Chapter Twenty-Two
“Have you and your footman talked more about the life jackets?”
He insisted on walking her home, even though she told him she would be fine on her own. Yes, she should have a chaperone, if she was the usual sort of lady, but she was not. It would have been too awkward to have to try to explain anything about her family to someone who was not her family. Far better to risk scandal by walking about on her own.
But he ignored her, instead taking her arm and strolling casually down the sidewalk outside the museum as though what they had done was completely normal.
Which she knew was not.
“I wanted to wait until you were available as well,”
he replied, startling her.
She wasn’t accustomed to being waited for or consulted on—well, anything. Usually, in fact, her parents and Drusilla hid their activities from her because they knew she was bound to disapprove.
“Oh!” she said.
“Should I have not?”
he asked, his pace slowing as he turned to look at her.
“No, it’s fine—”
she began. “In fact,”
she continued, the strength of her opinion growing inside, “it’s preferable. It seems redundant to have to talk about the same things twice, and I’ll need to explain everything to my parents, so I’ll need a clear understanding.”
“The duke is home,”
he blurted. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—but he’s home. And he’s asked about the progress.”
“Which means you could have discussed things without me, if there was a time concern.”
He gave a frustrated exhale. “That presumes I might understand it all. I need you there, not just because your parents are one half of the problem, but also so I know what we’re doing. It turns out I am not very good at keeping thoughts in my brain.”
“You haven’t had any practice,”
she pointed out.
They were only about ten minutes away from her house, and she wished the walk was longer. It was so refreshing to speak with him, to feel as though she could say or do anything and not only would he not judge, he would likely admire her and want to know more.
“How so?”
“Well, I presume you had a tutor and went to university,”
she began, and he nodded. “But that is a very specific type of information—”
“And you don’t know what kind of student I was,”
he pointed out, sounding rueful.
“But it wasn’t as though any of that mattered. If you pass or fail, you’re still a duke’s son. Nothing in your life would change.”
“Except for my father’s approval.”
She was silent for a moment. He sounded so bitter.
“Has your father ever approved of you?”
she asked. “I say that, knowing that from the time I was small, my parents always wished I was less like me. It isn’t dislike or disapproval, in their case, it’s just that they don’t understand people who are sensible and want sensible answers to things. They think those kinds of people—”
“People like my father,”
he interjected.
“Yes. They think that people like that are just frightened.”
She shrugged. “They might be, though that is not true in my case.”
“Why, then?”
he asked, once again sounding genuinely curious.
“Because otherwise I honestly don’t know what might happen.”
“But why is it up to you?”
She opened her mouth to answer—because it has to be done—but shut it again.
“I don’t know. I guess I just feel as though if I didn’t take responsibility, nobody would be responsible.”
“What is the worst thing that could happen?” he asked.
The question was one she had never asked before. Either of herself or them. “I . . . I don’t know.”
She admired his continuing to ask, to try to discover how she truly felt.
“Your family has funds, property, and a respected title. I presume things could only get so bad?”
“Eel money,”
she said suddenly. She turned to meet his gaze. “Remember? Eel money is the opposite of lobster money. Sometimes we have to eat eels.”
“But the point is you won’t starve in either case,”
he pointed out.
“No,”
she said slowly. “I suppose not.”
“So,”
he said, talking as though he was trying to coax a shy cat from under the sofa, “why not leave the responsibility to someone else for a change? Try doing something fun? For yourself?”
“I have been, if you haven’t noticed,”
she said tartly.
He laughed, as she’d meant him to. “I don’t mean just that—though, that is quite welcome, I assure you—but also being able to decide what you want to do without having to have a special occasion. The first night we met, you said you wanted to do what you wished to do. It was clear then, and even more clear now, that that was an unusual intention for you. But why not do more of it?”
Why not?
Because . . . and myriad replies ran around her head like responsible chickens, each of them squawking about having to do this or take ownership of that.
But all of that was just the way of the old her. It was possible to be responsible and do things for herself.
“Why not?”
she responded. “I suppose I can try.”
“And I,”
he replied, “can help you with that.”
He grinned at her then, and she smiled back at him.
“But what about you?”
she asked. “What can I help you with?”
What could she help him with? Well, she could remove all her clothing so he could explore every curve, every inch, of her body. Lick all that warm, soft skin until she was moaning, like she’d been when he’d stroked her.
He loved her. And he couldn’t do anything about it.
It wouldn’t be right to even broach the subject, what with his wanting to help her be unconventional. Never mind the loathing parents on either side.
He respected her brain and her reasoning too much to even bring it up—she knew, perhaps better than he, what it would be like to tie yourself to someone who might need things you weren’t able to give. He’d need her to love him in return, and he had no idea if she even had a thought about him in that way. He’d need her to take on the responsibilities he had, since he was worse at them than she would be. He didn’t want her to trade one duty for another. He wanted her to live her life entirely as she wished.
“Well, I suppose you could just do what you’re doing,”
he said at last. They were close to her house, even though he wished they were a thousand miles away.
“And what is that? Besides—”
and she made a hasty, embarrassed gesture that indicated their recent sarcophagal activity.
“Being my partner in the factory solution,”
he replied. “My father wouldn’t be nearly as sanguine without your help.”
Or Mr. Bishop’s, he thought sourly. But that wasn’t her concern.
“If you solve it to his satisfaction, what then? Will he change his mind about you, do you think?”
Lucian considered it, then shook his head. “No. He is set on his opinion. He’s been set on his opinions since that blasted comet streaked across the sky.”
“So why bother? Why not just live your life as you wish to?”
“Because . . .”
Because my life doesn’t suit me any longer. I want to have fun, experience pleasure, yes, but I also want to have a purpose. “I suppose it’s because I think it’s the right thing to do. Regardless of what my father says. Perhaps in spite of what he says.”
It felt good to say it aloud, to admit the truth of it.
“And that is why you are putting effort into solving the factory problem.”
Her words reminded him. “Speaking of which, Bishop has also set up a few presentations.”
Likely because he wanted to look worthwhile in front of Lucian’s father. “We have to honor the appointments, even though I think we are of the same mind regarding the factory. But we cannot cancel.”
“Please just tell me we’re not going to see any more stuffed rats,” she said.
“No stuffed rats,”
he promised.
“Oh, thank goodness. And we should be able to move fairly quickly after that. But when we have completed our task, what then? How can I help you do the right thing after this?”
Marry me.
No, not that. Never that. It wouldn’t be fair to their relationship to suggest something more permanent just because that was what he wanted. Even though he wanted it so much.
And what did he have to offer, anyway? Yes, he had a title and money, and that was usually enough, even for the most loathsome of gentlemen, but she deserved more. She deserved to be able to have the chance to do what she wanted to do.
What she wished to do.
She most definitely did not wish to marry a duke’s second son, with all that entailed. She’d said as much.
He would be there to support her in that endeavor, no matter how much it hurt. Because she deserved everything in the world, every happiness, every moment of pleasure she could get.
But she was still waiting for his reply.
“Help me find a purpose, I suppose,”
he said in a deliberately light tone of voice. “Maybe I should go dig ditches in Wales or become a sheep farmer in Scotland.”
“It’s called a shepherd,”
she pointed out dryly. “You should know the name of the occupation if you are going to embark on a career in it.”
“Shepherd, fine,”
he said in a dismissive tone.
“If that is what you want to do,”
she said, “I will absolutely support your endeavor. It’s just a matter of finding your purpose in the first place.”
Exactly. And since his purpose couldn’t be love and cherish her until the day we both die, he’d have to discover something else to do.
“We’re here,”
she said, as they stopped in front of her town house. “Thank you for the . . . the—”
she made another one of those flapping gestures “—and for walking me home. Let me know when our next presentations are.”
“Thank you.”
Thank you for allowing me to make you climax; thank you for trusting me with your thoughts and wishes. Thank you for making me see that there is more to life than pleasure—though my life with you would be nothing but pleasurable.
“Good day,”
she said, giving him another quick smile, and then she was gone, up the stairs and into her house before he could say another word.
“Welcome!”
Lady Sneed rose as Diantha, Drusilla, and their parents walked into the reception parlor. The butler had met them at the door, taking their outer garments—including another hideous shawl, this time in shades of orange and green—and led them down a long hallway to the room.
Diantha gave the older woman a brief curtsy, then waited as her parents exchanged greetings with their host. The earl and countess had become fast friends, as was their wont, with the Sneeds, who seemed to appreciate the Courtenays’ delighting in anything presented to them. Diantha scanned the other guests, out of habit, but her heart thumped just a bit faster than usual in her chest as she spotted him. Lucifer.
Mr. Bishop was there also, as was another gentleman who had risen along with the others, his face and bearing an older version of Lord Lucian’s. The duke—the one who disapproved of his son’s behavior, whom Lucian would choose for his villain.
“And may I present Lady Diantha, your grace?”
Lady Sneed was saying, gesturing between the two. The duke gave Diantha a perfectly correct bow, his eyes scanning her face.
It was disconcerting, having the man regard her so intently. Was it possible he suspected something? Anything?
“Richard, it has been so long since we’ve seen one another!”
Diantha’s father exclaimed. The duke turned his gaze to regard the earl, his expression growing even colder, if that was possible.
It struck Diantha, likely far too late for her to do anything about it, that she should have discussed with her parents what they should do should they happen to see the duke, whom they hadn’t interacted with in decades, except through lawsuits.
Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.
“Breathe.”
His voice was a low rumble, and she turned toward him, nearly bumping his nose in the process since he was so close. Too close. She leaped away, feeling her face start to heat, British Museum–style, and stared at anything but his face.
His beautiful face with its gorgeous mouth.
Thoughts of what they had done earlier that day flooded her mind, made her forget entirely, at least for a few moments, that she was facing a crisis. A crisis that could derail her future, if the duke became as obstinate and obdurate—her father would be so delighted at her word choice—as Lucian had intimated he was.
Which meant she had to solve the problem. As usual. Again.
She could not wait until her family’s problems were not hers to solve.
“Were you aware that they—?”
she began.
“No,”
he said, shaking his head. “If I had known, I would have made sure we declined the invitation.”
He uttered an exasperated sigh. “The last thing we need now is for the old bitterness to flare up, and that seems inevitable, if the two parties are in the same room.”
“We’ll have to do something,”
she said, emphasizing her words with a decisive nod. “Something that will keep them from engaging too much with each other. Will you help me?”