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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

H er heart raced as Albion’s coach rattled down the cobblestone streets back to the townhouse in Brunswick.

While Isaac attended to the horses, she ran inside.

Locating paper and a quill on an end table in the foyer, next to the silver dish where calling cards were deposited, she scribbled an apologetic note to her sister-in-law, pleading a headache and assuring her she would visit another day.

Calling for Izzie and affirming she would make all necessary apologies to the housekeeper, Mrs. Waverly, about pulling her away from the laundry, she sent her to deliver the missive to Iris’s home in Mayfair.

Which left her to focus on the distressing encounter with Reginald Addington.

In her darkest thoughts, the ones she could never share with Lillian, nor with Albie for that matter, Diana harbored an unhealthy interest in Nigel. But she had kept those feelings strictly under wraps. She had limited their discussions to politics and held to the same in correspondence.

Hadn’t she?

She hoped Albion was in by now, as he held visiting hours from two to five, and was relieved when she spotted him in the drawing room. Had he holed up in his private suite upstairs, she would have been reluctant to disturb him.

The room was not as grand as that which graced his elder brother’s townhouse.

This was by design, as Albion intended for the place to be inviting for visitors.

The lofty ceilings, lustrous oak floorboards, and marble hearth were imposing, to be sure.

But the fawn-colored settee and matching armchairs boasted decidedly human-sized proportions.

The exception being Albion’s custom-fit armchair with a mahogany frame and leather upholstering.

She found her husband in that same chair, hunched over his sketchbook, busying himself with his charcoal pencils. His pinched brow showed his keen attention and love for the activity.

As ever, her husband’s form quickened Diana’s pulse.

She longed to invite him upstairs to her bedchamber, even if it was only midday.

The deliciousness of doing such when callers waited for him downstairs was thrilling, if wholly inappropriate.

But then that described much of life with Albie, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

When he heard what had happened, how easily Reginald had been able to threaten her, due to her own faithlessness, Albion would hate her.

She was sure of it. Looking around Albion’s townhouse, a space that had been so dear to her not hours before, she knew she did not deserve any of it.

Least of all Albion himself. She stepped inside the room, shame wrapping around her once more, holding her in a vise.

So while Diana appraised him, her resolve to share Reginald’s vile proposition dissolved.

If he knew of her role in the foolishness with Nigel, he would never see her the same way again.

He would see her only as a woman silly enough to get entangled with her sister’s affianced.

Maybe, someday, she might share a bit more of the sad tale and admit her foolish infatuation with Nigel Halman.

But that day would come years from now, not mere weeks before they would define the nature of their future relationship.

She rolled her shoulders and strode forward. “Husband? Have you a moment for your wife?”

“Always.”

The purity of his smile hurt her heart, but she forced a cheery tone. “What are you sketching?”

He closed the book and raised a finger playfully. His claws were retracted, as usual, in her presence.

“It is not fit for human or Orcan eyes.”

“I very much doubt that is true, but I respect your decision.”

She sat on one of the damask-lined chairs across from him, eyeing the plate of scones on the side table alongside oversized blueberries he had shipped in from the Hidden Realm and thick Devonshire cream plopped in a ramekin.

Sprightly bluebells edged the rim of the dishware.

Albie had told her he enjoyed such small but thoughtful decorations, so unlike the plain serving vessels of the Hidden Realm.

Now, she wondered if the porcelain originated in Rostin. How many of their everyday luxuries benefited the man who had so monstrously invaded his peaceful neighbor? She was as complicit as everyone else.

“Have any callers come by today?” she inquired.

“Not yet. My brother may come.” Albie reached for a scone and took a bite, chewing and swallowing before he spoke again.

“I have told him repeatedly that he is most welcome, whether or not it is during the assigned hours. Still, Dunc has never been known to digress from his accustomed schedule. We’ll likely meet at our club this week, per usual. ”

Diana nodded slowly, her thoughts far away. “Might His Grace have the latest news from Chamberly?”

Albion’s smile collapsed. The loving concern on her husband’s face was almost too much to bear.

“You’re concerned about your sister? If any updates are disclosed, I will ring for you immediately so you might hear them for yourself.”

“Thank you.” She ran her finger along one of the decorative pillows on the chair. She had been sufficiently worried about Lillian and that was before Reginald’s threats.

She would not betray a man as noble as the Benevolent Phantom. Surely, she wouldn’t. A man with honor and purpose. But she could not stop the thoughts of how she might hypothetically do so from running through her head. “You are excited about Lord Mandeville’s ball?”

“As excited as a fellow should be, I’d wager. Why?”

Last week, one of the popular broadsheets featured a column of drawings depicting the adventures of the mysterious Phantom.

Rostin’s thuggish mercenaries dragged a downtrodden and emaciated man in ragged clothes.

A figure in a cloak stood behind them, lurking in the shadows, face hidden.

In the top right-hand corner, a tiny sigil of a delicate flower n wax, the sort gentlemen used to seal letters.

From one closest to Rostin: the elusive ghost orchid spotted in correspondence directly from the Benevolent Phantom!

“I was merely thinking of Chamberly and the horrid situation there. And the work of the man known as the Phantom.”

“Are you certain the Phantom is a man?”

She cocked her head. “I wish I had caught myself there. No, I am not certain at all. But one can’t help but speculate. Do you suppose His Royal Highness knows this person’s identity?”

Albie’s smile tightened. “If the Regent did know, he would not reveal the name. Prinny’s a profligate fellow to be sure, but not without honor as I assume you’re aware.”

“But clearly, he trusts you. He’s given no hints?”

“Ours is a friendship of convenience. The Benevolent Phantom shall remain a mystery, I fear.”

“What is a lady to do for amusement?”

“Your hero has been quiet. The scandal sheets have little to relate, but for those drawings the other week. Robbed of his exploits, they resort to artwork of this hero you love?”

“I admire him most vociferously. But love is rather strong, isn’t it?”

Albion held her gaze. “You tell me.”

“You have no call to feel jealous, husband. After all, what is a single person to accomplish? Are there not better ways to remedy the situation?”

“The person responsible for the rescue has saved lives. That is no small contribution.”

“Indeed. Yet, how many unfortunates remain in the Duke of Rostin’s prisons? How many more are doomed to slow death by pestilence due to his wrongful invasion of Chamberly?”

“I’m sure the gent—or lady—would say that all one can accomplish is their best effort. And that the magnitude of the problem should not stop one from doing as much.”

“No doubt. But Parliament is empowered to take stronger action. We can admire our Phantom and also wish for a broader solution. On that note, I do hope for a word with the Prince Regent at Lord Mandeville’s ball. His Royal Highness might pressure these cowardly men in Parliament to act.”

“To legislate the embargo, you mean?”

“Yes. The Prince Regent is not meant to be involved in politicking, but he can’t resist. Our system has many flaws, but if we are not to become a republic, what else is there to do?”

“You’re referring to the United States, I suppose. The rogues who rid themselves of your king once he was no longer useful to them.”

“As I’ve told you, I am an English woman through and through.

I’ve no desire to do away with kings and queens and the like.

But I trust our parliamentarians to abide by the will of the people and represent our land in an honorable fashion.

Not so different from the Hidden Realm, that. At least not the way you describe it.”

“A fair point. But if you’ve a different route to helping the people of Chamberly, why should this Phantom’s identity matter?”

“I burn with curiosity, same as everyone in London.”

“There’s more to it than that. Something is on your mind, Dais. What is it?”

Tell Albie. Tell him of Reginald’s threats. Confess the mistakes you made with Nigel.

Her need for Albion still burned so brightly that nothing could extinguish it.

So she could not tell him. She could not willfully downgrade his respect for her.

Diana would have to live with the potential disgrace Reginald held over her and steer steadily away from inflicting pain on Lillian, whose face flashed in her mind, beatific and trusting.

Never imagining that Diana might own any inappropriate thought, let alone one that could cause injury to Lillian herself.

Shame. She must avoid all costs, just as her father had said. She was not brave enough to tread such fearsome waters.

“A passing fancy, husband,” she mumbled, suddenly concerned with smoothing the bobbinet overlay on her gown’s overskirt.

She hated herself for prying, but Reginald’s vile attempt at blackmail had fueled her innate curiosity.

For all his bloviating, he’d been right.

Were anyone to hold the key to unlocking this enigmatic hero’s identity, it was her amiable husband.

“That’s all. I suppose all of this fuss over the Phantom rings rather hollow to me now, with Lillian in that land.

All solid news relating to Chamberly, however, is dear. ”

Albie leaned forward and grasped her hands in his, intertwining their fingers until hers disappeared into his. Diana studied her husband’s dark green hand, the claws retracted. She adored every part of him. By some miracle, he seemed to adore her as well.

“You don’t suppose the Duke of Rostin has caught up with the Benevolent Phantom?” she said. “And that’s why we haven’t heard about a rescue?”

“If Rostin found the chap, surely he would make no small fuss about it.” Albie reverted to his customarily merry tone. “Let us move to happier questions. Weren’t you meant to visit with Iris this afternoon? I do hope you ladies get on.”

“As it happens, I didn’t go over there after all.”

“Daisy, what’s wrong? I trust our sister-in-law is well?”

A protective instinct budded inside of her. She should not burden him with her troubles. He didn’t deserve that weight.

“It’s not that. I admit I have been flustered as of late,” she said, fanning her face.

“Dais! Should I call a doctor?”

Diana’s words caught in her throat before she choked them out. “No, no. It is more a matter of anxiety. Over Lillian.”

His eyes narrowed. “I wish I could say your worry is unfounded.”

“Might our dear brother have connections that could help? It can’t be safe for English women to remain in Chamberly. Could Duncan not intervene to escort them home?”

Albie sighed. “Not until your sister is willing to leave. Has she sent a missive?”

“I have not heard from her at all. I can only trust that because she is well occupied with her work. And that the postal service is unreliable given how matters stand in that land.”

“I am sorry. I’ll talk to my brother. Perhaps there is something we might do.”

His expression, as though the crushing weight of the world’s problems had flattened him, made her want to confess everything, to sob in his arms and hope he would understand. But she couldn’t drag him into this business. Shame seared every part of her.

“Thank you, husband.” She released her hand from his.

What a comfort it would have been to confide the ultimatum Sir Reginald had presented and to cry in Albie’s arms, unburdening all the guilty secrets of her past. First among them, the endless regrets regarding her behavior in the presence of Sir Nigel Halman—behavior she thought she’d tempered but clearly had not—and the misguided notion that she could outrun the scandal with what had ultimately been no more than an extended holiday in America.

Had Diana remained in Philadelphia, living on her aunt’s charity, she’d never have been placed in the position of betraying a gentleman who represented everything right in this world.In contrast, Lady Daisy Higgins, nee Diana Stewart, embodied all that was wrong.

Then again, she never would have married Albion, either.

Sharing all of this with even one person might have eased her heart.

But Lillian was gone, and her other friends were emotionally distant since she’d returned to London.

Not friends at all, really. Iris seemed like a decent sort, but Diana did not yet know her well enough to trust that she wouldn’t be judged.

And rightfully so. Then she would have no hope of a good relationship.

Now, she faced the gentleman she should have confided in: her husband, Albion. And she could not bring herself to confess. Even as dull regret wound its way around her heart.

“I think I will have a lie down,” she told him. “Calm my heart.”

With that, she left to go upstairs, leaving her husband with the peace he deserved.