Page 71 of A Duke for Diana
Verity narrowed her gaze on Diana. “Did he tell you that the cushions were stored there as a general rule?”
Diana returned to looking over the fire screen for imaginary flaws. “Well, no. He didn’t say that to me. That would be absurd.”
“That’s what I said. To him, I mean.”
Diana could feel her sister’s gaze boring into her back. “What do you want to know?”
“I want to hearyourversion of what you two were doing there.”
“That’s none of your concern,” Diana snapped.
Verity came up behind her to slip her arms about Diana’s waist. “Don’t be angry. I just don’t want to see you hurt.”
Diana turned to hug her sister. “I know. And he’s not going to hurt me. He’s just . . . Sometimes he can be . . .”
“An arse?”
Diana laughed. “Yes. Precisely.” She drew back to look at her sister. “But the rest of the time, he turns me into mush when he looks at me. Did Lord Minton ever do that to you?”
Verity sighed. “Very rarely.”
“Well, then, I’m glad he showed his true dastardly character by jilting you.”
“Me too.”
“Because someone else will come along who will make your heart race and your knees buckle, and thanks to Lord Minton’s cowardice, you will be free to marrythatman.”
Verity eyed her askance. “Now you’re just being absurd.”
“Not a bit! I think—”
Someone cleared their throat in the doorway. Diana and Verity both turned to find Rosy standing there.
“Diana? Could I talk to you? Privately?”
Diana forced a smile. “Of course.”
With a nod, Verity murmured something about consulting with Cook in the kitchen and left the room.
Diana took a seat on the sofa, then patted the place beside her. “You can talk to me about anything you like any time you like, Rosy. We’re friends.”
“Thank you.” Rosy sat down stiffly next to Diana on the sofa. “There’s no sense in mincing words. What’s laudanum?”
Diana blinked. She’d assumed that Rosy wanted to talk about something involving her début. Not medicines, and certainly not one as powerful—and potentially devastating—as laudanum could be. “Why do you wish to know?”
“You can’t tell Mama and Geoffrey about it, and you can’t tell him I asked you about it.”
Good Lord, this family was as secretive as her own. “Why don’t we talk about it first, before deciding how it should be handled? If that means keeping it secret, I will certainly do so. All right?”
Rosy bobbed her head. “Well, the day Papa died, Mama wasn’t home. She’d gone out of town to spend the night helping my ill aunt—Mama’s sister—and she was expected back before suppertime. She left me and Geoffrey in charge of Papa, who’d been feeling poorly the past week. We thought he had a stomach complaint like he’d had dozens of times before.”
Rosy pulled out her handkerchief to dab at her eyes. “When I came in to check on him, he’d already sent his manservant to fetch the doctor, and he asked me to get Geoffrey. So I did. Then he sent me to fetch him some ale. By the time I got back with it, the doctor had come to examine him.”
She sighed. “Geoffrey sent me on another errand, but I couldn’t stand not knowing what the doctor had to say, so I hid outside the door and just . . . sort of eavesdropped. Papa told the doctor he mistook his bottle of laudanum for his bottle of tincture of rhubarb and took too much. The doctor tried to give him other medicine, but it was no use. Papa had been ill already, and the laudanum was the last straw, I suppose.”
Good Lord, Diana had no idea what to make of this. Why had their father been taking laudanum anyway? “Was there an inquest?”
“No. Geoffrey said the doctor ruled it as accidental, so there was no need.” Rosy slanted her gaze up at Diana. “You know. On account of the laudanum he took wrongly. The bottle was empty, so the doctor took it and the tincture of rhubarb away with him in case therewasan inquest later, and he had to testify. But Geoffrey made the doctor promise not to tell Mama about the laudanum.”
