Chapter Nine #2
After a gulp, Diantha blotted her eyes with her handkerchief. “Lady William is ghastly! She has taken an instant dislike to me, and the feeling is entirely mutual.”
The Frenchwoman made a disparaging noise in the back of her throat. “I have already heard much below the stairs about this aunt. She is the sister of milord’s father, and has ruled here for nearly fifteen years, even before milord’s father died.”
She winked. “It is only to be expected that she should detest you on sight. You are now the lady of the house, and she must either go back to her dead husband’s family, who do not like her either, or stay on as a poor relation.”
Moving to the trunk, she lifted out another paperwrapped gown. After placing it on the bed, she gave Diantha a conspiratorial smile. “Do not despair, milady. All the servants are asking Davison what you are like, and he has been most complimentary.”
“I realize it is a difficult situation for Lady William.” Diantha sighed. “I shall see if conciliation works to sweeten her.”
The maid’s first words came back to her mind. She straightened and swiveled to face the maid in disbelief. “I have to use a hip bath?”
Florette coughed. “It seems the house does not have running water.”
“It will when I’m done with it.” Diantha muttered the words as she stood to allow the maid to help her out of her traveling dress.
Her mood did not improve when Kieran knocked on her door a few minutes before the dinner hour. After a perfunctory enquiry about the comfort of her room, he gave her a sharp scold about her earlier behavior.
“What do you mean by haring out of the drawing room like that?” He paced the rug before the fireplace. “She went to a great deal of trouble to prepare a suitable welcome for you.”
“You mean she made sure to make me feel like a guest in what is supposed to be my home!” Her indignation boiled over as she sat in front of her dressing table. “And you did nothing to prevent it!”
“Perhaps you would prefer that I order her bags packed and throw her bodily out the door?”
As her mind had dwelt on an image of him doing exactly that several times while she bathed and dressed, she pressed her lips together for fear of saying something truly intemperate.
They had not fully resolved their differences by the time he escorted her to join his aunt and cousin, and they entered the drawing room with an air of decided coolness between them.
Aunt Iona smirked over her sherry, although Barclay hastened forward with a compliment which soothed Diantha’s ruffled feathers.
During dinner itself, his aunt rejected all Diantha’s attempts to win her over. Not compliments about the tasteful decoration of Duncarie or an enthusiastic question about the house’s history improved her temper.
In only one area could Diantha have redeemed herself in the older woman’s eyes. No sooner had the two of them entered the drawing room after dinner, leaving Kieran and Barclay to cigars and brandy in the dining room, than the woman looked pointedly at her abdomen.
“Are you increasing yet?” Iona seated herself behind the tea table.
“I beg your pardon?” Diantha sank onto a cushioned bench, unable to believe what she had just heard.
“You have been married over a month. I would think my nephew is enough of a man to have gotten a child on you by now.” Iona poured tea for both of them and held a cup out.
Trained by years of etiquette lessons, Diantha reached forward to take it. “I hope that I have a chance to get to know Kieran’s family and household first.” Collecting herself, she fidgeted with the cup.
Iona looked down her aquiline nose. “The family expects an heir. Your first duty is to provide one.”
Wishing to bring this appalling conversation to a close, Diantha straightened further in her seat. “Possibly my husband might disagree with your assessment. After all, he does have more resources at his command than prior to his marriage.”
The older woman set her own cup down with a clatter. “Trust a member of the merchant class to bring up money! You should be thankful for the privilege of providing the next link in such a long lineage.”
Diantha took a deep breath and prayed that Kieran and Barclay joined them before she attempted to strangle Iona with a drapery tie.
“Should we be blessed with a child, madam, you will doubtless be devastated to learn that he—or she—will be treated as a child and not some inanimate object.”
Before the other woman could retort, the drawing room door did open to admit the gentlemen. Her narrow face immediately smoothed into a tranquil expression and she blandly asked if either of them cared for tea.
Needing to distance herself from the wretched woman, Diantha wandered over to the piano in a corner while the other three busied themselves around the tea table.
She pretended to leaf through the sheet music on its top while she struggled to quell the rancor raging through her.
Only Kieran’s earlier criticism kept her from tearing into his aunt or leaving the room.
“My mother can be a sore trial at times.”
She started at the soft comment dropped in her ear. Lifting her gaze from the music, she saw Barclay holding out her refilled cup with an apologetic smile. She really did not wish for any more, but could not refuse the kind gesture.
Nor could she abuse the woman to her own son. Taking the cup from him, she forced a smile to her lips. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
He gave a crack of laughter that caused his mother and cousin to look up from their murmured conversation with lowered brows. “She takes a great deal of pride in her family. Did she lecture you dreadfully on your duties to the Rossburn name?”
His sympathetic tone comforted her and she gave him a warmer smile than she first intended. “She and my husband both did. I suppose I shall have to get used to it.” Then she realized how her words sounded. “Forgive me, I spoke out of turn! Certainly I meant no disrespect to your family.”
“As my family name is Upton, I have no reason to feel resentment.” His lips quirked into a lopsided smile. “For that reason, I have always been a bit of an outsider myself when visiting Duncarie. Not that Kieran has not always been everything that is gracious. Most of the time, at any rate.”
“Were you a frequent visitor in your childhood?” She cocked her head to one side, enjoying his undivided attention.
“No, only once a year or so until I reached the age of seventeen. That’s when my mother moved back.” Diantha nodded at the explanation.
“I’ve always thought the estate remarkable, although my uncle nearly ran it into the ground.” He lowered his voice tactfully. “It could be much more profitable with proper management. I, at least, am thankful that he married into a family possessing some business acumen.”
Diantha smiled her appreciation. It made a pleasant change to hear her family complimented for its fortune instead of denigrated. Still, this conversation had veered into dangerous waters.
As if realizing the same thing, her companion turned his attention to the music. “Do you play, Cousin Diantha?”
“Hardly, Cousin Barclay.” She held up her left hand, fingers outstretched.
“As you can see, my reach does not even cover an octave and a half. My music master gave up trying to teach me to play when I was fourteen. He convinced my mother that I should be considered equally accomplished if I was taught to sing instead.”
With a teasing glint in his green eyes, he held his hand up, palm facing hers. Nearly as large as Kieran’s, elegantly shaped with long fingers, his hand could have engulfed hers easily.
“I do play, although indifferently. We should try a duet for voice and piano sometime.”
“Admiring my wife’s wedding ring?” Somehow her tall husband had crossed the room without her notice and stood right behind her. He did not look angry, but a sharp glance at their nearly touching hands caused hers to drop to her side.
Barclay raised an eyebrow but spoke mildly.
“How nice of you to join us, Cousin. While her ring is quite handsome, I find many other admirable qualities in my new relative.” Unnoticed by either man at that moment, Diantha saw the speculative flash in his eyes before he covered it up with urbane teasing.
“I was telling her I should be delighted to accompany her any time she wishes. On the piano, of course.”
“Ah, is that it?” Her husband’s face looked friendly enough, except for a faint chill in his eyes.
“Surely you don’t think I’d behave badly with your wife, cuz!” Barclay chuckled.
“Ah, but I’ve seen you charm so many females with that particular look on your face.”
Kieran smiled down at her. “I didn’t know you could sing. Would you and my cousin favor us with a song?”
After a brief search, Barclay handed her a piece by Mssrs. Gilbert and German Reed. She choked back a laugh at the title, and launched into “With Rage Infuriate I Burn!” with gusto.
As her parents had spared no expense in her vocal training, she delivered a creditable performance of the witty lyrics. Barclay’s description of his skill on the piano matched his uninspired playing, but she thanked him anyway. He had certainly demonstrated more kindness than his mother.
By the song’s end, Kieran’s good humor returned, although Iona regarded her with suspicion. As well she might, Diantha thought to herself. She refused to allow the woman to set her aside in her own house.
Pleading a long day of travel, she escaped from the drawing room shortly afterward.
Another footman conducted her to her chamber door, where she entered and gladly submitted to Florette’s ministrations.
By the time the maid blew out all but one candle and slipped out the door, she drowsed against the pillows, warm under an eiderdown quilt.
Wriggling her toes luxuriously, she sighed contentedly, staring up at the canopy. Iona Upton or not, it felt heavenly to stretch out on a comfortable bed without her corset.