Page 62 of The Duke of Ruin
“Shall I call you that until you’re comfortable with it?”
“No. I prefer you call me Diana.” There was a saucy tilt to her chin and a mischievous sparkle in her eye that elicited a flash of desire.
She was his wife.
He froze for a moment, torn between elation and distress. Miriam hovered at the back of his mind. He pushed her away but felt horrible for it.
A fat drop of rain landed on his arm. “Let’s get inside.”
Simon took two rooms—one for Verity and one for him and Diana—for two nights. Tomorrow, they would rest. Uncharitably, he thought it was too bad Verity was with them for if they’d been alone, he could have looked forward to spending the entire day in bed with his bride.
Since they were ravenous, they decided to eat immediately. They sat in the common room, and Simon noticed that Diana kept looking at the ring on her finger. He hoped it was because it was new and not because she didn’t like it. Not that it mattered. It was temporary—he’d buy her a new, fancier ring in London or Bath, maybe something with a sapphire. He’d wanted a symbol and for her to have that small part of the traditional ceremony. It had also been important to him that he pledge himself to her. Maybe this time, he’d do a better job of it.
“I think I’ll see if I can do some shopping tomorrow,” Verity said. “I’d like to find a present for Beau for Christmas.”
Christmas. Miriam had loved the holiday. She’d wanted to get a tree and light it with candles like Queen Charlotte had done. They’d planned to do it for their very next Christmas, but of course, it had never come. He doubted he and Diana would reach Lyndhurst before the holiday and decided he’d rather not.
“Perhaps we should return to Beaumont Tower with you. For Christmas,” Simon said, spearing the last of his mutton on his fork. “Diana, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” During their journey to Gretna, she and Verity had recollected the Christmas they’d spent together there two years ago. It had seemed a very happy time for Diana in particular since she’d come without her parents.
Before Diana could answer, Verity asked, “What if her father is there? That won’t be enjoyable at all.”
Simon gripped his fork more tightly. “I’ll ensure he isn’t a problem.”
Verity smiled calmly. “I’m sure you will. However, I think you’d do better to face him at your own home, where you reign supreme.”
Those little lines that had shown less and less in recent days appeared between Diana’s eyes. “I keep thinking we’ll pass him along the road at some point. He won’t recognize our coach, of course.”
And if they did see him, Simon had no intention of stopping. He understood Verity’s point about facing Sir Barnard at Lyndhurst. What would the man do when he visited his daughter—who was now a duchess—at her new home? He’d bloody well behave, that’s what he’d do.
Simon finished his mutton, then sat back with his cup of tea. At the end of the meal, they walked upstairs together. Verity’s room was accessible directly from the landing. She bid them good night, then pulled Diana into a tight hug. Simon was aware she was whispering something in Diana’s ear and wondered if she was giving Diana a brief description of what to expect.
Diana kissed her cousin on the cheek, then joined Simon as they continued along the corridor until they reached their room. The innkeeper had said it was the last door on the left and that it was their largest and finest room.
Simon opened the door and swept Diana inside. It was indeed spacious, definitely the largest lodging they’d encountered. The fire had been stoked so that happy yellow flames warmed the room. Two wing-backed chairs flanked the fireplace to their right, and a small table stood against the opposite wall.
But it was the four-poster bed, situated between two windows, that commanded the room.
“Oh, this is lovely,” Diana said, moving inside. Their things had been brought up already, and the innkeeper’s wife had laid out their nightclothes. Their cloaks and hats were hung on hooks next to the door, and their gloves lay atop a small dresser across from the bed.
Simon closed the door and followed Diana, letting her lead him. She went directly to the bed, moving to the side closest to the fire.
He stood at the foot and watched as she ran her fingers over the quilted coverlet. “There’s a bed warmer,” she observed with delight.
“Mrs. Insley thought of everything.” Simon walked toward the fire and sat down to remove his boots. The warmth felt good, and he realized he was exhausted. But not too exhausted. Perhaps she was, however.
She sat in the chair opposite him and took off her half boots. She wiggled her stockinged toes in front of the fire and let out a soft sigh. “That feels wonderful. I will wear nothing but slippers for at least a week when we reach Lyndhurst.” She looked over at him. “How long will it take?”
“It will depend on the weather, of course, but I should think somewhere between seven and ten days. It also depends on how quickly we wish to travel. Is it important to you to arrive before Christmas?”
“Not particularly, but don’t you have traditions that you need to keep?”
He thought of the dinner he had for the retainers on Boxing Day. He ought to send word that he was on his way home. He’d done a dreadful job of communicating with them since he’d left. He’d rectify that tomorrow.
“I’ll send word to my steward tomorrow, informing him we may not arrive until after Boxing Day.”
They fell quiet, both of them staring into the fire. She yawned, and he wondered if she was in fact tired. “Should we go to bed?” he finally asked.
She looked over at him, her gaze tentative. “I suppose we should.”
