Page 2 of An Earl Unmasked
Diana’s heart clenched as she turned to say her farewell. “I shall see you next summer. Be prepared to relinquish your most favored poem.” She broke every societal rule and gave the old man a hug. Her intuition told her this would be the last time she would see him.
Returning her embrace, the earl rasped, “I hope you do, my dear Miss Diana. I wish it so.” The tinge of melancholy in the earl’s voice had Diana fighting back tears.
The heavy material of her cloak fell upon her shoulders, and she stepped back. Blinking away the moisture in her eyes, she fumbled with the buttons and then straightened her shoulders. Plastering a smile upon her face, she confessed, “I shall miss you, my lord.”
The old man chuckled. “Bah. It is not I who you will miss. It will be the challenge of sneaking away undetected to solve riddles that you shall yearn for.” He glanced out the open door at the gray clouds that blocked out the sun. “I shall be happy to provide you transportation back to your family estate.”
“And as you well know, Annie and I prefer to walk.” Diana sent up a quick prayer that the rain would hold off and that they would make it back to Malbury Manor, dry and unnoticed.
“As you wish.” The Earl of Chestwick bowed, and Diana took her leave.
She and Annie trudged along the worn path in the field that would lead them back into the mayhem of Malbury Manor. Boots covered in mud and a mile closer to her destination, Diana considered the ramifications of defying her mama’s edict to marry. None were as troublesome to Diana as the thought of never seeing old Earl Chestwick again.
She patted the note in her pocket that was light as a feather but, with each step she took away from Chestwick Hall, began to weigh down her coat like a boulder. She pushed her feet forward. Would the earl’s heir, a highly decorated captain in the army, Randal Wilson, honor his scholarly papa’s invitation for her return to Chestwick library?
Chapter One
Jaw clenched, Dianabraced a hand against the cool coach window and scanned the horizon. The chill in the traveling coach had naught to do with dusk setting upon them. No—her pebbled skin was due to her mama’s frosty glares, which she was attempting to avoid. With Malbury Manor nowhere in sight, Diana straightened her shoulders and settled back against the recently refurbished tufted coach seat.
Her mama, the esteemed Countess Wallace, pinned her eldest sister, Minerva, with a steely stare. “Another Season and not a single offer of marriage. Not one. Not for you. Not for your sisters.” Her mama wasn’t entirely heartless, merely direct according to her sister, despite evidence to the contrary. Minerva was more of a mama to all the Malbury siblings than the woman that birthed the brood of five children.
While both Minerva and her other sister Isadora flinched at their mama’s statement, Diana remained frozen. Why her mama harped on about marriage was beyond Diana’s comprehension. Her parents’ union was riddled with hypocrisies. There was no logical reason for her or her sisters to be in a rush to bind themselves to some gentleman who would simply ignore them. Marrying was a far worse fate than being banished for the summer to their family country seat in Manchester. She stiffened as Minerva’s shoulders sagged in defeat. To date, her sister had endured three dreadful Seasons. Minerva should be awarded a medal for having avoided a match based merely on her beauty or her sizable dowry.
Diana crossed her arms beneath her cloak and stuck out her chin. “It’s not Minerva’s fault the gentlemen of thetonare all simpletons.”
“Is that a fact? Then pray tell, what is your excuse for failing to garner an offer from Lord Drake?” Her mama’s gaze landed upon Diana.
Success!Minerva was the queen of diverting their mama’s wrath away from others, but finally, Diana was able to return the favor for her sister. What a boon, especially after all of Diana and her sister Isadora’s futile attempts to assist Minerva in finding a gentleman worthy of her hand. Confidence bolstered, Diana answered. “Since I’m the youngest daughter—it stands to reason that I should be the last to lure some poor man into wedlock.”
“Nonsense.” Her mama withdrew a gloved hand from her fur muff and patted Diana on the knee. “It is my wish to see you all happily wed and in no particular order. I believe Lord Drake would make for a wonderful husband.”
Instead of rolling her eyes heavenward, Diana lowered her gaze to the spot her mama had made physical contact with her. A peculiar numb sensation seeped into Diana’s bones.
“Lord Drake is blind,” Isadora stated but failed to redirect the Countess of Wallace’s attention away from Diana.
“Nonsense. The boy has perfect vision.”
Neighbor and best friend to Diana’s oldest brother, Anthony MacMillian, Lord Drake, was charming, intelligent, and easy on the eyes, but he was not the man for Diana. “I wish to wed a man who might share my affinity for literature and riddles.”
The countess’s eyes narrowed. “Then I shall count myself fortunate you did not declare to all and sundry that you shall marry the first man to solve a riddle that you and your sisters may have concocted.”
Minerva shrunk further into her cloak. Isadora shifted forward, attempting to draw their mama’s attention. “Mama, what a brilliant idea. How fortunate for us to have inherited your intellect and wit.” Isadora’s voice was infused with sarcasm that had their mama’s gaze shifting in her direction. Before Minerva could intervene, Isadora continued, “Diana, you must heed Mama’s advice and issue the challenge upon our return to London. We have all summer to craft a riddle. Oh, won’t that be fun!”
The countess’s lips thinned into a straight line. “Insolent chits.” With a huff, she secured her hands back into her muff and closed her eyes.
Thankful the conversation was over, Diana peered once again out the window. A familiar stone structure came into sight. Diana’s pulse quickened. Chestwick Hall.
Over the years, Diana had gone missing for hours, stowed away in the Chestwick library. It was her favorite pastime. She was no ninny and recognized how rare an opportunity it was for a lady to have such access to an exquisite collection of literary works. The library shelves were filled with books amassed by the Chestwick line over several generations. Her favorites dated back to the days of the Crusades.
As a descendant of scholars, Diana found it rather peculiar that the current earl had joined the army. However, if rumors were to be believed, Randal Wilson was the devil himself upon the battlefield. He was legendary—reported to have led several ingenious attacks, slaying the enemy, and saving the lives of those who followed him into battle.
Diana craned her neck as the manor became a distant speck. After a long Season of tedious social events, she longed to curl up in the large wingback chair before the hearth at Chestwick Hall and bury her nose in one of its tomes.
A sharp elbow dug into her ribs. Diana twisted to face Minerva. “What?”
Her sister leaned in closer. “Please tell me you are not considering venturing to Chestwick Hall, uninvited.”
Diana pressed her lips tight together. Minerva possessed the uncanny ability to know exactly what others were thinking before they even thought it. Her sister was always two moves ahead of everyone else, and it was dastardly annoying.
