Too Wilde to Wed

by Eloisa James

  “I wouldn’t describe that as miraculous,” Diana said.

  “Another example. He brought Sweetpea to Willa, and arguably the baby skunk helped save Willa’s life. That was after you left the castle, though I suppose you heard the story?”

  Diana nodded, feeling a pinch of guilt. But only a pinch.

  “Moreover, when we were boys, Mr. Calico brought Alaric a box of curiosities that my brother says provided the genesis of his desire to travel. In a way, Mr. Calico is responsible for Lord Wilde’s adventures.”

  “What has he brought you?” Diana asked.

  “Those books on architecture I told you about. One a year, carried from London. Until Horatius died, and I became heir to the dukedom, that is.”

  “And thereafter? What did he offer you?”

  The bleak expression in his eyes was replaced by a rueful smile. “Aunt Knowe bought me canary-colored stockings, which I didn’t think I wanted. Later I wore them to woo you in the style to which I was certain you aspired.”

  It felt so good to laugh about their brief betrothal. Ever since North proposed to her, their relationship had been a source of nothing but anguish, guilt, and anxiety.

  But now he stood grinning at her, his black hair gleaming in the sunshine. Diana felt a deep wash of happiness, almost as if . . .

  No. After closely watching Ophelia, she had a deep conviction that she would be unhappy as a duchess. She had to stop looking at North’s lips and his shoulders and his eyes . . .

  Right now.

  She had stepped away and crouched down next to the children, when she heard the clop-clopping of hooves on cobblestones. At a quick glance, it seemed to be the castle pony cart, the one she’d taken to the village when she’d made her escape from the betrothal party.

  With a shock that nearly made her topple over, Diana realized that Lavinia was holding the reins, Leonidas lounging on the seat beside her. Her cousin Lavinia, whom Diana hadn’t seen since she ran away to London, hatbox in hand.

  Lavinia was dressed in what must be the newest in French fashion, since she’d been living in Paris for the past two years. Her golden hair fell in shining waves, topped with a tall purple hat, cocked at a rakish angle. Her traveling costume was navy blue with a wide purple belt and four buttons that drew attention to her bosom.

  Diana froze, painfully aware of her shabby dress. Scorching embarrassment swept over her like a fever. It was one thing to be a governess. It was another to meet her dazzling cousin while wearing attire that some maidservants would scorn.

  She didn’t even have a bonnet, let alone a French hat like the one on Lavinia’s head. The housekeeper had replaced the floppy cap that North had absconded with, and Diana had pinned it on top of her bun that morning without even looking in the mirror.

  Lavinia tossed the reins to Leonidas and hopped down. “Hello, North! Where’s my cousin?” she cried, not bothering with a formal greeting. “Prism said I could find her down here. Isn’t it beautiful? It’s not raining! It usually rains for the entire month of May, but not today!”

  As Lavinia, Leonidas, and North greeted each other, Diana remained in a crouch, trying to get herself to straighten up.

  Artie had paid no attention to the arrival of the pony cart. She was clutching four dolls to her small chest. “May I have them?” she cried, in great excitement. “May I, DeeDee? Please? Please?”

  Godfrey had discovered a rearing horse with front hooves raised high, and improbably blue eyes. He held it up silently.

  “We must bring that ferocious steed home,” North said, appearing at her shoulder. “Choose one doll, but not all four, Artie. You three must not have noticed, but Leonidas has arrived with Miss Lavinia Gray.”

  Diana stood up, hearing her knees creak as if she were an old woman. She pasted a smile on her face, and started toward her cousin. “How wonderful to see you, Lavinia,” she managed.

  “Diana,” her cousin breathed, looking at her from head to foot, which was precisely as humiliating as she could have imagined.

  “I’ll leave the two of you to talk,” North said, striding after the children, who had dashed over to Leonidas on the other side of the wagon.

  Diana took a deep breath. “You look beautiful, Lavinia. I love your hat.”

  Her cousin looked her over once again, her expression appalled. “Oh, darling. Why didn’t you write to me?” Tears welled in her eyes as she reached out and pulled Diana into her arms. “I would have rescued you,” she cried, her voice breaking. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you ask?”

  “I did write to you, but I didn’t have the proper address in Paris,” Diana said, hugging her back. “Don’t cry, Lavinia. I’ve been very happy caring for Artie and Godfrey.”

  “It’s worse than I thought,” Lavinia said, her voice wobbling. “You’re wearing that ghastly dress, and you have had to take a position in order to support yourself!” She pulled back. “Have your fingers been worked to the bone? Are you well? Oh, Diana, I don’t know how you’ll forgive me, but please do!”

  “Of course I forgive you,” Diana said, finding she was smiling as hard as she could, and she didn’t care about the humiliation any longer. “It’s mostly my fault. I didn’t know how to write to you in Paris, but I could have tried harder. I could have asked Lady Knowe.”

  “My mother got a bee in her bonnet directly after Willa married, and insisted on visiting Paris.” Lavinia brushed away tears with the back of her hand. “I had no idea you were in such straits; I assumed you returned to your mother when you left the castle. I never imagined that your mother would reject you. And her only grandson as well!”

  Diana pulled out her handkerchief and wiped Lavinia’s cheeks, her heart melting. “I knew you would have helped me if you could.”

  “I feel like the worst cousin on the face of the earth. I wrote to you twice, but you never answered. I should have known something was wrong!”

  “My mother did not forward your letters,” Diana confirmed. “How did you find out where I have been living?”

  “That was wrong of Mrs. Belgrave,” Lavinia said savagely. She was sunnily cheerful by nature, but at that moment, she looked positively murderous.

  Diana summoned up another smile. “My mother sometimes makes rash decisions that I’m certain she regrets later.” In fact, Diana’s lack of forethought was a legacy from her mother. “Never mind that; however did you find me here?”

  “A fortnight ago, Lady Hofstra arrived in Paris with one of those terrible prints depicting your situation, and we began packing the next day,” Lavinia said. “There are no words to describe your mother!”

  Diana tried to think of something to say in defense of her mother but failed.

  “We spent two days in London while recovering from the voyage, and everyone we met was aware that you had been disowned for caring for your sister’s child. That’s better than what Lady Hofstra said in Paris—she thought that you had a child with North!”

  “It’s a complicated situation,” Diana said.

  “No one will ever receive Mrs. Belgrave again,” Lavinia said, with grim satisfaction. “My mother made her opinion clear among all her friends.”

  Diana’s heart sank. She couldn’t help feeling sorry that her mother had lost her foothold in the society she treasured so much. “How did everyone learn that Godfrey is not my own, but my sister’s child? In all those prints, North is blamed for seducing me.”

  Lavinia pulled Diana back into her arms and held her tightly, rocking her back and forth. “I can’t bear to see you in this dress.” Her voice wobbled again. “You were the most fashionable woman in London.”

  Diana kissed her cheek and gave her another handkerchief. A wise governess carries at least three tucked into her waistband at all times. “I should have tried to write to you again, but it was so expensive, and I hadn’t the faintest idea what your Parisian address might be. And then afterward, once the scandal broke . . .” Her voice trailed off. “I thought your mother might prefe
r not to acknowledge me.”

  “My mother may be indolent, but she is a good person,” Lavinia cried. “She would never have tolerated this state of affairs had we been in England. As it was, she is dreadfully affronted by your mother’s lies. And we had no idea Rose had died. I’m so sorry about her loss.” More tears slipped down Lavinia’s cheeks; Diana mopped them up with her last handkerchief.

  A short distance away, North stood watching them, his eyes hooded and serious. Diana had the feeling that if he believed meeting Lavinia was distressing her, he’d come to her rescue.

  Just as a friend ought to, she thought, happiness spreading through her.

  “How could Her Grace allow you, a lady, to become a domestic in her household?” Lavinia demanded.

  “The duchess didn’t know for over a month,” Diana explained. “By the time she arrived at the castle, I was ensconced in the nursery, caring for her daughter, and I wouldn’t have given up Artie. I love being a governess.”

  “You do?”

  “I thought you would have married by now,” Diana said, thinking of all the proposals Lavinia had received during her first Season.

  “My mother decided that I needed Parisian polish before we embarked on another Season.”

  Diana laughed. “You were already one of the most elegant ladies in London. And now you look ready to go for a stroll with the queen!”

  North strode over, his eyes on Diana’s face. “Everything well here?”

  “As well as they can be, considering that my cousin, Miss Belgrave, has been relegated to your servants’ hall,” Lavinia said, a sharp edge to her voice.

  “I spent those years in America, and my family chose not to inform me that Diana was employed in the nursery,” North said.

  Lavinia searched his face. “You had no idea?”

  “I did not.”

  “It seems everyone in London has discovered the truth about Godfrey’s parentage,” Diana put in, trying to break the tension.

  “Truth is always relative.” Lavinia’s face took on a characteristically mischievous look.

  “Don’t!” Diana said, pinching her.

  “Ouch,” Lavinia said loudly. “I hadn’t properly greeted your—”

  “He is not my anything,” Diana stated.

  “I am charmed to see you again, Miss Gray,” North said, bowing.

  Something chilled in Diana’s heart, just a little. She didn’t want to be a duchess. Not at all. But Lavinia . . .

  Lavinia had wanted to be a duchess. She had once told Diana that she wished North had fallen in love with her at first sight. It had been a joke, nothing but a joke.

  “I hope you don’t mind my addressing you as ‘North,’ as Willa and I did two years ago,” Lavinia said, her eyes sparkling. “I daresay you’ve seen all the prints depicting you? One of them sells for four times its customary value.”

  North groaned. “The Shakespeare one.”

  “Exactly! I understand that you are depicted emerging from a trunk, like a genie from a bottle, all chest and no legs.” Her gaze rested appreciatively on North’s upper body.

  “I have a copy of that print in my lodgings in Oxford,” Leonidas said, joining them. At twenty, he was a younger version of North, with the familial slashing eyebrows and startling dark blue eyes, but a lanky build.

  “I must buy one,” Lavinia said. “I gave up most of my Lord Wilde prints, all but two favorites, but now I shall start a Wilde collection. I can dazzle Willa’s children someday.”

  North groaned.

  “Mr. Calico may have the Cymbeline print,” Leonidas suggested. “He has a huge pile over there. I saw a few of Alaric and one of Father riding to hounds, which is absurd because he gave that up years ago.”

  Lavinia tucked her hand into Leonidas’s arm. “Lay on, Macduff!”

  “Wrong play,” North said wryly.

  Lavinia turned toward Diana. “If we do nothing else, dearest, we are buying whatever fabric Mr. Calico can sell us so you needn’t wear that dress even one more day. We might start a fashion for togas while a proper wardrobe is being sewn.”

  “Miss Belgrave, may I ask you to join us, please?” Mr. Calico called.

  “I’ll be back in a moment,” Diana said to Lavinia. She was contemplating whether she could accept a gift of fabric. Everything in her revolted against the idea of charity. But Lavinia had come all the way from France to rescue her.

  “He’s got a peacock for Fitzy,” Artie said, coming up, grabbing Diana’s hand, and dragging her toward the peddler.

  “Well, no, my dear, I don’t have a peacock,” Mr. Calico said, when they reached his side. “I did see a peacock just outside the village, though. It was tied to a fence. When I saw this young lady’s fanciful hair ornament, I thought perhaps the castle’s peacock could use a friend.”

  “Tied to a fence?” Diana repeated, frowning. Fitzy would hate to be restrained.

  “Let’s go!” Artie cried, hopping on one foot. “Now!”

  Godfrey took Diana’s other hand and nodded vigorously.

  Diana wanted more than anything to escape. Lavinia was so kind—but she gleamed with the beauty that was possible when one had a maid, or even two maids, devoted to one’s care. Quite unlike herself, who scarcely found time to wash her face, let alone apply rosewater masks and pineapple tonics.

  She was certain her freckles stood out like ink dots. Lavinia must have seen them. And she hated being rescued. It made her feel helpless, rather than bold and independent.

  From the corner of her eye, she could see North and Lavinia bending over a print, their shoulders brushing. They looked like china figurines, a matched pair of aristocrats.

  “We could walk to the edge of the village, and ask the bird’s owner if he’s for sale,” Diana said.

  “Yes, please,” Artie cried. “Please, DeeDee.”

  Lavinia, North, and Leonidas were sorting through the stack of prints, pulling out any that featured a Wilde. “Mr. Calico, I wouldn’t want to interrupt your customers. Would you inform them that the children and I are strolling to the other end of the village? They should feel free to return to the castle without us.”

  “Certainly,” he said. “Lord Roland will pay for the toys, so you may take them with you.”

  “I shall pay for the horse,” Diana said, taking out a handful of coins.

  Mr. Calico looked as if he was about to refuse, but Diana gave him a direct look, and he accepted her money. “Before you go, I wonder if you would have any use for this fabric, Miss Belgrave,” he said. “I believe it would suit your hair.”

  He pulled a bundle of cloth from a lower shelf. It was pale blue gossamer silk, shot through with silver threads, the sort of thing her mother would have rejected as fit only for a strumpet.

  “Pretty!” Artie said. Godfrey was squatting on the ground, making his horse buck its way through the dust.

  “It must be very dear,” Diana said, hating that she hadn’t the faintest idea how much it ought to cost.

  “A trifle,” Mr. Calico said promptly. “One pound ten.”

  Diana just managed to swallow her shock. That was more than two weeks’ wages. “I can’t,” she said regretfully, returning it to him.

  “One pound?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “A governess doesn’t make enough money to justify silk.”

  “Isn’t that the truth?” he said, putting it back on a shelf that held bolts of silks and calicos, all mixed up. “Walk past the church, Miss Belgrave, and you’ll come across the peacock soon enough.”

  On the other side of the wagon, Leonidas was waving a book. He and North seemed to be discussing a Greek playwright.

  If North hadn’t truly known Diana when they were courting, it was clear she hadn’t truly known him, either. She would have said that he was a man of action, not one to read books, or design houses.

  “Thank you,” she said to Mr. Calico. She walked away, Artie and Godfrey trotting beside her.

  Chapter Fifteen
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  “What do you mean, ‘They went for a walk’?” North asked, frowning. He had given Diana time to recover from the shock of Lavinia’s arrival, only to discover that she and the children had disappeared.

  “A short walk,” Mr. Calico said. “You needn’t worry about Lady Artemisia’s safety, my lord. Miss Belgrave will stay within the bounds of the village.”

  North had no such worry. He’d been talking to Leonidas, thinking absentmindedly that he wanted the right to touch Diana. To hold her arm, hold her hand, tuck a curl behind her ear, dust a kiss on her cheek.

  Diana had looked mortified when Lavinia arrived, and he wanted to comfort her. Pull her against his side and face the world as a couple.

  Which they were not—and never would be, if she had her way.

  “I’ll pay for the toys, Mr. Calico, as well as this book.” He had found a book describing ancient Greek temples. He had spent hours as a boy tracing buildings on paper before going on to model them with mud and twigs. He’d tried to make a miniature Parthenon once.

  “Miss Belgrave has already paid for the young gentleman’s wooden horse,” Mr. Calico said.

  North couldn’t stop himself from growling. “You shouldn’t have allowed that. She can’t afford to pay for trinkets.”

  “Governesses deserve better wages,” he replied, unperturbed. “Miss Belgrave is prudent with her money. She admired this bolt of fabric, for example, but decided it was too dear for a governess.”

  “She’s not a governess,” North said, giving the peddler a dark glance.

  Lavinia joined them. “Where has Diana gone?”

  “She went on a walk with the children,” Mr. Calico said, turning away to help Leonidas with the stack of prints he had selected.

  “What did you say to her?” Lavinia demanded.

  North frowned at her. “Nothing. I said nothing. I was with you.”

  She folded her arms over her chest. “Were you truly unaware of her plight?”