Page 10 of To Love and to Loathe
“He said…” Emily trailed off, blushing a bit. “He said that he intends to be at Lord Willingham’s country house party next week, and he wished to know if I would be attending.”
“Ohdidhe?” Diana said, resisting with great difficulty the urge to cackle. “And what did you tell him?”
“That Lord Willingham always invited me, but my mother never wants to chaperone me—she and my father would normally already be back in the countryside by now, and she has little interest in delaying our return home further. He seemed somewhat disappointed.”
“Of course he did,” Diana said cheerfully. A thought struck her. “Do you think your mother would find a different chaperone acceptable?”
Emily frowned. “You know she won’t let you act as my chaperone for a trip to Wiltshire, Diana. It’s miraculous enough she allows me to accompany you to the park or the theater without her.”
“I didn’t mean myself,” Diana said, waving a hand dismissively. “I was thinking, though, that Willingham’s grandmother said she planned to attend—and isn’t she friends with your mother?”
“Friendsmight be stretching it,” Emily hedged. “She stops by for an afternoon call periodically and terrifies Mother into buying me a new pair of gloves or something along those lines. She was friends with my grandmother, you know, and seems to think it her duty to see that we’re all behaving appropriately.”
“Perfect,” Diana said, making a mental note to call on the dowager marchioness the very next afternoon. “I think I know just the chaperone for you.”
“I don’t know,” Emily said doubtfully. “And besides, I’m not at all certain I wish to attend Lord Willingham’s party—I don’t understand what Lord Julian’s aim is, precisely, but he hardly seems like the sort of man to just suddenly take an interest in an eligible lady for no reason,” she added suspiciously, echoing Diana’s own thoughts on the matter. Diana was forced to admit that this did not precisely sound like the beginnings of a legendary romance, but perhaps Emily and Belfry simply needed more time together.
Time in a romantic pastoral setting, even.
“I’m sure Lady Willingham won’t object once she learns that a matter of the heart is at stake,” Diana said dramatically.
“Stop that,” Emily said repressively.
Diana pouted. “I don’t want to.” She tugged Emily even tighter to her side. “This is all going perfectly, if I do say so myself. Tricking your mother into allowing me to take you to Belfry’s theater is the best thing I’ve ever done.”
“I don’t think—”
“Your babies will be so adorably blue-eyed.”
“I hardly—”
“You’re right, you’re right,” Diana conceded. “Mustn’t get ahead of ourselves. Let’s focus on the wedding first.”
Emily sighed, clearly recognizing a battle she was not going to win, and evidently decided to change tack. “I’d much rather speak ofyourwedding,” she said, casting a sly glance at Diana.
“An event that has happened once and is never to be repeated,” Diana said firmly.
“Don’t you ever wish to marry again?” asked Emily a bit tentatively.
“Why should I?” Diana asked blithely. “I’ve done it once, and now that I have the advantage of a widow’s portion and the accompanying freedom, I don’t see why I should ever wish to tie myself to another man again.”
“But…” Emily trailed off, hesitating. “If you intend to take a lover—Willingham, or anyone else—does it not seem possible that your emotions might become involved? What if you fell inlove?”
Diana laughed. “Emily, don’t be absurd,” she said. “The last thing I ever intend to do is something as unutterably foolish as to fall in love.”
Five
It did not escape Dianathat a somewhat unpleasant task lay ahead of her: telling Willingham that she accepted his offer. That she was dreading the conversation so much was alarming—she, who prided herself on a level head, on never losing her composure. But the prospect of presenting herself at his bedchamber door, armed with a seductive smile and an enticingly low neckline, made her balk, even in her mental imaginings. She enjoyed being bold—shewantedto do just that—but she thought she would have to send a note. She had never done this before, after all; perhaps one had to build up to this sort of thing. Begin with a note, but eventually work up to the point of appearing in a gentleman’s bed, naked and inviting.
Yes, she decided firmly. Best to start slow.
She was still mulling it over the following Monday when her carriage at last halted in front of Elderwild, the sudden stop jostling Toogood—who had spent the entire journey dozing across from Diana in the carriage—awake with an amount of grumbled profanity that Diana personally felt was out of proportion to the offense.
“Careful, Toogood, or my innocent ears shall never recover,” she offered as a parting shot as she accepted a footman’s hand down from the carriage. Toogood’s reply was muttered in an undertone, thus sparingDiana what would have undoubtedly been another string of colorful epithets. Whenever she heard aristocratic ladies of her acquaintance lamenting some imagined slight on the part of their ladies’ maids, Diana had to stifle a laugh: she undoubtedly had the most openly hostile maid in theton.
The house before her was, as ever, striking; Willingham’s ancestral pile was an imposing manor of weathered stone, featuring an impressive number of turrets, pinnacles, and mullioned windows. It was surrounded by immaculately maintained lawns that sloped gently into a scenic lake to the front of the house, and which devolved into woodland in the hills that rose behind the manor. It was these surroundings that made Willingham’s invitations so coveted; his shooting parties each August were said to be among the best of theton, since the woods that surrounded Elderwild were full of deer and pheasants, and the nearby hills boasted even the occasional grouse, unusual so far south. The hunting, of course, had nothing to do with Diana’s annual attendance at these events; Willingham also had well-stocked cellars and a talented cook—and, furthermore, by August she was usually desperate to be out of the oppressive heat of London.
She now allowed herself to be ushered into the house, divested of her outer garments and baggage, and steered into the red drawing room for tea before she was able to get so much as a word in edgewise—the master of the house was nowhere in sight, but his staff, accustomed to the firm guiding hand necessary to manage a degenerate, unmarried marquess, had little trouble bending her to their will. She blew an errant lock of hair away from her face as the drawing room door clicked shut behind her, feeling rather as though she had just survived a small, efficient tempest.
