He could tell she was about to respond, probably with a good deal of what he was coming to see as a quick wit, when suddenly another, much older woman appeared behind Diana. One who was clearly very agitated that her daughter was speaking to him.
"Diana!" The woman's voice was sharp and very similar to Diana's, though not quite as husky. It also lacked the honeyed sweetness that he was quickly learning was Diana's trademark. Her mother - Ursula. Lady Westfield. There could be no other. He had heard rumors about the woman and unfortunately, they all appeared to be true. "Where is the duke? The orchestra is set to play a waltz soon, and you know that if you are to waltz at all this evening, it is with him."
In that moment, something in Diana changed. Had Lachlan not been watching carefully he might have missed it, but the change was there all the same. Her posture stiffened and the relaxed air that seemed to normally cling to her was gone. She became remote, almost distant. More than that, something indefinable inside of her dimmed, a spark going out and allowing the darkness to creep inside. This was not the warm, sensual, lively woman he had spoken to in the library, but rather a cold - and dare he think it, frigid - society debutante. In that moment, he would have given anything to see her light up again. He wanted to see her sparkle.
"Mama," Diana's voice was clipped and strained, "I do not know where Lord Hathaway is, and, at present, I do not care. I am given to understand that he is in a wretched mood."
"Which you will have to learn to deal with, my dear," Lady Westfield practically snapped, her eyes flashing angrily, but with a trace of fear lingering beneath. Lachlan could see it clearly, even if Diana could not. "When you marry..."
"Mother! Enough!" Diana's words were sharp and hard, so unlike anything Lachlan had heard come from her mouth up until this moment. Then she drew in a deep breath. Her next words were much softer but no less forceful. "Besides, I am speaking to another gentleman at the moment, and it would be rude of me to leave so abruptly. I will not forget my manners to go chasing after the duke."
Then Diana turned to Lachlan and he could see a glimmer of her former spark dancing within her eyes. It was dim, but it was there, and he was strangely relieved. "Mama, may I present Lord Lachlan McKenna, the Marquess of Hallstone. He is a friend of Lord Radcliffe's." Then she nudged her mother forward a bit. "Lord Hallstone, my mother, Lady Ursula Saintwood, the Viscountess Westfield."
Lachlan offered the older woman a deep bow, as courtly as he could manage without toppling over. "My lady. It is an honor." Then he took her hand and bowed even lower over it. In his experience, showing that much deference to a mother was always a good idea.
It worked - at least to some degree. When he looked back up, the hostile expression was gone from her face. Instead, it had been replaced by a calculating look, one he had seen far too often on the matchmaking-mamas of society. One that, to Lachlan's mind anyway, said that perhaps the lady was not as foolish as she appeared, and that for her, instead of a duke, a marquess just might be acceptable husband material. Damn it all anyway.
"You never did waltz with Lord Hathaway tonight." Ursula Saintwood's voice cut through the silence that hung like the thickest of fogs within the Westfield carriage.
"I did not dance a waltz with anyone tonight, Mama," Diana replied quietly, her head aching. "I would have waltzed with the marquess, as he had just requested the next set before you approached, but you would not permit it." Though it was a little lie, Diana did not feel bad in telling it. She was desperate for her mother to realize that she was a grown woman who need not go chasing after the duke like a child. Diana could pick her own dance partners, thank you very much. And she had wanted to dance with Lord Hallstone.
Diana could almost see her mother purse her lips, even though it was too dark to know for certain. "I know nothing of this Lord Hallstone. Well, other than the fact that he is a marquess, of course. There are rumors that back in Scotland he was something of a rake, and worse a true libertine, but they are rumors only. He comported himself as a gentleman this evening, at least from what I observed. Still, it might not be a good idea for you to socialize with him, even if you were only being polite. Lord Hathaway would not like it."
"Lord Hathaway," Diana rolled her eyes in frustration as she placed extra emphasis on Adam's title, "does not care a whit what I do." Reaching out, she took her mother's hand, clasping it firmly. "Please, Mama. You must accept that Adam and I will not wed. He does not care for me and, quite frankly, I do not care for him, either. We do not suit. We never have."
That comment was, of course, met with a sniff of indignation. "Nonsense! Anne and I have planned for years..."
Diana, however, cut her mother off before she could launch into another lecture. She simply did not think she could tolerate it. "You and Anne have not spoken directly in nearly three years, at least for longer than a few moments in passing at a ball. Even when you did see each other, she refused to commit to the issue any longer."
With a sigh, Diana slumped back against the well-sprung carriage's squabs. "And I am getting older, Mother. I am no longer as young as I once was. Perhaps it is time to give up the idea of me wedding the duke. The season has only just begun. I might yet be able to make a brilliant match. Even with someone who is not a duke." A marquess might be acceptable, she decided quickly. Not that Diana was thinking of Lachlan. He was entirely unsuitable for her, no matter that he made her heart race and her stomach flutter. And there was still that little matter of longing to taste him. She was not so utterly foolish. Or so wanton.
The thick silence enveloped the carriage once more before Diana saw the shadows shift as her mother sat up straighter. It did not surprise Diana in the least that she changed the subject as well. "Tomorrow, Lady Hollinworth will be arriving for a visit. Now that her own daughter Amelia is wed, she has agreed to sponsor her niece Phoebe for a season. Phoebe's father is a vicar somewhere near Ipswich, the poor thing. Third son of the Hollinworth family, you know, and never even considered as being in line for the title given the longevity of men in that family. She's been presented at court but nothing more. Since you were so helpful to her own Amelia, Lady Hollinworth was hoping you might do the same for Phoebe. Take her shopping and that sort of thing. Guide her as you did Amelia. Then, if you should happen to encounter Lord Hathaway while you are out..."
As her mother rambled on, Diana forced herself to stifle a groan. Once Lady Ursula Saintwood decided on a course, she would not be dissuaded from it. Much to Diana's annoyance. Perhaps it was a good thing she had already decided that this was to be her last season after all.
Chapter Three
"Are you certain about this?" Lady Phoebe Banbrook, her feet still planted firmly on the ground outside of the Saintwood's town house, peered up at Diana who was already safely ensconced inside the family carriage bearing the Westfield crest, with her ever-present maid, Marie, beside her. Next to Phoebe, the family's tiger, Jasper stood patiently waiting along with one of the footmen, ready to help the young lady into the conveyance as well. "I do not wish to be a bother. I know that my aunt practically forced you into taking me shopping today."
Shaking her head, Diana gestured for the other woman to get inside the coach. "Do not be silly. I do not mind in the least. In fact, I believe that we will become great friends!" Diana patted the seat beside her in invitation. "Now please, allow the servants to help you inside. The great Madame LaVallier waits for no one, not even me!"
Finally, with what seemed like a great deal of reluctance, Phoebe allowed herself to be nearly lifted into the carriage before settling down beside Diana. "Still, I thank you, my lady. You are too kind by half, just as my cousin has said."
As the carriage began to roll down the street, Diana waved away the compliment, feeling a bit uncomfortable with the praise. "I am not. I merely love happy endings. Not to mention that Lady Weatherby is a true delight. I am very thankful to have made her acquaintance at the house party. Amelia is truly among the finest women I know. The rest? It is simply what
friends do for each other."
At least in Diana's mind it was. She had been more than happy to help the lovely Lady Amelia transform into a stunning beauty and divert the less-than-honorable attentions of the social climbing Lady Lydia Parham away from the earl at the same time. It had really not been any bother and Diana had been glad to help. She did love a happy ending after all. That was also precisely why she had been so amenable to shepherding the girl now sitting beside her through the treacherous waters of society. What she was about to attempt was no easy task.
Phoebe had lived a very sheltered existence as a vicar's daughter in a small village outside of Ipswich. Though she had very fine manners - or so Diana had been informed by her mother - Phoebe was also a bit shy and very unsophisticated. Not to mention that she lacked the true polish that a young lady could only acquire from exposure to London society. It had been Ursula's hope that Diana could trot Phoebe around for a bit in society, all the while showing the ton and most especially Lord Hathaway, that Diana would make a splendid duchess.
Except that to Diana, that made poor Phoebe sound a little like a horse, not to mention a poor relation of the worst sort. Despite all that was against her, Phoebe was still the granddaughter of an earl, something that could not be overlooked so easily. It also made Diana feel as if she was putting on some sort of masquerade for the duke's benefit. She did love to help people; it was not a falsehood. It was also the very reason why she had helped Lady Amelia, now Lady Weatherby, at the house party. Diana's actions weren't merely for show, but rather because she truly believed that everyone deserved a chance at happiness.
Diana also knew that she had been very blessed in her life. Though she was merely a viscount's daughter, she was still of the aristocracy and could trace her bloodlines back to some of the oldest English royal families, including the Tudors, Yorks, and Plantagenets. She also was possessed of reasonable good looks, good friends, and a loving family, even if her mother was a bit single-minded at times, at least in regard to the duke. There were many other young ladies of Diana's acquaintance who had been forced into horrid marriages with men who abused them or whose fathers gambled away their dowries, forcing the women into jobs as governesses or companions. Or worse, seeking employment at the loathsome Madame Philotes' house of ill repute in Covent Garden.
No, Diana was blessed with extreme good fortune and more. Unlike many other young ladies of her station in life, she felt that if she could do something to help another, particularly someone who did not have the advantages that she did, it was her Christian duty to do so.
Not to mention that really, she did simply enjoy helping people. Silly as that might sound.
There were some challenges in her life, to be sure, such as being unwed at her advanced age and viewed by some as a silly chit pining away for a man who did not love her. She did wish she could have at least kissed a man at this point in her life - even if that man had been Hathaway. She also wished she had a suitor, a true and actual one, and not one that only existed in her mother's rather active imagination.
More than that, Diana wished for love. Oh, she had love - of a sort. She was not so shallow of a woman to deny that she had friends and family who loved and cared for her. Still, it was not the love of a husband. Certainly not like the love Amelia shared with Weatherby or that Julia shared with Radcliffe. That love was different - in so very many ways.
Until a few months ago, the lack of that sort of love in her life had not bothered her. She had truly not given it much thought. Then, Diana had witnessed the love and affection that had blossomed between Amelia and Weatherby, the bond of it growing stronger as the weeks had passed the previous season. Though she had been spurred to action to help unite the couple, on the day her friends had wed Diana had been stuck by a feeling she could not readily identify. One she had never felt before as she watched the earl kiss his bride rather eagerly.
It was only as the Westfield carriage had rolled back towards the family's country seat at Dornman Park that Diana had been able to appropriately identify the gnawing feeling that had become lodged in her throat and refused to leave. She was jealous. Not over Weatherby, certainly, nice as the man was. Rather, she was jealous of the love her friends shared between them as husband and wife.
Diana wanted a taste of that for herself. Except that even with the new season just underway, she also knew it was not possible. At least not until her mother put aside her infatuation with the idea of marrying Diana off to Lord Hathaway. That was something that was not very likely to occur in Diana's lifetime.
In the meantime, Diana had vowed to be happy and enjoy the love she did have. And to have fun, of course, even though that vow was a bit newer. Still, no time like the present to start. At the end of the season, she would leave society, unlikely to return, at least as a marriageable debutante. It was now or never.
That was precisely why, when Amelia's mother, Lady Hollinworth, had arrived at the Saintwood home a little before half eleven in the morning, Diana had been dressed and waiting, having already breakfasted well before. Even though her mother was still abed and unlikely to rise before an hour past noon or so. And even though her maid Marie, a sometimes-temperamental French girl, was incessantly complaining about departing at such an unseemly hour. To be blunt, Diana did not care. She was going to do this and do it well.
Miss Phoebe Banbrook needed someone to assist her in navigating the often treacherous waters of society. Diana could be that person, so therefore, she would. Which was why, with a little prodding and a few questions, Diana soon had Phoebe chattering away like a magpie all the way to Madame LaVallier's shop. The girl didn't stop talking even after the little group went inside, showing a zest for life and a true appreciation for London that no one in Diana's circle of friends still possessed. Yes, Diana thought as she followed Phoebe inside the exclusive modiste's shop, she would like this girl quite well.
By the time both women emerged from Madame LaVallier's, Diana felt as if she had been caught up in a sudden summer storm. Phoebe was simply that energetic. Almost too energetic, truth be told. She was also clearly used to getting her own way and did not like being told what to do. Just like many young debutants, Phoebe felt that she had all the answers. It was not completely unexpected, but it was something that Diana hoped to curb - just a bit - lest the girl get into trouble she was not prepared to handle. Yet at the same time, it was clear the young woman still felt a bit awkward at times as well, and often rushed to fill the void in her social knowledge with words. Just as she was doing now.
"Do you really think the blush colored gown suited me best?" Phoebe asked Diana as the young girl rather obviously attempted not to gawk at the rush of carriages, horses, and other traffic on the street in front of them. "I had thought the deep peach colored gown with the plunging neck and scalloped lace might be a better choice. I have worn that color before to many compliments. Everyone back home says so."
Diana patted the young woman's hand before gesturing in the direction of a nearby bookseller's shop, one of Diana's particular favorites, though she frequented many. "The peach was lovely, but the blush was far more appropriate. Remember, this is not Ipswich any longer and the gentlemen of London expect young ladies that they wish to court to have a more," she waved a hand in the air, "oh, I don't know, a more sophisticated air, I suppose you could say. But not too sophisticated, for then they will question your innocence, if not in public, then certainly in private."
She paused for a moment, thankful that not many people were out at the early hour. "I do not mean to cause you undue alarm, Phoebe, but there are a good number of unwed young ladies in the ton vying for wealthy, titled husbands this season and many of them are rather ruthless in their pursuits. To snare a husband, you will need every advantage at your disposal. That includes often times being more demure than you might otherwise be. You do want a husband, do you not?"
"Desperately," the girl replied as she mulled over Diana's words, a frown marring her pretty features. "It is why Ma
ma and Papa sent me to London, after all. There is a surprising lack of local barons and other acceptable gentry in our area. In fact, the only man in the area of any note is the Marquess of Trumbull." She wrinkled her nose in obvious distaste. "And he is rather old. Surely three and thirty at the very least."
"That is not so very old, really," Diana replied, thinking of her own advanced age, as well as the ages of most of the available men in society at the moment. "And if he is an unmarried marquess, he would certainly be considered eligible. Especially for you, as you are the granddaughter of an earl. Best not to forget that."
"He also smells of onions and unwashed hosiery." A slight shudder ran through Phoebe as she said this.
Diana stifled a laugh, thinking the young woman did have a valid point. "Then perhaps he is not all that eligible after all. Still, you will find that most men in London do not smell, or if they do, it is of a rather pleasant sort. Bay rum, horses, cedarwood, sage, and fine port. That sort of thing." She continued on, pleased when Phoebe fell in beside her. Phoebe might be a bit awkward but a night or two out in society should fix that. And really, the girl was delightful. "And many of those same gentlemen expect a lady to smell appealing as well. There is a perfumery that I quite like just around the corner. We shall go there after I pop into the bookseller's for a moment. I had requested the man procure a copy of Mrs. Kingsley and the Black Pirate for me and it seems that he has managed to do so. It has been long out of print for some reason. I am told it is a delightful read, so I can't understand why that would be the case."
Once more Phoebe wrinkled her nose in obvious distaste. That was one thing Diana would have to work on with her, but later. For now, it was refreshing to see a young lady who was not so tightly bound by London society's dictates. "You read lurid gothic novels?"
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