A Marquess Is Forever

by Bethany M. Sefchick

  "I do," Diana confirmed with a conspiratorial wink. "But I also read newspapers, history books, almost anything written in either Greek or Latin, and the works of Shakespeare. Truly anything I can get my hands on, really." Few people knew of her bluestocking tendencies in that regard. It was, Diana decided, only one more item in a long list of things that people did not know about her. Perhaps people should know. Why not? It was who she truly was, after all.

  Phoebe was quiet for a moment. "Mama is not a fan of novels, particularly the lurid gothic ones. She tells me they will rot my brain." Another pause. "When you are finished, might I read it? I am ever so curious." Then, "Do you really suppose it will rot my brain?"

  "No, I do not think you need to fear any such malady," Diana reassured Phoebe as they meandered slowly along the sidewalk, peering into various shop windows as they strolled towards their destination. "I have read many gothic novels - lurid and otherwise - and I still have all of my wits about me."

  Behind them Marie made a noise that might have been a snort - whether or agreement or disagreement, Diana could not be certain. Nor did she care. For once, the weather was as fine as anyone could ask for, with a bright blue sky, wispy white clouds and a warm breeze that made her thankful she had chosen her light blue muslin dress instead of the heavier one that Marie had laid out earlier that morning.

  Phoebe must have been enjoying the day as well for she lapsed into uncharacteristic silence every so often as they strolled, wandering in and out of shops and collecting a fair number of packages, including the one from the bookseller's that included not one but three gothic novels that the store's proprietor had obtained just for Diana.

  After the perfumery, they also visited the milliner's, a specialty linen shop so that Phoebe might select the fabric she favored for drapes in her new suite of rooms at her uncle's town house, and an apothecary where Diana introduced Phoebe to her first bottle of Milk of Roses. Phoebe protested that her skin was naturally smooth and unblemished, but Diana gently reminded her that, given the thick, gray clouds of smoke and fog that often hung over London, even the most perfect of complexions needed some assistance every now and then.

  Their final stop on their shopping expedition was one of the jeweler's establishments that the Saintwood family favored. Lady Hollinworth had specified that Phoebe should have a set of jeweled hair combs, some pearl tipped pins, and what she termed an "age appropriate yet very simple" necklace. With Phoebe's rather pale coloring and her need to wear the oftentimes unflattering pastels of a debutante, Diana had thought a simple ruby or perhaps amethyst necklace might suit. Nothing too ostentatious or anything unseemly, of course. A single, teardrop shaped jewel should do the trick and the jeweler, a Mr. Roarke, always carried a selection of fine pieces from which to choose.

  Upon entering the jeweler's however, once more Phoebe took on a mind of her own and began to ask to see things that not only would look terrible on her but were also wildly inappropriate - not to mention well outside of the acceptable price range for a debutante's jewelry. This was the side of the young girl that concerned Diana, one she had seen flashes of all morning and had no idea how to curb. No matter how gently - or conversely forcefully - Diana prodded her, Phoebe insisted on examining pieces that were more appropriate for a courtesan than a young lady. And some were probably even too risqué for a courtesan.

  "Phoebe, what about this? Do you like it?" Diana pointed to a small string of exquisitely cut rubies in one of the center cases. It was expensive no doubt, given the high quality of the stones, but it was very appropriate. And extremely lovely. "There are earbobs to match as well. And a bracelet. Since this is to be your first jewelry, I do not think Lord Hollinworth would mind the little extra expense. I also think it would be perfect for Lord and Lady Hudson's ball tomorrow night." It was well known that each year on the third night of the season, Lord Joshua Hudson, the Earl of Gravesend, and his wife Josette, hosted one of the most lavish balls of the entire London season. One that was even more lavish than the Saintwood family's own Moonlight Ball that was held near the end of each season. And to best Ursula at throwing a ball was truly an accomplishment few could claim.

  Since Lady Hollinworth was sponsoring Phoebe, there was no question as to whether or not the girl would attend. Therefore, she would require a few jewels - jewels that Phoebe's parents did not own, but that the earl and his wife were more than happy to supply. However, Diana doubted that the necklace Phoebe was currently admiring - one made of multiple strands of emeralds, sapphires and diamonds trimmed in a bright, garish gold - would hardly be considered appropriate. In fact, it was downright vulgar - even for one of Prinny's mistresses.

  "I like this one," Phoebe replied with just a hint of a whine in her voice. However, the young lady was not completely stupid and moved to Diana's side. "But it's not for me, is it?"

  "It's not for anyone, lass. Lest of all a pretty thing like you."

  In a flash, Diana's head snapped up to locate the sound of the voice, but she needn't have done so. She recognized the voice in an instant. Lord Hallstone. Lachlan.

  It was then that Diana also noticed the jeweler listening on with great interest while attempting to pretend he was otherwise occupied. Marie, confound the girl, was nowhere to be seen, probably in the back gossiping with a shop girl. That meant that introductions were in order. Quickly. Before Mr. Roarke decided to inform the gossip rags about the chance encounter, making it into an unseemly and ugly affair.

  "Lord Hallstone." Diana dropped into a curtsey. "May I present my friend Miss Phoebe Banbrook. She is being sponsored this season by her aunt, Lady Hollinworth." Then Diana turned to her friend. "Miss Banbrook, may I present Lord Lachlan McKenna, the Marquess of Hallstone." When Phoebe didn't immediately drop into the appropriate curtsey, Diana gave her a quick nudge, which seemed to spur the other girl into action.

  "Your grace," Phoebe finally managed in response to Lachlan's own bow. "It is a pleasure." She could not seem to tear her gaze away from the handsome lord, something that quite bothered Diana even if she didn't know precisely why.

  He inclined his head. "Indeed, Miss Banbrook. It is a pleasure." Then he gestured to the numerous jewelry cases filled with all sorts of trinkets, from the plain to the most elaborate creations one could imagine. "I could not help but overhear that you are shopping for something to accent your gown for the Hudson's ball tomorrow evening. As the older brother of several younger sisters, might I suggest something a bit simpler than the wee bit gaudy creation you have been admiring? It would suit you far better."

  "Of course, my lord. Whatever you suggest." There was no mistaking the simpering note in Phoebe's voice.

  Uncharacteristically, Diana wanted to strangle the girl. Phoebe had barely been in London a week and she was clearly already setting her cap for the marquess. He was too far out of her league, to be sure. He was nice enough, but he was, well...

  Diana bit her lip, unwilling to allow either the marquess or Phoebe to see her distress and discomfort. What was wrong with her? She was not the jealous type. Which she wasn't. Jealous that was. She had no claim over the man, and anyway, this was not about the marquess. It was about Phoebe. The girl was Diana's responsibility while she was in London. It was Diana's job to shepherd the country mouse from Ipswich into polite society. It would not do to have Phoebe chasing after Lord Hallstone like some raw, green thing. That was the source of her discomfort. Nothing more.

  Still, when Diana looked back, Phoebe was reaching out to put her hand on Hallstone's. That would never do, especially not when the jeweler was watching the entire exchange so intently. The girl would cause a scandal before the day was out if she wasn't careful. If that were to occur, not only would Diana have two furious society matrons on her hands, but a debutante who was ruined before her first ball. She could not allow that to happen. Not in good conscience anyway.

  "So, Phoebe, have you decided on something?" Diana interjected quickly and attempted to physically place herself between Phoebe an
d Hallstone. "The diamond necklace I pointed out earlier, perhaps? It's lovely and completely appropriate."

  Phoebe's eyes flickered to the marquess before she replied, clearly hoping for some sort of response from him. When he did not give any, she frowned before finally turning back to Diana. "I suppose the diamonds will be fine. Though I do like the sapphires we looked at earlier." Sapphires were not appropriate for the girl, but Diana did not say anything. Thankfully, neither did the marquess. When it was clear Phoebe was not going to receive permission to purchase the brilliant blue stones, however, she turned away and gave her attention over to the jeweler so she might purchase the diamond necklace.

  That left Diana alone with Hallstone. Or as alone as they could be in the middle of a jeweler's shop. "I apologize for her brashness, my lord. She is newly out of the country and while she has very courtly manners on most occasions, she is rather used to being the center of attention and receiving whatever she wishes, I fear. She is the granddaughter of an earl, and though her father is a vicar, she has been overly indulged most thoroughly by her doting grandfather, as I have only recently discovered. She's a delight, truly. Most of the time. Still, there are some rough spots."

  Hallstone's gaze strayed to where Phoebe was still speaking with the jeweler, Marie at her side. "Think nothing of it, lass." Diana warmed unexpectedly at the use of the Scottish endearment, even though she knew it was not completely appropriate. "I have sisters, as I said. Four of them, in fact, and your young Miss Banbrook reminds me of the oldest, Sorcha. And the youngest, Grier, I suppose, as well. Both of them are headstrong and spirited. As their brother, I suppose I should be wary of the future, aye?"

  There was something about the slight Scottish brogue in his voice that wound its way into the very depths of Diana's mind, making her feel young and foolish again. It had been far too long since she had been courted. That was all. Any man would have turned her head at this point, especially given her age.

  "Yes, you should be," Diana finally agreed. "As should I, I suppose. I fear that Phoebe will find herself in trouble if she continues to do as she pleases. She might have been forgiven much in Ipswich. Not in London, I am afraid."

  "The girl is reckless at times, I will grant you that. I have but known her a scant few moments and already I can see it." Hallstone's gaze returned to Phoebe once more where she was flirting coyly with Mr. Roarke. "But then, what do I know of young ladies? I am eight and twenty and still know precious little about the fairer sex and what they desire."

  There were so many other questions Diana wanted to ask this man, such as, other than the obvious, why would Hallstone feel so completely responsible for his sisters' well-being? Rumor had it that his father was on his deathbed. If so, that was most likely the reason, but as far as she knew, the old laird wasn't dead yet. He might yet recover. Also wasn't there a new Lady Gladston? What of her? How had he come by his title, other than - again - the obvious of course? There were also rumored to be scads of nephews eager to claim the Hallstone title when the old marquess had disowned his daughter, his only child. What had changed so much during the intervening years that her son had inherited the title instead?

  More to the point, what did Lachlan want to know about women that he did not already? Had he taken a mistress since his arrival in London? Did he have one back in Scotland? Diana assumed he must have. She doubted that he was as innocent as she. Especially not when he was so handsome and virile, and, according to Eliza anyway, had been something of a known rake in Edinburgh. Did he have a lover even now, perhaps an opera dancer or that naughty, man-hungry Italian soprano Gianna Vienetti? That woman had attempted to bed just about every man in the ton, Oliver included.

  There were so many things that Diana did not know about Lord Lachlan McKenna. But she wished to know. She could admit that much at least. Still, it was idle curiosity. Nothing more. Certainly not a desire to get close to him. That would be unseemly for a woman like her.

  Then again, Diana wasn't betrothed. According to Lord Hathaway, she never would be. At least not to him. So why not flirt with Lord Hallstone? Other than simply because her mother would disapprove, of course. Still, what did she have to lose? Was this the chance she had been waiting for all of her adult life? A chance to flirt with a handsome, eligible gentleman, one who showed at least a passing interest in her? One that she was interested in as well? If she did not take this chance, would she regret it for the rest of her life? Would she regret not acting on her desires, another moment in a long line of inaction that had defined her life for so long?

  Standing in the middle of Mr. Roarke's store on an unseasonably warm day, Diana felt her head swim for just a moment. The flickering light cast by the candles made the precious gems surrounding her sparkle and twinkle with every breeze that passed though the shop, colliding with the cerulean blue and cream striped wallpaper and the thickly carpeted floors done in matching tones. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut for a moment out of fear that she would swoon where she stood as the breath left her body and she could not drag any more inside.

  In that moment, Diana saw her life unspooling like so much loose thread before her eyes. A life alone. A life where she had not danced with as many men as she would have liked or been kissed even once. A life where she was looked upon with increasing pity as she aged, one where Hathaway would eventually go on to marry, but Diana herself would forever remain untouched. A life without love.

  For that was the life she was leading now. If her mother had her way, it was the same life Diana would continue to lead until the day it was too late and she was officially on the shelf. One more season. This season. She had been correct in her musings the previous evening. Diana realized that if she did not indulge now, she never would, and all of the wondrous experiences of youth would be lost to her. Forever. She would be old and decrepit with not even the memory of one stolen afternoon to comfort her.

  "My lady, are you ill?" Hallstone's deep voice cut through the images wheeling recklessly though Diana's mind, his calm presence slowing them until they all but stopped and she felt steady enough to open her eyes once more. "You do not look so well." Then a large male hand was at her elbow to steady her. Warm, yet strong and unwavering. Firm. Steady. Supportive. Unwilling to allow her to come to harm. It was the first time, other than during a dance, that a man had touched her and Diana felt the delicious sensations right down to her very toes.

  "Something to drink," she croaked, attempting to gather her wits, her voice barely above a whisper. "Please."

  The marquess barked an order and with all possible haste, a glass filled with lemonade appeared, as did a chair, which the marquess helped her into with a great deal more care than was strictly necessary. Still, she was grateful for his assistance and she prayed he knew it by the look of gratitude she gave him. Grasping the cool glass in unsteady hands, Diana took several long sips in silence, all the while Hallstone cautioning her not to drink too quickly lest she become ill.

  Finally the room stopped spinning and she looked up to find both Hallstone and Phoebe looking down at her with concern. Even Marie seemed a bit worried, which indicated exactly how poorly she must have looked.

  "I am fine," Diana finally managed and handed the glass back to the shop girl who had produced it. "I was merely overcome by the heat. I breakfasted very early today, I am afraid, and even then not as much as I should have." She refused to admit that she had nearly swooned because she had lost her head over a man and the idea of a loveless future. That was not the Lady Diana Saintwood society had come to know, after all.

  "We need to get you home," Phoebe clucked, sounding very much like a mother hen and seemingly forgetting that not so long ago, she was flirting shamelessly with both Lord Hallstone and Mr. Roarke. "There is a small gathering tonight at the Fairhill's, but I think it would be best if we sent our regrets. You need to rest, and I cannot possibly attend without out by my side."

  That was, Lachlan decided, the most intelligent thing the chit had said since he had
first walked in the jeweler's front door.

  Lachlan had not meant to converse with the two ladies, especially Miss Banbrook, as she was fresh from the schoolroom and the type of chit he usually avoided. However he had been visiting his tailor and had been on his way to the haberdashery when he had glimpsed Lady Diana's strawberry blonde tresses through the shop's window. He had also seen the way she was perusing the display cases, her eyes glowing as she looked at the ruby necklace with obvious longing.

  Something in his gut had twisted just then, much to his annoyance. He could not forget why he was in town - and it was not to procure a wife. At least not solely. And certainly not one like Lady Diana Saintwood. His life was far too complex, and he would not saddle her with such demands like raising his sisters and ushering them into society when the time came. Or dealing with his witch of a stepmother. Or even bearing any fallout that might occur from his father's various misdeeds should they become known to the public. Still, if he was free to choose, he would pursue Diana with all due haste - foolish, boorish Duke of Hathaway or no. Lachlan's body responded to hers that much. He desired her that much.

  "I would offer you my carriage if I could, but I drove myself today in my phaeton," Lachlan finally offered, pushing thoughts of wedding and then bedding the delectable Lady Diana from his mind. "Still, if I could be so bold, I would be more than happy to assist you to your coach."

  Diana looked up at him, an odd light shining in her eyes. "That would be lovely, my lord. Thank you."

  With a firm grip, Lachlan helped her to her feet, thankful that the chatterbox that was Miss Banbrook was silent for the moment. Then he slid his arm carefully around her waist and took the package the jeweler held out for Miss Banbrook. Given the events of the day thus far, it would not do to have the precious parcel swiped from her unsteady and flighty hands. There were quite a few ruffians about these days, unfortunately.