Page 66 of Lady Diana's Lost Lord
Rafe flicked back a curtain, peering out over the streets below. “Fine weather lately,” he said. “Perhaps I’ll ride topside with the coachman instead.”
Diana pinched the bridge of her nose and adjusted her spectacles, which still sat crookedly upon her nose. “Ihave to do this,” she said, splaying her hands out in entreaty. “I—not you. Itismy life which hangs in the balance.” Her happiness, all of it—if she could seize it, wrest it from the man who had stolen it away.
“Of course.” Lydia fluttered back toward the sofa upon which Diana sat in a swirl of emerald skirts. “Of course you should do it,” she said, reassuringly. “But, Diana…you don’t have to do it alone. You have us—all of us. Wherever you go, whatever you do, we are beside you. When would you like to leave?”
Soon. Very soon. A fortnight had dragged by already, and though she had not yet received a letter from Ben, when she did—when shedid, she wanted so badly to be able to ask him to come home at last. Where he and Hannah both belonged. “I need just a bit of time,” she said. “To gather my thoughts. Consider carefully what I wish to say.”
“Lovely.” Lydia smiled over the rim of her teacup. “I do adore a good monologue.”
∞∞∞
The carriage rattled along the drive, jostling all of its occupants about so severely that Diana was certain she would end up black and blue. Little Edward had begun to grow rather green, and Rafe muttered a curse beneath his breath, looking remarkably squeamish himself as he banged his fist on the roof of the carriage.
“I’m going topside,” Rafe growled as he thrust open the door once the carriage had stopped. “Edward can decorateyourboots with my blessing, Marcus.” He shoved himself out of the carriage, and Diana heard Marcus suck in a breath as the sunlight came pouring in—along with a perfect view of the marquess’ manor house, still some distance away.
“Hell,” Marcus grunted as Edward’s wriggling caught him in the solar plexus, half-hanging out the open door to get a better look. “Diana, you arenotmarrying into this family.”
“Oh, yes, I am.” She snapped the door shut again and the carriage lurched once more—straight through a series of ruts that nearly sent her sprawling. “It’s probably not as bad as it looks.”
Lydia braced one hand upon the wall of the carriage and peered out the window. “No,” she said. “It’sworse.”
A muscle jumped in Marcus’ jaw, irritation scrawled within the brackets lining his mouth. “This is just…disgraceful.” Another sudden lurch of the carriage, and he gritted out between clenched teeth, “Can’t even maintain the drive. If we lose a wheel, I swear by all that’s holy—”
“Marcus. Please. You arenothelping.” But even she could not resist the temptation to look, and,oh, it was appalling. Perhaps the estate had once been grand, but time and lack of care—lack offunds, more like—had taken their toll. The stone edifice was worn and covered with clinging ivy, which might have been charming on a country cottage, but on a manor house this stately, instead it looked like it had gone to rack and ruin, moldering in its place for a century or better.
What had once certainly been artfully-maintained lawns were now running over with weeds so thick that they looked like a river pouringacross the land. If there had once been flowers, they had been choked out, strangled by vines, years ago.
Dozens of windows should havesparkledin the summer sunlight, but instead they were dull and dusty. Some cracked, some broken, like the house’s very eyes had been gouged out of it. It looked for all the world like it had been abandoned.
If this was how the marquess kept his house, his tenants could not have fared much better.
“Christ, Diana,” Marcus hissed. “Do you have any idea what it will take to fix this?”
“Yes,” she said. “Hard work. Lots and lots of it.”
“And money. Just think of the damned expense.” Marcus made a rough sound in his throat, which Diana hoped had had at least a little to do with Edward hanging off of it. “Even if the marquess had anything remaining of your dowry—which I think is highly unlikely given that he keeps his estate in such a condition—how do you intend to fixthisif you relinquish your right to the return of it?”
“Well,” Diana said, “I hadn’t thought about it.” There was no way she could have known that the estate would be in such a bad way. “I have a little money,” she said. “From Grandfather.” It would have been enough to keep her comfortable, invested as it had been.
“Not nearly enough,” Marcus said, and she couldn’t deny it. Enough for a spinster lady, perhaps, who enjoyed the indulgence of her elder brother, but not for a future marchioness, not enough to support a family.
“Ben has money. Probably a few thousand pounds, if he estimated correctly the value of the graphite he’s mined.” Still not enough, she thought. This was dire even beyond her imaginings. “Probably the estate isn’t turning a profit any longer,” she said. “But I can run an estate.” Likely better than the marquess, who seemed to have cast off all of his responsibilities. She’d been trained for it, after all, trained in the managing of a household, the keeping of accounting books.
Probably it would still require a healthy infusion of ready cash. More than she had available. More even than Ben would have.
“Itwillbe a great deal of work,” Lydia murmured. “Are you certain this is what you want?”
“Yes. Oh, yes.” Because even beneath the dirt and the grime and the ruined glass and tangled vines and broken statuaries, she could see it there, bright and shining. Her future. Ben’s. Hannah’s.
Beautiful and glowing and full of so much promise. So much love.
She would work her hands to the bone if necessary to secure it, just as Ben had done for years already. To hold that happiness in her hands and toknowthat this time, it would not slip through her fingers.
“Then we will advance you the funds,” Lydia said. “Won’t we, Marcus?”
Marcus heaved a great, beleaguered sigh, tipping his head back. “It’ll be throwing good money after bad,” he said wearily. “But—ah, hell. Yes, damn it all. Of course we’ll advance you the funds.”
She truly did have just thebestof brothers.
