Chapter Eleven
“But we were to have lunch with the Walkers,”
the countess said in a plaintive voice. “Mr. Walker has a new alchemical process that he was going to explain.”
Oh joy. Listening to someone explain incorrect chemistry sounded like the best of times. There was a reason it was a relief to read Mr. Faraday’s treatises: they were based on fact, not fancy.
The four of them—Diantha, her parents, and her sister, Drusilla—were in the breakfast room, a bright space decorated in an ornate style the countess had adopted for a while a few years back. Everything that could be gold was, while a rich purple carpet lay on the floor, and the curtain hangings were a riotous mix of fuchsias and teals.
It certainly did a lot more to waken one for the day than tea, that was for sure.
Diantha took a breath before replying. “I wish I could,”
she said, sounding regretful, “but I’ve got something I need to do instead.”
Most people would demand to know more than the vague reply she’d given, but her parents were not most people.
“And I said I’d accompany her,”
Drusilla added.
Diantha looked at her sister, shocked. She couldn’t very well tell Drusilla she wasn’t welcome; that would raise all sorts of suspicions, and Drusilla was very good at ferreting out answers. But she certainly couldn’t have her sister there when she system-cleansed. It was one thing to plan on doing something shocking, but it was entirely another to have her sister present while doing so.
She might as well make the best of it. “Yes, we’re going to the British Museum.”
Perhaps the prospect of seeing many boring items from antiquity would dissuade her sister from joining her.
“Yes, Diantha promised me.”
So much for that gambit, Diantha thought. “I want to see the . . . what is it I wanted to see?”
Drusilla asked.
“The Raffles collection,”
Diantha replied.
“Precisely. The Raffles collection.”
She turned a bright expression to her parents. “Which means, unfortunately, I cannot go to the Walkers’ with you. Please do share what you’ve learned at supper.”
Which, both sisters knew, would mean her father mangling every single possible detail while also adding in his own judgment about whether or not the entire outing was worth the trouble. That decision generally rested on the quality of the snacks served, and the Walkers were very generous with their snack output.
Her mother was particularly fond of the marzipan, which might have been the most important factor in accepting the invitation in the first place.
Soon Diantha wouldn’t have to gauge snack quality or interpret her father’s conversation. She’d be away from them, away from all their chaos.
Even though a tiny part of her had to admit she would miss it. But only a tiny part—the part that wondered if she’d be bored if things weren’t so chaotic.
But she would never find out unless she was by herself.
Once she’d solved the factory issue, once she’d made it possible to be confident it wouldn’t be possible for her parents to lose all their money, then she could begin to live her own life. It felt as though her dream was within reach. What would it feel like if she was actually able to achieve it?
To have breakfast without wondering if a family member was going to appear with an idea Diantha would have to talk them out of. Today, for example, her father was wearing what appeared to be some of his wife’s hair ornaments because, he’d explained, he thought it was a waste of time to have to push his hair back if he was looking down at something.
Drusilla and her mother had nodded as though that made perfect sense, merely asking Diantha to serve some more tea, since both had already finished theirs.
She would get the opportunity to be bored. She might even get to have fun.
Though, not that kind of fun, she reassured herself hastily.
“The Raffles collection,”
Drusilla repeated. “Yes, that is it. I am particularly interested in seeing the pieces of armor. I have been thinking about acquiring armor myself, just as an extra precaution.”
Both parents seemed to accept that bizarre explanation without any further comment.
Diantha swallowed her retort, since that would reveal the sham for what it was. Maybe someday she wouldn’t have to think about a reasonable response to a completely irrational problem.
“Well, you’ll have to tell us all about it,”
the earl said, downing his tea. “And your mother and I will learn from the Walkers. Perhaps we can demonstrate the process to you later on.”
“Oh, and some news arrived this morning from the courts. They said that if we cannot resolve things to our and the duke’s satisfaction, they would confiscate the factory. That might be the best solution after all,”
her mother said, as though she wasn’t dashing any hopes for independence her oldest daughter held.
“How long?”
Diantha asked, her heart in her throat.
“A month or so—when the Season ends, I believe,”
her mother replied. “Honestly, that might be the best thing. Dealing with the duke is sure to be vastly unpleasant.”
She wrinkled her nose as she spoke.
That might be fine for her parents, but losing the factory would mean losing Diantha’s slim chance of independence. Of losing the opportunity to be free of this—this mayhem. Being able to solve a problem like this should be simple, even within a month. She’d done more in less time.
Such as when her father was in his gardening phase and had decided they would all move to Chile so he could acquire the very best specimen of Lapageria rosea, also known as copihue. The rose had recently been introduced to England, but Diantha’s father had been scornful of the resulting flowers and wanted to go to the source.
Diantha had pointed out that the earl would have to entirely recreate his already abundant garden in a new country, and he would not be able to access the same types of flowers he already had.
Never mind moving to an entirely new country meant leaving one’s only home for an uncertain future.
What swayed him was not the uncertainty of his plan but that he likely would have inferior begonias.
“Shall we?”
Drusilla asked, giving Diantha a pointed look.
Right. She was thinking about flowers, not her potential boredom, otherwise known as her future. Priorities, Diantha, she chided herself. One might point out that she was similar to her parents at this moment, which made her feel an involuntary shudder. More reason to make whatever decision she was going to make, and fast.
“We shall be off,”
Diantha replied. She’d better leave before she started opining on hedges and carpet bedding.
Lucian managed to make his excursion to the British Museum seem as boring as possible, which meant Mr. Bishop had no interest in going. Besides which, the people Mr. Bishop most wanted to cultivate—Society’s wealthiest members—would certainly not be at the British Museum on a fine afternoon in June when they could be promenading in Hyde Park to display their horses and their clothing in the most advantageous manner.
Instead, Mr. Bishop announced he would be paying call to some of the people he’d met the previous evening. Which Lucian took to mean finding some more wealthy people to fleece.
He’d have to deal with that problem eventually. But today was for system-cleansing, not scoundrel-revealing.
The museum was relatively empty, as it had been the first time he visited, only some meandering scholars and a few families in the large, spacious rooms. He’d been pleasantly surprised to find so many lovely items—another chance for him to revel in the delight of looking at a beautiful thing. Like a painting or a piece of pottery or a striking woman.
Who was curious and intelligent and pushing her own limits. She fascinated him in a way he’d never been fascinated before.
He was early, so he wandered for a bit, looking at the coin collections, and the statues and decorative items from countries he knew of, but knew little about, until he ended up in the Raffles collection, where he spied a remarkable suit of armor.
And two women standing in front of said suit of armor, one of whom was the person he was here to see. But the fact that she was not alone was problematic.
He took a deep breath and approached them. “Good afternoon, ladies.”
Lady Diantha turned, her expression a blend of expectant chagrin, while her companion—a younger woman who was clearly related to Lady Diantha—offered a warm smile.
“Good afternoon, my lord,”
Lady Diantha replied. “It is nice to see you here. I did not know you visited the museum.”
Clearly she was trying to make it seem as though this was a chance encounter.
“Here?”
Lucian said, giving an airy wave. “This is my second time visiting. I was given a recommendation to view some particular items, and I could not refuse.”
Her cheeks pinked up, and he bit his lip to keep from grinning.
“The Greek statues are in that wing, though,”
she said, then she froze, realizing what she’d said.
“How do you know what the gentleman was recommended to see?”
Lady Diantha’s relative said, a sly smile on her face. She stuck her hand out to Lucian. “I am Drusilla, Diantha’s sister. And you are?”
“Lord Lucif—that is, Lord Lucian Eldridge,”
Lady Diantha said hastily.
“A pleasure, my lord,”
the sister said, meeting his gaze.
Lady Drusilla had the same mischievous expression he often had just prior to embarking on some sort of adventure the rest of his family would not approve of.
“The pleasure is mine, my lady,”
he said in a solemn tone, knowing he was ruining the effect with his gleeful expression.
“The armor here is quite interesting,”
Lady Diantha said, sounding as though she was determined to ignore her sister’s question and power through the conversation.
“Not as interesting as how you know Lord Lucian here,”
Lady Drusilla said. She met Lucian’s gaze as she spoke, and he could have sworn she winked at him.
Winked! He liked her already. Even if her presence was a vast disappointment to his cock.
“We met first at—was it Julia’s wedding party?”
Lady Diantha replied, her voice strained. “And we saw each other at the Sneeds’.”
“Indeed,”
Lucian replied. “Quite a memorable occasion, the wedding party. Shammie is a very fortunate man. Your sister,”
he said, speaking to Lady Drusilla, “was quite enthusiastic about some of the art on display here. As well as enthusiastic about other things,” he said, unable to resist.
Lady Diantha’s face turned white, then red, and he immediately felt bad for teasing her. Though, it did make the sting of disappointment less sharp. “But Lady Drusilla, your sister is correct,”
he said, taking her arm and turning her away from Lady Diantha. “The armor is worth a closer look, don’t you think?”
He didn’t want the mischievous younger sister to seize on Lady Diantha’s obvious discomfiture and arrive at certain conclusions.
Lady Diantha exhaled, giving him a quick, grateful nod as her sister peered at the armor.
“I can’t see that this would protect me any better than a kitchen knife,”
Lady Drusilla pointed out. “Though, if someone attacked me with a kitchen knife, that would be an excellent defense.”
Diantha couldn’t help but roll her eyes at Drusilla’s words. Her sister’s flights of fancy were not nearly as nonsensical as their parents’, but sometimes she reveled in causing trouble.
“A knife?”
Lord Lucian replied, glancing between the two women. “Have you had cause to protect yourself with a knife?”
His expression turned thoughtful, as though he was actually wondering. “Because I think there are several steps before snatching a kitchen implement to use against an assailant. You could hire strong footmen or travel in a large crowd or learn how to box.”
Drusilla’s eyes lit up at the last part, as though he wasn’t joking. “Oh, really? There are self-defense maneuvers?”
She turned to look at Diantha. “Why did you never mention this?”
Diantha glared at her sister, then directed a pointed look toward Lord Lucian. The troublemaker.
It was bad enough that her sharp sister was already suspecting things, things that were actually true. But for him to egg Drusilla on was another thing entirely.
“I might have misspoken, my lady,”
Lord Lucian said, with an apologetic look toward Diantha. A look that said Oh, I didn’t realize your sister would hear this and immediately want to hare off for self-defense lessons. So he wasn’t quite as impulsive as his behavior might lead one to believe.
Drusilla shrugged, clearly bored with the conversation. “Never mind, I’ll go ask some other people myself.”
She waggled her fingers at them. “I need to visit the retiring room. Please don’t let me stop this heartfelt reunion.”
“But shouldn’t I—?”
Diantha began, but Drusilla had gone away before Diantha could finish her sentence.
“She is very fast, isn’t she?”
Lord Lucian observed.
“Very,”
Diantha said, scowling at her departing sister. “Thank you, by the way, for diverting her attention.”
She shook her head in dismay. “My sister can be as flighty as our parents but at other times is as incisive as I am. Quite a contradictory person.”
“You clearly adore her, however,”
Lord Lucian replied, sounding wistful.
“Do you have any siblings, my lord?”
she asked. She should know, what with the duke of Waxford being not only a prominent member of Society but also her parents’ longtime enemy. But she couldn’t precisely recall, and besides, she wanted to learn more about him from his own lips.
“One. John,”
he said. “Who is currently recovering from a hunting accident in Scotland.”
“Oh dear,”
she exclaimed. “I hope he will be all right?”
He nodded. “Yes, thank goodness. Not just for his sake, but also because he is my older brother, and I have no desire to be my father’s heir. It is unfortunate enough I have to be his son.”
He sounded bitter, and she couldn’t help but feel sympathy. Yes, her family was aggravating, and yes, she wanted to find a way to disengage from them, but she loved them, and she would never want to lose connection with them. It sounded as though he would be more than happy to do so.
“I wish I could—”
she began, then stopped when she spotted Drusilla again. That was a speedy visit. “There you are,”
she said, taking her sister’s arm. “Lord Lucian was just saying he wanted to view the—what was it you wished to view, my lord?”
“The Elgin Marbles,”
Lucian replied, utterly startled at how quickly the answer had come to him. And relieved that her sister’s reappearance meant he didn’t have to answer any more questions about his family, though he imagined she would return to the subject eventually. But wondering, of course, what it was she wished she could do.
Kiss him? Take his mind off his family and turn it toward something more enjoyable?
All sorts of images danced through his mind like a ribald parade.
“Precisely,”
Lady Diantha said, giving him a warm, approving smile.
She would not smile at him like that if she knew what he was thinking. Or perhaps she would, given that she’d admitted she couldn’t stop thinking about him. About their moment together.
“Shall we?”
he said, gesturing forward.
The ladies began to walk, and he followed, concentrating on taking deep, even breaths.
By the time they reached the first statue, he had nearly recovered.
But then she turned back to look at him, and he was lost all over again.
“Are these the statues that were recommended to you, my lord?”
She bit her lip as she spoke, as though she was unaccustomed to being mischievous.
He would help her grow comfortable with that, if that was what she wanted.
“Yes, what with them being so naked and all.”
Lady Diantha’s sister gave him an admiring look. “I appreciate your candor, my lord. Look, Diantha, over there,”
she said, grabbing her sister’s arm and taking her to one of the displays.
“They look as though they are having a fight like we used to. Remember when I pulled your hair, and you howled so much Father said you should take singing lessons?”
“Of course I do. I had a sore spot there for weeks after.”
As she spoke, she reached her hand up to touch her hair under her bonnet.
Lady Drusilla gave an indifferent shrug. “You would not stop telling me my dolls needed to focus. They didn’t want to, they just wanted to have a nice lie-down and then go to dinner. But you wanted them to pay calls and improve their minds. Hmph.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and gave a mocking glare toward her sister.
“That is rather too on the nose for something I might do,”
Lady Diantha said ruefully. “I didn’t realize just how managing I was. How old were we, anyway?”
Lady Drusilla twisted her lips in thought. “I think I was three, so you were . . . seven?”
She arched a brow. “And it is not as though you’ve stopped being managing, you know.”
Her tone was teasing. Lucian envied their comfortable squabbling.
“Oh, I know,”
Lady Diantha said. “But how can one stop when your family is determined to—”
“Hold on a moment, ladies,”
Lucian said, stretching his arms out between them. “You two don’t want to repeat the hair-pulling episode here in the British Museum, do you?”
“I don’t know, it could be rather fun.”
Lady Drusilla stuck her tongue out at her sister as she spoke.
“He’s right,”
Lady Diantha said firmly. “If we need to continue this discussion, we can do it at home, safe from any curious eyes.”
Lady Drusilla rolled her own eyes. “How typical that you are planning when we are going to argue. Not just letting it happen spontaneously. Goodness, Diantha, can’t you relax for once even here?”
Her sister looked abashed. Lady Drusilla immediately ran to her and wrapped her in an embrace. “No, I didn’t mean that. You can be spontaneous, I know that, it’s just—you prefer planned spontaneity.”
Lucian smothered a snort.
Lady Diantha shot him a quick look from under her lashes. “I will be trying for more adventurous risk-taking in my future, Dru, I promise.”
Those words sent a tingle of anticipation directly to his cock. Not that he thought his cock would have anything to do with their actual system-cleanse, but it would be there, and it would be reacting. He would not be so irresponsible as to do anything that might cause irreparable harm—either to the lady’s reputation or her state of mind.
Which meant his cock would only be tangentially involved.
Whether his own state of mind would still be the same was something he would not ponder now.