Chapter Six
Diana slept fitfully that night, awaking suddenly in the early morning hours, her body drenched in a cold sweat. She squirmed uncomfortably under the thick satin coverlet for a time, until she finally sat up in disgust and threw off the offending material. Running one trembling hand across her damp forehead, she pushed her hair away from her face and tried to slow her ragged breathing.
She squinted in the semidarkness, wondering what the hour was. No point in trying to gain any more sleep, she decided with a weary sigh. The demons haunting her dreams would surely return if she tried to close her eyes again.
The images in her dreams had been so real that she could still hear Giles laughing at her, still picture his evil, malicious grin. She shuddered at the memory, but refused to give in to the tears she felt stinging the back of her eyes. Giles was dead, and no matter what bizarre circumstance he had left her in—legally married or not, stolen property, stolen funds—it should not matter. It was time to finally let go of the pain and humiliation of her past.
Diana felt a knot of anxiety form in her stomach as she allowed the memories to surface one final time. Giles, gloomy and foreboding on the trip to Cornwall after the wedding ceremony. His loud contempt for her on their wedding night, mocking her maidenly curiosity about the intimacies between a husband and a wife, and rejecting her in no uncertain terms. His blatant refusal to consummate their marriage was merely the ominous beginning of the years of neglect to follow.
When Giles had first left her, Diana had been shocked and hurt, but her spirit remained optimistic. She had swallowed her pride and bewilderment and vowed to do whatever was necessary to become the kind of wife Giles would have been proud of. She studied all the genteel arts so prized among women of society: music, painting, needlework. She strived to turn Snowshill Manor into a beautiful home, a place of elegance, warmth, and comfort.
Her efforts were all for naught. When Giles returned to Cornwall after her father’s death, he cared nothing for the lovely home she had worked so hard to create nor her personal achievements. Diana could recall with startling clarity the fury and spite in Giles’s voice as he accused her of trying to cheat him out of his rightful monies. He took great delight in informing her that he had only married her for her fortune and that he had no interest in her. Diana’s fragile confidence and sense of self-worth were shattered.
The veiled threats Giles had made against her had really not been necessary. She was defeated, lacking of both spirit and will. She signed whatever papers he brought her, never questioning his motives. She was merely thankful that, once she did as he demanded, he no longer took the time to remind her how deficient he found her as a wife and as a woman. And then he would leave, not to been seen again for months.
Left on her own, Diana found her instincts for survival emerging, and her fighting spirit and self-confidence slowly returned. However, her secret pain and humiliation had always resurfaced during Giles’s rare visits to Cornwall, for he had always made it perfectly clear that he could barely stand the sight of her.
Giles’s double life explained a great deal about the man Diana had mistakenly called husband. She always felt there was something dark and menacing in the back of Giles’s mind, and she had always believed she was the cause of it. She knew now Giles must have projected onto her the anger and disgust he felt as a bigamist. With his perverse sense of logic, he had probably blamed her for the entire situation.
Diana felt the warm wetness on her hand, and brushing a silent tear aside, she vowed to lift from her heart the burden she carried about her inadequacies as a woman. It was her final link to Giles, and she was determined to break it.
Off in the distance, Diana heard the grandfather clock in the hall strike the hour. Nearly dawn, she mused. She decided to get up. No doubt Caroline would be knocking at her door soon, requesting her list for the apothecary. Diana lit the candle by her bedside, holding it high in her hand as she walked barefoot across the room. She searched among the drawers of the small writing desk for a paper and quill. Locating the items, Diana dipped the quill into fresh ink and began composing her list for the apothecary.
Chamomile flowers, lemon grass, blackberry leaves, orange blossoms, hawthorn berries, and rose hips. Diana read the list carefully, hoping she had remembered all the ingredients. She would instruct Caroline to brew the concoction carefully and to drink it twice daily for several weeks. It was nothing more than a soothing blend of flowers she often made for herself when her nerves were on edge. Perhaps it would help Caroline follow her doctors advice to relax. Diana surveyed the list again and then made another notation: passion flower leaves. She suspected Caroline would like that. Diana added the passion flower leaves purely for effect; she knew they had no mysterious power in determining whether or not Caroline would conceive a child. And yet if Caroline truly believed passion flower leaves contained some special power to help her, perhaps they would.
As Diana had predicted, she had barely finished writing before she heard a discreet knock at her door. She crossed the room soundlessly and opened the door quickly, not wanting to arouse the entire house. Caroline stood breathlessly in the doorway, clutching her silken wrapper together with one hand.
“I was on my way downstairs to the kitchen when I saw your light,” Caroline said lamely, entering the room. “Tristan was sleeping so soundly, and I just couldn’t keep my eyes closed, so I thought I’d get myself something warm to drink. Is everything all right?”
“Yes,” Diana answered automatically, her mind puzzled at Caroline’s statement. Sleeping with Tristan? But they had separate bedchambers. She looked at Caroline with a bewildered expression.
“Tristan’s brother, Morgan, and his wife also share a bed every night,” Caroline explained in her defense. “And Morgan is a duke.”
Diana nodded mutely, refusing to think too closely about it. She knew that, when husbands and wives were intimate, they took their clothes off and slept together in the same bed, but she had always thought it was something they did occasionally, perhaps once a month or so. If Tristan and Caroline had slept together every night for the last five years, and Caroline had not yet become pregnant, then she must indeed be correct about her problem. She was indeed barren.
“Caroline,” Diana said, her voice tinged with regret. “I really don’t think there is anything I can do to help you.”
“Don’t say that, Diana,” Caroline cried. “You promised me.”
Diana winced at the panic in Caroline’s voice, the accusing note of disappointment. “I cannot perform miracles, Caroline. If you and Tristan are already together every night—” Her voice trailed off, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
“Good Lord, Diana,” Caroline cried out. “You cannot possibly think that Tristan and I. . . every night! Good Lord!”
Diana’s face grew even hotter, and Caroline giggled. She paused suddenly when she saw the paper on the writing desk. “For me?” Caroline asked hopefully.
“Yes,” Diana reluctantly admitted. “’Tis a very special brew that is designed to calm your nerves and relax your body.”
Caroline’s eyes sparkled with excitement as she picked up the paper and read the contents. “How often shall I take it and when?” She turned expectantly toward Diana.
Caroline waited patiently for the specific instructions. Only by the light of the full moon, Diana wanted to say, but she did not. In her opinion, the entire situation had gotten completely out of hand, but she had come this far and could not abandon the woman now. “You must drink this twice daily, Caroline, in the morning and at night.”
Caroline nodded enthusiastically, and Diana’s mind raced furiously as she concocted instructions. She was firmly convinced that, the more Caroline believed the potion would help her, the greater the chance it actually might. “Now you must wait one full week before you start drinking the brew. And then take it each and every day for three consecutive weeks.”
“Anything else?”
Dian
a chewed furiously on her lower lip, trying to properly phrase her next remark. “During those three weeks, you should probably—well, that is—at least once a day.”
“Make love?” Caroline asked. She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “Only once a day?”
Good God, Diana thought with alarm, her eyes widening with surprise. Did people actual do it more often? Diana was momentarily stymied by her ignorance. Since Caroline obviously had considerable experience on this subject, Diana decided it would be prudent for her to make the decision.
“What is your opinion?”
Caroline pondered the question for several moments. “Twice a day,” she decided pertly and then gave a small laugh. “It will be as if we are newly married. I dare say, Tristan won’t know what is going on.” She laughed again. “I will, however, endeavor to make sure he is far too content to give it much thought.”
“Fine,” Diana agreed hastily, anxious to end the discussion. “Instruct Lucy to bring the herbs directly to me so I may blend the brew properly. I shall deliver it to you when it is ready.”
Whispering a quiet thank you into Diana’s ear, Caroline hugged her tightly before she left the room. Diana stood staring at the closed door for several minutes after Caroline had gone, offering a silent prayer, hoping she had not unwittingly made an already difficult situation worse.
“Are you warm enough, madam?” the earl inquired in a polite voice. “Perhaps you would like another blanket?”
“I am perfectly fine,” Diana answered, tilting her face up to the sunshine. The air was crisp, but the sun’s rays were warm and inviting. It felt glorious to be out-of-doors. She turned slightly in the phaeton, facing the earl. “I have never before ridden in an open carriage. Thank you for bringing it.”
Derek merely smiled as he picked up the reins and expertly negotiated the carriage onto the main street. “Caroline suggested we drive up to Regent’s Park,” he said conversationally. “But I thought it might be best if we head in the opposite direction, toward St. James’s. It tends to be less crowded at this time of day, and there are more interesting sights to see along the way.”
“That would be lovely,” Diana said smoothly. She was well aware that the earl would also run less of a risk of meeting up with members of the ton in St. James’s Park, but that would also work to her advantage. She had no wish to be viewed with speculation by prying eyes and gossiping tongues. “It probably would be best if we avoid the crush.”
They drove along at a sedate pace, and Diana was glad the earl did not feel compelled to engage her in mindless conversation. There was a considerable amount of traffic as they drove down Regent Street, and Diana admired the earl’s skill with the whip as he guided the horses through the maze of coaches, wagons, and pedestrians.
Derek pointed out Carlton House, the prince regent’s London residence, and she craned her neck to catch a glimpse as they drove by. “Is it truly as lavish as they say?” she asked.
“Overdone in the extreme, madam,” the earl stated. “Lots of gilding on the ceiling designs, walls covered in French moire silk, shiny marble floors, countless pieces of new and antique furniture, and endless bits of artwork. It is truly an assault to the senses to wander the rooms of Carlton House.” Derek leaned closer Diana, remarking in a conspicuous tone, “And I have heard that the regent’s new pavilion at Brighton is even more excessive.”
Diana digested this piece of gossip silently, wondering at the earl’s congenial manner. When bidding her good night last evening he had been almost friendly, but Diana had eventually attributed his pleasant manner to the enjoyable dinner and quantity of wine consumed rather than a change in attitude toward her. She wondered if he had discovered any information this morning that might have influenced his belief of her story.
They turned down the tree-lined mall heading toward Buckingham Palace and veered off sharply to the left, onto a gravel drive as the carriage entered the park. The new spring grass smelled fresh and the sunlight filtered charmingly through the trees, shimmering off the small lake they circled. As the earl had predicted, there were few people about, and Diana saw only one other carriage and several lone gentlemen on horseback.
Derek pulled the phaeton off the path, settling it between two trees. Lithely, the earl jumped down from his seat and automatically reached up to assist her.
“Shall we stroll a bit, madam?” he asked, extending a gloved hand.
Diana hesitated momentarily, eyeing the considerable distance down, but then placed her hand into his much larger one. She jumped down from the carriage, fervently hoping she would not miss her footing and land in a heap at the earl’s feet. His strong arm steadied her, and she landed without incident.
The earl tethered the horses to an enormous oak tree, and he and Diana ambled among the sparse trees and sloping hillside. She glanced covertly at the earl as they walked, admiring the fine figure he cut in his forest green greatcoat with its numerous capes. He was hatless on this fine afternoon, his hair curling in charming disarray just below the collar of his cravat. His leather breeches were fawn colored, and his black Hessian boots sported their customary high shine.
Seemingly unaware of her scrutiny, the earl casually removed his leather driving gloves and pocketed them. “I spoke with Mr. Bartlett this morning,” he announced without preliminary.
“My father’s solicitor?” Diana asked.
“Not your father’s solicitor,” the earl said. “Mr. Thomas Bartlett has since retired from the firm and is no longer engaged in the practice of law. He now lives in Surrey. I spoke with his son, Mr. James Bartlett, today.”
“What did you discover?” Diana asked, coming directly to the point. She had learned, during her brief acquaintance with the earl, he would not have brought this meeting up unless it was somehow significant.
“Shortly after your father’s estate was settled, a letter requesting the transfer of all business papers pertaining to the estate was received by Mr. Bartlett.”
“Who sent this letter?”
“Apparently, you did.”
Diana frowned up at the earl, waiting for an accusation of some kind. When it was not forthcoming, she asked, “Did you, by any chance, happen to see this letter?”
“I did.”
“Well,” Diana said, a hint of sarcasm in her tone,
“pray don’t keep me in suspense any longer, my lord. Did I send the letter?”
“I think not,” he replied strongly. “The new solicitor, to whom the documents were to be sent, was Mr. Jonathan Marlow. Mr. Marlow, according to Mr. Bartlett, is a man of somewhat dubious reputation among those members of the legal profession.”
“Why do you believe I did not send this letter?” Diana asked, pleased but puzzled by the earl’s lack of suspicion. “Was my middle name again incorrect on the signature?”
“No,” Derek replied. “Only a middle initial was used, and the signature naturally resembles your own. Since you have previously stated you have no knowledge of Mr. Marlow, I am inclined to believe this letter is another forgery.”
The earl reached up to grab a leaf off a tree, and as they walked past, he absently tore at it. “When Mr. Bartlett received the letter he reluctantly complied with the request and dutifully sent the papers on to Jonathan Marlow. As a precautionary measure, however, Mr. Bartlett kept in his possession a copy of those documents he thought were most significant. He still has, among other things, a copy of your father’s will and a copy of your marriage contract.”
Diana heaved a sigh. “So you now finally believe I was married to Giles?”
“Yes,” the earl answered, without hesitation. “The marriage contract in Mr. Bartlett’s possession exactly matches the copy you presented to me when you first arrived. Although the contract is not conclusive evidence the union actually took place, the intent was clearly there. I can think of no reason to doubt your story.”
“What happens now?” Diana ceased walking and faced the earl directly.
He looked down at he
r. “I made some very discreet inquires about your situation to James Bartlett. The next step is to produce your marriage lines. If the document predates Giles’s wedding to Henriette, which you have already stated it does, Mr. Bartlett can file a petition on your behalf.”
Diana frowned. “For what?”
“So Giles’s marriage to Henriette can be declared invalid and you may be recognized as his legal widow.”
She looked at him, totally confused. “Why on earth would I want to do that?”
The earl raised an eyebrow. “Was that not your original intention?”
“Good Lord, no,” she said, her eyes wide. “What have I done to leave you with that ludicrous impression?”
The earl took a deep breath. “Will you then please explain to me, madam,” he said with annoyance, “precisely why I have spent the past two days mucking about this city, making all sorts of inquiries, following numerous dead ends, if not to have your claim as Giles’s widow proven and announced to the world?”
Diana was astonished by his remarks. No wonder he usually scowled at her, she thought, if he truly believed she sought recognition as the Dowager Countess of Harrowby.
“I never asked you to intervene on my behalf, my lord,” she proclaimed with emotion. “That, if I am not mistaken, was your own idea. I have never felt obligated to prove to anyone, yourself included, my true identity. I have merely been defending myself against your accusations for the past two days.” She raised her chin and continued speaking. “I came to London to settle my late husband’s affairs and reclaim the property my father bequeathed to me. In light of the shocking discovery I have made since my arrival in London, I think it is best for all concerned if the notion of being declared Giles’s legal widow be forgotten. That was never my original intention anyway.”
Notorious Deception Page 7
