Chapter Twenty-Nine
“But why are we going there?”
Lucian asked, not for the first time. His father, like before, did not answer. Instead, he leaned his head back in the carriage, his expression one of satisfied smugness. An expression that boded ill for Lucian, in his experience.
Though, perhaps not so much now: his father had reminded him at breakfast to secure the materials and asked to see the life jacket proposal, and he had been neither disdainful nor cruel.
Lucian didn’t know what to think about all of that.
So when the duke had shown up in the salon after lunch and told Lucian they were going to the Courtenays’, he really did not know what to think.
Was his father going to announce he’d changed his mind, and the factory issue would remain unsolved? No, because why then would he want the fabric? Was there some detail Lucian or Diantha had forgotten in their planning? Highly doubtful: Diantha was involved, after all.
Had the duke discovered Lucian’s feelings for Diantha and was going to put a stop to it in front of everyone?
That last idea seemed the most probable, given his father’s mien.
So it was with a tightened chest Lucian walked behind his father up the stairs to the earl’s house.
They were welcomed in as though expected, which was even more baffling. The Courtenay butler escorted them to an airy room that was overwhelmed with color: dark pink drapes flowed down the wall, while a very busy wallpaper in hues of eggplant and navy displayed a variety of flowers never seen in the natural world.
The earl, countess, Diantha, and Drusilla were all seated, Diantha looking as confused as Lucian felt.
“Come in, your grace,”
the earl said, rising. The two men shook hands, and Lucian and the duke sat opposite one another. Lucian could see Diantha out of the corner of his eye, and it took all his strength not to just turn and stare at her.
She wore a simple day dress in a lemon yellow that had just a row of lace at the neckline. Her hair was simply dressed as well, as though she wanted to appear in direct contrast to the busyness of the room.
“Good afternoon,”
the duke replied. He folded his hands over his belly and nodded toward the earl before beginning to speak.
“You have heard about my cousin,”
he said, irritation flaring in his expression.
“Indeed,”
the earl replied, his own expression grave. Lucian noted he and the countess were still wearing their somber black, and he wanted to ask the sisters what book their parents were at, but of course he couldn’t interrupt whatever goings-on were . . . going on. “He is a true trickster. A double-dealing delinquent who has duped the duke.”
“Yes, well,”
the duke said hastily. Likely not wanting to dwell on the duped duke aspect. “And while Mr. Bishop has returned the funds entrusted to him, there is bound to be talk,”
the duke continued.
“Yes, I suppose,”
the countess said. It didn’t sound as though she cared, and Lucian was once again envious that Diantha’s parents were so open about things, even if their current style was that of a downtrodden vicar and his dour wife.
“I have hit upon a solution,”
the duke said, now sounding pleased with himself. “If we are able to come up with something that will divert attention away from the scandal, something big, we won’t have to answer all those annoying questions.”
Like how did you trust someone who was so obviously out to fleece everyone? Lucian thought dryly. Those kind of annoying questions?
“Something big,”
the earl echoed. Lucian saw Diantha and Drusilla exchange concerned glances.
“I propose,”
and the duke paused to chuckle at something, “I propose that we announce the betrothal of your daughter and my son.”
He turned his satisfied expression toward Lucian, whose heart had both leaped and caught at his father’s words. “The two of them shall, after their marriage, live with me in the London town house, of course.”
“Betrothal?”
Diantha repeated.
Lucian couldn’t keep from looking over at her now. The realization of what his father was—ha ha—proposing catching him full force.
“Betrothal,”
he said, exhaling.
“It is no secret that you and I have been at loggerheads over the past twenty or so years,”
the duke continued, as though he hadn’t just tilted Lucian’s world sideways. “So if people hear that our children are betrothed, there won’t be nearly as much talk about Mr. Bishop.”
The earl and countess looked at one another, apparently engaged in some sort of conversation, although neither one of them spoke.
“Excellent,”
the earl said at last. “That does solve the problem, doesn’t it.”
“Indeed,”
the countess chimed in. “We do appreciate your ensuring the money has been returned to us, your grace. I thought it was gone forever, but that would have been the price we paid for our amusement.”
The duke’s brows drew together in confusion. For once, Lucian agreed with his father. If the earl and countess were merely amused by Mr. Bishop, why would they get involved with him in the first place?
“And we thought that investing with your relative would help with repairing our broken fences,”
the countess said.
Ah. So that was why.
She looked over at Diantha. “But this solution to the problem not only mends fences, it makes new ones.”
Which didn’t make sense, but then again it was the countess who was speaking. “Diantha, you can finally live the life you were born to. One where things are organized and routine and expected. I know we have often done things . . .”
she said, searching for the word.
“Spontaneously?”
Diantha supplied.
“Exactly! Spontaneously. Some might say without any kind of planning whatsoever. But if you—that is, when—you marry Lord Lucian, you will have the kind of regimented, rigorous lifestyle you’ve always dreamed of.”
The countess beamed at Diantha, then turned to look at the duke. “And with the two of them living in your town house, Diantha can stay in London if we decide we want to, for example, head off to South America or something.”
“Begonias,”
Lucian heard Diantha mutter.
“I expect I’ll be handing more of the day-to-day business to my younger son,”
the duke replied. That the duke would say anything of the sort would have seemed impossible only a few days ago. “The presentation these two did showed me that he is not just a dilettante. Or perhaps it is your daughter’s excellent influence over him, I can’t be certain,”
he said with a bow in the earl and countess’s direction. “No matter what it is, I will not let it slip through my fingers. Your daughter will be a good wife to my son, who needs a bit of firm control.”
Lucian clamped his jaw so he wouldn’t snap at his father. The duke made him sound like a horse, not a person. But then again, the duke treated his horses quite well, so perhaps that was an improvement.
He just couldn’t lose sight of the fact that the thing he most wanted in this world—the person he most wanted—was being offered to him without any kind of problem, as though it was a remarkable course of events, in fact. His father approving of his life choices.
Something he never would have thought possible just a few months ago. Or even a few minutes ago.
“Well, that is settled, then,”
the duke said. Not asking either Lucian or Diantha what they thought, but that was how he conducted his life. A few nods of approval weren’t going to change that.
But still. It didn’t matter, none of it mattered, because they would get to be together. Lucian felt his mouth start to curl into a smile, a palpable excitement roiling through him. It was perfect. He wouldn’t have to try to support Diantha without the help of his father, and she would stay in consanguinity with them, and their parents would no longer be at odds. The factory solution was much more than a solution to what to do with the building—it was a solution for them.
He was amazed his father had come up with such an elegant resolution.
“Excellent?”
Diantha said, rising as she spoke. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes sparkled. Lucian had never seen her look more beautiful. “Excellent?”
she said again, and now Lucian’s chest tightened.
She was not pleased. Not at all.
For the life of him, he could not figure out why. This would solve all the problems—the scandal, their love, their futures.
“But—”
he began, stopping when she turned her furious gaze toward him.
“But what?”
she asked. Her tone was icy.
“But isn’t this what we—?”
“What we wanted,”
she completed. “No, it is not.”
“But . . . ?”
he said again, not understanding. Not at all.
“The last thing I want to do, Lucian,”
she said, her voice holding a measured anger that made his spine freeze, “is live a regimented life. My apologies, your grace, but I will not live under your thumb, the way you’ve always tried to rule your son.”
She turned and spoke to Lucian. “I would have thought you would know me well enough to realize that. Wasn’t the adventure the whole point? Working together on the presentation so we could finally be free to do as we wished?” Her voice broke. “To live near the sea, where nobody cared who we were?”
I wish to do what I wish to do. That was what she had said that first night.
Lucian’s chest tightened. Yes, he wanted to say, yes. But the smoother way to get what we want is to agree to what my father is suggesting—we’ll have his support, his money, his influence. We can carve out a wishful life together that is better than what we thought we might have.
“I know,”
he said, his normally suave tone suddenly awkward and clumsy, “but this way—”
“This way you and your father get to make decisions for me without even asking,”
she interrupted. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were sparkling with unshed tears.
Was it really so wrong to want to provide for her as she deserved to be supported? And why wasn’t she understanding that this might mean that his relationship with his father could be repaired? That Lucian could be the son the duke had always hoped for?
Or was that her objection in the first place? Did she only like him because he did what he wished to? Living this life would be a compromise. But compromises were part of growing up, of joining oneself to another person. He’d come to realize that, since meeting her.
“But this isn’t the way to do it, my lord,”
Drusilla said, rising as well and going to stand by her sister. “And if you loved her, you would know that too.”
Diantha took Drusilla’s arm and spoke again, in a voice so chilly Lucian found it hard to believe it came from the woman he loved. “I believe we will be going now. Good day.”
The two left, leaving the rest of them in stunned silence.
“I thought the girl had more of a sensible head on her shoulders,”
the duke said. Not stunned silence after all, then. Lucian wished his father had stayed quiet. His mind was racing, and he felt hot and uncomfortable all over.
Something he’d never felt before.
He also felt . . . ashamed? As though he should have known something he still did not know?
“She’s very sensible,”
the countess snapped back, also rising. “Good day, your grace.”
She left too, marching out the door with as much affronted aplomb as her children.
Lucian, the earl, and the duke all looked at one another in confusion.
What could have possibly happened between two nights ago and today? What had he done? What could he do?
Diantha marched upstairs, her vision blurry with tears. Drusilla came trailing along after, and then she heard her mother’s footsteps. The three of them went without speaking to Diantha’s bedroom, Drusilla and the countess sitting on Diantha’s bed, while Diantha herself paced back and forth in front of them.
“How could he?”
she said at last.
“Indeed,”
Drusilla replied.
Diantha stopped, turning to face her family. The reasonable ones, at least. And when had she ever had that thought about them? This was truly a remarkable day, and for all sorts of bad reasons.
“How could he possibly imagine that we could be happy living with the duke?”
Diantha began. “His father might appreciate him now, for the moment, but what happens when he returns to his old disdain? How could we possibly live with that pedantic, judgmental man who will have a say over everything we do?”
“To be fair,”
Drusilla pointed out, “that describes most of the aristocracy. The gentleman parts, at least.”
The countess gave a rueful chuckle.
“But that isn’t how you and Father are,”
Diantha said in a questioning tone. “Is it?”
“At first, your father thought he could tell me what to do, even though we had both risked a lot by marrying one another. But,”
the countess said, patting her hair in satisfaction, “he came to realize that it is far easier to work together on things rather than trying to mandate his own way.”
She frowned in thought. “But the duke would never be able to reach that kind of conclusion. Living with him would be like living with a tyrant, and you don’t want your husband to have to be subjected to that.”
“Besides which,”
Diantha said, “I know there would be demands on us for what we would have to do as the duke’s only child in town. Parties, appropriate behavior at all times, the requirement to produce grandchildren. Not that I don’t want children,”
she added hastily. “But I don’t want to feel external pressure to do so.”
“It would be a nightmare,”
Drusilla said flatly. “And I am disappointed in Lord Lucian that he would think that would be a tolerable solution for either of you.”
“Indeed,”
Diantha said.
“That is not what you want, Diantha,”
Drusilla added.
Her sister was correct, but she knew that once her anger dissipated, she would hurt. The most hurt she’d ever felt in her life. But she also knew she was right. There was no chance the two of them would be happy living the kind of life the duke would dictate for them. The whole point of their falling in love was that it was against everything that was correct and proper. From their first meeting to their subsequent system-cleanses to how they’d agreed to be married.
It was as unusual as they were, and to force it into a premade hole would be to quash all of its authenticity.
Drusilla rose, enveloping Diantha in a hug. At least the past few months had brought her and her sister closer together. She never would have imagined her easily distractible, quick-to-reach-conclusions sister would be someone she would feel as though she could rely on. To trust. But it was true.
Her mother rose also, the black of her gown a somber contrast to the pastel colors Diantha’s room was decorated in.
“I am sure it will be fine,”
the countess said, patting her arm. “Your Lord Lucian is going to see that his father is a persnickety pedant, and you are going to be able to persuade him it’s far better to agree with you than not.”
She glanced down at her gown. “As for me, I cannot believe I have been wearing this unpleasant clothing for so long. I am going to go change and then tell your father I would like to go on a balloon ride. Something to shake out the doldrums we’ve been in.” She gave a theatrical shudder. “To think, we’ve been spending nights here reading when we could have been out at parties. Think of the missed shawl opportunities!” She began to walk to the door, then paused, turning to look at Diantha. “It will work out.”
“I wish it was that simple,”
Diantha said, smiling at her mother.
“Now, I must go out and have some fun.”
The countess looked down at herself. “It is one thing to be all serious in one’s own company, but to have that disdainful duke approve of us because of it—”
She swept out of the room without finishing her sentence, leaving the sisters alone.
Drusilla jerked her head toward Diantha. “So what are you going to do?”
Diantha gave a rueful smile. “Besides wait for him to realize he’s an idiot?”
Drusilla rolled her eyes. “Yes, besides that.”
“Well, actually, I’m not going to wait for him at all,”
Diantha declared. “I am going to proceed on my own terms. Yes, I’ll speak to him and explain my position—calmly,”
she added, “and if he still can’t see, then I’ll just be myself.”
“Huzzah!”
Drusilla cheered, throwing her arms around her sister. “That is what I’ve always hoped for you. I knew you wouldn’t be content to just stay here taking care of us. You should do what you want to do.”
I wish to do what I wish to do. That was what she had said the first night they’d met. When they’d kissed and discussed naked statues and the countess’s shawl. And what she’d done since then, she realized, was what she’d wished to do.
She was not going back. She would never go back.
And if he couldn’t figure it out, she didn’t wish to be with him.