When the Duke Found Love (15 page)

But Sheffield liked a headstrong lady, especially one who was impulsive enough to kiss him the way Lady Diana had. In fact, he liked most everything about Lady Diana, from how she laughed and how she’d teased him in nautical fashion to how wickedly attractive she’d been with her clothes sopping wet and clinging to her in all the proper places. He liked those proper places, too, for the thoroughly improper activities that they suggested. In short, he liked
her
, liked her very much. Even Fantôme liked her.

But did he like her enough to upset their entire interwoven family by pursuing her? He’d told himself that his sole reason for this ruse with Lady Enid was to free himself from marriage, at least for the time being. He knew he was too young, too unsettled. He simply wasn’t ready. Yet no matter how attracted he was to Lady Diana, any dalliance with her could end only one way, and that must be with marriage—and a marriage with an exorbitant amount of ill will and scandal attached to it, too. Hardly the most auspicious way to find true love, or to begin a shared life, either, and as he stared into the glinting stone of his mother’s ring, he wished the emerald were like some Gypsy’s crystal ball, able to predict his future.

“Sheffield, please,” Brecon said, jovial but insistent. “We cannot keep Boyce waiting all the day whilst you reflect on the charms of your betrothed. Do you wish to give your mother’s ring to Lady Enid?”

“I think not.” Purposefully Sheffield closed the lid on the velvet-covered box, holding it in his palm just a moment longer. He would give his mother’s ring to his future wife, whomever she turned out to be, but not to Lady Enid. “I do not believe it’s to Lady Enid’s taste.”

“As you wish, sir,” Boyce said, crestfallen. “Can you enlighten me as to her ladyship’s taste?”

“Come, Sheffield,” Brecon said, clearly exasperated. “Let’s hear what you’ve determined.”

“An amethyst,” Sheffield said, suddenly certain of what Lady Enid would wish. “A stone that’s a Roman purple. Regal. With diamonds, of course. She likes antiquity, things with a classical bent. Have you anything of that nature, Boyce?”

“Indeed I do, sir,” Boyce murmured, relieved and now encouraged that he might have a sale rather than a refurbishing. Quickly he put aside the Atherton family rings and disappeared for a moment into the back room, returning with yet another small plush box.

“Perhaps this might better please her ladyship, sir,” he said. He opened the lid with a graceful flourish and held it out to Sheffield. “The stone is an amethyst, sir, as you requested, a deep, regal purple of the highest cardinal grade. If you look closely, you will see that the back has been delineated with an intaglio of an ancient goddess.”

“Not Venus, I trust?” Brecon asked, dubious. “That would not be appropriate for a lady.”

“Oh, no, sir,” the jeweler said quickly. “I cannot answer as to precisely which goddess she is, but I assure you she is fully covered, quite chaste, and appropriate for a lady’s hand.”

Sheffield slipped the ring from the box and held it to the window’s light. The sizable stone was exactly as Boyce had said, a rich purple, faceted lightly on the front, but not so much as to obscure the classical lady carved on the reverse. Diamonds surrounded the amethyst, and the gold band had even been engraved with a Greek key pattern. The ring
was
appropriate for a lady, exactly as Boyce had said, and Sheffield could not imagine a more perfect ring for Lady Enid. It was even sufficiently untraditional for a betrothal ring that she might wish to wear it after she’d married Dr. Pullings.

“This one,” he said. “I’ll take it with me to give to the lady today.”

“Very good, sir,” Boyce said, bowing deeply. “And might I offer my very best wishes to both Your Grace and her ladyship?”

“Thank you, Boyce,” Sheffield said, rising to leave with a sense of accomplishment. With any luck, he’d be back here soon to reclaim his mother’s ring for his true bride.

“Well done, cousin, well done,” Brecon said heartily, clapping Sheffield on the shoulder as they left the shop. “At last I believe you are acting with purpose and honor.”

With a grin, Sheffield nodded. For once, he couldn’t agree more.

“I do not wish to go, Charlotte, that’s all,” Diana said. It was past noon, but she was still in her dressing gown, sitting cross-legged on her bed with Fig clutched tightly against her shoulder. “How can you believe I would?”

Summoned by Sarah, Charlotte stood in the doorway, her expression perplexed. “But you seemed to like Lady Enid well enough last night.”

“Lady Enid’s one thing,” Diana said. “But having Sheffield there, too, will make things
difficult
.”

“I do not see why,” Charlotte said, coming to sit on end of the bed. “He’s betrothed to Lady Enid, and you to Lord Crump. There’s no reason for difficulty, at least not the usual difficulties you have with gentlemen.”

With a groan, Diana flopped backward against the pillows, letting Fig scramble away. The last thing she wished was to have to listen to an enumeration of her past peccadilloes with gentlemen, even from Charlotte.

“But you saw how Sheffield was last night,” she said. “He baits me, torments me, and willfully makes me look foolish before others.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Charlotte said mildly. “Especially since you did much the same thing to him.”

“I did not,” Diana said. “I merely replied.”

Charlotte’s brows rose with skepticism. “To tell a gentleman he is ‘dismasted’ is not an ordinary reply,” she said. “You’re fortunate Mama didn’t hear you say that.”

Diana grimaced. So she truly had said “dismasted.” She’d been rather afraid that she had, and hoped against hope that she’d only
thought
of saying it, instead of actually letting the words leave her mouth.

“It was Sheffield’s fault, not mine,” she said defensively. “That is what I mean about how he provokes me.”

“He can hardly be blamed for what you said, Diana,” Charlotte said. “But I will agree that you two are flint and steel to each other, and far too similar to be at ease in each other’s company.”

“Similar to Sheffield?” Diana repeated, incredulous. “How could I possibly be like him?”

“The two of you are charming, impulsive, and irresponsible,” Charlotte said with more frankness than Diana had expected, or wished to hear. “You’re both overly fond of flirtations, too. It’s perfectly understandable that you would not be at ease in each other’s company, considering how you’re both betrothed to other people. Still, I trust that for the peace of the rest of us, you will find away to put aside your differences and be civil.”

Diana stared glumly up at the gathered center of her canopy. None of this was her fault. She was more than willing to put aside differences, and these supposed similarities, too, and forget the past entirely. It was Sheffield who insisted on being so provoking.

“You should be preaching to Sheffield, Charlotte,” she said, wounded. “Not to me.”

“I’m not ‘preaching’ to either of you,” Charlotte said, the first trace of irritation showing in her voice. “I’m only remarking that, because of our family ties, you and he will often be brought together in the future, and it will be happier for us all if you can manage to be agreeable to each other.”

Instantly Diana thought once more of how they’d kissed on Lady Fortescue’s gallery. In some ways she and Sheffield were definitely agreeable to each other—
too
agreeable—which was much of the problem. And then other times, such as when he’d pulled her into the pond, he was nothing but a vexing trial. She wished she could confide everything to Charlotte so she’d understand, but how could she explain how she felt about Sheffield to her sister when she couldn’t untangle it for herself?

“But to be in his carriage today with him and Lady Enid will be impossible,” she said. “Please don’t make me go. Please, Charlotte. Please tell them I’m ill or some such.”

“You’ll go, Diana, and you’ll be gracious about it,” Charlotte said, using the same voice she employed with her children. “I know you’re jealous of Lady Enid, but that’s no—”

“Jealous of Lady Enid?” Diana cried, appalled that Charlotte could even suggest such a thing. “Over
Sheffield
?”

“Jealous because she’ll have Sheffield there beside her, and you won’t have Lord Crump,” Charlotte said, as if there could be no other explanation. “Now come, make yourself ready. No matter what you think of Sheffield, he is still a duke, and it would be barbarously ill-mannered of you to keep him and Lady Enid waiting.”

“But I’m your sister, Charlotte,” Diana said wistfully, “and if you cared for me, you wouldn’t make me go. Please, Charlotte.”

But as the oldest sister, Charlotte always had been able to make Diana do what she wanted, and today was no different. At precisely three o’clock, Diana was walking down the white steps of Marchbourne House to where Sheffield’s carriage waited.

Despite dressing quickly, she’d chosen her clothes with care, hoping to dazzle everyone in the park so thoroughly that they wouldn’t notice that Lord Crump wasn’t with her. She wore a
robe à l’Anglaise
of pale blue silk brocade, flowered with a pattern of roses, and over it a short cape of yellow silk ottoman, clasped at the throat and embroidered with more flowers and twisting vines. Deep drawn-work flounces were attached to the hems of her sleeves, and at least a dozen pins anchored her wide-brimmed hat at an exact slanting angle over her forehead. Though it was a warm afternoon, she carried a swansdown muff, too, not for warmth, but as the last frivolous touch to her dress. As she came down the steps, she could feel everything—her silk skirts, flounces, and cape, the ribbons on her hat and the feathers of her muff and the two long golden curls that fell over her shoulders—fluttering gracefully in the breeze as if she herself might drift away up into the blue sky over London.

Which, considering the afternoon before her, she rather wished she could.

As she’d expected, Sheffield’s carriage was expensively elegant, its curving lines showing it had been built in Paris, not London. The carriage lamps were polished silver, as was the hardware around the door and windows. The carriage’s dark green lacquer gleamed in contrast to the red wheels, the spokes and trim picked out in gold and his arms painted on the door. One of Sheffield’s footmen, dressed in green and gold-laced livery that matched the carriage, had come to the door to escort her down the steps, and two more stood at attention on either side of the door, ready to unlatch the door and help her climb the three steps of the stone block and into the carriage.

To her surprise, Sheffield himself reached out the window and opened the door, then climbed out to the pavement to hand her into the carriage himself. He was dressed casually, much as he had been the first day they’d met in the park, in a well-tailored blue coat, dark red waistcoat, and white deerskin breeches. She remembered those breeches, how closely they fit to his thighs and certain other unmentionable regions besides, and she couldn’t help but notice them again as he descended from the carriage.

“Good day, Lady Diana,” he said cheerfully, his gaze sweeping from the plumes in her hat to the tips of her shoes, and returning to linger on the triangle of skin framed by the flaring edges of her cloak—a triangle that happened to include the curving swell of her breasts over the squared neckline of her gown.

“Good day to you, Your Grace,” she said, striving to follow Charlotte’s advice for a genteel truce, even as she fought the urge to snatch her cloak closed. “How kind of you to include me today.”

“The kindness is yours in joining Lady Enid and me,” he said, matching her bland politeness with his own. His expression, of course, was neither bland nor polite, his eyes full of teasing merriment and his smile very nearly a leer. “Truly we are honored, Lady Diana.”

As he stood on the pavement and she climbed to the top step of the carriage block, his face was unavoidably level with her breasts. Lady Enid was not two feet away, yet he shamelessly smiled with such approval that Diana blushed.
So much for truces,
she thought, and as quickly as she could she squeezed her skirts through the door and into the carriage to join Lady Enid.

“Good day, Lady Diana, good day!” Lady Enid said, her face pink with happiness. Her clothes were costly but plain—a dark blue riding habit with pewter buttons and an unadorned matching hat—but Diana guessed that any lady who was as scholarly as Lady Enid likely didn’t have time to spend with a mantua maker or milliner.

“Good day, Lady Enid,” Diana said, automatically beginning to take the seat across from her, the one that faced back. She assumed that Lady Enid and Sheffield would wish to sit side by side, and by rank the forward-facing seat was theirs. At least that was the arrangement with Charlotte and March.

But not, it seemed, for Lady Enid. “Here, Lady Diana, sit by me,” she said eagerly, shifting to one side and patting the cushions. “We’ll let His Grace sit with Fantôme.”

At the sound of his name, Sheffield’s bulldog wandered out from behind Lady Enid’s skirts and jumped onto the opposite seat, where Sheffield soon joined him. Charlotte settled beside Lady Enid, the footman latched the door, and the carriage drew away from the house and into the road.

“How does Monsieur Fantôme?” Diana asked. Of all the occupants in the carriage, she was most at ease with the dog, and she leaned forward to ruffle his ears. “Handsome boy!”

“Oh, hardly,” Sheffield said. “Even I wouldn’t dare call him handsome. But he makes up for his face with a worthy soul. Isn’t that so, Fantôme?”

The dog lay down beside Sheffield’s thigh and rolled on his back, his paws in the air and his pink tongue lolling from his mouth.

“Shameless, shameless,” Sheffield said, obligingly scratching the dog’s belly. “You see how the company of ladies debases him. Enid, my dear, show Diana your ring.”

Diana noticed how he’d left off their titles, instantly making the conversation more intimate and familiar, but also more awkward. She was still deciding how to react when Lady Enid thrust her hand out before her, holding it so that Diana was sure to see the ring.