomorrow evening. Even if—even if tomorrow istheday, I am promising it to you now.”
Possibly the only promise he would ever be able to give to her. “All right. But if you are making me that promise, you had bestkeepit.”
He pulled her hand to his mouth and laid a tender kiss right upon the pulse point in her wrist. “I would promise you all of my tomorrows, if I could give them to you.”
But he couldn’t. He couldn’t, and there was no sense in speaking those words, when it would only make the both of them sad. “I have not asked for them,” she said, though her voice trembled just slightly over the words. But she might have done, had she been a just a little weaker. They had made her stronger, he and Hannah. Strong enough not to ask for something she knewshe could not have. Strong enough to survive them—or, at least, strong enough to continue on without them.
“No,” he said against her wrist. “You ask for so little, Diana. When you are worth so much more than I could ever give you.”
“I have no regrets.” Gently she pried her arm free of his grip and used the remainder of the clean water to wash the soap from his hair. “I won’t have them, even when I am old and grey.” And alone. And so lonely. “It would be terribly selfish of me to ask more than this.” Returning to London would be stepping into a life that no longer fit her—or, rather, one in which she no longer fit. And always,alwaysthere would be an absence within it: two vacant spaces beside her that could only be filled by him, by Hannah. It wouldn’t be aregret. But it would be a loss all the same. Something essential torn from her heart.
He grabbed the length of toweling that dangled from her outstretched fingers and scrubbed at his hair as he rose from the washing tub at last, notably less grimy than when he’d entered. The pleasant minty scent of the soap clung to his skin, and he busked away the droplets of water that clung to him still. “You deserve every happiness,” he said as he stepped out of the washing tub and bent to dry his legs.
“Yes,” she said, admiring the way the candlelight played over his skin in little flickers of gold. “I do.” She slipped out of her wrapper, tossed it atop the dresser in the corner, and tugged at the ribbon at the neck of her nightgown. A quick jerk of the gauzy linen had it up and over her head, and she allowed herself the wicked smile that tugged at her lips at his sudden stillness, his rapt attention.
He watched, arrested, as she peeled back the quilt and climbed onto the narrow bed, turning to face him. That slack-jawed expression, dark eyes so full of wonder, as if she were every secret dream he’d ever had brought to life—she would treasure it always. “I do deserve happiness,” she said, and patted the tiny sliver of bed beside her. “So come and make me happy.”
Chapter Twenty One
Diana dragged the comb slowly through Hannah’s thick golden curls as the little girl wriggled at the edge of the bed. “Hold very still,” she said. “I don’t want to pull your hair.” A simple plait was an easy enough thing to manage with her own hair, but somewhat less so when one was forced to work through the wiggling of a child with altogether too much energy.
“You’re not very tidy,” Hannah said as her eyes darted about the room. “Papa would scold me something awful if I left my things all about like this.”
“Hm,” Diana said, nudging her spectacles up the bridge of her nose to better see what Hannah had deemed untidy. “I suppose you’re right. Usually I am a bit tidier than this”—though not by much—“but my brother, Marcus, employs a great number of servants to make certain everything stays orderly. My room is so large, one would hardly notice this mess within it.”
“How big is it?”
“Oh, four times this size at least. But then, it is in a very big house.”
“In London?” Hannah kicked her legs, and a skein of her hair slipped free of Diana’s fingers.
“Yes, in London.” Somehow, she managed to wrangle the slipped bit back in with the rest of the plait and finesse the ribbon into a rather sad little bow. Ben had managed to plait Hannah’s hair on his own for years and years now—however had he done it through so much wiggling?
The moment Hannah’s plait bounced upon her back, the little girl flopped over and rolled onto her stomach to peer up at her. “What do you do in London?” she asked.
“Visit, mostly. And attend events. There’s morning calls and garden parties. Balls and musicales and dinners. My sister-in-law is involved with a theatre company, so we attend quite often.” She canted her head, touching the tip of her finger to her chin. “There’s shopping,” she said. “For a new gown or a bonnet. One can’t be seen in the same clothes over and over again, after all.”
“But mostly you just go to other people’s houses?” Hannah squinted upat her speculatively.
Diana swallowed down a little flutter of laughter. “Yes,” she said. “When invited. Or when paying social calls.”
“Sounds dreadful boring.”
“Do you know, I think it would be so much nicer if only I had someone to do it all with.” Marcus and Rafe had moaned and groaned about such societal obligations for years. Perhaps Rafe still did from time to time, but Marcus—Marcus loved escorting his beautiful wife to various events. Whenever Lydia accepted an invitation, invariably Marcus accompanied her. They could often be found sweeping across a ballroom floor or tucked away together in some private corner. Strolling in somebody’s garden or sneaking out to the terrace for a secret rendezvous.
It was thecompanythat made it grand.
Hannah worried the tip of her plait between her fingers. “Are you a very good dancer?” she asked.
“Very good,” Diana confirmed. “But nobody ever asks me.”
