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CHAPTER SIX

C onsider this. A marriage for the sheer fun of it.

The words rang in Diana’s head like the peal of bells whenever she thought about her astonishing banter with Albion Higgins.

He spoke of marriage as a practical arrangement, which was hardly a shock, given that she’d heard matrimony framed in similar terms many times over, mostly from her mother. However, that simple word, fun , intrigued her—so much so that no matter how she tried to focus elsewhere, fun bedeviled her.

A gentleman as popular as Lord Albion must have experienced his fair share of fun .

Indeed, behind raised fans, proper ladies whispered about Albion’s amorous adventures with a young widow, who spoke exceedingly highly of her time with him.

Having been the subject of a whispering campaign herself, Diana was skeptical of such tales.

Even if they hardly damaged Albion, being of the male persuasion.

So the precise details of these assignations remained a mystery to her.

Since their conversation two days prior, she’d spent an undue amount of time shooing away images her mind conjured.

At any rate, if these rumors were, by chance, true, better to be the confidante of a popular gentleman than one of his conquests.

Meanwhile, Lillian put her free time to better use with knitting projects for refugees from Chamberly.

Word of the Duke of Rostin’s atrocities continued to dominate the papers.

Yet, Parliament remained stagnant, unable to agree to an embargo, let alone send troops to assist the families persecuted by Rostin.

Lillian’s endeavors would provide comfort, at least. It occurred to Diana, not for the first time, that were women granted a voice, the hallowed chambers of Parliament would operate more efficiently and compassionately.

Her hard-working sister was long overdue for a reprieve. So she convinced Lillian to put the sewing projects aside for an hour so they could enjoy the glorious sunshine that had finally broken through the on-and-off storm of the past week.

At Bloomsbury Square’s wrought iron gate, they approached an older woman selling licorice-tinged sassafras tea from a brass samovar. Diana withdrew coins from her beaded reticule and purchased two cups, which the woman poured into copper mugs to keep the beverages warm.

Lillian looked graceful in a rose-colored cropped jacket and chestnut walking gown.

Not a strand of hair fell out of place, nor did a splotch of mud spoil her attire.

But as they followed the walkway to the central garden, blossoming poplars caused a sneezing fit, ruffling her sister’s otherwise immaculate composure.

Diana struggled to balance her cup as she dug through her reticule again, finally locating a handkerchief to hand to her sister.

“You are always there when I need you,” Lil said once the episode subsided and her features were restored to their usual serenity. “After this latest abomination in The Post, I imagine you are plotting a return to Aunt Penelope in America.”

Diana thought again of her peculiar conversation with Albion. If she were ever to consider such a thing as a practical marriage, she could remain in London. Remain respectable and comfortable besides. Most importantly, remain near her sister.

Such pondering was ridiculous on the face of it. Yet her mind wandered.

A lady and gent headed in their direction, dressed in the finery she associated more with supper parties of the ton than the modest residents of Bloomsbury.

The lanky gentleman wore a black day coat with a prim white linen square peeking from the front pocket.

A taffeta parasol obscured the woman’s face, but the man looked familiar.

Once they moved closer and recognition took hold, she clasped her sister tighter.

Reginald Addington smiled at Diana, a profoundly unsettling smile that seemed borne not from fondness or even politeness but cruel amusement.

“I thought we were merely taking a stroll,” he told his companion at a volume sufficient for anyone nearby to hear. “I did not realize we would see such famed ladies out and about.”

“What do you mean, famed?” The woman angled her parasol to the side, revealing an elaborately embroidered lace choker around her neck with a silvery-blue Orcan sapphire set in the middle.

“You do not recognize Lillian and Diana Stewart?” Reginald said, near enough now to acknowledge them with a tip of his hat. “Why, I thought everyone in London was familiar with those two. Good afternoon, my dear ladies.”

He held her sister’s gaze longer than appropriate. The glint in his eyes made Diana feel like someone had poured ice water down her back.

“Have I the pleasure of addressing you as Reg ?” Diana summoned all the false gaiety she could endure. Perhaps that might scare Reginald away or at least minimize their time in his presence. “As Lord Albion did the other night?”

Reginald clicked his tongue between his teeth while the woman’s mouth curved into a perfect cupid’s bow.

“Lord Albion certainly takes liberties with matters of etiquette. I suppose that is the benefit of untold wealth.” He turned slightly, facing Lillian directly. “Perhaps these Orcan fellows have not the constitution to understand the manners of the better classes after all.”

Pressing her lips together to hold back a tart comment, Diana gave Sir Reginald’s companion a pointed look.

“Ah! Forgive me. May I introduce Miss Augusta Driscoll? I am taking her to meet my nephew Nigel and his dear mama.”

“Pleasure,” Miss Augusta said curtly. Like Diana’s, Augusta’s blonde hair was fashioned into an updo with loose ringlets framing her face. Unlike Diana’s, every strand fell perfectly in place.

“I suppose this is a tad awkward, but then I trust you shall also find a new match,” Reginald told Lillian. “Someone more to your taste than my nephew. You fare well enough, I take it? Under your father’s roof?”

“I am in good health,” Lillian murmured, not meeting his eyes.

“Though one can’t be too fastidious, I should think,” Reginald mused. “Not after a broken engagement. Lest Society thinks the problem lies not with the gentleman but the lady in question. Particularly if the gentleman marries well.”

Diana tried to measure her sister’s response. Lillian stared straight ahead, features rigid.

“We shan’t keep you from your appointment, Sir Reginald,” Diana said.

“As you wish.” Reginald tipped his hat once more. “Good day, ladies.”

They resumed walking in the opposite direction as they had before. Once they were a few steps further, Diana looked over her shoulder. Reginald had bent down closer to Miss Driscoll.

“I suppose we should consider it an honor to encounter the notorious Stewart sisters this afternoon.”

“How so?”

“Those two are as sordid as the infamous women of the Roman Empire who wielded their feminine wiles in the most distressing manner. All to ruin honorable gentlemen. But you needn’t worry, my dear.

Nigel has long since distanced himself from any touch of scandal.

I am so glad he has found a lady whose virtue matches her fine looks. ”

Shame scorched Diana’s cheeks. Any dream she harbored of her misstep with Nigel Halman going away died a sudden death.

Quickening her pace, Diana wrapped her hand tightly around Lillian’s upper arm, squeezing the light wool of the Spencer jacket’s puffed sleeve. “Pay them no mind. Sir Reginald is a tiresome sort.”

“The infamous women of the Roman Empire?” Lillian whispered. “Was that meant to reference The Post ?”

“Those with dull lives often invest in tales to amuse themselves. How else could they bear even to rise in the morning?”

Lillian took a sip of tea from the copper mug, trembling fingers betraying her nerves. “You’re right. I’m only sorry we had to overhear it.”

Sorry was nowhere near sufficient to describe Diana’s feelings. Then again, it had always been the two of them against the world and had been for years.

As they returned to the stall at the front gate, to return their cups, Diana whispered, “I daresay I shall spend the rest of the season abed with a pretended illness to avoid such vile chatter. “Don’t you find it odd that Miss Driscoll willingly entertains Nigel as a prospective husband, though? The writer in The Post made it sound as though his efforts to revive a political career are doomed.”

“Perhaps she is with child,” Lil said, with a bite Diana seldom heard from her sister.

“Well … that’s one explanation.” She hesitated, trying not to frighten Lil and so feigning a casual tone. “After all, what remains for us here? Would you ever consider coming with me to Philadelphia? Should our aunt allow for another extended stay?”

“You have the stamina for such adventures, but I fear I am not as bold as you.”

“You are every bit as bold.”

Lillian exhaled loudly, a most uncommon sound coming from her elegant sister.

“I admit to some measure of boldness. I suppose now is as good a time as any to tell you. I am soon taking my leave of London.”

“What?” Diana pulled away.

“Only for the space of a few months. Do you know of the nurses who served in the Napoleonic Wars? Who now work in Chamberly?”

“Of course.” The most popular papers had christened them “Sisters of Benevolence,” mirroring the Phantom’s moniker. “What have they to do with you?”

“I am to join them.”

Diana blinked slowly. “It is well past the Fool’s Day, Lil. ‘Tis a tiresome prank.”

“I speak with utmost seriousness. The Sisters accepted my request to accompany them on their forthcoming voyage. I shall help deliver and distribute necessities at the medical outpost they have established outside the city gates. It is the least any of us can do.”

“You have already done so much!”

Lillian clasped a gloved hand on Diana’s forearm. “I am inclined toward nursing. They can teach me the required skills.”