As he exited the shop with his arm around Diana and Miss Banbrook trailing silently behind, Lachlan was not in the least surprised to see a tiger dressed in the Westfield's livery come rushing up, two similarly garbed footmen following close behind.
"Miss Saintwood nearly fainted," he informed the men as they reached up to relieve him of his burden, one he found that he was strangely loath to relinquish. She had felt rather good in his arms. Better than she should have certainly. "I suspect she was overcome by the heat. She needs to return home to rest. Swiftly."
The servants thanked Lachlan for his service and one accepted the card he offered, along with instructions to send a messenger to him at his town house if Lord and Lady Westfield had any questions concerning the events of the day.
As the footmen bundled Diana into the carriage, Lachlan could not help but wish that he had the right to see her home and tuck her safely into bed. Foolish, stupid thought. He did not know her. In fact, they had only met twice. Except that he did know some things about her, if he really thought about it.
She had a quick wit and a keen intelligence, two things that he suspected most people did not take the time to notice. She was kind, perhaps even to a fault, because that was the only way he could explain her shepherding Miss Banbrook about London for the foreseeable future. She was also beautiful, desirable, presumably a good dancer, graceful, and currently not betrothed. Even if most of society thought she was nearly already married to that dunderhead Hathaway. She also clearly had an affinity for rubies.
That was enough, he supposed. Enough to know that he wanted her - at least in a physical way if nothing more. Which really would not do, for she was a lady. He could not bed her without marriage and he did not want to shackle her with his numerous problems. He also had a family name to restore, though there were worse paths he could take than uniting with the venerable Westfield title. Not to mention that, for Lachlan at least, physical attraction often faded after a day or two. A romantic at heart, he had listened to his mother's tales about falling in love with Duncan McKenna at first sight.
Lachlan was not certain he believed in such a thing as love at first sight, but it had taken something extremely powerful for Lady Felicity Sommers to abandon all she knew for the wild Scottish Highlands. Therefore, he could not dismiss the possibility that such a thing did exist, even if love was not an emotion he would ever feel. After all, he had felt something stir inside of him last evening when he had first encountered Lady Diana. He would not call it love, for he did not believe in love, at least for himself, but it was probably more than simple lust.
Which was why he needed to let this feeling pass so that he could regain his mental stability. It would pass. In time. He was certain of it. All of his romantic flirtations did.
He really did need to find a mistress, he supposed or at least a willing female for the night. Perhaps a nubile opera dancer would fit the bill. Except that Lachlan knew he would not seek out a lover. For he could not take one woman to bed while thinking of another. Instead, he pulled a list of names from his coat pocket. That list contained the names of all of the people his father had wronged over the years. It was rather lengthy. Best to pick another name and move on, he supposed. After all, that was the real reason he was in London - so the name McKenna would have some degree of standing when his father passed, and so that Lachlan himself would not be banned from the drawing rooms of London. Then again, he was Hallstone now and it was unlikely that a marquess of such high standing would ever be viewed with the same distain as a Scottish laird, no matter what title he held.
With a sigh, Lachlan cursed his sire again and headed towards Mayfair. It was time to pay Lord Covington the long-put-off visit to return those blasted funds for his wife's freedom.
Chapter Four
"Mama, I am fine. Truly." From her seat beside her mother among the wallflowers at the Earl of Gravesend's annual ball, Diana was well and truly vexed. Again. "I was simply overcome with the heat yesterday. Please. Do not fuss about it so."
Ever since Diana had arrived home along with Phoebe - who gave a rather breathless and overwrought description of Diana's swoon in the middle of the jeweler's shop - Ursula Saintwood had been beside herself. Not necessarily over whether or not Diana was well but whether or not Lord Hathaway would think something was physically wrong with Diana and not marry her because he feared she could not provide him with an heir and a spare.
It was one of - if not the - most stupid and foolish ideas her mother had concocted in a very long time. And given some of the ideas that popped into Lady Westfield's mind with alarming regularity, that was truly saying something.
"Really, dear, what would Lord Hathaway think if you were to be up and about so quickly after yesterday?" Ursula patted her daughter's hand in a very condescending fashion. In fact, she had done nothing but think of excuses to keep her daughter by her side the entire evening so far.
"I hardly think he cares one way or the other, Mama," Diana sighed and resisted the urge to cross her arms over her chest in a pout. She was tired of having this same conversation over and over again. "We are not going to marry..."
"Don't say that!" her mother hissed, cutting Diana off in mid-sentence. "I know he is still not yet up to scratch, but I am convinced that by the end of the season, he will do his duty to you and propose. In fact, I am certain of it." She sat back with a satisfied smile on her face, as if that matter was settled and need not be discussed any further.
Beside her, Diana sighed in weariness. "And if he does not? What then, Mama? You have pinned all of your hopes and my future on a man who does not care for me. He has made that plain numerous times. Yet you refuse to see it and will not allow any other men to court me."
"He will propose!" If Lady Westfield knew she was being overly loud and attracting stares, she did not seem to care. "He must! There cannot be any other outcome!"
Except that in her heart, Diana knew the duke would do no such thing. Everyone knew, it seemed. Except her mother. She did not want to debate the issue further and was relieved when Phoebe appeared with both Sophia and Eliza at her side, all of them dropping into appropriate curtsies.
"We were wondering if Lady Diana might take a turn about the ballroom with us." Much to Diana's surprise, that came from Lady Eliza. If she was speaking up in public, the women must be desperate for her company.
"I do not think it wise," Lady Westfield said shaking her head. "What if she has another spell?"
What in the world was wrong with her mother? She never refused Diana time with her friends. Ever. Yet there was a look in her mother's eyes this evening that made Diana distinctly uneasy, as if her mother knew something Diana did not. It had been there ever since Lady Primrose Worthington had called that afternoon, ostensibly to speak to Ursula about one of the charities they worked on together. At the moment, Diana had the distinct impression that whatever had initiated Lady Worthington's visit, it was far more than a social call. She also did not think she could remain where she was and listen to her mother expound upon the virtues of Lord Hathaway for a moment longer.
In the past, at her mother's insistence, Diana would have remained in her chair like a good, obedient daughter. Tonight, however, she defiantly rose, eager to be free of the wallflower section - and her mother. She was tired of debating what the duke might or might not think of her swoon yesterday. She truly did not care. She suspected he did not care either, which would crush her mother if she ever discovered the truth.
"I am going with my friends, Mama," Diana said as gently as she could, but with firm conviction. "I have been walking about the town house all day and am very well. I was simply overly warm yesterday."
"It is warm in here as well," Lady Westfield snapped, but she could clearly see she was losing the battle. For a moment she stared off into the distance as if memorizing every line of an antique vase filled with dewdrops that someone had placed in a corner of the ballroom. With a great sigh, she seemed to come to a decision. "Oh, very well the
n. But one turn and then no more. I do not want the duke to think that you are unable to bear his children because you have a horrible illness. Or worse, that you do not wish to."
Rather than dignify that comment with a response, Diana linked her arm with Phoebe's and walked away. She might have been rude just now, but she did not wish to hear another word on the subject of Lord Hathaway and his mythical children. Or what lady would bear them.
"She is like a dog with a bone, is she not?" Lady Sophia finally offered once they were well away from where Diana's mother still sat chatting with some of the other matrons. "She does know that my brother is not inclined marry, correct?" In general, Sophia did not speak about her brother to Diana. That she did so now indicated that she was concerned about the matter as well.
Diana nodded with an accompanying shrug. "I believe she knows. She simply ignores the evidence to the contrary, preferring to live in her fantasy world where I will be the next Duchess of Hathaway. Just as she ignores everything she does not like." Then she looked at her pathetically empty dance card. It was typical as of late, especially since her mother had refused to allow any gentleman to write his name on her card that evening, worried over what the duke might think.
When she had been younger, Diana had danced rather frequently with any number of different gentlemen. However as the years had passed and she had still not yet wed the duke, her mother had become more fanatical on the issue of dancing with unattached gentlemen. At first, her mother had insisted that Diana waltz only with the duke. If he did not ask her, she did not waltz. When she still did not marry, refusal of other dances had followed one by one until now, no man approached her, knowing Ursula Saintwood would never allow it. In her mother's mind, Diana was proving that she was loyal to the duke and would dance only with him.
In Diana's view of things, it made her look like a snob. Or worse.
Over the last two years, however, Diana had taken back some measure of control, dancing at least four or five dances at every ball, refusing to be cowed by her mother's fanatical insistence that Diana save herself for Hathaway. However, she was still not quite brave enough to accept a request for a waltz. She did not want her mother to drop over dead in the middle of a ball, certainly.
But, oh, how she would love to waltz. Just one more time before she was too far on the shelf to be considered.
By the time they had reached the refreshment table, Diana had worked herself up into something of a snit again, something that was very much unlike her. She wanted to dance, so why shouldn't she do so? Had she not vowed the other evening to enjoy herself? Should that not include dancing, especially the waltz? Surely one dance would not kill her mother. Would it?
After they had each poured themselves a glass of punch, Phoebe, who had been unusually quiet up until that moment, turned to Sophia. "Is your brother that much of a catch then that he has Lady Westfield in such a state? Is he truly that special?"
"Phoebe! That was completely inappropriate! It might be acceptable to ask such things in Ipswich but not here!" Diana was horrified, but to her surprise, Sophia waved her into silence.
"In my opinion? No." There was a hint of something defiant lurking in Sophia's dark gaze. "He is an eligible duke. That much is true. He will also eventually need to marry and produce an heir. There is no getting around that, either. However, he is also an overbearing, overprotective bore of the worst sort." She shrugged when both Diana and Eliza gaped at her. "Well it's true. Even Mama says so."
"That does not mean you say such a thing!" Eliza hissed, surprisingly vocal for once. "Especially about your own brother!"
Sophia sniffed haughtily. "Well can I say that there are times when I do not like him overly much?" Then she looked directly at Diana, her gaze piercing. "Or that I believe you are too good for him and always have been?"
"I...I do not know what to say." Diana was speechless. Sophia did not approve of a match between Diana and her brother? That was news indeed. Good news, actually, though Diana did not think it appropriate to let everyone within the sound of her voice know that at the moment. The walls had ears, after all, even in a home as refined as the earl's.
"I am sorry if I have hurt your feelings," Sophia offered contritely, a bit of her earlier fire gone. "But I do not believe you two would suit. You are full of life, Diana, and Adam? Well, he is stuffy and overly fond of rules, even the ridiculous ones, such as how far apart a man and a woman must sit at dinner, even if they are married." She toyed with the tassel on the end of her reticule. "I do not wish to see you unhappy. You are one of my closest friends and deserve far better than my lout of a brother as your husband."
Diana still could not find the words she wanted to say and her head swam, both with the heat and the revelation, just as it had yesterday in the jeweler's shop. Still she had to say something, as Sophia shifted uneasily before her. "Thank you," she finally offered, reaching out to clasp her friend's hand and squeeze it gently. "Thank you for being honest with me, especially about this."
"I love my brother. Honestly I do," Sophia sighed as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. "Even though there are times when I do not like him all that much. And I truly believe he would make you miserable, Diana. Perhaps not at first, but in time certainly. You are one of my dearest friends, and I want better for you than a life such as that. My brother would crush your spirit and force you to live as he does in a morass of rules and rigidity."
"Again, thank you." Diana meant those words sincerely. It was the first time anyone connected to either her family or the duke's had been honest about the potential match. Sophia also put into words what Diana had felt for some time. She and Adam would not suit. She would never find the love she wished for with the stuffy duke, no matter how handsome he was. There was no spark in him, no hint of mischief. Not like there was in Lord Hallstone. Not that the half-Scottish lord had popped into her mind overly much the last few days. For he hadn't. Perhaps only once or twice. Five times at the most.
The awkward silence that now hung between the group of friends did not last long however, especially not when Phoebe was present. "Well I should very much like to meet this brother of yours," she said rather directly to Sophia, indicating that none of Diana's helpful hints about how to speak and act in society had any effect on the girl. If Sophia was shocked by Phoebe's words, however, she didn't say anything. "After all, I have not yet had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of a duke."
"I should be happy to introduce you," Sophia finally replied, that same dark look coming back into her eyes, as if she was plotting something rather devious. Whatever it was, it could not bode well for the boorish duke Diana quickly decided. Especially not when he was standing so stoutly in the way of Sophia making a match with her beloved Lord Selby. "He is here this evening. Shall we go and seek him out? I am certain he would love to be introduced to you as well, Miss Phoebe."
As the small group made to leave and go in search of the duke, Diana waved them off. "Please. Go on with out me."
Sophia turned back to her friend in concern, worry now etched on her pretty face. "I am sorry, Diana. I did not mean to hurt or offend you."
"And you did neither," Diana quickly assured her. "But this is quite a bit to take in all at once. You have, in a very short time, changed my perspective on a great many things. I merely need time to gather myself."
"If you are certain..." Sophia frowned again.
"I am." Diana offered her another quick squeeze on the hand. "I simply need to compose my thoughts. I shall seek out the retiring room. Then I will rejoin you and if you have not found your brother by then, I shall be more than happy to accompany you on your quest."
With one last backwards glance, Sophia joined Eliza and Phoebe who were both waiting impatiently for her a few feet away, Phoebe clearly eager for an introduction to the duke. Diana knew that Sophia only meant to nettle her brother a bit when she introduced him to Miss Banbrook. Why Eliza was so interested in the introduction Diana did not know, but she
was glad of it. Given what she had just learned, perhaps Adam Reynolds needed to have his world upset a bit. If so, then Phoebe would be just the woman to do so. Phoebe Banbrook was a true force of nature, one that Diana had come to the conclusion that neither she nor anyone else could not completely tame. If anyone could shake up the duke's staid world, it would be the country mouse from Ipswich. Who wasn't really such a country mouse at all.
That would be something Diana would dearly love to see. But first, she needed to collect her wits, just as she had the other night at Julia's ball. So for the second time in as many balls, Diana sought out the ladies' retiring room so that she might put her muddled thoughts in order and not give her mother an apoplexy by saying or doing the entirely wrong thing.
Lachlan was in a surprisingly good mood, all things considered as he rested against the balustrade on Lord Gravesend's terrace that led into fancifully lit gardens that twinkled and sparkled as if cloaked in magical fairy dust. Around him, couples conversed in hushed tones and he could occasionally catch the briefest hint of a lady's perfume and the scent of tulips drifting by on an unseasonably warm breeze. He heard the rustle of silk against wool as some of the more enterprising - or perhaps amorous was the correct word - couples ventured out into the gardens, ducking under fancifully shaped lanterns that illuminated the long gravel paths that led deeper into Gravesend's infamous hedgerow maze. He could also hear the crunch of shoes against gravel falling away as a few more thrill-seeking individuals disappeared into the night, clearly hoping for a secret - and most likely lustful - rendezvous.
For the first time since he had arrived in London, Lachlan felt some small measure of acceptance. Though that could be simply because at the moment he was not speaking, his odd mix of both Scottish and English accents usually causing people to stare at him peculiarly, as if he was an oddity in a traveling circus. Still, he chose not to dwell on the reason and instead decided to concentrate on all that he had accomplished in a scant few days.
A Marquess Is Forever Page 8
