Page 4 of Lady Diana's Lost Lord

“Of course not,” Rafe snapped, offended. “You’re mysister.”

“Nor would Lydia”—who had collected enough scandal for any three women—“nor Marcus, though he would no doubt bluster about it a great deal.”

“And your friends?” Rafe inquired. “Could you bear being publicly snubbed by them?”

In truth, there weren’t so very many of them. In her younger days, she’d had scads and scads of them—but they had, one by one, breezed toward the periphery of her life. Or rather,she’dbeen consigned totheirs. Their paths had diverged so drastically, with weddings and babies, and then, gradually, they had had little time to spare for Diana, who could not relate to either. Though she would count herself on amicable terms with most, if they actively snubbed her—well, then, it would hardly be worse than the polite indifference in which they held her presently.

Only two remained—aside from Lydia, of course—that she could call true friends. And neither Emma nor Phoebe would cut her, no matter the provocation.

“Rafe,” Diana said, striving for the patience that had been in such short supply just lately, “When I asked you to aid me in this, I had already made my decision. I will be sacrificing nothing that I would mind too terribly much tolose. I could quite happily spend the rest of my life in a little house in the countryside if necessary—but I cannot let this drag on any longer.” Shewouldnot.

With a mild oath muttered beneath his breath, at last Rafe pressed the slip of paper into the cup of her palm. “A letter would suffice,” he said. “You don’t need togo.”

“I do,” she shot back, curling her fingers around the paper. “I doneedto go. For myself. Because I deserve the opportunity to look Weatherford in the eyes and tell him exactly what I think of him. He has wasted the best years of my life!” The tight clench of her fingers pressed still more creases into the paper. “He will have the recriminations he deserves.” And then he would damn well show his face in society for once and make it clear that their engagement had come to an end through mutual agreement, and to help her save face before theTon. He owed her that much and more.

Tugging at the unruly strands of his dark hair, Rafe made a sound that was midway between a sigh and a groan. “I cannot accompany you,” he said. “But I don’t like the thought of you haring off to confront Weatherford alone—”

“Please,” Diana scoffed. “Can you imagine Ben posing a threat to me? Toanyone?” She hadn’t seen him in nearly twenty years—not since his father had sent him off to school—but they had briefly known one another as children, and he had been a scrawny boy then; quiet and bookish. Though they’d gotten into petty squabbles, the worst he’d ever done was to pull her plait.

Though Rafe gave a snort of reluctant amusement—no doubt imagining the same boy she had—still he scrubbed it from his face and said, “A man can change a great deal over so many years. There is no telling what he’s like now.”

She supposed he must be right, but that would not sway her. Diana glanced down at the paper in her hand and the address scrawled across it.Cumberland. She would be headed quite far north, then. But it wasn’t quite so far as Scotland, thank God. “Thank you for this,” she said. “And for not informing upon me.” He hadn’treallysaid as much—not yet, anyway—but he wouldn’t. She knew he wouldn’t.

“Should anyone ask, you did not get it from me. Already I regret indulging you.” He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, drawing in a short, sharp breath. “Who have you told, and what have you told them?”

Diana wiggled uncomfortably in her chair. “Marcus and Lydia believe I will be visiting Mama,” she said. “But—I’ve told Phoebe and Emma thetruth.”

A muscle jumped in his cheek, as it ever did whenever she brought Emma up in conversation, which she did frequently. Emma and Phoebe both certainly would have missed her if she had left London with no warning—but neither would have believed that she had done so in order to visit Mama. “I suppose that’s…wise,” he allowed. “Best to keep outright lies to a minimum wherever possible. For future reference, it’s always safest to keep as closely to the truth as possible. It’s a simple matter to find yourself tangled within the threads of your lies if you cannot keep them straight. ”

What an odd observation. “Should anyone ask after me, they’ll confirm my travel to Scotland,” she said. Though they had largely been tasked with changing the subject as swiftly as possible to ensure that she did not linger at the forefront of anyone’s mind.

Rafe slouched his shoulders, scrubbing one hand over his mouth. “The only reason—theonlyreason—that I will keep your secret is becauseIwill know where you are,” he said. “And I know what things left unsaid can do to a person. So do what you must, but do itquietly, because if there’s so much as a whiff of scandal, I will come after you and drag the both of you to the altar whether you are willing or no. There won’t be any other choice.”

“There’s no need to worry,” Diana chided gently, patting his hand in reassurance. “I won’t be gone long.” Probably she’d be back before he even had the chance to miss her.

Chapter Two

The Lake District was lovely. Diana had never been, but then her travels had largely been restricted to London and her family’s estate in Wiltshire. She had never been so far north in her life, and neither had she ever spent quite so long traveling. Though the hired carriage that Rafe had secured for her was comfortable, the roads were bumpy and uneven, and she had spent a good portion of each day she’d been traveling being jostled about the interior of it, certain that even the plush upholstery of the seat beneath her would not prevent the bruising of her backside. It was one more sin she intended to lay at Weatherford’s feet when she arrived.

Still, she could not help but to appreciate the unspoiled natural beauty; the hills and lakes, the lush greenery spread far out into the distance, full of pastures dotted with grazing sheep. Idyllic, she thought. Such a lovely change from the perpetually dingy streets of London. The sky was blue here,trulyblue, so far from the dreary grey to which she was accustomed.

So entranced was she with surveying the pastoral countryside that it took a few moments to realize that the carriage had veered off the main road and had headed toward a thick stretch of woods. Soon enough the dirt path was overhung with the sturdy limbs of aged trees thick with leaves, and the carriage rolled away from the picturesque beauty of the valley through which the main road traveled and back toward the steep climb of the hills in the distance.

Diana pushed the frames of her spectacles, which tended toward sliding down the bridge of her nose, back into place to peer out of the window into the thick of the woods. It struck her as odd, somehow, that the carriage should be diverted in this direction, when she would have expected an earl to be residing closer to a large town, upon a sprawling countryside estate. Perhaps he was the sort to prefer a looming monstrosity of a manor house perched upon a windswept cliff, like the villain in some sort of Gothic novel, since that was where it seemed they were heading. She could not call to mindwhat sort of country residence his father owned, or its location—only that there had been a point at which he had been dire financial straits indeed.

The marquess had a weakness for gambling, or so it had once been said. And that was how she had found herself engaged, aged seven, to his only child and heir. Probably because Father hadn’t much cared what had happened to a daughter, provided it did not detract from his reputation, and so long as he had not had to devote too much of his time to the settlements. A couple of signatures upon a contract and an infusion of capital, and that had been that—Father had bought Diana a husband and a future, and he could absolve himself of anything even approximating a duty of care. And when that husband had failed to materialize in due course, it had, naturally, beenherfault. Too late to claw back the funds, which had already been spent, and crying off would have lost them anyway to a suit for breach of promise.

On the very verge of a wistful sigh, Diana smothered the sound beneath a scowl instead. It wasn’t as if she hadwantedto marry him, after all. She had hardly known him, except for those few brief meetings in childhood.

But she had always thought shewouldmarry. And he had stolen that from her, the louse—he had stolen it with every year he had remained away, every Season that had passed for her in loneliness. Father would never have allowed her to cry off, but ifhehad…ifhehad, then she might have had some chance on the marriage mart. Some hope for a life that wasn’t just an unending succession of social events at which she was the object of pity and speculation. A life that might have promised some sort of contentment, some kind of happiness.

Well, she would have that at last. Even if she had grown too long in the tooth to be considered for marriage, she would seize happiness where she could find it.

Gradually, as the carriage approached the steep hills, the woods began to thin out and trickles of sunlight poured down through the canopy of leaves. Here and there, small cottages appeared in the distance, sheltered back against the landscape of hills. Some sort of evidence of a town tucked away somewhere, probably with only a few hundred residents at most. She’d seen half a dozen other villages like it on the journey, villages so small as to be there and gone again in minutes.

Diana had expected that this one, too, would soon be far in the distance. That it was merely one more easily-forgotten sidestep on the journey elsewhere. But as the carriage continued on its path, past what she was certain passed for the town square in this quaint little village, it became clear that thejourney had come to a rather abrupt end at a ramshackle cottage situated at the very outskirts, as if it were an outsider even amongst the rest of the residents. Incredibly, the carriage slowed before it, and then, to her disbelief, stopped altogether.

She stared, aghast, at the cottage, though it was hardly suitable to be called even that.Cottageimplied, she thought, some sort of quaint charm. She had imagined as much for herself, should she have been forced from society; a tidy little house nestled deep into the countryside with a lovely stone façade encased in climbing tendrils of ivy. Perhaps a neatly-pruned garden of roses. Lilac curtains fluttering at the sparkling windows. The sort of cozy home that a solitary woman could enjoy and keep to herself.