“Bar,” Diana said softly as she stepped around Kingsley.
His eyes grew wide. “Miss Diana?”
She nodded, her throat tight.
“Saints be praised!” He broke into a wide grin and dashed forward, pulling her into a quick, hard hug. “Let me fetch your pa. Tom,” he yelled, hurrying back to the house. “Tom, come quick!”
“Please, wait.” Diana reached out to try to stop him, but it was too late. She followed Bar’s path to the house, but she hesitated at the front door. Bar had left the door open, and a peek at the entry hall showed her the house also remained unchanged. If she crossed over the threshold, would she once more be the frightened, betrayed child who’d left here? She nearly laughed at herself. Had she ever stopped being that child?
She’d come to confront her past, and she ought to be ready. Since finding her father’s letter, she’d nursed her anger and indignation, but now, when she needed them most, they deserted her. Looking into a house she’d lived in a lifetime ago, she didn’t know what she’d hoped to find there.
Adrift, uncertain, and terribly alone, she considered running back to the carriage and ordering Kingsley to drive off. Her hesitation took the choice away from her. Two pairs of footsteps, one heavy, the other light, hurried toward her. Diana closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to brace herself. It was time, past time, for this particular reunion.
“Diana?” Her father’s voice was thick with uncertainty.
Her heart thudded in her chest, willing her to run, but her body was stuck fast to the spot, focused on the sound of his voice. She forced herself to open her eyes and look at her father.
He was older than she had expected. Logically, she knew he must have aged, but she’d lived with the memory of him for so long; her mind had kept him frozen in time. He was thinner, the lines on his face were deeper, and his hair—her hair—was shot through with silver. He approached her, one arm outstretched in greeting, reaching for her. Diana stepped back. A flash of hurt crossed his face as he halted, his arm dropping to hang limply by his side.
“I’m sorry,” she began.
“No need for apologies.” Her father’s voice was gruff. “You’re here. I have no right to ask more from you.”
“I—” she began and floundered.
“It’s all right.” He took a hesitant step closer to her, his eyes wistful. A short cough sounded from behind him. He shook his head, a rueful smile on his face. “I am not the only one eager to see you.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Set out tea in the drawing room, Ingham. Bar, move aside. You will have time to fuss over her later.”
Her father turned and took a few steps into the entry hall, then looked back at her. He stopped when he realized Diana hadn’t moved. She couldn’t. She couldn’t do this. She wasn’t ready. She’d been a fool to think she could handle this on her own.
“I don’t— That is—” She swallowed and drew in a shallow breath. “I won’t be staying long enough for tea,” she said in a rush. Her skin felt chilled and feverish all at once, and her heart was racing inside her tight, aching chest. Everything in her screamed run to the carriage.
Please, not again. Not in front of him. She’d come here to prove she was strong and independent. She clenched her sweaty palms into fists and willed her roiling stomach to settle down. She imagined Henry’s big hand rubbing her back, his ever-present heat seeping into the cold nothingness threatening to envelop her.
“Diana?”
She heard the concern in her father’s tone and forced her eyes open. “I beg your pardon. I must have got a touch overheated in the carriage.” Over the buzzing in her ears, she heard her voice, thin and trembling. “I think I’d like to sit for a moment after all.”
Her father lightly touched her arm and guided her to the oak bench in the hall.
“Thank you,” she mumbled, not looking up at him. The fear was beginning to recede, leaving profound embarrassment in its wake.
He pressed his handkerchief into her hand.
Diana untied her bonnet and set it aside, then blotted her face and throat. She fanned herself, sighing as the light breeze cooled her damp skin. She leaned back, exhausted, as her father seated himself beside her. She busied herself with smoothing out and folding the handkerchief to avoid meeting his gaze.
“Does that happen often?” he asked gently. “The spells, I mean.”
“Spells?”
“Well, it’s not a spell exactly, not like a fainting spell, but I don’t know what else to call it. It doesn’t happen often, but it’s a terrible feeling, with your heart pounding and your head spinning, and you feel as if you’ve been kicked in the chest.”
“I get hot and cold… and my stomach pitches about,” Diana replied haltingly, “and every time it happens I wonder if I’m not slowly…”
“Going mad?” her father finished for her.
Diana tilted her head to the side and regarded him out of the corner of her eyes. Understanding filled his clear green eyes. Understanding and… guilt?
“As you may have guessed, I’ve had a handful of those fits. My mother had them as well, and I wondered if my children might suffer them. I don’t think Alex does, but I generally don’t see him more than once a year. And Cl—” He drew in a quick breath—too quick—and began coughing. “And clearly,” he said, once he’d recovered, “you do suffer from them. If it’s any consolation, I find they come less frequently the older I get.”
“It helps to know that I’m not alone in my suffering,” she said quietly.
“No, in that you have never been alone,” he responded. “I thought in time you’d think yourself well rid of me. I always knew you were meant for finer things than I could give you. You deserve the best, just like your mother. I can hardly believe that one day you will be a viscountess. The duchess must be pleased.”
“She is. More importantly, I’m pleased. Not because I want a title. That doesn’t matter to me. Henry makes me happy, happier than I’ve been since the day… the day you… you said—” She bit her lip, hard, trying to control all the pain that had welled up inside her and now threatened to spill over. She focused on the sharp bite of teeth into soft flesh, but the hurt wasn’t enough to distract her. She couldn’t hold back the tide any longer. “Why?” she whispered brokenly. “Why didn’t you want me?”
“Diana—”
She didn’t give him the chance to speak. “Do you know why I’m so happy with Henry? Because I love him, and I thought—” She took a deep breath. The journey to Swallowsdale had given her time to think, especially since Ellie was more prone to catnapping than conversation. Aside from the letter that had led her here, Henry had never given her any cause to doubt his affection. He cherished her with every word, every touch, and every kiss. Deep down, she believed that he loved her, and she trusted that he would keep his promises of forever.
Henry wasn’t the problem. She was. She’d always thought that there was something wrong with her, something that made her unlovable. If she’d just been better behaved or more ladylike or prettier, then her father would have wanted her, her grandmother would have approved of her, and hordes of suitors would have pursued her.
Oh, she had her mother’s love, but everyone knew a mother’s love forgave any number of faults. Alex loved her as well, but Diana knew her status as a perpetual wallflower had displeased him. She’d believed that a woman who couldn’t make others happy didn’t deserve happiness for herself.
The more she’d doubted her worth, the more unhappy and withdrawn she’d grown. Unable to break free of the cycle, she’d slowly turned into the worst imaginable version of herself—mistrustful, cynical, and guarded. She’d become unlovable.
Somehow, none of that had stopped Henry. He saw through to the heart of her. So deeply had she buried her need for love, she’d convinced herself she didn’t need it. Henry knew better and, with him, she had discovered the woman she wanted to be—a woman full of laughter and love. But she was so accustomed to believing h
erself unworthy that the negative thoughts had continued, no doubt bolstered by Society’s general conviction that she was unworthy of such a prince among men.
Diana had lain awake all last night, thinking hard as she listened to Ellie’s soft snores. She’d decided that she’d had it all wrong. It wasn’t through pleasing others that she became deserving of love. By believing herself worthy, by accepting and loving herself, she could be her best self. And if she was happy, she could make others happy, too.
As she’d reflected on her life, Diana realized that she’d always been worthy of love. She couldn’t change herself in order to make someone love her, and she didn’t want to. On the day Henry had first told her that he loved her, she remembered he’d said, I’m not asking you to be anything other than yourself. I fell in love with you as you are.
Maybe she wasn’t her best self—there was always room for improvement—but she deserved the happiness she’d found. Yes, she’d made mistakes. She’d allowed her doubts to rule her marriage. It was easy to listen to those familiar voices, and rather than share her fears with Henry, she’d kept her emotions to herself, just as she always had.
She had tremendous guilt over drinking the pennyroyal tea. She didn’t mind that she’d prevented a possible child as much as that she had lied to Henry. Fortunately, all she had to do was announce that she’d tired of mint tea, and Henry need never know.
Perhaps she would tell him someday, after they’d had a few children. Mind, she wasn’t having more than four, or maybe five. She shouldn’t need both hands to count them. Heavens, they might have created a child that last night together. The thought excited her and scared her, but her fears had to do with her health and her aptitude for motherhood. Then, too, there was the concern all women must have upon realizing that birthing should not be possible. Given the size of a baby and the size of… She squeezed her legs together.
She could face it. Any pain would be worth a little girl as precious as Bride or a little boy with Henry’s eyes and a smile that would always get him out of trouble. With Henry by her side, she could face anything, and he wouldn’t be anywhere else. Forever, he’d said, and she believed him. She trusted him with her heart.
Actually, her heart had trusted him all along. When she got lost in her dreams, he came looking for her. When she needed to lose herself and escape from those dreams, she instinctively turned to him. She’d tried to rely on logic and reason in her relationships, but there was nothing logical, nothing reasonable about love.
She loved Henry, and he loved her. She knew it in her soul, and nothing her father said today could change that. She would say what she needed to say here, and then she was going home, where she belonged.
She stood and faced her father. “I am happy with Henry because I love him, and he loves me in return. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I couldn’t care less about wealth and privilege. You claim that you couldn’t give me what I deserve. You’re right. I deserve to be loved. Do you think that because you couldn’t love me, no man could? Is that why you thought you had to bribe a man to marry me?”
Her father grabbed her hand. “Diana, stop, please. I have loved you every day of your life.”
She tried to pull her hand away, but he held tight as he got to his feet.
“You are my daughter. How could you ever believe, for a single second, I don’t love you?”
“How can you ask me that? I heard you. You wanted Alex to live with you. Not me.”
“Alex was always going to go off to school. Your grandparents and your mother would have insisted upon it, and I wouldn’t have denied him a fine education to save my pride. I didn’t know how to raise a girl, and I could never have given you the advantages you’ve had with your grandparents. I love you enough to want what is best for you, even if I had to cut out my own heart to let you go.”
She jerked her hand away from him, and this time he let her go. “How was it in my best interest for you to buy me a husband?”
He looked at her blankly.
“Penelope,” she bit out, “or did you forget offering your champion racehorse to Henry as an incentive for marrying me? ”
Understanding lit her father’s face, and a twinkle of amusement flashed in his eyes. “As it happens, I offered the mare to Weston if he agreed to stay away from you. I thought to protect you. If Weston’s only interest lay in building his stud, he would have taken Penelope and let you alone. Not only did he refuse, he had some choice words for me.” He shook his head. “There’s nothing like a young fool in love. I sent the mare shortly before your wedding.”
“Oh,” she said softly. Her father’s confession lit a warm glow around Diana’s heart. She hadn’t needed the words from her father, but she liked hearing them.
Her father nodded. “Your young man married you for the right reason.”
“I suppose you think marrying for love is the right reason?” she mused.
His brows drew together. “You don’t think so?”
“It didn’t work very well for you,” she pointed out.
“I married your mother for all the right reasons, and I lost her for all the wrong ones. I’ve made mistakes in my life, some too grave to be corrected, but loving isn’t among them. I know now that staying away from you was a mistake. You’ve gone so many years thinking I didn’t care, when I have missed you every day. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life missing you, Diana. Tell me I’m not too late.”
The hopeful expression on his face wrenched at her heart, and she looked away. She busied herself with taking off her gloves as she thought of what to say. “I’ve missed you, too,” she finally admitted, “but it’s not that easy.” She set her gloves beside her bonnet, then straightened and forced herself to meet his eyes. “I can’t simply forget the past—”
“I don’t expect you to forget. I just want the chance to know my daughter again. I can’t go back and make up for all the years I missed, but I can be there for you from now on. We can move forward as slowly as you want.” His eyes roved over her face, trying to commit her to memory. “Oh, my precious girl—” his voice cracked. The sound broke her heart open. Her chest flooded with a chaotic rush of emotions as he whispered, “Finally. You’ve finally come home to me.”
And then somehow her arms found their way around his chest, and his strong, capable hands held her close as she laid her cheek against his shoulder and wept. She cried her hurt and her fear, her grief and her anger, until she had nothing left to cry. She eased back, a little embarrassed at her outburst until she saw the wet tracks on her father’s cheeks. He’d been telling the truth when he had told her that she hadn’t suffered alone. They had hurt alone and apart, but perhaps they could heal together.
“SURPRISE!” A GIRL’S VOICE SOUNDED through the house.
Diana looked up from her book. She was reading in her father’s study while he attended to business. They planned to ride around the estate later, so Diana could see all the improvements he’d made over the years. She’d spent two nights at Swallowsdale, but she and her father hadn’t spoken of the past again since her arrival. Though that was the reason she’d come, Diana couldn’t bring herself to bring it up just yet. For the first time since her parents had separated, there was a tentative peace between her and her father, and she had a flicker of hope that it might grow stronger, provided she treaded carefully.
She’d often wondered how her mother had been able to forgive her parents after they had turned their backs on her. I was hurt and angry, her mother had said when Diana had worked up the courage to ask, but so were they. They wanted the best for me. They couldn’t understand that their idea of the best wasn’t necessarily what was best for me.
Diana was still struggling to accept her father’s reasons for staying away, but there was no doubt that their long separation had hurt him as much as it had hurt her. She glanced over at her father, but he was engrossed in the papers on his desk, oblivious to anything else. She got to her feet, hoping to see to the intruder before she
interrupted her father, when the door to the study flew open and a girl of about fifteen, all gangly limbs and a mass of copper curls, came charging in like a tempest, talking as she moved.
“Didn’t you hear me? Mary Seymour came down with measles, so Headmistress Paxton sent all the girls away from school.”
“Claire.” The name escaped Diana’s father in a strangled gasp. His face was ashen.
She sighed. “I know I ought to have sent you a letter, and then waited for you to send someone or fetch me yourself, but I didn’t want to wait. I brought Mrs. Covington’s maid and manservant along, so I was perfectly safe and well-chaperoned. Besides, Papa, Bury St. Edmunds isn’t more than ten miles from—”
“Claire!”
The girl started at his shout, then caught sight of Diana. Her eyes grew wide. “Oh, I beg your pardon. I didn’t realize anyone was in here but, um, Uncle Merriwether.”
Diana’s breath caught in her lungs.
“Claire,” Diana’s father rasped, “what are you doing here? Why aren’t you with Mrs. Covington?”
“You don’t remember? No, of course you don’t as it’s nothing to do with horses.” Fondness overlaid the exasperation in her words. “Mrs. Covington’s daughter just had a baby a few months back. You told her she could have this month off to go to Yarmouth to visit her. Of course, you thought I would be in school, and I would be if not for Mary Seymour and her measles. I didn’t think you would want me to stay in Mrs. Covington’s rooms all by myself, so I told Harriet and John we should come here. I thought it would be a nice surprise.” Her face fell and she scuffed one of her feet against the carpet as she snuck glances at Diana.
“Claire, I am always glad to see you. You’re my— This is just— I didn’t expect—”
“Before, you said ‘Papa,’ didn’t you?” Diana asked. She kept her voice remarkably even, given the thoughts racing through her mind.
The girl—Claire, Diana reminded herself—shook her head even as her cheeks flushed in a way Diana found all too familiar. “You must have misheard. Mr. Merriwether is my uncle.”
Sara Lindsey - [Weston 03] Page 28
