Page 62 of Lady Diana's Lost Lord
The sky wasn’t so blue here, nor the air so fresh and clean. When she crawled into her bed, it would be a plush, well-stuffed mattress without the slightest sag in the middle, and she would feel the sleek velvet of her counterpane instead of an old, threadbare quilt. She would not have to light her own fire, and she could have a bath any time of the day she pleased. She would not be required to brew her own tea, or to slice potatoes, or to go to market herself to ensure there was food enough for dinner.
She could take a tray in her room, if she pleased, and there would be no dishes to wash or menial tasks to perform. Her gowns would always be perfectly pressed and hanging neatly in her dressing room. Had she need of something, she had only to summon a servant.
But she would never share a battered pillow and the heat of Ben’s body, never tousle Hannah’s soft blond curls or plait her hair for her. Never read from that aged book of nursery rhymes or splash about in a pond without a shred of dignity or shame on a breezy summer day.
Perhaps, from time to time, she might receive a letter.
Her eyes were dry as she stepped out of the carriage at last, but she had shed enough tears on the long journey home to last several lifetimes. In thequiet of the early afternoon, something of a furor rose up within the house; the unmistakable sounds of raised voices and feet pounding upon the floor. She had been spotted—probably by a footman stationed near the door to ensure that callers were greeted promptly. Ah, well. She had known that there would be a reckoning upon her return. Smoothing skirts that had acquired wrinkles from sitting so long within the carriage, she set her shoulders and walked up the steps.
Marcus threw open the door himself, his jaw clenched in the furious stormcloud of his face, his shoulders thrown back in agitation.
Diana supposed she couldn’t blame him for his anger. She’d been missing for nearly two months now. Marcus was a man who took his responsibilities seriously; probably he’d been frantic with worry.
“Marcus.” Lydia slipped into the doorway beside him, their young son held securely on her hip. She placed one hand upon his chest, a tempering sort of gesture meant to calm the storm before it could burst out in full view of the public. There weren’t so very many people out upon the street, but a public row could put paid to any attempt they might make to salvage her reputation. “Won’t you welcome your sister home? I’m certain the journey home fromScotlandcould not have been an easy one.”
Perhaps as much as a tenth of Marcus’ fury dissipated beneath the soft stroke of his wife’s fingers. “Yes,” he said tightly. “Scotland. And howisMother, Diana?”
A footman squeezed through the doorway to help the coachman with her trunk. “Well enough,” Diana said, though the words came out a bare squeak in the face of Marcus’ wrath. “It has been such a long journey. Perhaps we could discuss it over tea?”
“Of course. We do have rather a lot to discuss. Don’t we?” Marcus jabbed one finger toward the drawing room in wordless command and raked the other hand through his hair. “Send for the damned tea, Lydia.”
Sotto voce, Lydia murmured, “Only if you promise not to shout.” With one last pat to his chest, she managed to summon up a sympathetic smile for Diana as she turned and sashayed away.
Marcus snapped the door shut behind her as Diana came through it at last. “You had better have a damned good explanation,” he said, as he waved her toward the drawing room.
Yes, she supposed she had better. Two months’ worth of one, at least. And Marcus no doubt intended to make her account for every last minute of the time that she had been missing. Weary beyond measure, she crossed thefloor of the foyer into the drawing room. “Go ahead and shout,” she said, pressing one hand to her head in an effort to relieve the pressure of a headache forming behind her eyes. “I’m certain I deserve it.”
“You lied to me,” Marcus said, the sharp snap of his heels upon the floor resounding inside her head. “You looked me dead in the eyes and youlied.”
Of course she had. He wouldn’t have let her go any other way. “I did. I’m not sorry for it. I would do it again, if it was necessary.” She faltered at the sight of his face, noted now the lines of strain scrawled upon it. Still undeniably furious—and she supposed he was entitled to that righteous anger, since she hadlied to him without remorse—but beneath it was worry. The helpless concern of a brother, agoodone, who had only ever had her best interests at heart.
“But Iamsorry to have worried you,” she said tremulously, and the words climbed out of her throat over a strangled little sob. She had thought she had done with it, the crying, but it had been at best a temporary drought. “I know I have earned a lecture—but what I truly need right now is a brother. Oh, please, Marcus…couldn’t I have a brother first and a lecture later?”
Marcus swiped the last of the anger free of his face with one hand, and a moment later strode across the floor to her and banded one arm about her, shoving her damp face against his shoulder. “You are gettingsucha lecture,” he said fiercely. “But I am so very glad you’re home safely.”
∞∞∞
Of course Diana could not have avoided the lecture forever, but Marcus had graciously given her the night to rest and recover from the journey home. But the reckoning had come at last, as Diana had known it would—the whole of her family gathered together in an upstairs sitting room behind a closed door.
At least Lydia had thought to send for tea and biscuits, or else the whole thing would have been even less bearable. But then, Diana’s sister-in-law had experienced her own share of heartbreak, and probably it had not been too very difficult for her to sense it in another. She took the seat beside Diana upon the small sofa, a warm and comforting presence at her side, with little Edward cradled on her lap.
Marcus raked his hands through his dark hair, gouging a ruffle straightthrough the once perfectly-combed strands. Slanting a small look of exasperation toward his wife, whom Diana assumed had coerced him into promising not to shout, he clasped his hands before him and said, “What thehellwere you thinking?”
But the words were directed to Rafe, who was leaning against the far wall near the window, face studiously blank.
Catching Diana’s inquisitive gaze, he offered a tiny sliver of a smile and said, “You’re not the only one to be called out on the carpet today.”
“But…you didn’ttellhim?”
“If he had,” Marcus snapped, “do you think I would not have dragged you home at once?” A rough, gritty sound emerged from his throat. “I’m getting to you,” he said. “But now, I will have an explanation from Rafe.”
“My sister asked a favor of me,” Rafe said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I obliged.”
“You damned well should not have done!”
“Marcus,” Lydia chided. “We discussed this.” Sweeping a loose lock of blond hair behind her ear, she climbed to her feet and crossed the room to dump the baby into her husband’s arms. “There, now,” she said as she reclaimed her seat. “Don’t be cross. You’ll upset Edward.”
Marcus frowned—for all of half a second, before he held his son across his lap and began to bounce him upon his knee. “She might have been ruined,” he said to Rafe. “If anyone had spread rumors of her absence—”
