Diaries of a Heartbroken Duchess: A Historical Regency Romance Collection

by Hamilton, Hanna

  The woman stood tall after accepting the bouquet and she smelled them. She seemed to be bathed in a radiant light, even though it was not yet evening and the gas street lights were not lit.

  “How lovely they are, young lady,” she said. “How much are you asking for them?”

  “Sixpence, please. And they are fresh from the market this very morning.”

  “Sixpence? Oh, no…” the woman said.

  Doris’ heart sank and her eyes teared up.

  “These flowers are worth much more than that. I think a guinea is about the right price. Do you not think?”

  “A guinea?” Doris asked in utter amazement.

  “Very well then, two guineas,” the lady added. And she reached into her purse and pulled out two pound notes and two shillings. “There you are, young lady. And you have a very happy Christmas.”

  Doris could not believe what had just happened and she wadded the money into her hand and turned away to stuff it in her pocket. But she remembered she had not thanked the kind lady and she turned back. But the lady was gone. Doris ran up and down the street looking for her to thank her but she was nowhere to be found.

  Doris stopped and stood in wonderment. What had just happened? Had she been visited by a Christmas angel?”

  Diana stopped reading and put the pages on her lap.

  “What? What?” the twins shouted. “What happens next?”

  “I am sorry. That is as far as I have written.”

  “Cruel. Cruel. You are too cruel,” the twins insisted.

  “I will write more, then we shall have more tea and more story. But now I must go home and start preparing supper. Adam is coming this evening and I want the supper to be extra special nice.”

  “Do not dare…” Geoffrey said, ominously.

  “What?” Diana asked.

  Geoffrey continued, “Do not ever start telling us a story…”

  “you have not finished,” and Miriam continued.

  “It is agony,” they both said together.

  “I shall remember,” Diana said, taking the last sip of her tea, gathering her pages together, and then leaving the Sinclair house. “Good-bye. Until next time.”

  Diana strode back to the cottage and went inside. As she was passing by the sitting room on the way to her room she saw her father seated and chatting with a stranger. She went to her room, placed her story on her desk and went back down.

  “Oh, hello Father,” she greeted.

  “Diana, this is Sir Gerald Conty.” Her Father said.

  “Good afternoon, Sir Gerald, I am Diana—the daughter.”

  Sir Gerald stood. “It is a pleasure, Miss Browning.”

  “It seems Her Majesty will be visiting Balfour during the fete and he tells me the investiture will take place at the fete instead of in London. Sir Gerald is filling me in on the details.”

  “How splendid. That will save us all a trip to London, will it not?”

  “I must get a new suit of clothes,” Father said. “It seems appropriate attire is required for a court appearance.”

  “But you will not be at court,” Diana said.

  “But the court is where Her Majesty is,” Sir Gerald pointed out.

  “I see. Then perhaps you might enlighten us ladies as to what we should wear as well.”

  “I have given your father a complete list of sartorial requirements.” Sir Gerald stopped and reached into his case and pulled out a letter. “Ah, I almost forgot. Lord Donnelly asked me to deliver this to you, Miss Browning.”

  Diana took the letter. “You are most gracious. Thank you.”

  She wanted to read the letter immediately, but dinner also needed to be prepared. “If you will excuse me, I shall leave you to my father. Good day to you, Sir Gerald.”

  “Miss Browning,” he stood again as she left the sitting room.

  Diana went directly to her room and opened the letter.

  My Dear Miss Diana,

  You can imagine the chaos at Balfour as we prepare for Her Majesty’s visit. Both Amelia and I are spinning in place as we deal with all the details necessary to host the Queen and prepare for your father’s investiture at the fete.

  Forgive me for not dropping in to visit with you since my return from London, but I will just report that the publication of the book is on track and it will not be long now until we will be off to London for the book’s launch and promotion.

  I trust your writing is going well. But I am ashamed to say I have not written one single word. However, I have a great excuse as one does not entertain the royal court every day.

  I do look forward to seeing you, your parents, and the Sinclair twins at the fete and although you may be preempted from being the Lords of the fete this time—after all a queen has precedence, is that not so?—I promise you shall be the queen of the fete next year. How does that sound?

  I believe Sir Gerald will be informing your father of all the details for the investiture, but know that I shall be sending my carriage for your family—and friends—on the day of the fete. Protocol demands that your father not arrive in a rented horse and cart. (I hope you do not take offense at that requirement)

  Amelia is presently insisting I attend to her immediate needs so I shall close this letter.

  Ever your Servant,

  Robert Donnelly

  Hmm, Diana thought. What was that all about? It was nice of Robert to write, but the letter seemed to be more of a note from a suitor than a colleague. And while it warmed her heart that he was so caring it also reminded her that she was engaged.

  Oh, dear. She must go down and start supper, as Adam would be here before she knew it.

  She scurried downstairs and began working in the kitchen.

  * * *

  That evening after supper, Mother and Father remained in the kitchen as Diana and Adam went out to the garden in the mid-evening light. Father remained behind to read the newspaper as Mother washed up and then sat at the kitchen table and took out her needlework.

  The garden air was fresh but not chilly. The western sky was the colors of apricots and cream. They walked through the garden silently for a time. Occasionally Diana would stoop to deadhead a group of flowers.

  “How are the arrangements going for the wedding?” Adam asked.

  “I believe Mother and I are to go to London next week to meet with your mother to plan the ceremony.”

  “Yes, Mother said something to that effect,” Adam replied.

  “And the exams?” she asked.

  “Completely finished, Lord be praised.”

  “And the dissertation?”

  “Coming along. But you know how writing can be…”

  “I do. Not always as smooth as one would like. Am I right?”

  “Yes. Excruciatingly so.”

  They laughed.

  Adam reached over and put his arm through Diana’s as they continued to walk about the garden.

  Finally, they came to an apple tree with a bench below it and they sat. Diana leaned against the back of the bench while Adam sat leaning forward with his arms resting on his legs, hands folded.

  “Have you thought about where we might live when we return from the honeymoon?” Diana asked.

  Adam turned to look at her. “At my parents for the time being.”

  “Oh…”

  “That does not suit you?” he asked somewhat annoyed.

  “Well, I was hoping we might have our own house or flat?”

  “At London prices? Unlikely. My starting wages at the publishing house will be quite modest, to begin with,” Adam declared.

  “But I have income,” Diana reminded him.

  “Yes. But it is my responsibility as your husband to provide for my family.”

  “Oh, Adam… If we are man and wife might we not share all we have with each other?”

  “It is not proper. You will need your pin money.”

  Now, this irritated Diana. “I make considerably more than just pin money, Adam. I fully expect to contribu
te equally to the family. And, if that is the case, might we not afford a decent home, separate from your parents?”

  “Is there something wrong with my parents,” Adam demanded.

  “Absolutely not,” Diana insisted. “But I do not want us to be an imposition on them. And I believe we deserve our privacy so that we may entertain and I might write.”

  “Entertain? Why ever would we do that?” Adam asked.

  “I have new responsibilities now as the Earl’s representative of his book.”

  “Oh, that…” Adam did not seem at all pleased to be reminded of that fact. He stood up and walked away down the garden path. Then turned and said, “I just hope you remember to whom you are to be married, Diana.”

  “And just what does that mean?” she asked as she now stood up.

  “It means that I feel that I am being pushed to the side as your career seems to be taking precedence over our marriage.”

  Diana stopped and just looked at Adam. “Oh, my darling, you know that is not so.” She went to him and took him by the arm, and then leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

  “But that is how I feel sometimes,” he added pouting.

  “I am sorry. I certainly do not mean to make you feel that way. But you know how Father’s investiture, my writing, the Earl’s publication, and our marriage are all coming together at the same time. It will not always be like this. Things will settle down once we are married and living in London.”

  “Will they?”

  “I certainly believe so,” Diana said, but in her heart, she was not all that certain. “Come, I am feeling a chill. Perhaps you would like some after dinner coffee now?” she asked, then leaned over and gave him another reassuring kiss on the cheek.

  “That does sound nice.”

  By now the sun had set, there was a definite chill in the air, and the sky had turned a pale lavender with streaks of pink. Diana gave a slight shiver and Adam put his arm around her shoulders as they strolled leisurely toward the house.

  Just before they entered the house, Adam turned to her and said, “I will look into finding us our own residence. And to be quite honest, I think being at my parents’ would be an imposition for them as well.

  * * *

  The next day at morning tea time, Diana went down to fetch her mother as usual. As she entered the gallery she saw her mother was with a customer. She mimed that she would start the tea. Her mother nodded back.

  Diana went into the cottage and began heating the kettle and laying out the tea service.

  Shortly her mother joined her.

  “India or China today, Mother?” Diana asked.

  “I would like Chinese today,” she said as she took the tea out of the cupboard, before sneezing several times.

  “Very well. And I would like a few of your delicious oat and raisin biscuits to go with that,” Diana added as she opened the biscuit tin and placed it on the table.

  They prepared the tea and sat at the kitchen table.

  “I was thinking…” Mother said. “Might we not have a reception after your Father’s investiture for all those of our friends who will not be at the fete?”

  “Mother, that is a delightful idea. When were you thinking?”

  “Since the fete is on a Saturday I was thinking we might hold it here Sunday afternoon. Or do you think his rooms at college might be better?” She sneezed again and wiped her nose with the handkerchief she kept tucked into the pocket of her painting smock.

  “Oh, I like the idea of the college. After all, the honor is for his scholarly work and it would be convenient for all of his academic colleagues to attend. What refreshments are you thinking we might serve?”

  “Wine and beer for drinks and I suppose we could make some tasty treats for a buffet table.”

  “Then let us plan the menu this afternoon and I can check with Father about who he should like to invite.”

  Mother sneezed several times again.

  “Mother, are you falling ill?”

  Mother blew her nose. “I do not know. But I have been sneezing all morning and I must say my throat tickles and I am feeling a little off.”

  Diana stood and went to her mother to feel her forehead for a temperature.

  “Mother, you are burning up! You best get right to bed.”

  “But the gallery… And my painting…”

  “I will take care of that. Come on, up to bed with you now,” Diana insisted, as she helped her mother stand, and began leading her toward her bedroom.

  “But your writing…”

  “Mother, not now. I will care for the gallery. I can write when there are no customers.”

  “Very well,” she said and started sneezing again. “Maybe your father can help as well.”

  “He has plenty going on with his teaching and finishing the book. Please do not worry about anything except getting better.”

  Diana led her mother to the bedroom, prepared her for bed, and made sure she had water on her bedside table. Then she brought her a newly poured mug of hot tea with a medicinal touch of cognac, lemon, and honey.

  This certainly did disrupt Diana’s plans for the day. She had planned to write all morning, shop for dinner after lunch, and then pull the recipes for whatever dishes they selected for the buffet.

  After settling her mother in comfortably with an extra comforter thrown over the bed, Diana ran down to the gallery. However, she forgot her writing and thought to go back but she saw a couple waiting at the gallery entrance.

  “Good morning,” she greeted. “Sorry for the delay, and how may I help you?” she asked, as she ushered them into the gallery.

  The woman pointed to a watercolor and said to her husband. “Ooo, I like that one.”

  The man turned to Diana. “We shall just browse for the moment. Thank you.”

  “Let me know if you have any questions.”

  “Who is the artist?” the woman asked.

  “Most of the paintings are by my mother. This is her gallery.”

  “Oh, might we meet her?”

  “I am sad to say she is under the weather at the moment.”

  “Pity.”

  They continued browsing.

  The couple wandered around the gallery for half an hour but ended up leaving without buying anything.

  After they left, Diana wanted to pop upstairs and get her writing, but just as she was preparing to leave a group of five people wandered in.

  This pattern persisted for another hour, but finally, she caught a break and dashed upstairs to check on her mother who was peacefully napping—the very best thing.

  Diana was headed toward her room to get her writing when her father peeked out of his study as she went by.

  “Oh, Diana, might I have a word?”

  “Father, Mother is ill in bed and I am watching the gallery. I really cannot stop now. Come down to the gallery if you need to speak with me.”

  Father looked down the hallway toward their bedroom. “Oh, is it serious?”

  “I believe it is just a cold, but it might be a good idea if you could fetch Doctor Russhaven to take a look at her.”

  “I shall do that.”

  Diana forgot about her writing and started for the stairs when she thought about the post investiture celebration and stopped and turned back to her father.

  “Father, Mother and I got the idea to hold a reception for you and your friends on the Sunday after the investiture. Please stop by when you can so we can discuss the details and the guest list.”

  “What a lovely idea. Let me fetch the doctor and then I will stop by your room to chat.”

  “No Father, I am in the gallery until Mother gets better, remember?”

  “Ah… yes… the gallery. I will try and remember.”

  Diana sighed, trotted down the stairs, and went to the gallery, forgetting her writing once again.

  Chapter 19

  Robert was at breakfast in the dining room, reviewing his list of tasks yet to be accomplished for the fet
e. Robert had a number of errands that he needed to run in Cambridge. He could send one of his staff members, as they were not errands that particularly required his personal attention, but he had to admit he really wanted to stop in and say hello to Diana. He missed her. Should he be admitting that? Probably not. But he could not help himself.