The Letter (15 page)

His headache grew worse and was now a persistent pounding in his temples, but he forced a smile. “Enough talking. I would much prefer to do this,” he said, and kissed her. Her lips were not as soft as Diana’s. They were not as warm. He was thinking too bloody much and tried to stop, but the comparisons persisted.

The carriage finally rolled to a stop, and Michael lifted Serena off his lap, returning her to the bench seat. He descended the steps, nodding to the footman holding the door. He held out his hand, helping Serena down. As he escorted her to the door, he heard his carriage begin to move. His coachman, knowing Michael preferred to walk home in the mornings, was leaving.

“Wait for me, Jaspers,” he called.

Serena stopped. “Aren’t you staying?”

He looked at her lovely face. He had intended to and he should. There was his plan, one requiring that he ask her a question. “No, my dear, not tonight. I’m afraid my head is pounding itself to a beyond bearable level. No doubt from the heat in the ballroom.”

Once again, her eyes searched his, looking, he was sure, for the lies. Her expression hardened. “No doubt,” she said and turned away. Lifting her skirts, she walked up the steps and disappeared into the house.

The door closed behind her. Michael bowed his head and closed his eyes against the building roar in his brain.
What are you doing? You are making a royal muddle of things.

Opening his eyes, he stared hard at the closed door before turning away and climbing into his carriage. With a tap on the roof, the wheels began to move, and he gave in to the long held sigh. He very much feared his plan was crumbling into pieces.

Back at his townhouse, Michael remained quiet as Hansen undressed him. Once in bed, he stared up at the ceiling and listened to the clock tick away each passing hour. When the black of night gave way to the gray of dawn, he gave up trying to negotiate a truce between his mind and his heart.

His heart had won the battle.

Leaving Hansen to pack his valise for a return to Wyburne, Michael spent an hour with Johnston and then called on Serena, a visit he did not look forward to.

Chapter Twelve

Diana awoke at first dawn in a room still shadowed from lack of light. She wanted nothing more than to snuggle back into the covers and return to sleep. But if she was to have her gown on before Fanny arrived, she had best get to it. Her maid appeared earlier each day in an obvious attempt to arrive in time to actually help her mistress dress. Diana got up earlier each day to prevent that from happening. Sighing, she threw back the covers and sat up.

A figure rose from the window seat.

Diana screamed.

Amidst a flurry of apologies from her maid, Jamie barreled in, followed by Mrs. Bartlett clutching a poker.

“Mama! Is the bad man here?” He dived into the bed and onto her lap.

“Oh, dear, there’s a bad man?” Mrs. Bartlett waved her weapon in the air. “Where is the blackguard?” she yelled over the chaos.

Diana groaned when Roger and Mr. Denton tried to enter the door at the same time, finally pushing in together before turning and glaring at each other. She pulled the covers out from under Jamie and tucked them under her chin.

“Have we missed anyone?” she muttered. She looked around at the people in various stages of dress, some with hair sticking out at odd angles and burst into laughter.

Her protectors stared at her as if she were mad. She wasn’t, truly not. But she
was
safe. By their actions, these people had proved it better than any words of assurance they might have uttered. She wrapped her arms around Jamie’s chest and whispered in his ear. “We’re safe, my love.”

Once explanations were made, Fanny herded everyone out. Diana’s gaze followed the maid as she went to the armoire and chose the yellow and white striped day dress. Fanny then selected a chemise, corset, stockings and half boots, stationing herself in the middle of the room with her collection.

“My lady, let’s get you dressed.”

Diana took in the determination on the maid’s face, heard the steel in her voice. “How long have you been here, Fanny?”

“Since four on the clock, my lady.”

“I see. I understand you wish to fulfill your responsibilities, but I have my reasons for not allowing it.”

“Have you never had a lady’s maid?”

“Yes, a long time ago and in another life.”

Fanny made no response, just stood and waited. Diana lowered her forehead to her knees and squeezed her eyes shut. She wasn’t going to be able to hide forever. It was best to test the waters with her maid. At least, if Fanny was disgusted, she would keep it to herself. Looking up, she nodded. “All right.”

She stood and unbuttoned her nightrail, lifted it over her head and dropped it to the floor. Trembling and as naked as the day she was born, she focused her gaze on the maid. The reaction was as she had expected.

Fanny gasped. “My God. Who did that to you? Surely not his lordship?” She slapped a hand over her mouth. “Forgive me, my lady, it is none of my concern.”

Diana held out her hand. “My chemise, please.” She needed to be covered, needed to go back into hiding. She couldn’t, however, allow Fanny to think Michael responsible. “No, not his lordship, but my husband who is now dead.”

“Well, if it were me, my lady, I would be happy for that.”

Words could not express Diana’s happiness.

****

Diana trailed a hand over the delicate, antique white desk. Since discovering this room the morning Michael left, she had begun to think of it as hers. She didn’t feel guilty taking it over as it had been clearly meant for her.

She’d spied the desk one day as she had strolled through the shops of London with her betrothed, her maid following closely behind. One small aside from her of its appeal had been noted by Michael. She had never expected to see this piece of furniture again, yet, here it was.

Going to the mantel, she stood before the glass-encased clock she had given him. It still ticked off the time, meaning he had seen to it that it was kept wound. Next to the timepiece were a book of Shakespeare’s plays, and two books of poems, one of Wordsworth’s and one of Byron’s, her gifts to him, a love offering to her future husband.

As she had for the past six days, she stood, taking in the décor. She could not credit it, could not comprehend why this room still existed eleven years later. Decorated in colors of muted rose and blue-greens, it had a warm, inviting feel. A small rose print sofa sat against one wall, and over it hung a painting of a laughing girl in a cream-colored gown with bright yellow ribbons at the waist and sleeves. She stood on a garden path holding an open yellow parasol over one shoulder. In her hand, she held a yellow rose under her chin.

Diana remembered the day with clarity. Two weeks before they were to be married, Michael arrived at her home with an artist in tow. The man had chosen to paint her in the rose garden, surrounded by the yellow, pink, and white blooms. Watching, Michael had made an absurd comment.

“When we are old and gray and have lost our teeth, I will be able to look at this portrait and remember the girl I fell in love with.”

She had laughed, unable to imagine them old, gray, and toothless. The painter had ordered her to hold that pose. “Don’t move,” he had cried out, “but do hold onto your joy.”

As she had each day, Diana turned in a circle and studied the room. The outside wall featured tall windows, their view that of a rose garden. It was too late in the year for blooms, but in the spring and summer, the scene would be quite lovely. The antique lady’s desk was angled so the person sitting behind it would behold the garden.

Upon first discovering the room, she had searched for signs of another woman’s touch, but found no indication anyone had ever spent time here. That she was the first to occupy it pleased her immensely.

Michael had created all this for her, secretly preparing it as a surprise for his bride. She thought about her bedroom, realizing the chamber had also been decorated for her. The colors of yellow and blue had been her favorites at the time and the girl she had been would have loved the room. That must mean the various bottles of scents had also been for her. And because they were still full, no other woman had spent time there either.

It no longer mattered, or at least it shouldn’t. She wasn’t so naïve as to think he had lived a celibate life these past years and couldn’t help wondering about the women in his life.

****

Michael stood in the doorway of a room he had not entered in eleven years. The reason for his not doing so stood at the window looking out. His gaze traveled from her hair to the exposed skin of her neck, then down her back to her bottom where it lingered for a moment. Though her legs were hidden by the skirts of her gown, he could vividly recall their long sensuous lines.

“This was meant for me,” she said softly.

He hadn’t thought she was aware of his presence. Entering, he walked to her side. “Yes.” Her scent drifted to him. Today’s was honeysuckle. He looked out the window at the rosebushes and wished it were summer so she could see them in full bloom. He turned and surveyed the room. “Do you like it?”

She pivoted, her gaze following his. “It’s lovely. Why have you left it untouched all these years? I would have thought you wouldn’t have wanted the reminder.”

He shrugged. “This is the first time I’ve stepped inside since it was finished.”

“Truly? Why is that?”

She sounded surprised. Did she not understand how losing her had devastated him? How it had sent him into a life of dissolution? He glanced at the painting over the sofa, remembering that day and how he thought all his dreams had come true. Though uneasy at baring his soul, he told her the truth. “I couldn’t bear to come in here, Diana. Everything reminded me of you.”

“And my chamber?”

So, she realized it had been decorated for her, also. “The only people who have entered the two rooms have been the maids to keep them dusted.”

She walked away from him and stood in front of the painting. He came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders, pleased she didn’t flinch.

“I wish—”

“As do I,” he said. He pulled her back against him and wrapped his arms around the top of her chest. Resting his chin on her head, he joined her in staring at the girl in the rose garden.

“She was so very happy that day,” she whispered.

He remembered. “She can be again, if you will only let her.”

Slipping out of his arms, she faced him. “I am trying, Michael, truly I am.” She returned to the window and turned her back to him. “It is just that I don’t know what to expect. I don’t know where Jamie and I will go from here, and mostly, I don’t know what you want from us.”

He had a new plan, but didn’t think she was ready to hear it. “Everything will sort itself out in due time. Come and walk with me. The day is lovely and not to be wasted.”

When he held out his hand, she came to him, slipping her hand into his. It felt right.

In the hall, he picked up a parasol from the table and then led them outside. Letting go of her for a moment, he opened it and presented it to her. “I got this for you while in Town. We can’t have the sun freckling you up now, can we?” Inclining his head, he smiled. “Although, I’ve always adored a freckle or three, especially right here.” He touched the tip of his finger to her nose, where three freckles were barely visible.

Pink stained her cheeks and she slapped at his hand. “Now you are being silly.”

She was the second woman to call him silly. Strangely, he didn’t mind it from this one. She twirled the brown and gold print parasol, and the pleasure of her smile at his small gift humbled him. He didn’t tell her he had chosen it because the colors reminded him of her eyes and hair. Reclaiming her hand, he walked them down the lane, content to have her at his side.

“I didn’t hear you arrive. Have you been back long?” she asked.

“I got in shortly before dawn, had a bath to remove the travel dust and then slept for a few hours.” Unless he wanted a mutiny on his hands, he was going to have to stop dragging his servants out of their beds to heat his baths.

“You didn’t stop at an inn for the night?”

“No, I only stopped to change horses a few times.” He brought her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to her fingers. “Did you miss me?”

****

Diana pulled her hand away and moved in front of him. “What are you about, Michael? It isn’t proper for you to ask me that.”

But she had missed him. When she had sensed him at the door, her heart had fluttered like butterfly wings. Silly heart. Instead of answering, he took her hand again and continued walking.

She tried to discern his possible reasons for asking her such a question. It almost felt as if he was courting her, but that was impossible. But why was he bringing her gifts and asking if she missed him?

Tears had threatened when he handed her the parasol. It was the first time anyone had given her a present in eleven years. She didn’t count the items he had purchased for her in the village. Those had been necessities. This gift meant he had gone shopping just for her, indicated he had been thinking of her. Did it mean something?

“How would you feel about returning to London with me? Jamie, too, of course.”

Panic coursed through her, and she jerked her hand from his. “What? No. No, Michael, I won’t go.” She snapped the parasol closed and tried to give it back to him. “If this was meant to make me agreeable, it is not nearly enough. A hundred emerald bracelets would not even do the trick.”

His face paled and his eyes shuttered, then shifted away from her. What had she said to put that guilty look on his face? She thrust the parasol into his hand and strode to a nearby tree, rested her palm on it and lowered her head. He walked up behind her and stood close, but didn’t touch her.

“What distresses you?”

“London distresses me. I don’t want to go.”

“You need new clothes, as does Jamie.”

“I don’t need to go to London for that. I can get them in the village. I’m sure I can find a seamstress.”