A Duke for Diana, page 24
“Yes! I knew I had heard that.”
He drummed his fingers on the desk. “Does that letter sound as if it came from a man of unsound mind? He plotted to acquire the laudanum and planned how to make it look accidental. No one would rule him non compos mentis.”
Her heart sank. “No. I suppose not.”
“Granted, juries are less eager to deem someone guilty of felo-de-se these days, but that doesn’t mean they won’t.”
“I suppose. Although you’re a duke now. That ought to work in your favor.”
“It depends on the jury.” He shrugged. “They may consider me a jumped-up boor who should never have been allowed to become duke in the first place.”
His use of “boor” made her wince.
“Sorry,” he said, reaching over to cover her hand. “I honestly wasn’t thinking of what you called me initially.”
Her gaze flew to him. “That’s why you’re so intent on seeing Rosy marry, isn’t it?”
“Part of the reason.” When she lifted her eyebrow, he sighed. “Most of the reason, yes. Once she marries, I’ll know she’s safe from whatever scandal or financial difficulty she might otherwise endure if she stays under my roof, especially if she marries someone protected from the usual laws.”
“A peer, you mean.”
“Yes. Having endured a scandal yourself because of your parents’ actions, I’m sure you understand.”
She slid her hand from his. “I do, though my family’s scandal didn’t result in a loss of so much.” She rose and began to pace. “Why are you telling me this now, when you wouldn’t before?”
“Because your words about trust affected me. I had already resolved to tell you the truth before my relations arrived, but their lies made it more imperative that I do so.” Lifting a somber gaze to her, he added, “And perhaps now you also understand why I can’t marry just yet.”
She tilted up her chin. “No, I’m afraid you will have to explain that more fully. Especially because I haven’t even said I wish to marry you.”
Judging from the surprise on his face, he hadn’t thought she’d make him explain. Or even consider not wedding him. Geoffrey the Almighty always thought things should go according to his plan. And while she realized now why he had that belief, it didn’t change the fact he was willing to sacrifice her happiness—and his sister’s, by choosing the appropriate husband for her—whether they wanted him to or not.
He stood to come around the desk. “I can’t marry you yet—because I also don’t want you to suffer, damn it. I don’t know how many more times I can brazen my way out of a conversation like the one I just had with my relations. Plenty of people in Newcastle considered my father high and mighty, solely because his own father was a viscount. Father never belonged, and as a result our family didn’t either.”
He took her hands in his. “If dislike of my family ever rises to the level of charging me with murder, I couldn’t bear . . . I would refuse to drag you through that. Or through the scandal of having a father accused and convicted of felo-de-se.” He released her hands. “It’s better that I get Rosy married as soon as possible to a respectable man—”
“Don’t forget—to a peer,” she snapped. “He must have a title, you said.”
“Yes!” He glared at her. “A peer, if she can get one, and you’ve made me see that she can. So, after enough time has gone by that I’m sure I’m safe, that no one is likely to bring any charge of murder against me, you and I can then consider marriage.”
She shook her head. The sheer arrogance of the man never failed to surprise her. “How much time is ‘enough,’ assuming I would even accept such an offer from you?”
He raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. It depends on how long these rumors continue.”
“I see.” She really did understand at last. While she’d given up on pretending she didn’t want to marry him, she couldn’t wed him if he expected their marriage to be on his terms alone. Apparently, he couldn’t foresee any future for them where they made decisions together for their mutual happiness.
“You do realize,” she said, “this disaster you’re protecting us from includes a number of ifs. If Rosy doesn’t marry a peer. If you’re accused of murder. If you’re forced to defend yourself by using your father’s letter. If your poor, dead father is brought to trial postmortem. If the jury deems his suicide felo-de-se. If you and your family personally lose your goods and property as a result.”
“All of those things could happen,” he said defensively.
“They could. But the likelihood that they will happen in that order and with the most damaging result is small, to say the least. So refusing to marry just in case they all do is like refusing to marry until you’re sure the Thames won’t overflow and flood all of London.” She stared up at him. “What if, for example, instead of using your father’s letter, you insist that his doctor be called as a witness to confirm your father’s tale about confusing his laudanum for his tincture of rhubarb?”
He scowled. “For all I know, the doctor is the one who started the rumors. Wait, how did you know about Father’s ‘tale’?”
“Oh!” She probably should have mentioned that sooner. “Rosy told me. She overheard you and your father speaking with the doctor on the day your father died, so last week she asked me what laudanum was.”
The blood drained from his face. “What the hell? Has she been going around questioning strangers about Father’s death?”
“I don’t know, although I rather doubt it.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “And I should point out I’m not exactly a stranger to her.”
He huffed out a breath. “I didn’t mean to imply—”
“No, you never do mean to insult people. But the insult still hurts.” Before he could try to apologize and instead make matters worse, she hastily added, “Anyway, as it happens, I believe she asked me because she trusted me. But you might wish to talk to her about it yourself if you need answers. And if you want her to stop asking other people. She wanted to know why your father asked you and the doctor not to tell her and your mother about the laudanum.”
“Good God,” he muttered as he turned to roam his study.
“What did you tell your mother and sister when he died?”
“Just what Father asked me to say—that he died of his stomach complaint. He’d had it for a while, and it was getting worse. Of course, I didn’t know Rosy had been listening and knew part of the truth.”
“You see? That’s what happens when you keep your secrets too close. It doesn’t just hold your enemies at bay—it holds your friends and family at arm’s length as well. And without any guidance, they tend to behave unpredictably.”
“Apparently so,” he bit out.
“If you keep insisting on fighting your battles alone, you may very well end up hanged for your trouble.”
He halted in front of her. “I’m just trying to protect my family, for God’s sake.”
“But your family might not want your protection if it means you either throw your life or your financial future away. They care about you. They might just prefer that you tell them what you need of them, so the three of you can act accordingly.”
She tried not to think about the fact that he would prefer not to marry her rather than take the chance that the truth coming out might hurt her.
“So what do you mean to do about Rosy?” she asked. “Would you tell her the truth? Or do you merely intend to demand she marry a peer of your choice so she can be saved from a possible disastrous future?”
He arched an eyebrow. “You know I wouldn’t do that. The whole point of giving her a spectacular début is to make sure she can choose a man worthy of her, one who will protect her if things get ugly.”
“The way my brother-in-law protected my sister when things got ugly with my parents? I thought he was a good man, too, but he may very well have run off to war just to escape the gossip, leaving Eliza to face it all alone. So, what if the saintly husband you wish for Rosy is mortified to find himself married to the daughter of a man who took his own life? Men are unpredictable when it comes to scandal. Eliza’s husband certainly proved that, and your scandal is far worse. It could easily scuttle Rosy’s marriage before it’s begun.”
“I think I know how to choose the right sort of husband for my sister.” He paused. “Not that I would, mind you. But I know enough to prod her to accept the right sort and refuse the wrong.”
“How dare you make decisions for your mother and sister? They have a right to hear the truth about your father, to be prepared for what could happen. You’ve already seen how your servants stand by you. How much more would your mother and sister? Because I am certain—knowing how much they both love you—that they would rather endure scandal and loss of wealth if that was the only way to have you hale and whole with them.”
He looked away. “If I tell them, I’ll be betraying my father and not doing the one thing he asked of me.”
“He had no right to ask!” She clasped his arms. “No one gets to keep making choices for their families from beyond the grave. Even wills can be challenged. But this is final. He chose the darkest path for himself, then left you alone to fight your way out of an impossible situation of his own making.” She reached up to kiss Geoffrey’s cheek. “The only way to win a rigged game, my darling, is to refuse to play. Then forge your own path. Rely on those who love you, those you love and trust yourself, and then muddle through.”
“You don’t understand,” he ground out.
“I do understand. That’s the trouble. I understand very well. It’s the reason I, too, never let anyone close, never considered marriage. Because too many things could go wrong. I might lack passion or my husband be a philanderer like my father. I might not enjoy being the wife of an engineer or a duke or a man from Newcastle and might find myself trapped in an unhappy marriage like my mother.”
She clasped his face with both her hands. “But it seems to me that worrying about every ‘if’ only leads to being alone and unhappy. Life makes us no promises. You and I both know that, which is the very reason we like each other’s company and understand each other so well. Surely that’s the most important thing to have if one means to marry.”
That and true love. But she didn’t dare mention love when she still wasn’t sure how she felt about it, much less how he did.
When he covered her hands, his face reflecting his own uncertainties, she added, “You keep looking for assurances that all will be well if we marry. And Lord knows I’d like the same. But no one gets those. Sometimes we don’t even get to choose our situations. Because if we did you surely wouldn’t have chosen a father who couldn’t bear to live, and I wouldn’t have chosen parents who couldn’t bear to live with each other.” She smiled through her tears. “We would have picked much tidier circumstances, I’m sure.”
“We certainly would have.”
“You have to give people the chance to show you their support. I know in my heart that your sister and mother would be at your side no matter what. Do you believe me when I say it would be the same for me?”
“It’s not a matter of believing. It’s a matter of figuring out what’s best for my family. And for you, too, if you ever give me the chance to look after you.”
“How will you look after me if we don’t marry?”
“We will marry, just not until I’m sure you won’t be marrying a pauper. Unless, of course, you find yourself bearing my child. You have endured enough scandal as it is without that.”
“First of all, it would be our child. Secondly, you’re not making any sense. If I find myself with child, you wish to bring both of us into your difficult situation. But if it’s just me, then no?”
He was flustered. “That’s not what I meant.”
“It sounds as if that’s exactly what you meant. The risk of scandal over having an illegitimate child trumps the risk that the scandal of your father’s death could take you away from me or impoverish us for life. Well, I have a say in these calculations of yours, and I say you can’t make decisions for me. We’re not married, and apparently not likely to be for some time, so you have no right to dictate the future of any child I might have if we don’t marry.”
“Diana, be reasonable. I know you wouldn’t jeopardize our child’s future out of pride.”
“No, I would save my child from growing up with parents in a marriage like that of my own parents. This is about what kind of marriage I intend to have, the only kind of marriage I will tolerate. I reject the kind where you decide things for my own good without consulting me.”
“I’m not saying . . . I don’t want . . .”
“What about Elegant Occasions? If it flounders, will you dictate that I have no part of it? What if you decide to build a bridge in some dangerous corner of the world? Will you go without me, leaving me to worry about you? And if you take me with you, won’t you worry about me being there? If you can’t answer any of these things, haven’t even considered them, then clearly you’re not ready to be married, and I am definitely not ready to be married to someone like my autocratic father, spectacular passion or no.”
“Spectacular passion?”
Oh, Lord, she shouldn’t have mentioned that.
“Surely ‘spectacular passion’ makes up for a great deal,” he said.
Before she could answer, he lowered his head so he could seize her mouth in a kiss. He wanted to distract her, to end the discussion so he could take care of the matter on his own. But even knowing that, she didn’t stop him from kissing her. Because this might be the last time she ever got to. Because his mouth was generous and demanding at the same time. He gave and he took, all in one sweet, passionate kiss.
He pressed her up against the wall, his lips now roaming as her hands did the same. Oh, how she’d missed this, missed having him in her arms. And what would it hurt to be with him again, even if nothing ever came of it?
She didn’t get the chance to find out. A knock at the study door put an abrupt end to their kissing, especially when whoever it was tried the door handle and found it locked.
To Diana’s horror, it was Eliza who spoke. “Your Grace? Are you in there? You’re wanted in the ballroom.”
“Damn,” he whispered, his eyes showing how reluctant he was to part.
“And we can’t find Diana,” Eliza added. “Do you know where she is?”
He nodded toward a sort of alcove between the bookshelf and the wall, and Diana slipped into it. Then he strode for the door, opening it forcefully. “No,” he lied. “No idea. Have you checked the ladies’ retiring room? She said something earlier about repairing her fichu.”
Diana stifled a groan as she lay her head against the wall. She wasn’t wearing a fichu but a tippet, which Eliza would know. This was what came of not teaching men about fashion.
“Why don’t you go on to the ballroom,” Eliza said, “and I’ll look for Diana in the retiring room?”
“Very well,” he said.
Diana waited until she heard both sets of footsteps walking away. Then she crept through his study and out the study door, intent upon figuring out how to reappear in the ballroom without rousing suspicion.
“I knew it,” Eliza said from behind her. “I knew you were in there with him.”
Diana whirled on her. “Then why did you interrupt us? We were having an important conversation about our future.”
“One that includes marriage, I hope.”
“I hope so, too. But you interrupted him in the midst of his speech, so now I don’t know.”
Eliza shot her a pitying look. “If you’d been having that particular discussion, he would have said so to me, and I would have gone away . . . or waited for him to come out and announce the betrothal. But he didn’t. He’s still a duke, my dear sister. They still marry for reasons that have nothing to do with love.”
“The situation is more . . . complicated than you can possibly know. I’m dealing with it. And you have to trust me. I know what I’m doing.” Diana drew herself up. “Besides, I’m a grown woman perfectly capable of handling my own affairs.”
“Very well. If you insist on having your heart broken, there’s naught I can do to stop you.” A troubled look crossed Eliza’s face. “But I’m not going to help you either. The only thing that gives me hope is the fact that your clothing seems to be intact, and his did, too. No woman can ‘repair her fichu’ that fast, and Lord knows no man could. So at least he’s treating you with some respect.”
“You have no idea,” Diana said. She’d never met a man more intent on saving her from the future than on making love to her. It was flattering and sobering at the same time.
But she hated that they hadn’t finished their discussion. Because soon this “project” would end, and afterward, she wouldn’t see him again. If her reasonable and sound arguments couldn’t change his mind, how on earth could she marry him?
Not that he was asking her to. What if Eliza was right? What if he was more of a typical duke than she’d realized?
No, if that were the case, he would have drummed up some other excuse for not marrying, one where he wouldn’t lose his every earthly possession if the truth got out.
She sighed. That merely made it even sadder. He was being noble and principled, which was all she’d ever wanted in a man. Except she might not ever get to have that man if he decided to martyr himself for the sake of his family.
And that would break her heart.
Chapter Eighteen
Geoffrey wanted to be anywhere but here, in the midst of a ball he was supposedly hosting. He wanted time to think about Diana’s words and to strategize, in case she really did refuse to marry him. He could see why she had become angry—the situation made him angry every time he thought about it. But surely she could understand that he was handling things the only way he knew how.
Someone announced it was time for the ball supper. Rosy came hurrying up to him with Foxstead trailing behind. “Oh, Geoffrey, it’s going splendidly, don’t you think? I have danced every dance, and all my partners were so complimentary that I feel like a princess.”
