Chapter 3 #2
He checked that there were no papers left untended, and rose from the desk.
It should be safe enough. The complications following the end of the war with France were reason to return quickly to London.
He’d also arrange for Carruthers to send papers to him by swift courier to make the situation clear.
A defensive maneuver, but wise. Survival was best achieved by avoidance of peril. He’d arrive the day before the wedding, and stay one day after it. Three days. He could easily avoid entanglement with the countess for three busy days.
As he left to prepare for his evening engagements, however, he was aware of many historical dramas, even tragedies, proving that to be nonsense.
Three days was time enough for complete disaster.
Three days, Diana told herself as she waited for her gatekeeper’s horn to announce the arrival of the Malloren carriages. He would be here for only three days. She could navigate those three days without crashing into any kind of disaster.
Despite reason, however, when the distant horn blasted, every nerve jumped. In days gone by, that horn had belonged to the castle lookout and had warned of enemies. Perhaps some memory of that ran in her blood, causing her heart to race, her mouth to dry.
She struggled for common sense. This was not an invasion. It was a house party and a wedding. She would be the perfect lady, the marquess would be the perfect gentleman, and in three days they would part again.
With luck, this time forever.
“Diana?”
She swung to face her mother. The dowager countess was complicating everything by hearing not one set of wedding bells, but two. She’d decided Diana’s nervousness was due to a fondness for the marquess.
“That, I assume, is the Mallorens,” her mother said blandly. “Are you not going down to greet them?”
“Yes, of course, Mother.”
Her mother’s lips curled up in an almost mischievous smile. “You’ve turned Arradale inside out to get it ready, dear, and you’ve been pacing this room for the past hour, yet now you dither. What is the matter with you?”
Not maidenly flutters, Mother.
“Nothing,” said Diana, forcing a smile and hurrying away from that knowing look.
Diana’s mother had never been able to understand her motives for remaining unmarried.
She saw the responsibilities of the earldom as a terrible burden, not an exciting challenge.
She was stubbornly convinced that her daughter was just seeking the right man, and hopeful that in the marquess, she had found him.
The last man in the world to be suitable.
Swishing down the wide stairs into the paneled front hall, Diana hoped the next few days wouldn’t push her mother to embarrassing lengths. She clung to one comfort. The marquess was as determined to avoid marriage as she was.
The carriages would still be making their way up the drive, so Diana paused to assess herself in the great, gilded mirror. She had chosen her appearance with great care.
When she and the marquess had last met he’d been trying to kidnap her cousin Rosa.
With her own pistol and a small army of men from the estate, she had stopped him.
She didn’t regret it. It was possibly the most glorious moment of her life.
However, today she had dressed to remind him that she was above all a lady.
Her gown was pale yellow sprigged with cream blossoms, and she wore simple pearls in her ears, and on a cream ribbon around her throat.
Her hair curled from under a cap of muslin and ribbons frivolous enough to be silly, and she even wore one of the fashionable, purely ornamental aprons of silk gauze and lace.
Her glowing complexion was slightly deadened by powder.
She raised her hands, palms toward her face, so her eight rings flashed in the mirror.
No matter how soft and sweet she wanted to appear, she could not bear to be without them, even though they’d betrayed her once to the marquess.
In fact, she was wearing exactly the same betraying baubles that she’d worn last time she’d welcomed him to Arradale.
He had a reputation for uncanny observation and omniscience, so he should remember every one. He would recognize the challenge. She was a lady, but she was also the Countess of Arradale.
And he was on her land.
Judging the moment, she walked toward the great doors.
Her footmen swung them open, letting sunshine flood in, and she saw four grand traveling carriages coming to a halt in front of the double sweep of steps.
Three others, doubtless containing baggage and servants, had turned off to go around to the back of the house.
Seven! And outriders, she saw. She traveled in state herself, but this was excessive, even for a whole family. They were also bringing children, which had required an overhaul of the long-unused nurseries. Only the Mallorens would do something so extravagantly absurd.
Just three days, she told herself as she walked unhurriedly through the open doors, concealing a rapid heartbeat.
Gracious smile in place, she raised her wide skirts a little and walked down the steps to greet the people climbing out of the carriages.
Silently, she rehearsed cool, courteous words of welcome, but then she saw a lady being handed down from the second coach and forgot decorum.
“Rosa!” she cried, and ran forward to meet her cousin and dearest friend in a crushing hug. They’d not met for nine months.
It was some moments before she realized she’d abandoned her hostess duties entirely. Blushing, she dragged her attention away from her happy and healthy friend to apologize. As she wiped some tears from her eyes, she found herself face to face with an amused Lord Brand Malloren.
With russet hair tied simply back, and his tanned face shaped by smiles, he was perfect for Rosa. He had even forgiven Diana for trying to shoot him.
While speaking to Lord Brand, however, Diana found herself hardly able to think or speak coherently. He was nearby. She couldn’t see him, yet she knew. Ridiculous, but she felt him behind her as a sudden hot prickle down her spine.
Somehow she made a sensible end of one conversation and turned, hoping she was mistaken, that he was elsewhere and it had been only imagination, or the sun.