“I am sure she does practice, but it is of no use—she screeches at the high notes. There, you see?” He gazed at her for assent, but his gaze drifted lower to somewhere near the bodice of her dress.
Diana grimaced, and wished Miss Colesby would hurry so that she could have an excuse to rise and get away from Desmond. She kept her gaze straight ahead, as if the harp music enthralled all her senses. She noticed from the corner of hr eye that Mr. Jardien had leaned back in his chair and was still looking at her. She groaned mentally. Heavens, would the girl never stop?
It seemed like a lifetime before Miss Colesby’s piece finished, and Diana’s nerves were on edge by the time the last note died in the air. It was not just Desmond, but other gentlemen in the company. She was conscious of glances in her direction, where there had never been any before. She searched for Lord Brisbane, but he seemed always to be talking to one guest or another—the only man who did not seem to be looking at her! Not that she wished him to, of course. She clapped as Miss Colesby beamed and curtsied, then Diana hastily rose and walked away, ignoring Desmond’s “I say, Miss Carlyle—” and her mother’s questioning look. She hoped she was not being rude, but she felt as if a wall of eyes were upon her, and a suffocated feeling pressed upon her chest. Air . . . she needed air.
The drawing room opened out on one side to some stairs going down to a garden; the windowed doors were slightly open, for the room was very warm, and the night air was still and not as cold as usual. She did not look back, but stepped outside, and leaned against the railing of the stairs.
Taking in deep breaths, Diana closed her eyes. Her mind cleared, and she began to feel foolish, and then disgusted at herself. She was acting in a vaporish manner, very missish and stupid. And for what? All because people looked at her more than they had before. If she were normal, like other young ladies she knew, she would have enjoyed the attention instead of feeling as if the walls were closing in on her. It was why she preferred to stay on the estate, supervising the stables, riding, or reading a book, away from large groups of people and small spaces.
She was strong, however, and she could ride her horse faster than anyone—at least any lady she knew—and had no fear when driving any carriage or jumping her horse over any stile. Being in a room full of guests—she had been in such a situation before. This time should be no different.
But it was. She felt exposed—not the least because of the gown she wore. It was beautiful, it was fashionable, and perfectly proper, according to her mother. But it made her feel vulnerable, and she was not that. She was not that.
The dress made her feel unlike herself. How nonsensical! It was just some lengths of cloth sewn together. Danger, or insults, or challenges—those were legitimate reasons to feel one thing or another. Not some silly gown. She would go back into the drawing room again, and stare down anyone who dared look at her askance. She could do it—she was tall and could make herself imposing if she wished. The memory of Lord Brisbane’s words about being grand came back to her, and she smiled. Yes, she would be grand and commanding if she could. Taking one more breath, she opened her eyes.
And saw before her Mr. Desmond Jardien. Diana gave a small groan, and then remembered her resolution. “Yes, what is it?” she said firmly. He was the same height as she—she could look him straight in the eyes.
For a moment Desmond looked uncertain. Then he smiled, saying, “You looked upset—I wondered if you were ill.”
She made herself smile at him; he was being a good host, she supposed. “I had a headache, and the room was too warm, so I felt I needed some fresh air.”
He took her hand. “Perhaps you wish to rest?”
“No, no, I am better, thank you.” She tried to pull her hand away, but he held it still and brought it up to his lips.
“I am glad—I would not want you to be ill,” he said, and moved closer with a quick step.
She shifted herself to one side, and he hit the stair railing and winced, but still did not release her hand.
“I think I should go back inside,” she said, tugging at her hand.
“No, wait—” Desmond hesitated, and pulled her closer. “I couldn’t believe it was you, Diana, when you first entered the room. You look like a queen, a goddess.” He brought her hand to his lips again, and kissed it fervently, moving his lips onto her wrist and then her arm.
“Don’t be silly—do let go of me!” She tugged again, her glove came off, and she turned to go into the drawing room again, feeling frantic. But he grabbed her arm again, and then her waist. He pulled her against him, and his face was suddenly very close to hers.
Anger mixed with fear made her push against him, then she stamped her foot, once, twice, finally hitting his foot. His grasp upon her loosened, and she was able to move away. But he still had hold of her arm, and when she looked at him, she saw sheer thwarted fury in his eyes. Fear rose again, and an echoing wrath, and her hands turned to fists.
With one huge swing, Diana’s unprisoned arm came around, and her fist hit Mr. Desmond Jardien precisely on his nose.
“Arrgghh!” The young man doubled over, clutching his nose with both hands.
Diana turned and ran blindly, wanting just to get away, be anywhere but there by the stair railing and—oh, heavens, the son of her hostess. With a groan she ran faster—
Straight into something large and firm and which said, quite loudly. “Oof!” It seized her arms, and she struggled and tried to wrench away.
“Stop! Diana, stop.” The voice was commanding—and familiar. She ceased her struggles and looked up. It was Lord Brisbane, his brows furrowed. “What the devil are you doing?” He moved his hands down her arms, and his frown deepened when he saw one of them had no glove. “Your hand—it is bleeding.” He took out a handkerchief and dabbed at it.
“It . . . it is not my blood,” she said, and tried to still herself. But she could feel herself shaking, whether from anger or fear, she was not sure.
“Not your blood?”
She swallowed, but her shaking continued. “I—oh, Gavin, I am afraid I bloodied Desmond’s nose!” She glanced away from him, and noticed they were at the foot of the stairs leading out to the garden.
“Now why did you do that?” There was a hint of laughter in his voice, and she looked up at him.
“Don’t laugh at me!” she cried, and tried to move away, but she stumbled. His hand came under her elbow and steadied her.
“Diana, sweet, I am not laughing at you.” He took her by her arms again, then put one hand under her chin, making her look at him. “You are shaking.” His voice was soft, and made her trembling increase.
“I shall be well presently.”
“Are you ill?”
“No—it is this stupid gown!” The words flew from her lips before she could stop them, and she realized how foolish they sounded.
His brows rose. “You are shaking as if you were standing in freezing weather. Since it is not that cold, I can only assume you are ill.”
“No. Everyone was looking at me—the walls seemed to press on me, and I felt I could not breathe. And then he came out, and I thought he was concerned for my health, but he tried to kiss me, even though I told him he was being silly.” Her words came spilling out in bursts. “I did not like it, and I stamped on his foot, and then I hit him on his nose—and oh, he is Lady Jardien’s son, our hostess’s son! She was kind to me tonight, but I cannot see how she will be, now that I have bloodied her son’s nose!” Her shaking increased, and his arms came around her, moving her close to him. “I don’t belong here, Gavin. I need to be outside. I seem not to be able to do anything right.” Her words made no real sense, she knew, but it was all she could say. She pressed her cheek against his chest, closing her eyes and took another deep breath. His arms shifted away from her and she made a noise of protest; they came around her again and held her closer.
“Hush, now, my dear,” he murmured. Slowly, her shaking ceased, and she realized he was stroking her back, a comforting
sensation. “You need not go back in if you do not wish.”
She released a long sigh. “In a little while,” she said. “I am better. I don’t know what has come over me—even Mama has said I have not been acting as I ought, and I am sorry for it.” She looked up at him. “I don’t usually act this way, truly. I have never hit anyone’s nose before.”
He grinned. “I would have, if someone was trying to maul me about. You are a formidable woman, indeed.”
A reluctant chuckle burst from her. “But not a lady. You must see that. No lady would bloody anyone’s nose.”
His fingers came up under her chin. The light that managed to reach them from the windows above showed a laugh in his eyes. “I don’t think I want a lady,” he said, and his lips hovered over hers.
“Miss Carlyle! Lord Brisbane!”
The shocked voice of Lady Jardien shattered the comfort that had surrounded Diana, and she turned, startled.
If it had just been her hostess who had descended the stairs, perhaps she could have made some excuse. But Desmond was there, also, still holding his nose, and Mrs. Carlyle with Mr. Goldworthy beside her.
“Oh, Diana,” her mother said, her voice mournful.
The pressure Diana had felt earlier returned, and she began to shake again. She shook her head. “It . . . it is not what you think,” she said, not precisely sure what they were thinking, but feeling she had to say something.
“I certainly know what it looks like,” Lady Jardien said sternly. “Indeed, I would like an explanation of what happened to my son.” She shot a look at Mrs. Carlyle. “As for the rest, I suppose that should concern your mother more than it does me.”
“Stubble it, Mother,” Desmond growled. “It was nothing.” “Indeed,” Lord Brisbane said smoothly. “It was an accident, and Miss Carlyle was just telling me she was afraid it was her fault. She was much shaken by the incident.”
It was a weak explanation; even Diana knew it. Gavin had been about to kiss her, and no amount of conversation warranted him holding her so close to him. It was clear the rest of them thought so as well if their skeptical expressions and her mother’s sad one were any indication. She looked at him; the light from the rooms above them and the shadows of the night sculpted his expression into stone, and he held his body very still. She let out a small moan.
He looked down at her, and for a moment indecision flashed across his face. A sigh slipped from him, and he put his arm around her shoulders.
“However, that was an old discussion; I am afraid you have interrupted us just as Miss Carlyle was about to give me her answer as to whether she would become my wife.” “Diana?” Her mother’s voice lifted with hope. “Well, well, my lad,” Mr. Goldworthy said, chuckling. “It’s about time, I say.”
Diana looked at the earl, at his very still face, and how his chin lifted just a little, and she felt ill. She almost thought she heard a small snap—she felt as if a trap had been sprung. She shook her head, and put her hands over her face.
“I don’t know,” she said, her voice a whisper. “I don’t know.” She pushed suddenly away from him, and stumbled back. “I don’t know,” she said again, and turned and ran away.
Chapter 10
It was good to be back in a familiar place, Diana thought. One where she knew she was in command of her place and herself. She gazed around the dimness of the carriage house, breathing in the musty smells of dust, leather, and oil. She sighed.
Lady Jardien had been right. Rumors about the will had flown from one person to another, and that she and her mother lived in the same house as Lord Brisbane only made it worse. Even worse now that he had proposed, and she had not given him his answer, but run away.
Diana closed her eyes in shame—she had been cowardly, and had humiliated Lord Brisbane by running away. At least she had managed to make herself return to Lady Jardien’s house, and had sat through the rest of the recitals. This time, Lord Brisbane sat beside her, and though she felt trapped sitting there between him and her mother, she had also felt less exposed. But she had declined—politely—an invitation to play the pianoforte; she was not sure her hands would be steady enough.
She smoothed her hand over the curricle in the carriage house—it soothed her to feel it. She had saved enough money to repair it, and selling off a young gelding—for which she had paid service on the horse’s mother and had trained herself before her uncle had died—had given her a tidy profit. She had sent it off a month ago for repairs. Now it was back, in perfect condition for her to drive it.
Perhaps she would look about her for a cottage in which she and her mother could live. There were a few abandoned cottages on the estate, within walking distance of the stables. Any one of them needed only a bit of repair and cleaning to make it comfortable to live in, she was sure. In fact, perhaps she should look at one of them, and see how much it might need in the way of repairs and renovations.
It would be a good chance to try out the curricle as well. The carriagewrights had found nothing wrong with it, except what damage the horses and the accident had done to it. She’d had one of her grooms travel to London, disguised as a prospective employee, investigate the matter as well, and he could not find anything amiss, either. She frowned, and went out to the stables, calling for a groom. Lord Brisbane had been right—it was not the curricle that had been the cause of her uncle’s carriage accident.
The thought of the earl and the evening before gave her pause. She was very close to the edge of scandal, she knew. Going out in the curricle alone would cause more talk, perhaps, but it was not as if she had not gone out in it alone before. She had never gone far, just around and about the roads on the estate, never to the village. Some people had seen her driving the curricle before her uncle had passed away, and had thought her strange for doing it. A flare of rebellion burned in her. What difference could it make? Driving about in the curricle again would add little or nothing to the very large problem she already had.
Nate Staples came up with the horses, smiling shyly. “I’ve got the best harness, miss, and will put it on right enough.”
“Very good.” Diana nodded absently, then his words penetrated her thoughtful fog. “No, wait, not the best ones—I’d like to reserve those for racing or going at top speed, as my uncle used to. I prefer the old ones; I don’t intend to go fast this time, only at a trot, just to feel the carriage’s spring action.” Nate looked indecisive, and she smiled. “Here, I’ll hold the horses until you return.”
“Aye, miss,” he said, a doubtful look on his face as he left. Diana’s smile turned wry. He knew better than to protest her orders, but some of the new stablehands were still unused to having a woman supervise the stables. She spoke to the horses gently, and stroked their noses, until Ned returned.
Ned was as good as his word, and harnessed the horses well and in good time. Diana climbed up into the curricle, and he handed her the reins.
“How is your cousin, by the by?” she asked.
Ned looked pleased. “Bob’s better, miss. We were worried about ‘is eyes, and the doctor was afeared of infection, because they’d blistered bad. But Bob’s mam bought the poutices for it with the money you gave—and she thanks you, miss, and says she’ll ‘ave me bring back a bottle of her cordial for you next time I see her—and he’s fair to recover.”
Diana smiled. “I am glad. Do tell him we’ll be pleased to see him back to work, and pleased to keep you, too, for there’s more work to be done on building the stable addition, and Lord Brisbane’s given me permission to buy more stock.”
Ned’s face split in a wide grin, and he bobbed his head respectfully. “I’m that glad, miss. It’s fine cattle you ‘ave, an’ a blessin’ to work with ’em.” Diana gave a last smile, pulled down her hat’s veil over her face, and touched her whip gently on the backs of her horses. She was off!
The various carriage craftsmen had done a fine job of repairing the curricle. They had oiled the axles and various joined parts of the coach; it ran with nar
y a squeak and bowled over the gravel road quickly and easily. She stayed on gravel for a bit, testing the springs over the bumps and ruts. The curricle bounced but did not jolt too much—yes, a very fine repair, as good as new. The carriage makers had said they had replaced the large, curving springs, and so they had, with superior ones as she had requested.
She looked ahead. A macadamed road was coming up soon; a mile on that, and she could go off to the west to one of the abandoned cottages on the estate.
Diana grinned as the curricle moved onto the paved road. Excellent! The carriage ran as smooth as silk as far as she was concerned. She decided to urge the horses on to a canter, and touched the whip to their backs again. The breeze from the faster pace brushed the veil over her face against her cheeks, and she laughed from sheer joy of the speed.
The laugh faded however, and she frowned. A sound, hoof-beats faster than that of her own horses, came from behind her. A single horseman, she believed, and she hoped that he would be sensible enough not to rush past the side of her horses and startle them. She would see him as soon as he came to the side of her coach—she did not want to look back and be distracted from her driving.
The sound of the single horseman came closer, and then it was to the side of her. She glanced down, irritated, at him, then her eyes widened. Lord Brisbane!
A dark look was on his face, and his lips had thinned to a straight, hard line. He glared at her, clearly angry.
“Stop this carriage at once!” he shouted above the thunder of hooves.
“Don’t be silly!” she shouted back. “I can drive this curricle very well, as you can see.”
Miss Carlyle's Curricle: Signet Regency Romance (InterMix) Page 13
