by Darcy Burke
It wasn’t a problem. It was a potential disaster. For Simon. “He’s already widely believed to be a murderer, and though he wasn’t charged with the crime, this time, he may very well be. I can’t let that happen.”
“So you’ll live here in disgrace?” Verity asked, her dark gaze full of love and empathy.
“If I must.”
“You could marry him,” Verity suggested softly. “You said the rumor about him—I believe you called it stupid—didn’t matter to you.”
“It doesn’t. I know in my heart he didn’t kill her.”
“In your heart? Diana, is it possible you’ve fallen in love with him?”
The air left Diana’s lungs. Love? She hadn’t considered that. She didn’t even know what that felt like. She glanced toward the windows, breath fighting its way back to her. “I don’t know.”
“Where does Uncle think you are? Or did you just leave without a word?”
“I left a note that I was going to King’s Grange. He likely arrived a couple of days ago. I can’t imagine what he’s doing now. Besides fuming.” Diana had tried not to think of it. Imagining her father’s reaction to not finding her at home made her stomach seize, and she feared she would toss up her accounts.
“He’s methodically determining where you might have gone.” Verity’s face darkened. “He’ll come here first.”
“If he travels by horse, which I think we can assume he will, he could be here in a few days.”
“Yes,” Verity’s tone was grim. “Unless the weather slows his pace.”
Diana sent up a silent prayer.
The tension growing in the air shattered upon the arrival of Verity’s son. Augustus “Beau” Beaumont, all of five years, tore into the drawing room as if his feet were on fire. “Mama, Mama! The puppies are here! The puppies are here! Come see!” He ran straight for his mother, snagging her hand in his and pulling. He’d grown so much since Diana had last seen him nearly two years ago. He wasn’t a baby anymore but a boy.
Verity laughed. “How wonderful. Beau, did you not see we have a guest?”
He turned his head and looked at Diana. “She can come see the puppies too. Come on, Mama!”
“Beau, this is your Aunt Diana. You remember her, from that time she came for Christmas?”
Beau narrowed his green eyes—those hadn’t changed one bit—at Diana. “Maybe. It’s nice to see you, Auntie.” He offered a quick bow, and Diana had to commend his manners, especially in the face of such excitement.
“As it happens, I do want to see the puppies,” Diana said. She could use seeing something exceedingly adorable. “Do you mind if I join you?”
“No. But let’s go.” He pulled so hard on his mother’s hand that he tipped backward.
Verity reached out and steadied him, then rose gracefully to her feet. “Let’s not keep them waiting.” She looked over at Diana. “Are you sure you’re up to it? I know it’s been a long journey.”
She far preferred puppies to being alone with her own thoughts at the moment. “Absolutely. Let us see the puppies!” She grinned at Beau, who smiled back. Clasping his mother’s hand tight, he skipped forward, forcing her and Diana to laughingly keep up.
To enjoy such a simple life… Diana wanted nothing more. She’d never had that. And she feared she never would.
* * *
Because he’d slept through dinner, Simon devoured a tray of food in his room. He was sorry to have missed the meal, for a variety of reasons. He had no idea if Diana had come to a decision. He’d been looking forward to getting to know his hostess.
And he missed dining with Diana.
After spending so much time with her over the past nine days, he felt rather alone. Looking at the clock, he wondered if she and the duchess would still be about. But the bath the footman had offered when he’d brought the dinner tray was awfully tempting.
In the end, he opted for the bath, but when he was finished, he was too restless to go to bed. He dressed and went back to the drawing room, hoping to find either Diana or Verity. But the room was empty. Perhaps they were downstairs. He retraced the way he’d come that afternoon and found himself in what Diana had called the King’s Hall. Unfortunately, that was empty too.
He meandered about the room, looking at the paintings which were an interesting mix of portraits, perhaps of past dukes and their families, and landscapes. One in particular looked as though it was a representation of the countryside surrounding Blackburn.
Spying light at the end of a passageway behind the stairs, he walked into a massive library with a huge stone hearth occupying a full third of the back wall. Windows on either side of the fireplace looked out toward the back of the tower, but he couldn’t appreciate the view since the curtains were drawn. It was also quite dark, he reminded himself, thinking the late nap had thrown him off.
The collection of books was awe-inspiring. Some Duke of Blackburn must have been a well-read gentleman. Or perhaps they all were. Simon suffered a brief pang of regret at having disposed of most of his library, but brushed it away. The books he’d donated would get far more use than collecting dust at Lyndhurst.
His eye caught a grouping of toy soldiers on a table, and he was instantly reminded of the Taft boys. He smiled to himself, thinking of what a splendid day that had been. At first, being around the children had summoned too much pain, but their joy for life had given him a glimpse of hope.
For what, exactly?
That he couldn’t answer.
“Good evening, Romsey.”
The feminine voice came from behind Simon. He turned to see the duchess moving into the library and offered a small bow. “Good evening.”
“You found Beau’s soldiers.” The duchess came toward him, her lips curved into a smile.
“You and Di—Miss Kingman look very much alike,” he said. “You could be sisters.”
“Just call her Diana. She refers to you as Simon. It’s to be expected after you’ve spent so much time together.”
He nodded, wondering just how much Diana had told her cousin. He was probably better off not knowing. “Who is Beau?”
“Diana didn’t tell you about my son?”
“No.” She’d said precious little about her family, just that she and the duchess were close. Simon picked up one of the toys. “He likes soldiers?”
She cocked her head to the side. “He likes to pretend his father is a soldier.”
“I thought he...” Simon let his voice trail off rather than bring up any unpleasantness.
“I’ve told Beau that his father will likely never come home, but he likes to imagine that he went off to war and is protecting us.” There was a sad lilt to her tone.
“I’m sorry for…you.” He’d been about to say “your loss,” but if the duke was merely missing, even for such a long time, perhaps he would return. It wasn’t the same as Simon’s loss. Maybe it was worse—the not knowing. “That must be difficult. To not know what happened.”
“Somewhat.” She lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “He’s been gone a long time now. Sometimes I wonder if I even remember him. We were married for only a few months before he disappeared—just long enough for…Beau.”
Simon understood. He and Miriam had been wed long enough to make their baby. But not to see her into the world. His throat burned for a moment as he nodded slightly and averted his gaze.
The duchess turned toward a sideboard on the wall opposite the fireplace. “Would you like to have a drink with me?”
“No, thank you. I don’t drink spirits.”
Her eyes widened briefly. “My husband drank to excess. We may not have been together long, but that was one of the things I recall quite clearly.”
Simon could see she hadn’t loved her husband. Or so it seemed based on the derision in her tone. But perhaps it was something else.
“Is there a reason you don’t drink?” She quickly waved a hand. “Ignore my impertinence. I’m afraid I’m rather sheltered here at Beaumont Tower. Some
times I think my social abilities have faltered.”
“I used to drink to excess.” For some reason, the words fell from his mouth unplanned. “Then my wife tumbled down the stairs, and I’ve no recollection of what happened, just that I was there, cradling her at the bottom of the steps and begging God to give her back to me. I haven’t had a drink since.”
Her forehead creased, and her brown eyes warmed with sympathy. “That can’t have been easy.”
“On occasion, it can be difficult to find an alternate beverage,” he said drily, knowing that wasn’t what she’d meant but wanting to bring a lighter tone.
“I’ll ensure you have whatever you desire while you’re here.”
He appreciated her consideration. “I regret missing dinner and, presumably, the discussion of what Diana wants to do next.”
The duchess gave a slight nod. “Kirwin said the footman wasn’t able to wake you. I’m sure you were exhausted. Diana and I had a small, informal dinner in her chamber. She’s already asleep.”
Damn, there went his hope for seeing her this evening. He couldn’t be sure what Diana had told her cousin, and he didn’t want to reveal anything she wished to keep secret. So he said nothing.
“She hasn’t entirely decided what to do next,” the duchess said. “But she’s going to have to make a decision in the morning because she’s running out of time.”
He had to assume she knew the story of what had happened in Brereton, then. “Because the rumor that we eloped will get out.” Simon didn’t mask his bitterness. If only they hadn’t been seen by Lady Dunford-Whaley.
“Eloped?”
Damn, perhaps she hadn’t known the story. But he couldn’t think of a way to hide it from her now. Anyway, it would soon be common knowledge. “We were recognized in Brereton. I told them we were on our way to Gretna Green and asked the gentleman to keep things quiet for a bit—to buy us some time to get here.”
“Smart. But it’s more than that, I’m afraid.” She winced. “Her father could be here in a few days.”
Damn. “She seems terrified of him.” It sounded like hyperbole, but it wasn’t. From their first discussion in Green Park, she’d been clear that her father’s anger drove every decision she made.
“She has every right to be. He and my father are horrid men.” She said this with an even tone, as if she were remarking on the weather.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He’d loved his father very much. And his mother, but then she’d made things difficult since Father had died. A thought occurred to him, one that had plagued him from time to time whenever Diana mentioned her father. “They didn’t…hurt you, did they?”
“Not physically. Well, that’s not precisely true.” She shook her head. “It’s not my place to tell. My father is maybe not quite as cruel as my uncle. But cruelty is their currency, make no mistake. If he finds Diana here, I worry what he will do.”
Simon’s muscles tensed. “I won’t allow him to do anything.”
The duchess’s face softened. “I was hoping you’d say that. I’m quite concerned about her plan to change her identity. I honestly don’t know what she was thinking. She is who she is, and I don’t think she’d like to be alone without support, regardless of how strongly she yearns for independence.”
“Those aren’t really the same things, though, are they? She could have independence and still have people to support her.”
“You’re quite right. I’ve managed to find that here, managing things in my husband’s absence. But that’s not what Diana would have—she wouldn’t be Diana Kingman anymore.”
“No, she wouldn’t.”
“There is that other alternative…”
Not changing her name and disappearing, and not awaiting her father. That left… “I don’t think she’s interested in marrying me.”
“Have you asked?”
“I have.”
The duchess blew out a breath and lowered her lids as she stared at him expectantly. “Did you really, or was it more of a suggestion?” She waved her hand. “Have you asked her recently?”
“Er, no.” He didn’t count the discussion they’d had at Brereton. They hadn’t seriously discussed it as an option.
“You may consider doing that.”
What did that mean? Had she and Diana discussed this? Was Diana expecting a proposal? Did she want to marry him? A cold sweat dappled his neck, and ice slid down his spine.
“She wants that?”
“Do you?” the duchess countered. She straightened. “I’ve meddled too much, probably. I just want, no, I need for Diana to be happy.”
Then on that they were agreed. Simon just wasn’t sure marriage to him was the answer. But neither was he sure it wasn’t. “I want that too.”
“If there’s any chance you care for her—and it seems you do—please think about it. We have an excellent stable. You can take horses and be in Gretna Green in three days if you change a few times a day. I’ll send a groom with you to help. Actually, I may come along myself. My presence will lend some prestige to the event. And please don’t think I have a lofty opinion of myself—I’m a woman out in the country raising a son. But if I can use my title for some good, especially where it concerns Diana, I am happy to do so.”
Simon couldn’t argue with that. “Your offer is most generous, Duchess.”
“I insist you call me Verity, especially if we’re to be family.”
She made it sound as if it had all been decided. Really, was there any other choice? He wasn’t going to let Diana’s father get near her, and the only way he could protect her was to make her his wife. He just hoped she would agree.
“You’re a formidable woman, Verity. Diana is lucky to have you on her side.”
Verity laughed. “I’m not sure I agree with formidable.” She seemed to think about it for a moment. “But maybe you’re right.” She grinned. “I think I like you, Simon. I hope you don’t mind, but I’m calling you Simon. Since we’re to be family.”
Yes, it had been decided—at least in Verity’s mind. “Of course.”
She scooped the toy soldiers from the table into her left hand. “We should rise early and leave by eight, I think. I’ll have everything organized.”
Simon gave her the soldier he’d been holding. “You really think she’ll say yes?”
“Are you going to make her happy?”
“I’m going to try.” But he honestly didn’t know if he could. Hell, he didn’t know anything anymore.
“Then she’ll say yes. She’s not stupid, but you know that. It’s one of the reasons you admire her, I’m sure.” She gave him a small, almost secretive smile, as if she knew more about their relationship than even they did. “Sleep well.”
Simon watched her go and wondered if he and Diana had just been managed. Did it matter?
Not particularly. He couldn’t say he was distressed by this turn of events. Nervous, worried, and incredibly apprehensive—yes, he was definitely those things.
What the hell was he going to do with a wife? He’d considered remarrying, had thought he wanted to, but now faced with doing so, he wondered if he could do it again.
He’d have to take Diana home to Lyndhurst. Home. It had ceased being that when Miriam had died. Now when he went there, it felt like a mausoleum.
The ice returned to his spine and spread through him like a sickness.
He knew what he had to do. He just prayed he’d be a better husband this time.
Chapter 11
Diana’s hand froze just before she rapped on his door. She should wait until morning.
But they needed to leave as soon as possible. That is, if he even agreed to her plan.
What if he didn’t?
Her shoulders slumped, and she pivoted from the door. This was foolish. Her entire mad dash from London had been incredibly ill-conceived.
Why, then, couldn’t she regret it?
Clenching her teeth in determination, she turned back to the door and knocked before she c
ould lose her courage once more. She bit her lip as she waited, trapping it between her teeth, then remembered she wasn’t supposed to do that. Only her parents weren’t here to admonish her. In defiance, she snagged her lip again and pushed her shoulders back.
He still didn’t come to the door. He was probably asleep.
Defeat pulled at her spine, and she began to wilt.
The door opened slightly. Simon peered through the narrow gap. “Diana?”
He pulled the door open and ushered her inside. “Come in.”
She lifted her skirt lest she trip over the too-long hem of her borrowed dressing gown and stepped over the threshold. “No one saw me,” she said, sensing his anxiety.
He closed the door behind her. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes. No. Probably.” She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“Do you want to sit?” He gestured to the wing-backed chair in the corner near the fireplace.
“No, thank you. I shouldn’t stay long.” She shouldn’t have come at all. She rubbed her hands together, then smoothed them over Verity’s dressing gown. It was an item of clothing she’d wanted to bring but hadn’t had room for. Stealing away in the night didn’t allow for proper preparation.
Simon moved toward the bed and leaned against one of the end posts. This was far grander than any of the bedchambers they’d shared on their journey north. He wore his familiar night shirt and a pair of breeches. His feet were bare.
His lips lifted into a faint smile. “I’m delighted to see you, but it’s rather late for a visit, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but since you didn’t come to dinner, there are things we should discuss.” Dinner? They wouldn’t have discussed any of this there, not in front of Verity. And Diana hadn’t made her decision until a short time ago.
She was stalling. Better to just get it out. “I think we should marry.”
He blinked as he pushed away from the post and walked toward her, stopping just a foot away. “Did Verity tell you that?”
“She suggested it. But, if you recall, it was your idea originally. I know a great deal has transpired since then, and perhaps now that you’ve g-gotten to know me, you’d rather not w-wed.” She winced inwardly, thinking she hadn’t needed to say any of that. It was an appalling show of weakness and doubt after years of learning to hold her tongue.
