Jo Beverley - [Malloren] (36 page)

His sister. His mother. “It’s just hungry.”

He turned to her, looking almost normal, but pale. “I know.”

“You have offended the queen.”

His lips twitched a little. “I believe I understand the ways of royalty.”

Diana took a deep breath herself. “Well then, at least this will put you far back in the competition for my hand.”

She was rewarded by the ghost of a true smile. “An unintentional bonus. You are well?”

“Well enough.” She suddenly realized that they were alone here, so close to the house that they could not even be overlooked by a window. Could she go into his arms, particularly when he needed comfort?

Too dangerous. Too dangerous by far.

“What will you do?” she asked.

“Return to the queen and apologize. Once the crying stops.”

She realized that he had halted where he still could faintly hear the noise, and that it had just stopped. She realized something else. Bey had a powerful urge to cherish and protect. Walking away from distress must wound like a blade, and it spoke clearly of how terrible such things were to him.

All newborns cried.

Did he have another reason for not having children, one that even love might not be able to overcome?

He held out a hand. “Time to return, my lady,” he said, superficially the perfect courtier again.

She placed her hand in his and he led her back toward the queen’s garden. “What of your situation after racing after me?” he asked.

“I’ll say I thought the queen commanded it.”

This was their first private moment since the coach, and now they were approaching the corner of the building. When they passed it they would once more be in sunshine, and in view.

Will breaking, Diana halted and pushed him against the brick wall. There, one hand behind his head, she kissed him, not long, but deeply, and rested for a moment afterward inclined against his body.

She took, he did not give. Yet because he did not resist, she knew he took, too, took contact and comfort. He did not break free either, so they stayed together for perilous minutes, until she found the strength to step back from him, to take his hand and restore the way they had been before.

He stopped her then, merely by a pressure on her fingers, and they stood looking into one another’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“This is not another burden for your soul,” she stated. “I refuse to accept that role, Bey. We are as we are. I will not deny it. We will also survive, no matter what.”

He raised her hand and pressed a kiss to it. “Your courage shames me. I will endeavor to do better.”

“You are perfect.”

“Clearly not.”

Moments later, apparent images of propriety, they stepped into sunlight and view. Both children were gone.

“Lord Rothgar!” the queen screeched. “Present yourself!”

He dropped Diana’s hand to go forward and bow, but the queen snapped, “And you too, Lady Arradale!”

Diana sank into a deep curtsy, and let him raise her.

“Lady Arradale,” the queen demanded, “we did not give
you permission to leave our presence. And you turned your back!”

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty. I thought you commanded me to bring Lord Rothgar back.”

“Would I send you rather than my guard?”

“Yet she succeeded in the task, Your Majesty,” Rothgar said, drawing the queen’s fire, as he surely intended.

The queen’s eyes narrowed. “By what means, I wonder?”

“Sweet reason, ma’am.” He bowed again. “Forgive me. I was overset by the children’s distress. Your Majesty, in your wisdom, will know why.”

The queen’s glower softened slightly, but she said, “Then perhaps you should not have children, my lord.”

“My thought entirely, ma’am.”

Diana could have laughed at the queen’s look of annoyance, except that this was all so heartbreaking.

“Why are you here, my lord?” the queen snapped. “Disliking children as you do.”

He didn’t protest that unfair statement. “On a mission of charity, ma’am. Lady Arradale prepared to come south at a moment’s notice, and might need to visit the shops and merchants here to supplement her wardrobe. If she wishes it, I could arrange for my secretary to carry out any commissions she might have.”

“Lady Arradale?” The queen turned to her, still frosty.

“There are some items, yes, Your Majesty.” Despite logic, Diana’s heart began to dance with anticipation. To Hades with his secretary. If she went shopping, surely Bey could escort her.

“Why make do with a servant?” the queen asked, as if picking up her thought.

At that moment, Lord Randolph hurried up with a white blanket and didn’t quite manage to hide irritation that the children had been taken away.

The queen smiled at him anyway. “Lord Randolph will escort you, Lady Arradale, along with Mistress Haggerdorn and a footman.” She turned the smile, now almost triumphant, on Bey. “Thank you, my lord, for the suggestion.”

He seemed completely unmoved as he bowed and took his leave, and perhaps he was. Diana would like to think that his plan to spend some time with her had been scuttled by his offense to the queen. It was more likely, strong-willed as he was, that he had always intended his secretary as her escort.

His walls were still intact.

Or were they? He had come to see her at least. And she had stolen—seized—that kiss! If he were truly beyond hope, he would never have permitted that.

Fragile hope stirred, but for now, she must leave with the smug Lord Randolph. London was rivaled only by Paris for its merchants, but Diana was in no mood for shopping. She wanted to consider her minor victory, and plot new strategies.

Above all, she wished she were with Bey.

As they entered a coach for the short drive to Bond Street, Diana couldn’t help wondering what sort of shopping companion Bey would be. Strange to think of him in that role, but it was a fashionable diversion for a lady, even a married lady, to take male admirers with her on such expeditions. He must engage in it sometimes. His taste was excellent, and she was sure he knew all the special and unusual emporiums.

With Lord Randolph, alas, they promenaded along the obvious route, and Bond Street was horribly crowded. Diana decided to make the best of it, however. There were some items she needed, and she could perhaps use this to reduce Lord Randolph’s enthusiasm for marriage to her.

She became a very slow and indecisive shopper.

When that failed to wilt his good humor, she turned to wild extravagance. It only slowly occurred to her that this was a terrible mistake. The evidence of her wealth had him virtually licking his lips.

Oh, perdition. She must keep her wits about her instead of letting her mind drift all the time as to whether this material, that lace, or that hair ornament would most please Bey. Her head was spinning anyway from the press of people
and the constant racket of wheels and din of street-sellers’ cries. York or Harrogate were never like this.

When she was jostled and someone stepped on her foot, she couldn’t help thinking that Bey would miraculously accomplish a shopping expedition in more comfort! When she saw the brass plate by a door, she dashed gratefully into the relative calm of a mantua maker’s house. The place was busy, but it seemed like heavenly peace.

As soon as her name was known, the proprietor herself swept out, to usher her into a private room, ply her with wine and cakes, and take her order. Fashion magazines and dolls were produced, and Mistress Mannerly began to make quick skillful sketches of ideas. Since both she and Diana knew what was wanted and were in accord, the designs were worked out efficiently, with Lord Randolph lounging nearby, knocking back the wine, mind obviously vacant.

A vacant-minded husband might seem better than a clever one—Bey excepting—but Diana thought it would drive her mad. An hour in Lord Randolph’s company had shown that he had no thought that wasn’t self-centered and selfish. It wasn’t that he was stupid, but that he was mentally lazy. No one had ever given him reason to try to think, and it had never occurred to him to do so on his own. He was doubtless pursuing her fortune so keenly because it would mean that he need never think again other than what to spend it on.

With a sigh, she reviewed the orders and approved them. A new light traveling gown to replace the one ruined in the adventure, and another grand gown for evening affairs, though she hoped to be gone before it was ready. She couldn’t resist ordering a delicious powder gown in fine layers of pale green silk. That was definitely not for her role at court, however, but for after her escape.

She suddenly realized that she was planning to wear it for Bey, but stopped herself from canceling the order. She was still determined to change his mind, and it would be wonderful on a wedding night—

“Anything else, milady?”

Diana snapped herself out of dreams, and recalled a picture
in the fashion magazine. She flipped back through pages.

“The Grecian costume, my lady?” said Mistress Mannerly, alert to a new commission. “Classical draperies are in vogue for masquerades.”

Diana considered the picture of the willowy woman in artlessly draped cloth that resembled a Greek peplos. “It could be Diana, could it not?”

“Indeed, my lady. A pretty conceit.”

She had brought her usual masquerade costume, that of Good Queen Bess, but now the idea of being the Virgin Queen had completely lost its appeal, and not because she was no longer a virgin. Now she could imagine only too well the lonely years of the great queen, whose position had made it perilous to have a man by her side. Diana had always liked to think that Elizabeth had at least enjoyed one lover—perhaps Courtenay, or Leicester—but now that didn’t seem consolation so much as torture.

If she went to the masquerade, she would rather be someone else, and why not Diana the Huntress?

“The masquerade is two nights from now,” she told the mantua maker. “Can this be made in time?”

“Of course, my lady. Though it is not as simple as it appears”—
don’t expect this to come cheaply
, Diana interpreted. “White silk, my lady? Or fine linen for authenticity?”

“By all means let us be authentic,” Diana said, rising. “And accessories. Mask, slippers, jewelry—though that can be paste. Bow and arrow, painted silver.”

The lady curtsied. “It shall be exactly as you wish, my lady.”

Diana left the establishment, spirits a little lighter at the thought of attending the masquerade as Diana, for Bey would surely take the point. In fact, her view of the masquerade brightened. The point of such affairs was to allow a little secret intimacy. Surely she and Bey could steal some time together.

“You are enchanting when you are happy, Lady Arradale.”

Diana started, having completely forgotten her companion.

“Oh,” she said airily, still trying to give him a dislike of her, “shopping is my chief delight.”

“Then be assured, dear lady, that as your husband I would never restrict your merchant voyages, and never quibble at the bills.”

Diana only just stopped herself from snapping that her bills were no concern of a husband’s anyway. “As your wife,” she couldn’t resist saying, “I would not interfere with your purchases, either, my lord.”

He looked more puzzled than outraged. “How could you, indeed?”

She longed to jab him with something sharp, but back into her part, she fluttered her lashes at him. “Are you saying that my wishes would carry no weight with you, my lord?”

“Ah, I see.” He carried her hand to his lips. “In that way, my dear lady, you would rule me entirely.”

Still fluttering, she said, “Oh, I do hope so.”

He kept hold of her hand, there in the street by their waiting coach. “Are we agreed so easily, my lady?”

“Agreed?”

“That we are to be wed? Their Majesties will be pleased.”

“No,” Diana said, pulling her hand free. “We were speaking hypothetically, Lord Randolph.”

“Come, come. It is not becoming to play hot and cold, dear lady. You know you have made your choice, so let’s be done with it.”

Diana hastily climbed into the coach, cursing again the fact that she was letting other matters tangle her wits again. As soon as he sat opposite her, she said, “You took me amiss, my lord. I need time to decide.”

“You are playing games, my lady. I will inform the king as soon as we return.”

“Then I will deny it!”

With a patronizing sigh, he turned to Mistress Haggerdorn, sitting beside her. “Lady Arradale was quite clear, was she not?”

The German woman said, “It did sound so, Lady Arradale.”

“Then at the least,” said Diana, “a lady has the right to change her mind.”

“Ah, so you do admit that your mind settled briefly on the intention to marry me, dear lady?”

With an inner groan, Diana realized she’d been right in thinking that he wasn’t stupid. He was clever enough to almost trap her.

She retreated into silliness. “Oh lud, my lord, you tangle me up so! Yes in truth, I am considering you as a husband. I like you very well. But we have known each other only days. I cannot make my mind up so soon. Please don’t speak to the king just yet. My mind is quite spinning with the excitement of it all.”

He took her hand and patted it. “Your mind will stop spinning once it is settled. Be guided by me, Lady Arradale. Only say the word and you will be able to put aside all cares except for the adornment of your beauty.”

She made herself gaze at him as if this idea was a blessing. “If only I could, my lord. But my dear father instructed me never to make an important decision in a hurry. For his sake, I must take at least a week.”

His look was all quick, sharp speculation, and she realized that he’d been playing a part as much as she had. Not that he was any less selfish and self-centered, but that he was more so, and shrewd and ruthless with it.

Then the look passed, and he was smiling again. “A week then. But if you decide sooner, my love, I will be waiting anxiously. Every day.”

My love
. How could two pleasant words sound so slimy?

Diana returned to the Queen’s House regarding it more as a refuge than a prison. She knew Lord Randolph couldn’t trick or force her into marriage, but having him stalking her with smiling, predatory intent made her skin crawl. What was worse, she’d have to behave warmly toward him until she broke down Bey’s dark walls.