When the Duke Found Love (34 page)

Then the clouds slid free of the moon and moonlight spilled onto the ring in his fingers, the emerald glittering with a brilliant, otherworldly green. She’d seen this ring before, and with a shock she remembered where: the portrait of his mother, the one that hung in the Sultana Room. This had been her betrothal ring, the one that his father had vowed was pirate’s plunder for the prettiest duchess in the world.

Sheffield would not jest about his mother’s ring. If he intended to seal his love for her with this ring, then he meant every word of love he’d said, even the part about being his sultana. She could trust him. She
did
trust him.

What else could she do but accept?

“Yes, Sheffield, I will,” she said, sinking down to her knees beside him. If he’d humble himself in the grass before, then it seemed only fair that she do it, too. “I will marry you.”

She watched as he pushed the ring onto her finger, and then he kissed her. It wasn’t like any other kiss he’d given her. It was almost
reverential
, which by her thinking would not do.

“If I am to put aside all other men for you, Sheffield,” she said, looping her arms around his shoulders, “then you must kiss me better than that. Kiss me not as a wife but as a sultana.”

He grinned and did exactly that, kissing her with such passion and ardor that if she hadn’t been holding so tightly to him, she might have toppled over completely. Even when he finally paused, the urge to topple remained strong, and she realized if she didn’t stand up now, she’d soon be in exactly the same posture as she’d been in on that settee.

Instead she wisely clambered back to her feet and kissed him that way before finally, she pulled away.

“We must go back,” she said, breathless with happiness and kissing. “We must tell everyone that you’ve asked me to marry you and that I’ve said yes, and I must tell Lord Crump that he’s free, and—”

“No,” he interrupted. “We won’t do any of that. No one wants us to marry, and I’ve no desire to listen to them offer a thousand sensible reasons why we shouldn’t. I’ve no patience for that, Diana.”

“But what else can we do?” she asked. He was right about how unhappy her family would be. Her mother and aunt and sisters would offer endless horrifying reasons for why she’d be happier with Lord Crump than Sheffield any day, reasons she didn’t believe but didn’t wish to hear, either. Why should she, when she’d heard most of them already? “We have no choice but to tell them.”

“Not tonight,” he said. “I’ll come back for you later, after everyone’s asleep, and we’ll elope. No one can argue with us if we return as man and wife.”

“Elope?” she said, unable to contain her excitement. Eloping was the most romantic thing she could possibly imagine, and if there were any way to improve upon marrying Sheffield, then running away to marry him would be it. “Like Lady Enid and Dr. Pullings?”

“Like my parents,” he said, and kissed her again. “Bring only what you must, and only what you can carry. I shall meet you by the servants’ stair two hours past midnight, and—”

“Oh, no, not by the stairs,” she said. “Someone’s bound to see me there. I’ll climb from my window and meet you in the garden below.”

“Climb from your window?” he asked, mystified. “Diana, I cannot see how—”

“It’s no trouble at all,” she assured him, pointing up to her bedchamber. “That window, there, second from the end. That’s my room. I’ve done it before. There’s a line of bricks that sticks out from the wall beneath my window, and then there’s a little porch roof, and
then
I can slide right down, where you’ll be waiting. In the country I climbed trees all the time, and the wall is much easier than that.”

He frowned. “I would never forgive myself if you fell.”

“I won’t, I promise.” She looked down at the ring on her finger, then reluctantly slipped it off and returned it to him. “You’ll have to give this to me again, later. It can be my wedding ring instead if you’d like.”

“What I’ll like is to have you safely as my wife,” he said gruffly, using her return of the ring as an excuse to kiss her fingertips, one by one. “Very well, then. I see now that life with you shall never lack for adventure.”

She grinned happily. “Never. It’s one of my qualities. You shall never be bored in my company.”

“I shall hold you to that, sweet,” he said, and winked, the kind of sly wink that could make her do anything, or could if only he realized its power. “At two hours past midnight, I shall be standing beneath that window, waiting for you.”

She took a deep breath. “I should warn you that I’m bringing Fig,” she said, unable to forget Lord Crump’s terrible threat against the little cat. “I cannot leave her behind.”

“I never expected you to abandon Fig,” he said easily. “I’ll be bringing Fantôme as well.”

She shook her head, still anxious for Fig’s safety. “I shall have her in a basket, but you must be sure she is safe from Fantôme.”

“You have my word,” he said. “Though I fear far more for Fantôme’s sake than hers. For all her size, Fig is very brave and bold, and poor Fantôme is not at all.”

“Oh, Sheffield, you are
perfect
.” She quickly kissed him again, then hurried back toward the house. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been away, yet nothing had changed in the music room. The same pop-eyed woman was singing what sounded like the same mournful song, her sister and her mother and her aunt, Lord Crump and March and Brecon and his sons, were all sitting in the same chairs, dutifully listening as if they cared for the same mournful song—except for the young lords, all three of whom seemed now to be asleep.

She slipped into her chair beside Lord Crump, ready to offer some nonsensical excuse. He glanced at her, noted that she’d returned, and looked back to the singer. He didn’t smile, ask where she’d been, or even inquire why she’d damp spots on the front of her skirts. It was the same response she always earned from him, a benign lack of attention that was just shy of ignoring her. Except that this time, it didn’t fill her with despair or unhappiness. Now she felt nothing but joy, for soon, very soon, she’d be forever free of Lord Crump and married to Sheffield.

But though Lord Crump did not ask where she’d been, her absence hadn’t gone entirely unnoticed. Much later, when all the guests had left and Diana was undressed and in bed trying to write the note she’d leave behind, Charlotte came to her bedchamber, a single candlestick in her hand. She wore a flowered silk dressing gown over her nightshift, her long dark hair braided in two thick plaits over her shoulders and her blue eyes filled with concern.

“You are still awake, Di?” she asked, then chuckled ruefully. “Of course you are. You wouldn’t be sitting here with the candles lit if you weren’t. But what bride sleeps the night before her wedding?”

“Then I am no different.” Diana smiled, wishing again that she could confide in Charlotte, and that she hadn’t had to shove her unfinished note beneath the covers. “I thought you’d be Mama.”

Charlotte climbed on Diana’s bed, tucking her feet beneath her dressing gown. “Mama went to bed hours ago. She so feared she’d not sleep that she took a draft, and asked not to be disturbed until morning. The very roof could fall in, and she’d not wake now.”

“She might as well sleep,” Diana said, wishing she’d been able to say farewell to Mama, too, the way it now seemed she was to Charlotte. She wouldn’t be gone long with Sheffield, only the time it took for them to wed, but when she returned everything would be as different as if she’d been gone a year. She glanced around the room at the trunks that were packed for her journey with Lord Crump—the trip that now she would not take. “There’s nothing left for me to do, you see. Everything is in readiness.”

“I am glad,” Charlotte said, also looking about at the trunks and chests. “I won’t keep you, then. But I did have one question from this evening.”

Diana’s smile faded to wariness. If anyone would suspect her plan to elope with Sheffield, it would be Charlotte.

“When you were in my chamber before everyone arrived,” she began, “I could see how unhappy you were, and how much you dreaded this marriage. When Lord Crump had his fit, blaming it upon poor Fig, I thought you might break off with him then and there. I haven’t seen you so angry for years, Diana.”

Hearing her name, Fig appeared, climbing into Diana’s lap. “How could I not be angry, Charlotte? You heard him. It was the cruelest thing I’ve ever heard a gentleman say.”

“It was indeed,” Charlotte said, nodding. “It did not favor Lord Crump at all. I can only hope that he was shamed and unwell after his fit, and that is why he lashed out at Fig. I do expect him to apologize once he has had time to reflect on his words.”

Diana didn’t answer, not nearly as confident of that apology. She knew she’d slender experience in the world’s ways, but she had observed that men who threatened and beat their horses or dogs were generally the same ones who mistreated their wives and children. Despite Lord Crump’s reputation for Christian generosity, she’d been so shocked by his threats against her cat that she had already half resolved to refuse him even before Sheffield had proposed. She wasn’t exactly sure how she would have accomplished that, but to save both Fig and herself, she would have found a way, even if it had meant refusing him middle of the ceremony itself.

“But what puzzles me is this, Di,” Charlotte continued. “You were miserably unhappy. Then during the entertainment, you left for perhaps a quarter of an hour, and when you returned, you were another person entirely. You couldn’t stop smiling, and you’d become so joyful that even Aunt Sophronia took note. What caused so sudden a change in you, Diana? What happened to bring about that joy?”

Diana looked down at Fig, tracing the patterns in her fur to avoid meeting Charlotte’s gaze.

“I went to the garden to—to order my thoughts,” she said, picturing Sheffield, not Lord Crump, and striving to keep her words to be as true as possible. “Marriage is so important to a woman that I wished to be sure. When I asked myself if I respected and loved and trusted the man I was to marry, I realized that I did, and my entire spirit grew light and full of joy. That must have been what you saw.”

“Dear Diana, I am so happy for you!” Charlotte exclaimed with relief and joy of her own. “That is all I ever wished for you, to find the same happiness, trust, and love that I have with March.”

She leaned forward and kissed Diana tenderly on the forehead. “Good night now, lamb. Try to sleep if you can, for tomorrow will be full of excitement.”

Diana hugged Charlotte close, already missing her. Tomorrow would indeed be full of excitement, far more than Charlotte could guess, and when it was done, none of their lives would ever be the same.

Three hours later, that excitement began.

At this time in the night, the great house was still, with highborn and low all asleep in their beds. That alone was exciting for Diana, to be wide awake while the rest of the household was not. She was dressed simply in a plain linen bodice and petticoat, clothes left from the old days at Ransom that were more suited for a London servant than a soon-to-be duchess, but it was more important that she be able to dress herself without a maid than that she impress with her grandeur. Besides, the ordinary clothes would be a kind of disguise, making their adventure even more exciting.

For the last time, she read the letter she was leaving behind for her sister and mother. The letter had been much more difficult to write than she’d thought, and wasn’t nearly as noble as she’d wanted to make it. It wasn’t even as neat as it should have been, with several blots and crossed-out words.

Dearest, dearest Mama & Charlotte,

When you read this I shall be far away, having followed my heart & married Sheffield. I know this will be a terrible shock to you, but I love him beyond measure & he loves me the same & we will be most rapturously happy together, which I would not ever be with his lordship. I pray the scandal will not be too great & that you & everyone else will find it possible to Forgive me & offer your blessings upon us.

Your most affectionate daughter & sister,

D.

She sighed, wishing she could have explained her decision more clearly. She didn’t doubt she was doing the right thing by marrying Sheffield, but she also realized the enormousness of it, and how it would be perceived. She was jilting Lord Crump. There was no nicer way to say it. She was disobeying her family turning her back on her duty to them, and by her actions, she was causing them considerable unhappiness and trouble. She would become the centerpiece of gossip and scandal, not just among their circle but in the papers as well. While eloping with a duke instead of marrying a marquis would be considered advantageous by some, there would be many others who would see only the shocking circumstances, and even as a duchess, she would not be welcomed in every house, at least not in the beginning.

Most of all, by eloping she would be behaving in exactly the impulsive manner for which she had been faulted and scolded for all her life. Yet now, because she loved Sheffield, it seemed to her that impulsiveness was the virtue and obedience would have been the sin, and she could only pray her family could understand.

The second note, for Lord Crump, was much shorter, and had been much easier to write, too.

To His Lordship the Earl of Crump:

My lord, I free you of your obligation to wed me, for I cannot find sufficient love in my heart to be the wife you deserve. I thank you for the regard you have shown me & beg your forgiveness,

Yr. serv’t,

Lady Diana Wylder

She set the two letters side by side on her pillow, where they wouldn’t be missed. With a final sigh, she turned away and went to open her window.

The same quarter moon she’d seen earlier still shone in the London night, full of promise and silvery light as it ducked in and out of gathering clouds. A lovely, beauteous moon, she decided, and exactly the ideal moon for eloping. How could anything done beneath such a moon be wrong? With a chirp, Fig jumped on the sill beside her, rubbing her head against Diana’s shoulder.