Page 63 of Lady Diana's Lost Lord
Lydia curled her fingers around Diana’s wrist. “Your reputation is safe,” she murmured as Marcus castigated Rafe. “A few remarks on your absence, but nothing overtly suspicious.”
“It would have been her choice.” Rafe shifted his position just slightly, but he looked utterly unbothered by his elder brother’s judgment. “Do you think I did not try to dissuade her from it? It was always going to be her choice, Marcus. She’s not a child.”
Diana adjusted her spectacles on her nose, but the slight bend of the earpiece made it a difficult task. “Itwasmy choice, Marcus. You can’t hold Rafe responsible for my actions.” Even if he had permitted them, and kept them secret despite what she did not doubt had been monumental pressure to confess.
Marcus grimaced as Edward caught a fistful of his cravat, yanking the material tight. “Where have you been?” he asked, as he shot a condemning glance toward Rafe. “Rafe would not even tell me that much—”
With a bored sigh, Rafe said, “Because youwouldhave dragged herhome.”
“Cumberland,” she said. “The Lake District. So”—she gave an awkward smile—“not so very far from Scotland after all.” The jest fell flat, garnering only a severe look from Marcus and a weary sigh from Lydia.
“And just what the hell were you doing in Cumberland?” Marcus inquired as he gently pried little Edward’s fingers from the snowy fabric of his cravat, which had acquired a few pleats too many.
“Breaking off my engagement,” Diana said, turning her watery eyes toward her teacup.
“Breaking your—” Marcus’ gaze sheared to Rafe once more. “Youfoundhim?”
Rafe gave a one-shouldered shrug and a roll of his eyes.
“How?”
“None of your damned business.”
Marcus bit off a curse beneath his breath, turning back toward Diana. “And this took you two bloody months?”
“It’s…complicated.” Diana wrapped her hands around her cup and let her cold fingers soak in its warmth. “He’s got a daughter—”
“I’ll kill him.” The threat was only slightly lessened by the fact that Marcus had had to issue it over little Edward’s shoulder, as the boy had grasped great fistfuls of Marcus’ hair, the better to hoist himself to his feet and balance upon Marcus’ knees.
“No, please—it isn’t—you can’t—” A quick, dry sob, and then—the whole terrible story came flooding out in little broken bits. There was only the horrible, aching sound of her own voice, the notable shift of tension from the room, and, every so often, Lydia pressing a fresh cup of tea or otherwise a handkerchief into her hands.
She told them everything—nearlyeverything. Probably Marcus would suspect that more had passed between them than the already-ruinous act of sharing a small cottage for weeks on end, but if she confirmed it, then he trulywouldkill Ben. It took ages and ages to cobble together a cohesive explanation from the wretched jumble of her thoughts, from the precious and painful memories she had gathered. And when she finished at last, there was only utter silence in response.
“Oh, Diana.” Lydia wrapped one arm around her, and Diana tipped her head against Lydia’s shoulder, grateful for the comfort. “I am so very sorry. You have had to be so strong. So much stronger than you know.”
Diana gave dry, rasping sob. “What else could I do but leave?” sheasked. “Just think if someone had threatened Edward’s safety—what would you do to protect him?”
“Anything,” Marcus whispered. “Anything at all.”
“How could I do any less? How couldhe?” She swiped those damned useless tears from her face. “I could only protect them by leaving,” she said. “By breaking our engagement myself. Ben can never return to London without risking Hannah, and I—I can never see them again.”
“Christ, Diana.” Rafe shoved his hands into the depths of his pockets, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he bent his head. “If I had known—”
“There is nothing you could have done. And I must ask you to keep this secret for me. For them.” Valiantly, she tried to summon a smile. “At the very least, I can take comfort from the fact that they are safe. Secure at last.” Somewhere by the sea, she hoped. With a little house and a ginger cat and a circulating library nearby. Comfortable. Happy.
Please, she thought.Please let them be happy.
Chapter Twenty Four
Blackpool was a bustling town of perhaps six or seven hundred permanent residents. Large enough, Ben thought, that their presence would attract little attention, but also small enough and a bit too far to the north to make it a likely destination for anyone he might once have known.
There were far larger and better appointed towns much closer to London that served a similar purpose; resort towns meant to encourage sea bathing and a respite from the soot-clogged air of the city. Blackpool boasted a few hotels and inns for those of the middle classes who could afford to travel for leisure, as well as shops, grocers, and even a newly constructed church and school. Tidy rows of cottages, both old and new, were available for let through the summer months to those who had the means to afford them. Its proximity to the sea meant that fishermen were never in want of fresh catches, and the farms lying on the outskirts suggested a wealth of produce could be had at virtually any market stall.
There was a postmaster within the town, which would make the mailing of letters convenient, and it even boasted a small circulating library, though its offerings were far fewer and less recent that could likely be had in a larger town.
It ought to have been perfect. It had fit every requirement they had down to the smallest detail, as if it had been conjured up from the dreams they had shared over the years, concocting their ideal home in bits and pieces, in fanciful whispers and grand declarations.
Dreams made real at last.
