by Nancy Butler
“What of Romulus?” she asked in a remote voice.
“Gone,” Sir Beveril replied tersely. “My men will take him to Richmond.”
“What then?”
Beveril scowled. “They’re to put him on a coach for London. If he’s smart, he’ll stay well away from here. But if you make any attempt to locate him, Diana, or if he tries to reach you, I’ll see that he rots in prison for a good long time.”
He will come for me, Diana whispered to herself. He wouldn’t stay away, not after the promises he’d made in the Gypsy meadow. Not that it would serve any purpose. She was as good as wed to Beveril now.
A long, low sob escaped her. It was impossible to keep the wracking torment from tearing at her heart.
At the inlet two rowboats were beached on the shingle—one of Beveril’s men waited in the smaller boat. Diana let herself be lifted onto the seat, and then sat in silence as she was rowed across the river to where Beveril’s carriage was now waiting.
As she climbed from the boat, pointedly avoiding Beveril’s outstretched hand, she ventured one last look at the island. Through the teeming rain she saw the red lick of the fire over the trees, and the billows of smoke sketched against the dawn sky. Argie Beasle and the other villager, the man called Wald Chipping, had cast off in the second boat, and were now rowing upstream. She wondered how much money Beveril had given them for betraying Romulus. What was it worth, she mused wretchedly, to bring a man’s dreams crashing down around his head?
It was over now. The heron and the cygnets were gone. The keeper of the swans was also gone from his world. And she was in permanent exile from the island where she had first learned to love.
Chapter 11
Diana spoke to no one when she arrived at Mortimer House, pinch-faced, hollow-eyed, and covered with soot. She had no words for Helen, who bustled her upstairs to her bed, with a taut expression on her beautiful mouth, or for James, who hovered in the hallway, with a look of concern on his long, dour face. Helen had allowed Sir Beveril into Diana’s bedchamber once she had been dressed in a night rail and tucked under the covers, but she merely turned away, burrowing her face into the pillow.
Someone had left a candle burning on her nightstand, even though it was full daylight by the time she was put to bed. She gazed at the wavering flame and thought again of the house on the island. Fire was a cleansing thing, her father had told her, when, as a child, she had wept as a local fanner set his fields ablaze. The wheat had been infected with a fungus, he’d explained, and the field needed to be made clean.
But the fire that destroyed Rom’s house had been an evil thing. Brought about by evil men. And the worst of it was, she had promised to marry one of those evil men. Within the week.
When Helen came to look in on her later that morning, Diana decided it was time to have her say.
“Hello, Helen,” she said hoarsely. The smoke from the fire had left her voice weak and scratchy.
“Diana!” Her sister knelt beside the bed. “Thank God you are unharmed. I wanted to call for the doctor last night, but James said you were probably only exhausted.”
“I’m sorry to have worried you, Helen. And James. I hope you got my note from Wilfred Bailey.”
Her sister nodded, “He brought it here himself. Though it was the strangest message I’ve ever seen. But at least we knew you were still alive. How could you have run off like that, Diana? And then have stayed away for so long?”
“I fell in love,” Diana answered simply.
Helen grunted in a most unladylike manner. “Sir Beveril mentioned a river warden who had been keeping you on an island. But what nonsense is this? This is one of your odd starts, isn’t it?”
“It’s not an odd start, Helen. He rescued me from the river, and then he took care of me when I was ill.”
“Nanny Perkins took care of you when you had the measles, and you didn’t fall in love with her.”
Diana nearly smiled. Sometimes the prosaic Helen was quite amusing in spite of herself.
“Romulus doesn’t look anything like Nanny Perkins,” she proclaimed. “He looks like a god, Helen. Tall and broad shouldered, with the most beautiful eyes, and hair the color of beech leaves.”
Helen stood up. “I think you do need a doctor—you must be feverish. Sir Beveril said this Romulus person was a great scarecrow of a man, a freakish fellow that the villagers run from in fear.”
Diana sighed. It was pointless to even attempt to convince her sister of Rom’s sterling qualities. Not after Beveril had poisoned her thoughts.
“It doesn’t matter what he was like…now,” she uttered sadly. “I am going to wed Sir Beveril before the week is out. I promised him and so I suppose I must.”
“Well you needn’t look so Friday-faced about it, my girl. You should be on your knees thanking the Lord that Sir Beveril still wants you, after…well, after your unfortunate situation.”
“Why not say it out loud, Helen? I was compromised. There, it’s not difficult to say. And there is another word I am not afraid to say—greed. For it is greed alone that is prompting Beveril to marry me.”
Her eyes widened. “What do you mean? James has dowered you well, but you are hardly an heiress.”
Diana said, “The night of my ball, I overheard Beveril tell Vivian Partridge that, in addition to my dowry, James has agreed to pay off all his gambling debts.”
Helen’s brow puckered. “James has said nothing of this to me.”
“An arrangement between gentlemen, perhaps,” she suggested slyly. She saw that Helen was rattled by the thought that James hadn’t confided in her, especially in a matter that involved her own sister.
“Beveril is a gamester and deeply in debt,” Diana stated. “Thousands of pounds in debt, I shouldn’t be surprised. He ought to offer James a ministry at least, for such a boon.”
Helen still said nothing, but her face had gone pale.
“And speaking of Lady Vivian, I don’t suppose you were aware that she is Beveril’s paramour?”
“Diana!” Helen squealed, raising her hands to her cheeks. “Ladies are never to speak of such things.”
Diana glared up at her. “So you did know about her.”
Helen walked to the window and stood a moment, pleating one of the draperies. “There are some things a woman must learn to accept about her husband, Diana,” she said without turning. “A man shares his home with his wife, his wealth and his stature. In return, she must, at times, look the other way.”
“Bosh!” said Diana with a scowl. She was rewarded when her sister’s shoulders quivered noticeably. “Romulus would never place me in such a humiliating position.”
With a sigh. Helen returned to her bedside. She laid one hand on Diana’s shoulder. It was the first even remotely comforting gesture she had offered her sister. “I will speak to James about Lady Vivian, if you like. He can insist that Beveril forego that lady’s…ah, companionship, if it will ease your mind.”
“And what of his gambling? And don’t tell me that gentlemen will have their little pursuits, and that I should look away. He’ll continue to bleed James, I’m sure of it. At least until he receives his inheritance. Do you remember the squire in Bothys? His gambling beggared his whole family, including his own brother.”
“I’m sure Sir Beveril is not in that league,” Helen proclaimed.
“He’s probably worse,” she muttered. It occurred to her that her practical sister was more out of touch with the reality of things than Diana had ever realized. Practicality, it appeared, did not go hand in hand with worldly wisdom. “Helen,” she said into the strained silence, “Tell me—do you love James?”
Her sister looked startled. “Love him? Why, he is the soul of kindness and generosity to me. To both of us, Diana. More so now, if he is willing to clear Beveril from debt for your sake.”
“But do you love him?”
“I don’t put any stock in romantic love. But I am very fond of James. I have a true affection for him.”
<
br /> “And before you were wed? What were your feelings for him then?”
“I admired his ambition. And as I have said, he was very kind to me.”
“But what if you knew him to be a man beneath contempt—a bully, a wastrel, a man who dallied with another woman, practically under your nose. What then, Helen? Could you marry such a man?”
Helen shifted her eyes away from Diana. “James was none of those things, as you very well know.”
“Ah, but I am not being asked to marry the admirable James. It is Beveril who awaits me. And he is all those things. If you have a care for me, Helen, if you have any sisterly affection at all, you will help me find a way to break my promise to Sir Beveril.”
“Why?” she said sharply, heedless of Diana’s plea. “So you can marry some water-stained river person?”
Diana closed her eyes. “No,” she said. “I had one shimmering night with Romulus, and that is clearly all I am to be allowed. Beveril has sent him away, and if he returns, he will face prison.”
“And so he should!” her sister snapped. “I only pray this ‘shimmering night’ you speak of didn’t include the loss of your virtue. Beveril won’t have you if he suspects that to be the case.”
Diana had a moment of weakness, wondering if she dared lie to Beveril and tell him that Romulus had taken her virginity. After all, she hadn’t had any compunction about lying to Rom. But in her heart she knew she couldn’t sully his honor with such an untruth.
She wished he had taken her virtue, wished he had given her a child. Then, even if she never saw him again, she would have some token of his love. She was weeping now; she felt the hot wetness splattering down on her hands. All the promise she had seen in those golden eyes…now swept away forever.
“No,” Diana said thickly. “Romulus did nothing outside the bounds of propriety. He…he was the most honorable man I’ve ever known.”
* * *
Diana never gave up hope that Romulus would risk prison and return to rescue her. But she knew that unless he came for her before the end of the week, it would be too late.
Plans for her wedding went forward, but she was a mute, disinterested spectator. The wedding was to be a quiet affair at Mortimer House with only Diana’s family members present. Beveril had objected politely but adamantly when James suggested summoning Lady Hamish back from London for the occasion; he claimed she was too unwell to travel even so short a distance. After the wedding, Beveril intended to take her to Yorkshire, where another ceremony would be performed with her father in attendance. She’d be twice married to Beveril, Diana thought bleakly, when she didn’t even desire it the once.
Late at night, as she lay sleepless in her bed, Diana often wondered why Niall had not come to see her. Perhaps he blamed her for what happened on the island. Perhaps he was right to do so. She thought of running off to live with the Gypsies, but that notion only reminded her of how close they had come the last time to falling under Beveril’s wrath.
No, she saw no way out of her predicament, short of throwing herself into the Thames. But the river lately had been calm in the extreme. She’d have had to weight her pockets with stones to do the deed.
* * *
Two days before her wedding Diana was sitting in the garden, trying to focus on the book in her lap. Beveril had ridden over to see James that morning, so she had escaped from the house and sought refuge in the trellised garden folly. She had barely said a word to Beveril since that night on the island, but it didn’t seem to bother him any. Her dowry was doing enough talking for the both of them.
She saw him ride off eventually on his bay hack, and thought she might walk down to the river. That was as far as she was allowed to go on the estate—to the edge of the breakwater and to the back of the garden. At Helen’s behest, James had warned all the servants, both inside and outside the house, to keep watch over Diana. Even now she saw two gardeners eyeing her from behind a lilac bush. Her sister was not going to give her another opportunity to bolt. She was nothing more than a prisoner in a pretty cage.
As she set down her book, she noticed someone approaching from the direction of the stables. The two gardeners started forward, until they realized it was a woman. No threat there, they reasoned, not from a lady in a dashing green silk gown. Diana saw that a gauzy veil trailed down from the front of the woman’s wide-brimmed straw bonnet, obscuring her face.
“Miss Exeley,” the visitor called out to her. “Please, if you would spare me a moment of your time.”
She watched in bewilderment as the graceful specter approached her. She rose from her bench as the woman came closer, and then gasped as the veil was drawn back. It was Lady Vivian Partridge.
“I am so glad I found you out here,” the lady said a bit breathlessly. “I’ve been waiting in the lane in my carriage for over an hour, hoping to catch you alone.”
“Sir Beveril has just left,” Diana said stiffly.
“Yes, I know. That was why I waited. I didn’t want him to know I’d talked to you. You are shocked to see me here…. No, I don’t blame you. Not good ton for a man’s mistress to come calling on his fiancée.”
“What do you want?” Diana asked sharply. She found civility a bit beyond her at that point.
Lady Vivian gave her a reassuring look. “I want to help you,” she said in a throaty voice. “No, that’s not quite true. I want to help both of us. I love Beveril, you see. But your brother-in-law has made him promise to stop…um, seeing me, once he marries you. I cannot bear the thought of losing him, Miss Exeley.”
Some vague pity stirred in Diana. She knew all too well how it felt to have the man you loved warned away. “I have no desire to wed Sir Beveril,” she said with complete candor. “But I must marry him, to keep Romulus out of prison. Beveril hates him, but I expect you know that.”
Lady Vivian looked down and toyed with the cuff of her embroidered glove. “Not to diminish your own charms, Miss Exeley, but I believe I am the reason Beveril so detests your Mr. Perrin. Even before Beveril began to court you, I started paying rather noticeable attention to the river warden. I knew there was no surer way to rouse Beveril’s jealousy than by casting out lures to a man he already disliked.”
“What’s sauce for the goose,” Diana said, echoing the words Lady Vivian had spoken on the dock. Romulus must have been the “rascally knave” Beveril had spoken of that night.
The lady nodded. “But I had no idea Beveril would carry his vendetta to such an extreme.”
Diana drawled, “You mean the fact that he burned down Rom’s house, sank his boats, knocked him unconscious, and threatened him with prison?”
“There’s more to it than that, Miss Exeley. A great deal more.”
“What more could there be?” Diana bit out. “Romulus has nothing left for Beveril to destroy.”
Lady Vivian nearly started back at the force of Diana’s words. “Indeed there is something more. Beveril told me of his intention to send Romulus to London, and implied that it had been carried out. But the river warden never left the grounds of Hamish House.”
Diana found herself clutching one of Lady Vivian’s gloved hands. “Tell me, and quickly.”
The lady drew a breath. “One of Beveril’s coachmen is courting my abigail…he let something slip to her only this morning. Romulus is being held prisoner on the estate.”
Diana gasped. “Sweet Jesus, this cannot be. Romulus was never to see the inside of a prison.”
Lady Vivian frowned. “He’s not in prison, per se. He’s being kept under guard, not inside the house obviously. The coachman didn’t know exactly where they were keeping him.”
“It makes no sense,” Diana muttered. “Beveril wanted Romulus gone. Why would he hold him here?”
“So he doesn’t carry you off before the wedding, perhaps. Beveril is surely in a pelter to marry you.”
“His creditors are doubtless clamoring for their money,” Diana said archly, as she paced across the floor of the folly. She spun back to her v
isitor. “You needn’t fear to lose Beveril, Lady Vivian. I will never marry him now. He has broken his promise to me. A prison is a prison, whether it’s Newgate Gaol or an outbuilding on an estate. He lied, and now I am free. I…I only wonder that you can love such a man.”
Lady Vivian gave a graceful shrug. “I know he has a great many faults, but when has that ever stopped a woman from loving someone. He might yet marry me, once you are beyond his reach.”
Diana said without intentional cruelty, “There are heiresses aplenty in the ton, Lady Vivian. You forget that he is still deeply in debt.”
“I’d sell everything I possess to aid him.”
“Yes, I expect I’d do the same for Rom,” Diana said softly. “And now I must ask you for one more piece of information, Lady Vivian. Have you any idea where Lady Hamish might be staying in London?”
She thought a minute. “Beveril keeps only bachelor quarters in the city, so she wouldn’t have gone there. She has a close friend who lives in Grosvenor Square—Sir Robert Poole’s sister, Lady Seaton.”
“It might serve,” Diana murmured. “It is a beginning, at least.”
As her visitor turned to go, Diana shook herself from her frantic planning.
“Lady Vivian, I haven’t thanked you for coming here. You betrayed Beveril to help me save Romulus. I don’t think he deserves you, but as you have pointed out, we can’t always choose where we love.”
The lady took her hand. “Romulus Perrin is lucky to have found you, Miss Exeley.”
Once she had gone, Diana ran to her room and changed from her morning dress into a plain dimity gown. It was nearly one o’clock, and she knew her sister and James would be in their rooms dressing for luncheon. She crept across the lawn toward the river, keeping to the shadows of the trees. The boathouse was locked, but she had pilfered the spare key from the butler’s pantry.
