A Rogue for All Seasons (Weston Family) (39 page)

“S
URPRISE
!” A
GIRL’S VOICE SOUNDED
through the house.

Diana looked up from her book. She was reading in her father’s study while he attended to business. They planned to ride around the estate later, so Diana could see all the improvements he’d made over the years. She’d spent two nights at Swallowsdale, but she and her father hadn’t spoken of the past again since her arrival. Though that was the reason she’d come, Diana couldn’t bring herself to bring it up just yet. For the first time since her parents had separated, there was a tentative peace between her and her father, and she had a flicker of hope that it might grow stronger, provided she treaded carefully.

She’d often wondered how her mother had been able to forgive her parents after they had turned their backs on her.
I was hurt and angry,
her mother had said when Diana had worked up the courage to ask,
but so were they. They wanted the best for me. They couldn’t understand that their idea of the best wasn’t necessarily what was best for
me.

Diana was still struggling to accept her father’s reasons for staying away, but there was no doubt that their long separation had hurt him as much as it had hurt her. She glanced over at her father, but he was engrossed in the papers on his desk, oblivious to anything else. She got to her feet, hoping to see to the intruder before she interrupted her father, when the door to the study flew open and a girl of about fifteen, all gangly limbs and a mass of copper curls, came charging in like a tempest, talking as she moved.

“Didn’t you hear me? Mary Seymour came down with measles, so Headmistress Paxton sent all the girls away from school.”

“Claire.” The name escaped Diana’s father in a strangled gasp. His face was ashen.

She sighed. “I know I ought to have sent you a letter, and then waited for you to send someone or fetch me yourself, but I didn’t want to wait. I brought Mrs. Covington’s maid and manservant along, so I was perfectly safe and well-chaperoned. Besides, Papa, Bury St. Edmunds isn’t more than ten miles from—”

“Claire!”

The girl started at his shout, then caught sight of Diana. Her eyes grew wide. “Oh, I beg your pardon. I didn’t realize anyone was in here but, um, Uncle Merriwether.”

Diana’s breath caught in her lungs.

“Claire,” Diana’s father rasped, “what are you doing here? Why aren’t you with Mrs. Covington?”

“You don’t remember? No, of course you don’t as it’s nothing to do with horses.” Fondness overlaid the exasperation in her words. “Mrs. Covington’s daughter just had a baby a few months back. You told her she could have this month off to go to Yarmouth to visit her. Of course, you thought I would be in school, and I would be if not for Mary Seymour and her measles. I didn’t think you would want me to stay in Mrs. Covington’s rooms all by myself, so I told Harriet and John we should come here. I thought it would be a nice surprise.” Her face fell and she scuffed one of her feet against the carpet as she snuck glances at Diana.

“Claire, I am always glad to see you. You’re my— This is just— I didn’t expect—”

“Before, you said ‘Papa,’ didn’t you?” Diana asked. She kept her voice remarkably even, given the thoughts racing through her mind.

The girl—
Claire,
Diana reminded herself—shook her head even as her cheeks flushed in a way Diana found all too familiar. “You must have misheard. Mr. Merriwether is my uncle.”

It was possible, Diana thought. Her father did have a younger brother who’d joined the army. They’d sent him to fight in the American Revolution and, as far as she knew, that was the last anyone had heard of him. It was possible he’d survived and come back to England, but as she regarded the girl whose tall, coltish body and wild red curls were so like her own she very much doubted it.

The girl braced her hands on her hips in a defiant stance. “Who are you?” she challenged.

“Claire—” Diana’s father began.

“I’m his daughter,” Diana shot back, then her voice softened as she added, “and unless I’m very much mistaken, your sister.”

CHAPTER TWENTY‍-‍TWO

I thought you would wish to know as soon as possible—your wife found the letter in your desk from Merriwether. She says she is going to Suffolk and, unless I wish to deal with a hysterical woman, I will not stop her. I knew I would deal with difficult fillies when I took this job, but I thought they would all be horses! I will take her myself and keep her safe, of course, but this reminds me why I never married…

—FROM GEORGE KINGSLEY TO HIS EMPLOYER HENRY WESTON

W
HEN THE BUTLER INFORMED
L
INNET
that her son-in-law was waiting in the Small Library, she didn’t imagine he’d come to pay a social call. A knot of worry began to build in the pit of her stomach as she hurried downstairs. Henry rose as she entered the room. With growing concern, she noted the dark circles beneath his eyes and the weary, wretched air about him.

“Is she refusing to see me?” he asked bluntly.

“I beg your pardon. Did you wish to see my mother? She is—”

“Not the duchess,” he cut her off.
“Diana.”

Linnet shook her head. “Diana isn’t here. I haven’t seen her since your wedding day.”

He raked a hand through his blond hair, already windswept and disheveled from hours spent in the saddle. “I was in London on business when I received a message from Ravensfield that Diana had left for Suffolk. I thought she must have come to you. We… we fought before I left.”

“Please, won’t you sit down? You look like you’ve been riding all night.”

“Since dawn,” he mumbled as he sank down wearily into a chair, but he was on his feet again before she had seated herself. “My God,” he exclaimed. “If she’s not here, then she’s with
him
.”

“Who?” A thought crossed Linnet’s mind, a face flashed across her memory, but she dismissed the outlandish notion. There was no reason to think Diana was with…

“Her father.”

“But why would she go to him?”

Henry met her eyes, and the grief and regret Linnet saw staggered her. “Your husband sought me out before Diana and I wed. He offered me his champion horse if I would bring Diana to see him after we were married. I refused, but he went ahead and sent her. The mare is breeding so there was no way for me to send her back safely.

“After my business in London was finished, I meant to go to Swallowsdale and purchase the mare. I didn’t want your husband to think he had any hold over either of us. While I was gone, Diana discovered that her father sent the mare, and I’m afraid she believes that’s why I married her.” His expression was bleak. “I told her to trust me. I told her to trust me, but I didn’t have enough faith in her to tell her about this. Now she’s hurt and alone, and I’ve sent her running to him. I’ve got to get to her and explain.”

“You’re going after her?”

He nodded. “I’ll need a fresh horse.”

“I’m going with you.” The words were out of her mouth before she knew what she was saying, but somehow she knew this was right. “I expect we’ll be there overnight. It’s more than thirty miles from here to Swallowsdale. Will you order the carriage readied while I pack?”

“Lady Linnet—” he began to protest.

“Please, Diana may need me.”

He acquiesced at that, but she could tell he wasn’t happy. He slept for most of the journey, waking when they changed horses to make certain he hired the fastest teams available. Upon reaching Bury St. Edmunds, their final stop before Swallowsdale, he took her hand. “I’ll get to her faster if I ride. Will you be all right with only the coachman?”

“Go,” she told him. “I will be fine.”

He was out of the carriage before she finished speaking. Nearly two hours later, when her old home came into sight, Linnet realized she’d spoken too soon. She fought the urge to pound on the roof of the carriage and demand the coachman turn around. She was alone. Flight was possible, even practical. There was no good reason for her to have come.

Despite what she’d told Henry, she wasn’t worried that Diana needed her. Her daughter had a husband who loved her, and they would sort through their problems together. Linnet wouldn’t let Diana run away and repeat her mistakes.

That was why she had come, she admitted to herself. She was tired of living with regrets. No, she wasn’t living; she simply
existed
. With both of her children grown and on their own, she needed to learn if there was any living left for her.

She caught her reflection in the glass and straightened her bonnet. She pinched her cheeks, disliking the pale, tired face that stared back at her. She could do nothing about the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes or the strands of silver threaded through her dark hair. She knew, of course, that Thomas had aged as well, but she doubted the added years would diminish his looks. The realization that she would soon find out made it difficult for her to breathe, and she needed all her courage to knock on the door.

“Mrs. Merriwether.” The butler’s eyes widened at the sight of her.

“Good day, Ingham.” She stepped past him into the entry hall. Nothing had changed, but everything was faded and slightly shabby in a way that would only bother the mistress of the house. Relief swept through her at the thought. Thomas could not have remarried, of course, but she’d wondered so many times if there might be a woman in his life.

She untied her bonnet and pulled off her gloves, then handed them to the butler with an uncertain smile. She didn’t know what her reception would be in her old home. “It has been a long time.”

He bowed. “Too long, madam.” As he straightened, he met her eyes. His gaze was warm, but she sensed his discomfort. She supposed there was no clear etiquette for dealing with a visitor in her own home.

“We are all the rage today, Ingham. Claire tells me my son-in-law has come to retrieve his wife. Who is here now?” called a voice she hadn’t heard in sixteen long years, except in her dreams. “One moment, I’ll come see for myself.”

Linnet tried to brace herself for the sight of her husband, willing her heart to stop its frantic gallop. She failed miserably.

“Linnet,” Thomas croaked. “What are you doing here?” He looked as though he’d seen a ghost.

Her voice only wobbled a bit as she said, “I came to make certain Diana was all right.”

It wasn’t a complete lie, but she couldn’t tell him the truth: that she’d seized the excuse to return to Swallowsdale one last time. She’d thought if she could just see Thomas again, she wouldn’t live so much in her memories; perhaps in the one place she’d known true happiness she could find the measure of peace she needed to face all the long, lonely years ahead.

The second she saw him, though, she knew she’d erred. He looked older, leaner than she remembered, but her heart still leapt, and every cell in her body strained toward him. It had always been that way between them. She guessed it always would. Her love for him wasn’t something she could control. Short of cutting out her heart, she was stuck with the feeling.

“Will you not welcome me?” she asked softly, her heart pounding so loudly she could barely hear herself.

“You are always welcome here.” He glanced behind him into the library. Linnet followed his gaze. Diana stood in the doorway— No, that wasn’t Diana, but the girl was very like Diana at that age, and Diana was very like her father. Thomas had another child. Another woman. Oh, God, she couldn’t bear it.

“Please, excuse me,” she gasped. She was going to be ill. She stumbled forward, heading for the door to the small parlor that lay behind the more formal dining room. She hurried inside and locked the door. Oh, thank heaven the pot cupboard was still in the same place. She pulled out the chamber pot, blessedly empty, and retched.

There was a knock at the door. Thomas called her name.

“Go away,” she managed, before she was sick again. She sank to her knees, heaving over the porcelain dish.

He rattled the door handle, and she was grateful she’d had the presence of mind to lock the door.

“Let me in, Linnet. I must speak with you.”

What did he think he could say? She had nursed a broken heart, while he’d moved on with his life. He’d found another woman, conceived a child with her. She wiped the back of her hand against her clammy forehead, bitterly regretting the impulse that had brought her here. Before, at least, she’d been able to imagine that he had missed her, too.

Her head jerked up as the door at the other side of the room began to open. The door led to Thomas’s office, but the only way to that room was through this one. He’d often complained that it was impossible for him to get work done knowing she was so nearby. He’d made excuses to go in and out of the room, especially after she’d claimed the price of the toll was a kiss. The door to the office opened and he stood in the doorway, her memory come to life.

“I had a door built between my office and the drawing room,” he told her. “Cutting through a wall was easier than passing through here every day.” A sad smile tugged at his lips, then vanished when he took in her position, the pot clutched in her hands. He paled and started toward her.