Chapter Eighteen
“The earl is a bit . . . blunt,”
Mr. Bishop said, “but I believe he will be amenable to solving the problem. I imagine he might also be interested in my investment opportunity.”
Of course that was what he was thinking of.
It was on the tip of Lucian’s tongue to tell Mr. Bishop that he and Lady Diantha had already decided on the ideal product to solve the factory problem, but then he realized a few things. Mr. Bishop would then be involved and might gum up the works before they’d completed the planning required beyond the simple decision of what to produce, and when they did complete the planning, he would have no excuse to see her any longer. By then systems would be cleansed and decades-old feuds would be, if not resolved, at least made moot.
“You could see if he would like to hear you out when we are at Madame Tussauds,”
Lucian suggested, knowing full well what he was doing. If he could distract Mr. Bishop by appealing to his greed, he wouldn’t have to deal with him regarding the factory resolution. As long as Mr. Bishop believed the solution would satisfy the duke, he would likely be happy not to have to do anything.
“Thank you for the suggestion,”
Mr. Bishop said, sounding surprised. Likely because Lucian had been less than helpful thus far. If Lucian was more like Mr. Bishop—that is, if he was duplicitous and self-serving rather than spontaneous and generous—he would have tried to distract Mr. Bishop sooner than just now.
But then he wouldn’t deserve to be in Diantha’s company at all, and he did not want that.
“Of course,”
Lucian said smoothly. “I believe the countess is someone to speak with as well. I am under the impression that the earl consults her frequently.”
It had been clear in just a few moments that their marriage was a love match—something rare to see, making Lucian wonder, again, if it would be possible for someone like him to be happy with one person for the rest of his life.
If it was Diantha he was with for the rest of his life, he knew he’d be happy.
God damn it.
He’d done it. He’d actually done it.
He’d done the stupidest thing possible and fallen in love with her.
And she just wanted to get him out of her system.
Not to mention their parents were mortal enemies. He wouldn’t care if his father disapproved, but the duke’s ire could make life for her very difficult, and Lucian wouldn’t subject anybody to that, much less someone he loved. He could never propose they join their lives, since her future would be anything but her own. And that was what she wanted most in the world.
God damn it.
“Lady Diantha seems reasonably intelligent,”
Mr. Bishop was saying.
Lucian resisted the urge—yet again—to punch the lout in the face.
“Usually I find women to be less adept than men at understanding business,”
the man continued.
At least wanting to hit the other man kept him from thinking too much about the despair engendered by his romantic realization. Arguing with Mr. Bishop wouldn’t do any good, he knew that, though he dearly wished to defend an entire gender from this man’s disdain.
And when his father returned, Lucian had no doubt but that his cousin would let it slip that the duke’s younger son had been so radical as to insist that yes, women could indeed understand business.
The most obvious example was Queen Victoria, who’d governed for over a decade.
And Madame Tussaud.
But Mr. Bishop likely thought all those ladies had gentlemen’s assistance with their work.
“Lady Diantha has a very clever mind,”
was all Lucian said in response.
“She does seem like the most sensible member of her family,”
Mr. Bishop conceded. “I should speak to her about my proposition.”
He paused. “She is yet unmarried, however. I wonder what might be wrong with her. Or perhaps,” he said, his tone growing sly, “she has yet to find the right type of gentleman to marry.”
Oh God, no, Lucian thought. Not only have I just realized I am in love with this woman, but this idiot here thinks he might just have a chance with her, which means he will exert his oleaginous charm and I’ll have to watch.
Could things get any worse?
Diantha, her sister, and her parents stood in the narrow entrance hall of Madame Tussauds as the staff took their outer garments. There was a waxwork of King Charles II in one corner, and Diantha took a moment to admire his flowing locks.
Lucifer wasn’t there. She shouldn’t feel so profoundly disappointed, since he hadn’t committed one way or the other to attending, but she did find herself wanting to see him.
However, she would see him soon enough, since they’d have to start reviewing the details of life jacket manufacturing, as well as ensure that Mr. Bishop approved of the venture.
“Good evening.”
Everyone turned to the speaker. It was him, of course. Answering her unspoken prayers? He was garbed in immaculate evening wear, looking even more Lucifer-like than usual. His gaze met hers, and she felt her breath hitch.
Damn. Their alcove interlude was supposed to cure her of this unhealthy obsession, not make it worse.
And yet here she was.
“Lord Lucian and Mr. Bishop, you came!”
Drusilla exclaimed. She moved past Diantha to greet the two men. “We were all hoping you would.”
“I wasn’t,”
the earl muttered, at which the countess elbowed him in the side.
Lucifer’s eyes twinkled in amusement, and Diantha internally winced in embarrassment.
“My lord,”
Lord Lucian said, raising his voice, “I hope you do not mind us joining your party.”
“Of course not,”
the earl said in a bluster.
“Mr. Bishop has particular business he would like to discuss with you, in fact,”
Lord Lucian continued.
Mr. Bishop made vaguely pleasant noises while moving closer to Diantha’s parents.
“May I escort you, my lady?”
Lucifer stood at her elbow, close by due to the narrowness of the hallway. So close she could smell his scent, a blend of rosemary, musk, and fresh linen.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Me too,”
Drusilla called, moving to Lucifer’s other side.
“You too, my lady,”
Lord Lucian said, his tone amused. He held his arms out to both ladies, and they took them, then proceeded down the hallway, following in the wake of the earl, the countess, and Mr. Bishop.
“How are you both?”
he asked, glancing to either side.
You should know very well how I am doing, Diantha thought grumpily. Because you are the cause of me not being able to focus on achieving a boring, predictable life.
Though, that wasn’t his fault. It was hers, and hers alone.
She had proposed they . . . that they do what they did the other day to rid themselves of the want.
Instead, her want had increased.
To the point that her imagination wasn’t able to go as far as she actually wanted to. The benefit of being a gently reared young lady who was naturally modest.
Though being immodest with him was immensely appealing.
The only question was, would things be the same once they stopped? Or would she have changed forever?
Questions she wanted neither to ask nor answer.
“I am perfectly fine,”
Drusilla replied. “Though incredibly bored. Diantha keeps haring off to the British Museum, leaving me behind. The parents have decided that they will be circumspect for the moment, so that means there is no fun to be had.”
Drusilla sounded aggrieved, and Diantha couldn’t help but chuckle.
Her sister peered around Lord Lucian to glare at her.
“It is all well and good for you, what with your idea of fun being to tromp around a place with musty statues and worn gardening tools.”
Her tone was haughtily disdainful, and Diantha tried to keep her expression neutral so she wouldn’t irk her sister even more. “But some people like to have actual fun. Do you know, Father and Mother have decided to read the entire library, starting from the top left, and going down to the bottom right?”
“I bet you two guineas they stop after three books,”
Lord Lucian said.
“I say it will be four,”
Diantha shot back. “Because I happen to know one of the first volumes is a copy of Joseph Addison’s Cato, which Father performed in while at university.”
“That is cheating!”
Drusilla exclaimed.
“It’s only cheating if I kept that information to myself.”
“She’s right, you know,”
Lord Lucian said.
By now, the hallway had widened into a display room, and she could see her parents engrossed in conversation with Mr. Bishop, paying absolutely no attention to any of the waxworks on display.
Oh well. She could lead her parents to culture, but she couldn’t make them think.
Or something like that.
“This is rather like the Grimwolds’ demonstration,”
she said as the realization hit her. “Only instead of stuffed dead animals these are waxworks. But the idea is the same—the presentation of a tableau of real life.”
“I should have brought Lady Meow-Meow to see them,”
Drusilla added.
Diantha shuddered. “No, you should not have.”
“How did someone like you come to be born into a family like yours?”
he asked, sounding equal parts curious and amused.
Lady Drusilla snorted, then gave a knowing look toward her sister. “I think if she just worried a bit less about us she would be able to have fun.”
“So you think your sister doesn’t have any fun?”
Diantha shot him a warning glance, but he only winked at her.
“I know so. She’s always being responsible, balancing accounts, talking Father out of some of his outlandish ideas.”
Drusilla made it sound as though Diantha was the outlandish one.
“If I didn’t, we would have ended up living in Chile,”
Diantha said in an outraged tone.
Drusilla merely shrugged. “So? Would that be so terrible?”
Diantha opened her mouth to reply, then closed it again. Would it? Could she be truly spontaneous without the planned portion of it?
Was that what her recent adventures in system-cleansing was all about?
What if she did do what she truly wanted all of the time?
The thought of it terrified her.
Which meant it had merit.
Which also terrified her.