Page 25 of Lady Diana's Lost Lord

Probably Ben had taken her silence for trepidation, for he hastened to assure her: “It’s there. I promise you, the vein isthere, and I will find it. It won’t be long now.”

Diana managed a nod of agreement. But there was that tiny, shreddedcorner of her heart—the one that had so enjoyed watching father and daughter frolic together in the pond, the one that had brightened to feel the clasp of Hannah’s small hand in her own—that latched on to the faint hope that it might take just a little bit longer than he anticipated.

Chapter Ten

May had eased into June, nearly a month since Diana had arrived, and already her presence within the house felt comfortable and ordinary, as if she had been there all along. Ben watched Hannah amble around the kitchen, the book of nursery rhymes placed flat upon her head, her eyes focused upon Diana, seeking approval.

“Careful,” Diana said, as she sipped her tea. “You nearly lost it there upon the turn.”

“I did not!” Hannah said, spinning around to plant her fists upon her hips in protest. The book slid straight off the side of her head and landed with athwackupon the floor.

“See?” Diana splayed out the fingers of one hand, indicating the fallen book.

Sticking out her tongue, Hannah bent to retrieve the book and handed it back to Diana, who carefully repositioned it once again upon her head. And the stroll began again.

Perplexed, Ben flipped the bacon in the pan as it began to crisp up about the edges. “And what is all this, then?”

“It’s meant to teach proper posture,” Diana said. “A lady mustglide, you know, Ben. Small, smooth steps will keep the book balanced.” To Hannah, she said, “I thought we might have a tea party today.”

“A tea party?” She gave a little jump of elation that sent the book slipping off her head once more. “Could I have a pretty dress? I haven’t had a new one in just ages.”

“You haven’t?”

Ben cleared his throat. “We let out her seams when necessary.” And it hadalwaysbeen necessary. Children grew like weeds, whole inches at a time, it seemed. He’d learned to pull the seams apart himself and stitch them anew as needed to save the cost of a seamstress—but she hadn’t had a new dress in at least six months now, and she was probably overdue. But with twelve damnedshillingsto his name, it was simply out of reach at present.

“What color dress would you have?” Diana asked.

“Blue,” Hannah said immediately. “It’s my very favorite color.”

Ben stacked the bacon upon a plate and began to crack the eggs into the pan. “Unfortunately I’ve not seen anything in the village but brown.” Probably because it didn’t show dirt like other colors might. She might have her choice of coffee or mahogany or beige or walnut—but they would all just bebrown.

“That’s no matter,” Diana said, waving off the words. “I think I have just the thing. Provided there’s a seamstress in the village, of course.”

“Mrs. Walton,” he said. “She hasn’t got a shop, but she does the sewing and mending for a fee.” His brows knit together in confusion. What woman went about with loose swaths of fabric in her traveling trunk? Just as quickly it dawned upon him. She hadn’t brought any such swath of fabric. She meant to have one of her own dresses refashioned for Hannah.

“Wonderful.” To Hannah, she said, “I don’t think it will be possible to have a new dress for you today,” she said. “But why don’t you come with me upstairs for a few moments—we’ll try one of mine on you before breakfast, and you can tell me if you like the color.”

With a little squeal of delight, Hannah raced for the stairs, and as Diana followed behind her, Ben was left to turn the eggs in silence.

Diana would have made a damn fine mother. And he—he had stolen from her that opportunity. But he could not regret that she was here, now, for however long Hannah would have her, because Hannah had deserved this sort of mothering, even if she would eventually feel the lack of it when she was gone.

Hannah would miss her, he knew.

They would both miss her.

∞∞∞

“This is becoming a habit,” Diana remarked as Ben settled into the chair across from her late in the evening.

“Yes, well, it’s practically the only time of day there’s any peace and quiet,” he said. “I can hear myself breathe in the mine, and Hannah chatters my ears straight off my head the moment I arrive home.”

As much as he had tried for an inflection of exasperation, there had been too much of a smile in the warmth of his voice to mask the truth—that he would have listened to Hannah chatter on about anything and everything had he the opportunity. For hours and hours, most likely, had she not been a little girl in need of a good night’s sleep.

“She said she felt like a princess,” he said. “At Mrs. Walton’s.”

“Oh.” Strangely, her cheeks flushed. She could feel the heat of them, even though the air was quite cool. “Of course, the dress just swallowed her,” she said. “She’s about two feet too short to wear it properly. But once Mrs. Walton had it gathered up in places and pinned it—” She could still see in her mind Hannah’s delighted little pirouette, the gleeful grin that had stretched across her face. “I traded most of the rest of the fabric for a bit of lace for the sleeves,” she admitted. She’d kept just enough to make a few matching handkerchiefs. The remainder of the scraps had been of little use to her anyway. It was just a simple, sky-blue muslin, but it could be fashioned into other accessories. A bit of prettiness in a village that had little of it to spare.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said, staring down into his teacup. “Not any of it. The book, the dress, the lace, even the damned toffee candies.”