But in that same moment, the knowledge that Diana was gone—that she could not be compelled to remain—settled over him like a suffocating cloak. Perhaps she had made her own vow to protect herself in a way he failed to do. The image of her traveling the lonely roads to Crayford Manor threatened to unman him.

He closed his eyes. For tonight, he would endure the emptiness of a house she no longer graced. Gilbert prayed that she would be safe and would find it in her heart to forgive him one day.

Chapter Thirty-One

Diana reclined on a cushioned settee beneath the shade of a tall oak, letting the faint rustle of leaves soothe her nerves. She was grateful for the serenity of her father’s estate; a welcome respite from the pressures and secrets she had fled. Alison perched nearby on a low wicker seat, carefully pouring two glasses of chilled lemonade from a small pitcher resting on a side table.

“You appear tired still,” Alison said, setting the glass within Diana’s reach. “Are you truly resting, or do you lie awake at night with your thoughts?”

Diana picked up the drink, the cool glass welcome against her hand.

“A bit of both,” she said, faint exhaustion coloring her tone. “I think I have improved, yet I cannot say I feel wholly well. At least here I can breathe without watching every corner for conflict.”

Alison adjusted the wide brim of her bonnet and regarded Diana with a mixture of affection and concern.

“You needed time away,” she said, glancing over the garden’s vibrant rosebushes. “I only wish you were happier.”

Diana sipped the lemonade, savoring its crisp tang.

“This is precisely what I needed,” she said, allowing herself a small sigh. “Father’s gardens have always been so tranquil. I used to sit here as a girl, reading poetry under the same oak.”

Alison leaned back, letting the sun bathe her face.

“You do look a shade better, though the color in your cheeks comes and goes. Are you certain you should not call for a proper physician?”

Diana pressed a hand to her abdomen, remembering her hidden condition.

“No physician is needed at present,” she said reassuringly. “I am… certain of my ailment, and it is not one to fix with simple tonics.” She paused, then lowered her gaze. “I truly miss him, Alison.”

Alison shifted closer, laying a hand on Diana’s arm. “You speak of the duke,” she said, her eyes tender. “I suspected as much. You left in such haste.”

Diana set her glass on the small side table and drew an uneasy breath.

“I felt I had no choice,” she said. “He and I kept arguing, or worse—simmering in silence. I feared if I remained, our discord might explode into something we could never mend.”

Alison nodded, glancing at the afternoon sunlight dancing across the lawn.

“I do understand,” she said. “But do you doubt that he cares for you?”

Diana smoothed her skirts, a sorrowful gleam in her eyes.

“I doubt many things,” she said. “I love him—there is no denying that. I crave his presence even now, though I told him otherwise. Yet I remain convinced he does not share my depth of feeling.”

Alison furrowed her brow. “You believe he does not love you?”

Diana clasped her hands in her lap, her gaze trailing over a patch of marigolds.

“He is affectionate at times, and I sense passion in him. But love? He only married me to fulfil a duty… his care stems from a sense of honor tied to that old scandal. I fear that is all.”

“I suspect he loves you more than you realize,” she said, choosing her words with care. “He is a proud, guarded man, but love can dwell behind such walls.”

Diana lifted her shoulders in a helpless gesture.

“I wish I could be certain,” she said, her voice catching. “He made a vow never to have children, and that vow overshadows every intimacy. We have never spoken freely about our future. I feel he rejects the possibility of deeper commitment at every turn.”

Alison glanced around, suddenly perceiving the approach of a passing footman. “Someone is coming,” she said, releasing Diana’s hand.

Diana looked up. A footman dressed in neat livery halted a respectful distance away.