The stable door creaked open. Wyn pressed her into shadow and touched his fingertips to her lips.
A shuffling gait accompanied lamplight wobbling through the doorway, and a wrinkled face came into view, a bridle slung over a shoulder. He lifted the lamp and his brows went up.
Wyn bowed. “Our thanks for the use of the stall, my good man.” He tipped an imaginary hat, grasped Diantha’s hand and pulled her outside. But behind them she left her heart in pieces on the soft-scented straw.
Chapter 30
“Where does your family believe you are tonight?”
“Lady Emily Vale’s house.”
He said nothing more, but clasped her hand tightly in his as they walked. In the muted hush of fog they found a street and, by sound alone it seemed, he identified a passing hackney coach. He bundled her inside, then jumped onto the box with the driver. The ride was long and slow and when he opened the door and offered his hand to assist her, she climbed stiffly out onto the street before Lady Emily’s house.
A footman ushered them to a parlor and Lady Emily appeared.
“Miss Lucas.” She came forward with a smile, candlelight glinting off her gold-rimmed spectacles and silvery-blond hair, but otherwise a study in sobriety from her dark blue gown to the ubiquitous book in her hand. “And Mr. Yale.” She nodded without any show of pleasure.
“Good evening, Lady Cleopatra.” He bowed.
“No ‘Lady.’ Only Cleopatra. She was a queen, you cretin.”
“As ever, I stand humbled in the light of your brilliance.”
Diantha couldn’t bear it. “Cleopatra—”
Emily touched her on the arm. “No, Miss Lucas. You shan’t be required to explain to me why the two of you have appeared in my house in the middle of the night looking like you have walked across half of London. I want Mr. Yale to have the honor.”
“I am certain you do,” he replied. “But you will be denied that pleasure.” He moved toward the door. Then he turned, his slight smile quirked to one side. “You understand this brings us even.”
“Finally.” Lady Emily’s smile was barely discernable. “I do wonder, though, that after nearly four years making me wait to repay you, you expect so little of me.”
“You mistake it, my lady.” His gaze came to Diantha. He bowed. “Good night, Miss Lucas.” He departed.
Diantha stared at the door, remembering Emily’s story about how years ago Wyn had helped her in a difficult situation, not because of gain for himself but because it was in his nature to do so.
But she knew it was more than that. She knew about his mother, and she had read his great-aunt’s rules.
“You mustn’t think ill of him,” she said softly. “He did not wish me to return home in this unkempt state. He does not wish my family to know the trouble I have been in.” She turned to her hostess. “I should write to my brother now, if I may.”
“In fact Sir Tracy sent a message to you here not a quarter hour ago. I was only now composing a note to accompany it to Lady Savege’s house.” Emily drew Diantha’s arm through her own. “Come. Let us acquire you a bath and a fresh nightrail. While Clarice brushes out your curls you will read your brother’s letter and reply to him if you wish.”
“I beg your pardon, and am grateful for your help. I had told Serena that I was coming here tonight.”
“How wonderfully convenient. My note will indicate that we are so enamored of each other’s company that neither of us could bear for you to leave before morning.” She drew Diantha toward the door. “But, Miss Lucas, regardless of the adventure you have had this evening, I must insist on one matter.”
“Of course.”
“If you speak a word about that vainglorious quiz in my house, I will be obliged to make you sleep in the coal scuttle.”
Diantha could not help but smile. “Vainglorious? He wears black coats, and I have only once seen him in a colored waistcoat.”
“Alas, the coal scuttle it will be for you.” They ascended the stair. “I admit to being disappointed, as I had gotten used to thinking you somewhat sensible. But some ladies, I understand, will lodge their affections in the most astounding quarters.”
Upon returning home in the morning, Diantha had no desire to hear more of her brother’s chastisements; his letter the previous night had been full of them and he indicated he would call upon her early. Instead she requested the company of a footman and walked to Teresa’s house.
“Have you seen Lord Eads again since the ball, T?”
“No.” Teresa drew silk thread through a square of linen, her movements precise. “But when I do, I shall do what I must to make him marry me.”
Diantha doubted Lord Eads would return to society. He had only been at the ball because of Wyn. She stared dully at the rainy day, then took a breath and turned back to her friend.
“I called this morning, T, because I have something I must tell you.”
Teresa set down her work. “I knew it the moment you entered. Something is amiss.” She moved to the sofa beside Diantha.
“I love a gentleman. Mr. Yale. Perhaps you saw him at the ball, so gorgeously elegant except when I have caused him not to be. But even then—tousled, fevered, unshaven, even furious—he is perfect.”
“Furious?” Teresa’s eyes were wide. “Unshaven?” Her pretty red lips gaped. “Diantha!”
“He has compromised me and believes he must now marry me. But I am ruining his life and cannot accept him because I want what is best for him. That is what love should be, and I wish to love like that now.”
“I . . . I . . .” Teresa surrounded Diantha’s hands warmly. “I daresay.”
They sat like that for a moment while Teresa leaned into her shoulder in comfort. Finally she said, “Di, could you perhaps explain that part about him compromising you?”
Diantha laughed, and it felt wretched. “He was my last willful transgression. I must now cease behaving recklessly and instead be a lady of whom my family can be proud.”
“Don’t you think they would be proud if you married a fine gentleman like Mr. Yale, especially given that . . .”
“Given that I gave my maidenhood to him? No. Tracy has forbidden me to marry him. In any case, it doesn’t matter that I am ruined.”
“You always said it wouldn’t matter,” Teresa said very quietly.
“T, could you try to be happy for me, at least for turning over a new leaf?”
Teresa sighed. “I rather liked the old you. This new Diantha may not be to my tastes.” She squeezed her hand. “But I daresay I will love you no matter how tiresomely proper you become.” She stroked the back of Diantha’s hand. “You know, Mr. Yale is likely to be unhappy with your decision not to allow him to be honorable to you. He is bound to call on you.”
“That is the trouble. He is bound to.” She stared at her hands. “I mustn’t be at home when he calls.”
“He may call again until he sees you.”
“Then I must leave London.” Diantha stood, within her heart new purpose seeking to push aside the heavy grief. “I will make a new plan.”
“A new plan? Oh, no, Di—”
“You are brilliant, T.” She squeezed her friend’s hands. “This plan will take me far from London and if he calls on me and tries to convince me to marry him again, I will not be here to succumb.”
“This sounds like a remarkably bad plan to me.”
Diantha gripped her teeth together, pasted on a smile, and went to the door. “Will you help me pack? I will have a lot to do to prepare. John, the footman, will help me find the closest Mail Coach inn, I’ve no doubt. He is the sweetest man. And I will ask Cook to prepare a picnic lunch. She is always so kind.” She reached for the doorknob. “I should write a letter to Serena explaining that she needn’t worry about me. And I must—”