Teresa bolted up from the sofa. “Diantha, you cannot go!”
Diantha swiveled around. “You must help me, T.” Her voice shook. “I cannot bear to be a burden on him again, to allow him to be hurt because of me. If I stay, I know I will. I always do.”
Teresa’s lower lip quivered, her eyes entreating. But she nodded. Diantha drew open the door, then paused.
“And . . . T?”
“Di?” The single syllable was thick.
“It will have to be Mr. H for me after all.”
“Oh!” She sprang forward and wrapped her arms around Diantha and held her close.
Chapter 31
Raven,
When the trial of the Queen’s alleged infidelity comes to a close shortly (in failure of the proposed bill, as all hope it will), she intends to remove from England. She has discreetly inquired as to whom she can depend upon to protect her from the King if he seeks to harm her further in this manner. Since you charmed the Ministers in Vienna, you have remained in their thoughts; those loyal to her recommend you. The King discovered this and—desiring you to remain in his service rather than hers—wishes to reward you for your long tenure in the Club. Our director recommends knighthood.
Congratulations, Sir Raven. Do join me for dinner this evening at the club.
Peregrine
Yale,
The duke is dead, suffocation in his bed by the old servant woman.
D.E.
Chapter 32
Shuffling into his drawing room with the weary tread of a much older man, the Baron of Carlyle peered at Wyn’s calling card. “To what do I owe this visit, sir?”
Wyn bowed. “I regret that it is not a social call, my lord.”
Carlyle looked more carefully at him now. “You wrote me a letter offering for my daughter. Now I recall.” He nodded. “Excellent property, yours. Enviable income. But as I replied, where I wish Diantha to marry has no bearing on where she will actually do so, much to my regret, but there it is. I’m afraid I cannot help you convince her. She has a mind of her own, as do all my daughters.” He shook his head with a regretful air.
“I am not here to ask assistance in convincing your daughter to accept my suit, my lord.” He was more than happy to accomplish that task himself. Given time, and encouragement that left her begging and breathless, she would have him. And if Tracy Lucas even so much as peeped in protest, Wyn would favor him with a meaningful stare down the barrel of his pistol. He was through doing the bidding of other men. His future, and Diantha’s, was his alone to command.
The baron shook his head. “Don’t break your heart over her, Mr. Yale. For all she looks very pretty in a ball gown now, my fourth daughter is still a rambunctious girl. A spruced up fellow like you will be much better off with a wife who knows how to go about like a lady.”
“Thank you for that advice, sir.” He couldn’t disagree more. Diantha it was and Diantha it would be forever for him. She rendered the mere idea of control laughable, and he wanted that. He didn’t want her subdued, her spirit cowed as when he left her at Lady Emily’s. He wanted her plunging into danger head first, making him shout and rescue her and make love to her in stables as often as possible. He’d been a fool to push her away and an even greater fool in his anger and fear for her not to have told her the entire truth last night. He would not make that mistake again. “I have come to speak with you on another matter. Your wife.”
Carlyle’s brow pleated.
“Lady Carlyle has been in London and has contacted your stepson. She requested of him funds to finance a high-end brothel.”
The baron’s face went ashen. “In London?”
“France. It gives me no pleasure to bring you these tidings, my lord. But for your stepdaughter’s sake, I thought you should know.”
Carlyle passed a distracted hand over his face then moved to the sideboard. “Claret, Mr. Yale?”
“No, thank you. I must be going.” To find a lady with lapis eyes and make her the most convincing offer of marriage a man could manage. Only the smallest sliver of doubt bothered him. “But first, my lord, might you share with me a word about Mr. Highbottom? I understand that he has hopes for Miss Lucas’s hand.”
“Who?” Carlyle’s brow twisted.
“Mr. Hinkle Highbottom.”
“Hinkle and Highbottom? What hopes would they have concerning my daughter’s marriage?”
“They?”
“Alfred Hinkle and Oswald Highbottom.” Carlyle moved to a table laden with books and took up a pair of thick volumes. “Two of the finest archeological minds this century, although I don’t suppose young fellows like you bother with such things.”
Wyn’s heart beat unevenly. “If you will, my lord, is this Mr. Highbottom—”
“Professor Highbottom. Master at Christ Church for over forty years now.”
Wyn could not help but stare rather blankly. “Is Miss Lucas acquainted with the professor?”
“Since she was a sprig of a girl. Highbottom was dedicated to his scholarship. Never had a family of his own, of course. But he took a quick liking to Diantha when she first came to live at Glenhaven Hall.” A ghost of a smile crossed his lips. “Used to dandle her on his knee until rheumatism got the best of him.”
“Then, Professor Highbottom has no claim upon your daughter’s hand, nor she an interest in wedding him?”
“I said I don’t have control over whom my daughter chooses to wed.” Carlyle frowned. “But if she were to betroth herself to a man sixty years her senior I would make it my business to halt the alliance at once. Now, sir, I haven’t any idea how—”
“Milord!” A footman stood in the doorway.
“What is it, Bernard? Can’t you see I am occupied here?”
“Lady Savege’s footman insisted I give this to you without delay, milord.” He hurried forward, extending an envelope.
Carlyle waved the servant from the room and opened the letter, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a pair of spectacles. “Forgive me, Mr. Yale, but if my—” His eyes widened. He scrabbled with the spectacles and got them hooked over his ears.
“My lord.” Wyn bowed, a little dizzy and with a pressing desire to find a blue-eyed lady and kiss her until she admitted every lie she’d ever uttered to him. “I will leave you to your business.”
“Good Lord,” Carlyle whispered. “You see, sir,” he said more forcefully, yanking off his spectacles and jabbing them at the letter. “You are better off without the girl. Troublesome, foolish . . .” He sputtered, but his eyes were watery and he allowed Wyn to take the page from his fingers. Carlyle lowered his brow into his palm. “I told Tracy and Serena that if they brought her to town this would happen. I advised leaving her in Devon where everyone knows her and she cannot throw herself into serious scrapes. Now . . .” He shook his head, his shoulders drooping. “Heedless chit. She’ll come to grief upon the road. Then she’ll end up just like . . . just like her mother.”
Wyn strode for the door. “Not as long as I’m alive.”
Chapter 33
“Miss Finch-Freeworth, I have little doubt that you know my purpose in calling upon you today.”
The young lady sitting across the tea table from him blinked expressive hazel eyes, cast a quick glance at the maid sitting on the other side of the parlor and shook her head.
Wyn quieted his voice. “You must tell me. Where has Miss Lucas gone this time?”
Again, the silent shake of the head.
Wyn tried to unclench his teeth sufficient to speak. “You do not know, or you will not tell me?”