Chapter 25
The next day, Diana awoke with one pressing question—when would she see Bey again? Ridiculous to feel that he was the watch spring of her life, but a day without the sight of him, without a moment of conversation, seemed worthless.
Then she remembered that she had to continue to pretend that other men were of greater interest. She flopped back on her pillow with a moan. It had become clear last night that they were all taking her encouragement seriously, and beginning to compete.
There was also the matter of the masquerade that Bey was to host only three nights from now.
When word of that had spread, the court had bubbled with excitement, and Diana had understood that his grand spectacles were eagerly anticipated.
She’d heard of Grecian and Chinese themes, and one at the Abbey which had included medieval jousting.
It all sounded like great fun, except that the king had made it clear that she was to use the occasion to get to know her suitors better, and make up her mind.
Why the devil was he in such a hurry!
With a sigh, she rolled out of bed and took her breakfast while Clara prepared another modest outfit for the day.
Perhaps she could put everyone off by looking sickly.
She painted her face more densely than before, seriously wondering whether she could construct some of the ugly, pustulant pimples she’d worn last year.
Too dangerous, however, for they could smear if touched, and this was not a game.
Thinking that she’d first met the marquess in that guise, she knew it hadn’t been a game then, either, but she hadn’t realized it.
No, though cloaked in silk and smiles, this was a duel between herself and the world, with possibly fatal consequences.
She checked her appearance one more time, then went to join the queen in the garden.
Because she was an addition to the queen’s circle, there was little for her to do, and many to be jealous of their duties. She sat quietly, therefore, occasionally joining in the conversation, but free most of the time to look for ways to change Bey’s mind about marriage.
She definitely had to gain access to the libraries here, but was afraid to damage her image as a rather silly woman.
She doubted she would ever find conclusive proof that he could never father a deranged child, though.
Such a thing was surely unprovable. So, she had to convince him in some way that the risk was tolerable.
She suppressed a sigh, sure that in his mind, no such risk was tolerable when by self-denial all risk could be avoided.
She could plead her own pain. Another suppressed sigh. He knew. Complaining to him would be to twist the blade in the wound.
The arrival of Lady Durham with her two-week-old baby was a welcome escape from these thoughts. The queen had apparently demanded the visit, for she loved babies, and she immediately insisted on holding the tiny creature, cooing to it in German.
Diana hovered with the other ladies, as charmed and enchanted as anyone. She rarely saw such new babies, and this was very tiny. Six pounds, the mother said, but healthy.
The baby girl was sleeping when she arrived, but soon obligingly opened huge dark blue eyes, and didn’t cry to see a strange face hovering.
Diana was surprised by an intense longing to hold the child, but not surprised to instantly think how magical it would be to hold Bey’s child, him her loving husband close by.
A shadow fell over her shoulder.
“Lady Arradale,” said a man behind her.
Though disappointed, she turned to greet Lord Randolph. She would rather stay to watch the baby, but the queen urged her to step apart with him.
He carried her hand to his chest with embarrassing ardor. “Lady Arradale. A perfect bloom in a perfect garden. I vow, my lady, you have stolen the blush from the roses!”
Diana kept her smile in place and thanked heavens for a man who would never spout such nonsense. She had no choice, however, but to permit Lord Randolph to court her in his absurd fashion, so she tried to balance mild encouragement with suppression of his smug confidence.
It was a relief of sorts when the baby began to cry, but less of one when the crying wouldn’t stop. Diana turned to see the queen trying to sooth the babe while Lady Durham and her nursemaid hovered, clearly wanting to take the child but not willing to snatch it from royal arms.
“The dear thing is cold,” declared the queen. “Bring a blanket!”
The dear thing was now red-faced and warbling newborn outrage.
Very unwisely, a lady picked up a blanket that belonged to the prince. He shrieked and turned red-faced too, creating far more volume than the tiny baby.
“Herzleib, nein!” cried the queen, finally passing the baby to the anxious mother. “Bring my darling to me. Lord Randolph, run instantly for another blanket!”
Diana thought for a moment that Lord Randolph would refuse this menial task, but he bowed and did take off at a run. The prince’s nursemaid brought him over to the queen, but he squirmed and shrieked in a thorough tantrum, probably because his mother had been holding another child so long.
“Lord Rothgar!” The queen suddenly spoke in the tones of one who has seen the Second Coming. Diana whirled, and indeed, he was there, at the edge of the garden.
“Come,” cried the queen. “You will know what to do for my poor child!”
For some reason, the prince chose that moment to turn silent, staring at the still man. Thus, the frantic baby’s squawks were the only sound.
Bey turned and walked away.
The queen gaped, and for a moment everyone stared after the man who had just broken every courtly rule. Snapping out of shock, Diana cast reason and caution aside, picked up her skirts, and raced after him.
She had to pursue around the house, out of sunlight into shadows, before she found him, standing completely still.
She halted beside him, slightly out of breath. “What is it?” she asked, even though she guessed.
He breathed, and if it were not impossible, she’d think it was the first breath he’d taken in minutes. Still looking ahead, he said, “I cannot endure distressed babies. A weakness …”
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.”