Page 23 of Lady Diana's Lost Lord

“That’s enough, you little hoyden!” Diana gave a trill of laughter that made it clear that the words weren’t meant as a rebuke. “Inside, inside—we’ll both catch our deaths out here.”

Hannah sailed through the kitchen door, still caught in the throes of delighted giggles. “Papa, I showed Diana how I can do cartwheels!”

“And you did a fine job of it, sweetheart. But it’s time to change; we’re well past late for supper.” Diana cast him half a smile as she shepherded Hannah through the kitchen and toward the stairs.

The wet folds of her dress clung to her hips, her thighs. Her damned perfect bottom.Christ. Ben scrubbed at his face with his hands. She’d want a bath—ofcourseshe’d want a bath after that ordeal. Her spectacles had been spotted with mud and water; he could only imagine how well the rest of herhad fared. And he’d have to imagine her splashing around up there in the washing tub, her skin pink and glowing. Water sluicing down her back, her breasts, her belly. Perhaps she’d wind her hair atop her head and pin it in place, leaving the nape of her neck bare.

No. Good God, he’d gone absolutely stark raving mad. She hadexplicitlycome to rid herself of him. It was unconscionable to entertain, even momentarily, naughty fantasies of her.

But shelikedHannah. If she couldloveher—

No, damn it all! How the devil had he allowed the mere sight of a lovely pair of breasts to turn his head straight into mush? He’d never had his head so turned before. They hadn’t even liked one another as children; there was no reason to expect they would suit any better now. She had her own life in London to which she was no doubt eager to return, and he had a daughter to look after, and he could never subject Hannah to the taunts and jibes that the society to which he had been born would no doubt sling at her. He could never place her in danger.

He would not trade Hannah’s happiness for anything. And there—that was settled.

“Go on, to the table with you.” Diana’s voiced floated down the stairs. “You may do your sums while you eat.”

“Ugh.” Hannah thundered down the stairs and sauntered into the kitchen, neatly dressed in her nightgown, scooting into her chair with a little huff of displeasure. “Sums,” she said glumly. But despite her antipathy for them, she reached for the pencil and bent her head over the scrap of paper, her brow furrowing in concentration as she began to do her calculations.

Ben busied himself with pulling the pan from the oven and removing the lid, revealing the shepherd’s pie, potato mash browned to golden perfection.

“Papa,” Hannah said, pitching her voice low, “what are six and nine put together?”

Ben opened his mouth to respond—

“That’s cheating!” Diana said, and she sailed into the room at last, in a wrapper of emerald green. In one hand she held a comb, which she dragged carefully through her damp hair, which had been left loose to trail down her back. Dark and thick, the black locks gleamed in the candlelight. She’d come down much cleaner than she’d been when she’d arrived—and so had Hannah, for that matter. Probably she’d saved a pitcher of water for washing earlier. Probably she’d save a bath for tomorrow morning, then.

He wasn’t disappointed. Hewasn’t.

He stabbed a knife into the center of the pie, and sawed through the crisp crust toward the edge. A fragrant burst of steam erupted from within, flavoring the air. Carefully he set out three plates and sliced up thick wedges of pie to put upon them.

“You must do your sums yourself,” Diana said, as she sank gracefully into the chair beside Hannah’s. “Here—like I taught you.”

Ben turned, a plate in hand to set before Hannah, and for a moment he could only stare at the two of them there, heads bent together. Diana had laid an encouraging hand upon Hannah’s shoulder as she studiously scratched out sum after sum. For all that Hannah hadn’t wanted to do them at all, it seemed it had been the work of only a few minutes.

As he lurched forward to set the plate down at her elbow before either of them caught him staring like a witless idiot, Hannah at last collected her paper and said, “There. Did I do them right?”

Diana bestowed upon her a beaming smile. “Perfect,” she said. “Absolutely perfect.”

Ben’s heart squeezed itself into a dreadful knot. Oh,hell.

∞∞∞

Diana smothered a yawn in her hand as she lingered over her cup of tea at the kitchen table, half-listening to the muffled voices from the floor above. It was strange how quickly one could grow accustomed to things like readying oneself for bed at such an early hour. Though she hadn’t a clock to hand, she was certain the hour had not reached much past nine. If she had been in town, she would likely have just finished dinner. Perhaps she would be having her hair pinned up for an evening engagement, or climbing into the carriage for a night at the theatre.

True, the countryside did not hold half the entertainments of London, and yet—and yet there was a sort of peace in it that she had never felt before. Absent the crushing weight of expectations which she could never hope to meet, she felt...probably something approaching freedom.

And it would berealwhen she returned to London. There would be no longstanding engagement hanging over her head. She could marry, if she found a gentleman that suited her, one that would overlook her lack of a dowry and the fact that she was no longer in the first flush of youth.

Marry a gentleman she hardly knew, with whom she would have no chance to spend any significant amount of time alone. A man whose character she would have to gauge only by the face he showed to the public. A man who could turn out to wear as false a face as Father had, and to whom she would be bound forever, for better or worse.

For Mother, it had always been worse. For Father’s children—all of them—it had always been worse. How was one to know what sort of husband, what sort offather, one’s husband would be before the vows?

Perhaps she was better off a spinster.

The stairs creaked with the advent of footsteps slowly descending, and a moment later Ben appeared in the kitchen, raking one hand through his dark hair. He nodded to indicate the chipped teapot resting upon the table. “Any of that left?”

“A bit, if you’d like some.” He’d made it earlier, and it hadn’t quite gone cold yet. Diana slid the pot across the table toward him as he rooted around in the cupboard for a spare cup—one with a hairline fracture running through its side.