Page 19 of Lady Diana's Lost Lord

Of course she couldn’t. She was a lady; all of her meals had been served to her. Probably she hadn’t the faintest idea of what to do within a kitchen. He knew damn well, however, that neither strawberries nor cheese had been available to her in the house.

There was something shameful in that; that she had had to provide his daughter with what he could not. Hannah might never have gone hungry, but that didn’t mean that their meals had always been interesting or even particularly varied. Small wonder she had been so pleased—she’d been treated to fresh fruit, cheese,andcandies for the first time in six months or better.

“Go get in bed,” he told Hannah. “I’ll be up to tuck you in shortly.” She seemed to be in a fine enough mood for the moment; she went without argument, scurrying away and thundering up the stairs with the sort of exuberance only a young child could manage.

Silence settled over the kitchen. He was meant to say something—or perhapsshewas meant to say something—but neither of them did. And it had been such a long, hard day, and he was a hair away from complete exhaustion besides.

He sank into the chair across from Diana, rubbing at his face with his hands. “I’ll pay for whatever you purchased today,” he said, finally, his shoulders slumping.

“That’s not necessary,” Diana said, turning in her chair. She leaned toward the counter, collected a plate that had been left out, and set it in front of him. “It’s what’s left. Eat.”

Kind of her, all things considered. He could have eaten a far more—but since his plan had otherwise been to fall into bed without any supper at all, the wedge of cheese and handful of strawberries were already a great deal more than he had expected. “Thank you,” he said. “I didn’t expect anything.”

“You’d have been a fool if you had,” she said. “I trulycan’tcook.” Her fingertips drummed upon the surface of the table. “But you can, can you not?”

“I’ve had to.” Probably he was not above mediocre at it, but Hannah had never complained.

“You can’t afford an extra mouth to feed,” she said. Oddly, he hadn’t detected any particular tones of judgment or condemnation within the flat statement. “And I can’t cook. However, I have funds enough to purchase the makings of decent meals, I’m certain—if you will prepare them.”

It ought to have pricked his pride, that suggestion. Thatshewould offer up her money to provide what he could not. But pride had been a luxury hehadn’t been able to afford for years and years, now.

And Hannah was a growing girl; just a child who could not live on wedges of cheese and berries forever. She deserved better than eggs and toast every morning for breakfast. “That seems fair enough,” he said. Probably he’d have to leave the mine earlier than usual to manage a meal before he succumbed to exhaustion. “I’ll warn you that I have not the culinary skills necessary to provide you with the sort of meals to which you are accustomed.” Nor had he the time for such things, besides. “It’ll be stews, mostly. And I can manage a cottage or shepherd’s pie and fry bacon—”

“I’m not particular.” With one hand, she slid something across the table toward him. A piece of paper. On the right side, the delicate, fluid script of a consummate lady. On the left, the clumsily-rendered copy that could only have been produced by a child. “She knows her letters,” she said. “Though her penmanship leaves something to be desired.”

In fact, it leftmuchto be desired. “Ididteach them to her,” he said, somewhat defensively. She simply hadn’t had much of an occasion tousethem.

“But she doesn’t always know which letters make which sounds,” she said. “Or how to string them together.”

Probably it hadn’t helped that her native language was one rife with inconsistencies; patterns that could be learned only through repetition and a rigorous education. Which she had been denied.

“She can count at least a little, with some prompting,” Diana said. “She ought to be doing such simple sums in her head at her age. But any higher than the sum of the fingers on one hand and she’s out of her depth.”

Ben stifled a wince.

“She’s a clever little girl, however,” Diana added. “All she wants is a little instruction.” Her lips twitched into a half-smile. “Well, she doesn’twantit, of course. And certainly not from me.”

Yes; Hannah had made her feelings quite plain. “If she’s been troublesome—”

“No more so than I would have expected,” Diana interjected. “She’s only a little girl. She’s going to struggle against my authority. I think eventually we will form an understanding, but until we do, she is going to push boundaries.” Her even white teeth chewed her lower lip. “You mustn’t interfere, even to dole out consequences,” she said, though the tone of her voice suggested that she thought the likelihood of him imparting consequences to his daughter a profoundly unlikely occurrence. “She won’t obey me otherwise. Byinstituting your authority, you remove my own.”

Ben blew out a breath. “I suppose you must have a great deal of experience with children,” he said.

“No. Not at all. Hardly any, in fact. It’s just—” She hesitated, one hand coming up to adjust her spectacles on the bridge of her nose. “It’s just that I understand her, at least a little,” she said. “She wants your time, your attention. And the only power she has to gain it is to drive away anyone who minds her while you are absent. Because then—”

Then he wouldhaveto remain at home. To the mind of a child, with such a limited understand of the world, it would seem a reasonable solution. She couldn’t possibly understand how desperately he was struggling to make that simple desire a reality. Ruining his hands, breaking his back to earn them some semblance of security.

They would never be wealthy. But they could, quite possibly, achieve a modest, quiet life. A cottage in some remote village, where they could have a simple, ordinary existence. Peace, after so many years of struggle.

“I understand her,” Diana said softly, “because at a similar age, I would have done anything to earn just a little of father’s affection.”

The wistfulness in the words drew him up short, and for the first time in—probablyever, it occurred to him that she was notLady Diana Beaumont, his long-forgotten fiancée. She was not the woman to whom he had been bound against his will as a child. She wasn’t even an obligation he had long ignored. She was just a woman, with thoughts and feeling and dreams of her own. Dreams she had likely been denied because she, too, had been bound in an inconvenient betrothal. But she had been bound also by societal convention. She had never had the opportunity to run away from it all, as he had. And his defection had put her in a wretched position.

For years, he had not experienced so much as the tiniest flicker of shame for his decision to abandon his obligations to her. His obligation to Hannah had been so much more important. And if he had to go back and do it all over again, he would not have made different choices. But—

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That is—I’mnotsorry for Hannah.” He could never be moved to apologize for her. She’d been the light of his life practically from the moment she’d been placed into his arms. “But Iamsorry that you were the one to suffer for my choices. I am sorry that I could not give you the freedom you desired before now.”

She blinked behind the clear lenses of her spectacles, dark eyes wide, startled. He had surprised her, he thought, with his unexpected apology. Hehadowed her that much, and more besides. “Thank you,” she said, slowly. “And when we are both free of this engagement, I believe I shall forgive you.”