Diana Sensational Spinster's Society (The Spinster’s Society) (A Regency Romance Book)

by Charlotte Stone

  Diana had lost a bit of weight, but she was eating more.

  “Well?” Kate asked again, with a lifted brow. “Was it of cakes, or something sweeter?” She always did like a romantic tale. She was likely the reason Diana knew so many stories of princes and dashing knights.

  If only she’d seen the one who had taken Diana out of the bowels of Hades.

  “He was just a man I saw. That’s all.”

  “What was his name?” Kate asked. “When did you see him?’

  “Recently,” Diana said quickly, before her mind went toward details she’d rather have left alone. “He was a doctor.”

  Kate shivered in her chair. “So! You had a handsome doctor. No wonder you’re still in the country.”

  Diana laughed. It felt good to do so. “Not that sort of doctor. A different kind.” She shook her head to clear it of Dr. Franklin Lockwood and reached out for her friend’s hands. She’d asked her brother his name, the morning after she’d met him. Her brother had given it, his profession, and nothing more, but his slight irritation had kept Diana from asking more questions. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said to Kate.

  “Well, you knew I would come.” Kate smiled. “Dancing ain’t the same without you.”

  Diana pulled away. “I’m sorry.”

  Kate shook her head. “Don’t mean to make you feel guilty.” Her eyes were sad. “Just want you to know I love you, my sister.”

  They shared another hug, and then Diana let Kate fill the hours with gossip from both on, and off-stage, taking in her friend’s joy and merriment, because she knew they didn’t have much time left together.

  And if Diana never danced again, they’d see each other even less.

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  CHAPTER FIVE

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  Frank lifted his arm and blocked a fist to the head, then used his shin to protect his ribs from a kick. Reaching out, he grabbed his assailant’s leg and knocked him off balance, using his weight to send him to the ground. Then he moved in to strike his face.

  His fist was caught within an inch of his attacker’s nose. Two hands held him motionless. Then his attacker turned his head and met Frank’s eyes, right before he grinned.

  “You’re getting better,“ Sir William Tift said.

  Frank retreated back into his stance. “Again.”

  They went again. Attacks and hits. William had stopped easing his strikes months ago. Frank had been dedicated to his training for over a year, since the day a blackmailer had drawn a knife on him, and he’d found himself defenseless.

  Frank was stuck in the thigh, belly, and the tip of his chin before William ended the session.

  He walked over to the washbasin he’d had a servant bring into his ballroom, and quickly splashed cool water on his face and chest, before reaching for the towel.

  “Not that I’m one to complain,” William lied. “But why are you training so hard?”

  Frank looked over to where the other man stood. He’d already put on his shirt. William was around Frank’s height, though their coloring couldn’t have been more different. William’s father was an Englishman, and his mother a dark-skinned gypsy. His own skin had landed somewhere between the two, giving him a summer umber that lasted through winter. He had black hair and dark green eyes, and his features held a balance of charm and cruelty. William had been a major general in the army, but he hadn’t needed rank to put fear in a man’s blood. All he ever had to do was glare.

  Unlike Frank, who didn’t think he had a scary bone in his body. People usually looked on him as though everything he said was pleasant, even when he was being purposefully insulting. He hadn’t been able to scare Lord Dahl into a confession. He hadn’t even been able to intimidate Mr. Grayly into letting him speak to his brother.

  All he could do, was show the world that they’d best think twice before thinking him weak.

  William frowned. “I have no idea where your thoughts have gone, but I’m glad you’re fighting.” He started for the door.

  “Where are you going?” Frank asked, as he followed him out of the ballroom.

  “Home to my wife.” William had been married for a year, and he still said the words with the first blush of love. William’s wife, Lady Natalia, had been a childhood friend of theirs, that they’d thought long gone. It was she, with the aid of William, who’d seen to the blackmailer’s end.

  They stopped at the door so William could slip on his jacket, as though it could make him look more civilized. “Are you coming to Christin’s party tonight? You know she put me up to asking on her behalf. She wants to make sure you’re not still upset about what she made you do.”

  Christin Potter, now Lady Christin Walsh, the Countess of Jeanshire, had been the one to volunteer his services to Bancroft. Christin, before she wed, had run a service agency that had helped Bancroft get more than a few of his employees jobs that were more respectable. Their working relationship had somehow bloomed into the man thinking he could trust her, and thus, he’d trusted Frank with his own sister’s life.

  Frank still didn’t understand why Bancroft had called him, when there’d been so many other doctors, doctors who’d been in the practice for decades, who likely could have found his sister sooner.

  It had been just over a sennight since that night, but being down in the cellar with the earl still triggered something terrible within him.

  And then there was Diana. Her pain.

  “I’ll take your silent anger to mean no.” William turned to the door.

  “Wait, tell her I’ll be there.” Frank wasn’t angry with Christin. He simply didn’t appreciate the way he’d been dragged into something that could have led to the end of his life.

  Yet he’d do it all again, for Diana. Anything for her.

  “Good.” William left then, without a backward look, and Frank closed the door behind him.

  He climbed the stairs of his terrace apartment and headed toward his room.

  He’d just closed the door when a sack was thrown over his head.

  Instantly, his elbow went back, striking a soft gut. Then he spun, but his fist was grabbed from another direction. Two men. He kicked the one he’d already crippled, heard a satisfying groan, and reached out to grab the one before him.

  “Dr. Lockwood. Stand down.”

  He stilled and the hands that had been reaching for him dropped.

  Frank threw the sack off his head and glared at a man he didn’t know, but recognized. He was one of Bancroft’s men.

  What was this about?

  He turned to see the thug he’d hit and yet another man he didn’t recognize. The other, who was currently looking at him as though he were crazed, as though he didn’t have the right to defend himself in his own home, was Mr. Miff.

  “Bancroft needs you,” Mr. Miff said.

  Frank sighed. “Well, you could have just said that. Why the sack?”

  “You’ll need to put that on. You can’t know where we’re going.” Mr. Miff crossed to the door and helped his injured friend up. “I’ll give you five minutes to pack what you wish to take.”

  “I just need a shirt.” He was anxious to see Diana. He wasn’t even sure she was the reason he was being called, but he hoped to see her. To see if she was all right.

  For purely scientific reasons.

  Mr. Miff opened the door. “You’ll need more than a shirt, Dr. Lockwood. Where we are going isn’t close, and you may be gone for some time. You can’t tell anyone who you’re working for, though if you leave a note, you may tell them that you’ve left.”

  Frank stilled and turned. “I can’t go away. I have patients to see.” Sure, there were only two, and they both were his close friends, and would completely understand if he needed to leave, but that wasn’t the point. It wasn’t professional to simply pack his things and leave.<
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  “Bancroft requested it.” Mr. Miff stared at him in a way that told Frank all he needed to know.

  It wasn’t a request.

  He thought for a moment to use his coin to get out of it; but knew that to be a foolish move. This may well be about Diana. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  He was packed and ready to go as quickly as possible.

  A footman took his trunk and carried it down to the carriage, and Frank gave his housekeeper various letters to be sent to his friends, and his colleagues at the school before he left.

  Frank got in the carriage and saw that Bancroft and Mr. Harris were waiting for him. Bancroft held a timepiece in his hand, just as he had when Frank had first met him.

  “I take it I can’t bring my valet,” Frank said as he took his seat. He wondered where Diana was. He’d read a story that stated she’d retired to a friend’s home in the country but hadn’t believed a word of it. There was nothing about the earl. Nothing about Bancroft or the kidnapping, or even himself.

  Mr. Miff climbed into the carriage, grinning. “Bancroft, you should have seen the doctor fight. He took Paulie down with one blow.”

  The carriage jerked into motion, and Bancroft lifted a brow. “I didn’t think gentlemen taught their sons how to fight. I thought you all simply pranced around with thin swords.”

  Frank straightened in his seat. “A foil can be quite deadly in the right man’s hands, but I confess I needed a strategy to defend myself at moments when I lacked a weapon.” He gave Mr. Miff a pointed look.

  “Christin told me not to misjudge your appearance.” Bancroft put his watch away. “I suppose she was right.”

  Frank had no clue what Christin had told him; but decided the question could wait. “What’s this about?”

  “It’s about Diana.”

  He’d suspected as much, yet his body responded to the confirmation. He didn’t analyze it, however.

  “What do you need from me?” Frank asked. Surely, the man had not allowed his sister to be taken yet again.

  You’re a doctor who talks to people.” Bancroft crossed his arms. “I want you to talk to her. Get her back on her feet. Literally.”

  “There’s no easy fix to these situations,” Frank told him, just as he’d done before. “She may never dance again.” Though even without having seen her do so, he knew it would be a tragedy to never have the chance to see Diana at her zenith. To know that there’d been a time when the helpless creature he’d assisted from the cage had once controlled the hearts of London, struck him deeply.

  It was yet another feeling he chose to ignore.

  “Do what you can,” Bancroft said. Then he motioned with his head to Mr. Miff.

  The man, with his dark skin and cold eyes, was holding out the black strip of cloth. A blindfold, to replace the discarded sack he’d left in his bedchamber.

  Frank stilled. “Is this really necessary? I already know the truth.” He looked over at the man who was yet again forcing him into his employ. He’d have to speak with Bancroft about that. Frank was no man’s lapdog, but for Diana...

  When Bancroft’s only reply was a continued stare, Frank took the blindfold and fingered it for a moment, before putting it on. He didn’t like carriages much, and usually traveled on foot if his destination wasn’t far. The very last thing he wished to do was ride in one, while one of his senses was rendered unavailable to him.

  The night of Diana’s rescue, he’d forgotten his aversion.

  It seemed he’d do anything for Diana.

  “Why now?” Frank asked to distract himself from being blind. “It’s been over a week. I thought you didn’t need my services anymore.” He had no clue where they were heading, but the noise of London soon became a faint whisper. They were leaving the city.

  “She requested you,” Bancroft said.

  Another reaction hit him, and he tuned it out as best he could. “Requested me? By name? I need a full report on her condition.”

  “She’s up and seems well enough, but is averse to dancing.”

  “Then maybe she could try her hand at something else,” Frank offered.

  “Diana Banns was born dancing. For her to simply give it up for this earl… I want my sister back.”

  Frank could imagine Bancroft’s expression, even though he couldn’t see it. Every word was steeped in anger and agony. Frank wondered for a moment if he should perhaps offer his service to the man himself, but then knew it unwise.

  Though the comment had reminded him of something else. “The earl. I’m surprised you let him go so easily.”

  “If I kill him now, I could hang,” Bancroft said.

  Frank rested his hands on his lap and kept himself as stable as possible, as the carriage rolled over a hole in the road. “But you do plan to kill him?”

  “Yes.” A moment later. “Does that bother you?”

  Frank had a feeling if it did, Bancroft would quickly add him to the Lord of the Underworld’s death toll. There had probably been a time when Frank would have shied away from the thought of death, but since his own hands were not without stain, there was only one answer he could give to Bancroft.

  “Do what you must.”

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  6

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  CHAPTER SIX

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  Diana was standing by the window when the carriage arrived from beyond the tree line. Bancroft’s residence could not be seen from the main road, thus, anyone she saw had arrived on purpose. She watched as Mr. Miff descended from the footmen’s bench and moved to open the door.

  Her brother stepped out first. She’d not expected his return, and wondered why he was here at all. Mr. Harris, who was usually at Gryf’s side just as much as Miff, also stepped down.

  She pressed her fingers to the glass and stilled at the sight of Dr. Lockwood.

  Why had he come?

  She touched her hair and then her clothes. She wasn’t dressed for company. She didn’t want any of them here.

  She passed Hit, who’d been her guard since the day she’d left her brother’s care, and ran up the stairs. Her legs still ached, but she ignored them as she went. She made the hall just as the door opened and she could hear Grif’s voice.

  There was the clapping of heels and Dr. Handford’s voice joined them.

  Diana slipped into her room and took the sheet off the looking glass.

  The sight of herself was painful, but less so than last week. She was surprised Kate hadn’t said anything about the redness. Not even Monsieur Groux had, and they’d only been here four days ago.

  There was redness on her nose and jawline where the skin had been split, but that had all healed well. At least her dress covered up the worst of it. She wore long sleeves most days, no matter the weather, but had dressed lightly this morning. The cuts on her arms were visible, red lines against pale skin, and she closed her eyes to block out how they’d come to be.

  She opened her eyes again.

  Her body was thinner than it had been. She wasn’t eating. Not really.

  Her captor had fed her. Almost civilly, even giving her a fork and knife, as if daring her to use them on him— or herself. But she’d feared the drugs that were cooked within, feared the unconsciousness and what would come when she succumbed.

  She jumped at the knock, grabbing the back of her neck. It was stiff.

  A maid came in. “Mr. Bancroft is here.”

  Bancroft kept two head servants and their families at this house, but they were not allowed to share with anyone who they worked for. He couldn’t allow anyone to know where he lived. It made him too vulnerable, and Diana was sure she was the heart of his vulnerability.

  “Would you like to change, miss?” the young woman asked. She was the cook’s eldest daughter.

  “Yes.” Diana’s trunks had been brought from the apartment she’d taken while in Lo
ndon and brought here.

  A half hour later, she was dressed in a gray muslin with sleeves that would hide most of her weight decline, and entering the upstairs drawing room.

  She was immediately taken into her brother’s arms, and he bestowed a kiss on her cheek before he said, “I’ll see you at dinner.” Then he and Mr. Harris were gone. She was struck dumb when the door closed behind them. Then she turned to stare at Dr. Lockwood.