Fairly bursting with anxious energy, Diana paced in front of the windows overlooking the garden and lawn at the back of the castle while she waited for the maid to arrange the tray of tea and food. Finally, she left, and Verity, whom Diana hadn’t seen in almost two years, poured her cup precisely the way she liked it—a bit of cream and a large spoon of sugar when her mother wasn’t around.

Verity sat in a wing-backed chair, looking up at Diana. “Are you going to sit or hover?”

Diana sank onto the settee perpendicular to Verity’s chair. “It’s been a trying week.”

“I can only imagine.” Verity sipped her tea and, setting it down, picked up a cake. “I’ll endeavor to hold my tongue so you can disclose the entire tale. It looks to be fascinating.”

That was one word to describe it. Many others crowded Diana’s mind: desperate, exciting, disastrous, astonishing to name just a few. Life changing was perhaps the best.

“Just a moment.” Diana was rather famished, so she wolfed down a cake in a manner she never would have done at home. Taking a sip of tea, she set her cup down and began to speak.

“As you know I was engaged to the Duke of Kilve.”

“Yes. But you arrived with the Duke of Romsey.” Verity flinched and held up her hand. “My apologies. I did say I wouldn’t interrupt.”

Diana smiled. “You said you’d try. I know better.” People found the two of them reserved or perhaps even aloof in Diana’s case, but together, they were animated and talkative, as if they couldn’t possibly say everything they wanted to. Perhaps they saved it up for when they saw each other, despite the fact that they corresponded regularly. It certainly felt like that to Diana. With her cousin, she could be absolutely herself, in a way she couldn’t with anyone else.

Verity laughed softly, her eyes glowing with warmth. “It’s so good to have you here.”

“It’s good to be here.” And it was. Oh, how she wished that staying here—away from her parents, away from the pressures they placed upon her, away from Society, away from scandal—was a choice she could make.

“So tell me about Romsey.” Verity picked up another cake and winked at Diana. “If I keep eating, I can’t talk.”

“The story is more than just Romsey,” Diana answered. But he was a central part of it. Without him, things would have gone very differently. He’d promised Kilve he would look after Diana and protect her from scandal to the best of his ability. She’d believed in his promise, but now, after what had happened in Brereton, scandal would find them.

Diana worked to start back at the beginning. “The Duke of Kilve is in love with someone else and is going to marry her instead.”

Verity’s jaw dropped. “What? The scoundrel!”

“Try not to blame him—it was my idea to marry, not his. And I believe I caught him at a rather vulnerable time.”

Twisting her lips into an unsatisfied grimace, Verity grunted softly. “I will still blame him. A little.” She took a breath. “So how did Romsey become involved?”

“They are friends, and he delivered the news to me.”

“Kilve didn’t even have the grace to face you himself?”

“Apparently, Lady Pendleton—the woman he’s to marry—had an accident, and he was anxious to reach her. And before you say anything against her, don’t. I’ve met her, and I actually like her very much.” Truly, Diana wanted them to be happy. They certainly deserved to be. “Looking back, it seems obvious to me now that she and Kilve were in love. And they have been for quite some time. In truth, it’s a rather sad story.”

Verity shook her head. “I’ll trust you—perhaps you can tell me the details another time, if you wish. So Romsey took on the unenviable task of messenger.”

“Yes, but also savior. He offered to help me in any manner I required, in order to mitigate the scandal.”

Verity’s eyes narrowed. “And why did he do this?” Like Diana, she’d no reason to trust a man. Her father and Diana’s were brothers and very alike. Their example hadn’t exactly recommended the males of their species. Furthermore, Verity had married a cold autocrat who saw her as little more than a broodmare.

Simon was, however, different. “Because he possesses a kind heart.” And was perhaps looking for absolution.

“I should say so,” Verity murmured. “He possessed no ulterior motive whatsoever?”

“Not that I can tell.” Diana shook her head firmly, certain of him—at least about this. “No.”

“Remarkable. However did you end up here?”

“My choices were few,” Diana said. “I could do nothing and suffer Father’s wrath.”

Verity winced. “You thought running off with Romsey would help you avoid his anger?”

“No, but it gave me time to think about what to do. Romsey suggested I could disappear, that I could start my life over in some village using a different name.”

“An intriguing idea, but you’d have to turn your back on who you are. We wouldn’t be able to see each other.”

“Perhaps not right away. But after my father gave up looking for me, I could find my way to Blackburn and we—”

“If you think my father or your father wouldn’t hear of that, you’re deluding yourself.” Verity’s tone had gone cold, making Diana shiver. She was, terrifyingly, correct.

“I know,” Diana said softly. “It was sophistry.”

Verity reached over and touched Diana’s arm. “You were in a horrible situation. It’s just too bad the duke—Romsey, I mean—didn’t offer to marry you. That would’ve truly made him a savior.”

“He suggested it, actually.” Diana picked up her teacup and took a long, fortifying sip.

Verity stared at her, clearly waiting for the why it hadn’t happened.

“You aren’t aware of his reputation?” Diana asked, putting her cup back on the table in front of them. Of course she wasn’t. Verity disliked gossip as much as Diana, and, living so far from London and actively ignoring information that might filter its way to Beaumont Tower, it was entirely possible she knew nothing of the Duke of Ruin.

“He is rumored to have killed his wife,” Diana said dispassionately, still refusing to believe it even though Simon said nothing to defend himself. “Since he doesn’t remember what happened, he doesn’t deny it.”

Verity’s eyes rounded. “My goodness. I see why you didn’t want to marry him. Is it all right for him to stay here?” She glanced toward the door he’d exited earlier.

“Of course it is!” Diana pitched forward slightly in agitation. “The problem isn’t that stupid rumor—at least not to me. It’s that my father finds him wholly unsuitable. I met him at a house party two months ago, and Father didn’t even want me to speak with him. Marrying him would have made him as furious as if I’d simply cried off with Kilve.”

“But you didn’t cry off.”

“No, but I would have if my father was a reasonable person. Since he’s not, I fled. With Simon.”

There was a beat of silence as one of Verity’s dark brows arched into the semblance of a question mark. “Simon?”

Diana felt the heat rise up her neck and worked to ignore it, praying her cousin would do the same. “R-Romsey. We became a bit, er, f-familiar during our journey.”

“That’s to be expected, I suppose.” Verity eyed her warily. “How familiar?”

“We needn’t marry, if that’s what you’re intimating,” Diana said with a bit of exasperation.

“I’m on your side in this, Diana, whatever happens. You will always have a home here.”

Diana supposed that was an option she hadn’t really considered. Because she didn’t think her father would allow it. He saw her as a valuable commodity, and after the scandal died down, he would try to make the best match possible. But that had been before Brereton. Before this scandal. With Simon. This one wouldn’t die down. She’d be ruined forever. Perhaps she could just live here…

“But your plan is to start over with a new life,” Verity said. “I will support that too.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think that plan will work any longer.” Diana squeezed her hands together on her lap. “If I disappear, Simon will be blamed.” She needed to back up a bit to explain. “Though we posed as a married couple and traveled under an alias, someone recognized us in Brereton. My running off with Romsey—the Duke of Ruin is what they call him—will shortly be the scandal on everyone’s lips.”

“So people will know that you were together, and if you go missing, he will be seen to be at fault.” Her face creased into a deep frown. “I see the problem clearly.”

It wasn’t a problem. It was a potential disaster. For Simon. “He’s already widely believed to be a murderer, and though he wasn’t charged with the crime, this time, he may very well be. I can’t let that happen.”

“So you’ll live here in disgrace?” Verity asked, her dark gaze full of love and empathy.

“If I must.”

“You could marry him,” Verity suggested softly. “You said the rumor about him—I believe you called it stupid—didn’t matter to you.”

“It doesn’t. I know in my heart he didn’t kill her.”

“In your heart? Diana, is it possible you’ve fallen in love with him?”

The air left Diana’s lungs. Love? She hadn’t considered that. She didn’t even know what that felt like. She glanced toward the windows, breath fighting its way back to her. “I don’t know.”

“Where does Uncle think you are? Or did you just leave without a word?”

“I left a note that I was going to King’s Grange. He likely arrived a couple of days ago. I can’t imagine what he’s doing now. Besides fuming.” Diana had tried not to think of it. Imagining her father’s reaction to not finding her at home made her stomach seize, and she feared she would toss up her accounts.

“He’s methodically determining where you might have gone.” Verity’s face darkened. “He’ll come here first.”

“If he travels by horse, which I think we can assume he will, he could be here in a few days.”

“Yes,” Verity’s tone was grim. “Unless the weather slows his pace.”

Diana sent up a silent prayer.

The tension growing in the air shattered upon the arrival of Verity’s son. Augustus “Beau” Beaumont, all of five years, tore into the drawing room as if his feet were on fire. “Mama, Mama! The puppies are here! The puppies are here! Come see!” He ran straight for his mother, snagging her hand in his and pulling. He’d grown so much since Diana had last seen him nearly two years ago. He wasn’t a baby anymore but a boy.

Verity laughed. “How wonderful. Beau, did you not see we have a guest?”

He turned his head and looked at Diana. “She can come see the puppies too. Come on, Mama!”

“Beau, this is your Aunt Diana. You remember her, from that time she came for Christmas?”

Beau narrowed his green eyes—those hadn’t changed one bit—at Diana. “Maybe. It’s nice to see you, Auntie.” He offered a quick bow, and Diana had to commend his manners, especially in the face of such excitement.

“As it happens, I do want to see the puppies,” Diana said. She could use seeing something exceedingly adorable. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“No. But let’s go.” He pulled so hard on his mother’s hand that he tipped backward.

Verity reached out and steadied him, then rose gracefully to her feet. “Let’s not keep them waiting.” She looked over at Diana. “Are you sure you’re up to it? I know it’s been a long journey.”

She far preferred puppies to being alone with her own thoughts at the moment. “Absolutely. Let us see the puppies!” She grinned at Beau, who smiled back. Clasping his mother’s hand tight, he skipped forward, forcing her and Diana to laughingly keep up.

To enjoy such a simple life… Diana wanted nothing more. She’d never had that. And she feared she never would.

---

Because he’d slept through dinner, Simon devoured a tray of food in his room. He was sorry to have missed the meal, for a variety of reasons. He had no idea if Diana had come to a decision. He’d been looking forward to getting to know his hostess.

And he missed dining with Diana.

After spending so much time with her over the past nine days, he felt rather alone. Looking at the clock, he wondered if she and the duchess would still be about. But the bath the footman had offered when he’d brought the dinner tray was awfully tempting.

In the end, he opted for the bath, but when he was finished, he was too restless to go to bed. He dressed and went back to the drawing room, hoping to find either Diana or Verity. But the room was empty. Perhaps they were downstairs. He retraced the way he’d come that afternoon and found himself in what Diana had called the King’s Hall. Unfortunately, that was empty too.

He meandered about the room, looking at the paintings which were an interesting mix of portraits, perhaps of past dukes and their families, and landscapes. One in particular looked as though it was a representation of the countryside surrounding Blackburn.

Spying light at the end of a passageway behind the stairs, he walked into a massive library with a huge stone hearth occupying a full third of the back wall. Windows on either side of the fireplace looked out toward the back of the tower, but he couldn’t appreciate the view since the curtains were drawn. It was also quite dark, he reminded himself, thinking the late nap had thrown him off.

The collection of books was awe-inspiring. Some Duke of Blackburn must have been a well-read gentleman. Or perhaps they all were. Simon suffered a brief pang of regret at having disposed of most of his library, but brushed it away. The books he’d donated would get far more use than collecting dust at Lyndhurst.

His eye caught a grouping of toy soldiers on a table, and he was instantly reminded of the Taft boys. He smiled to himself, thinking of what a splendid day that had been. At first, being around the children had summoned too much pain, but their joy for life had given him a glimpse of hope.

For what, exactly?

That he couldn’t answer.

“Good evening, Romsey.”

The feminine voice came from behind Simon. He turned to see the duchess moving into the library and offered a small bow. “Good evening.”

“You found Beau’s soldiers.” The duchess came toward him, her lips curved into a smile.

“You and Di—Miss Kingman look very much alike,” he said. “You could be sisters.”

“Just call her Diana. She refers to you as Simon. It’s to be expected after you’ve spent so much time together.”

He nodded, wondering just how much Diana had told her cousin. He was probably better off not knowing. “Who is Beau?”

“Diana didn’t tell you about my son?”

“No.” She’d said precious little about her family, just that she and the duchess were close. Simon picked up one of the toys. “He likes soldiers?”

She cocked her head to the side. “He likes to pretend his father is a soldier.”

“I thought he...” Simon let his voice trail off rather than bring up any unpleasantness.

“I’ve told Beau that his father will likely never come home, but he likes to imagine that he went off to war and is protecting us.” There was a sad lilt to her tone.

“I’m sorry for…you.” He’d been about to say “your loss,” but if the duke was merely missing, even for such a long time, perhaps he would return. It wasn’t the same as Simon’s loss. Maybe it was worse—the not knowing. “That must be difficult. To not know what happened.”

“Somewhat.” She lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “He’s been gone a long time now. Sometimes I wonder if I even remember him. We were married for only a few months before he disappeared—just long enough for…Beau.”

Simon understood. He and Miriam had been wed long enough to make their baby. But not to see her into the world. His throat burned for a moment as he nodded slightly and averted his gaze.

The duchess turned toward a sideboard on the wall opposite the fireplace. “Would you like to have a drink with me?”

“No, thank you. I don’t drink spirits.”

Her eyes widened briefly. “My husband drank to excess. We may not have been together long, but that was one of the things I recall quite clearly.”

Simon could see she hadn’t loved her husband. Or so it seemed based on the derision in her tone. But perhaps it was something else.

“Is there a reason you don’t drink?” She quickly waved a hand. “Ignore my impertinence. I’m afraid I’m rather sheltered here at Beaumont Tower. Sometimes I think my social abilities have faltered.”

“I used to drink to excess.” For some reason, the words fell from his mouth unplanned. “Then my wife tumbled down the stairs, and I’ve no recollection of what happened, just that I was there, cradling her at the bottom of the steps and begging God to give her back to me. I haven’t had a drink since.”

Her forehead creased, and her brown eyes warmed with sympathy. “That can’t have been easy.”

“On occasion, it can be difficult to find an alternate beverage,” he said drily, knowing that wasn’t what she’d meant but wanting to bring a lighter tone.

“I’ll ensure you have whatever you desire while you’re here.”

He appreciated her consideration. “I regret missing dinner and, presumably, the discussion of what Diana wants to do next.”

The duchess gave a slight nod. “Kirwin said the footman wasn’t able to wake you. I’m sure you were exhausted. Diana and I had a small, informal dinner in her chamber. She’s already asleep.”

Damn, there went his hope for seeing her this evening. He couldn’t be sure what Diana had told her cousin, and he didn’t want to reveal anything she wished to keep secret. So he said nothing.

“She hasn’t entirely decided what to do next,” the duchess said. “But she’s going to have to make a decision in the morning because she’s running out of time.”

He had to assume she knew the story of what had happened in Brereton, then. “Because the rumor that we eloped will get out.” Simon didn’t mask his bitterness. If only they hadn’t been seen by Lady Dunford-Whaley.

“Eloped?”

Damn, perhaps she hadn’t known the story. But he couldn’t think of a way to hide it from her now. Anyway, it would soon be common knowledge. “We were recognized in Brereton. I told them we were on our way to Gretna Green and asked the gentleman to keep things quiet for a bit—to buy us some time to get here.”

“Smart. But it’s more than that, I’m afraid.” She winced. “Her father could be here in a few days.”

Damn. “She seems terrified of him.” It sounded like hyperbole, but it wasn’t. From their first discussion in Green Park, she’d been clear that her father’s anger drove every decision she made.

“She has every right to be. He and my father are horrid men.” She said this with an even tone, as if she were remarking on the weather.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He’d loved his father very much. And his mother, but then she’d made things difficult since Father had died. A thought occurred to him, one that had plagued him from time to time whenever Diana mentioned her father. “They didn’t…hurt you, did they?”

“Not physically. Well, that’s not precisely true.” She shook her head. “It’s not my place to tell. My father is maybe not quite as cruel as my uncle. But cruelty is their currency, make no mistake. If he finds Diana here, I worry what he will do.”

Simon’s muscles tensed. “I won’t allow him to do anything.”

The duchess’s face softened. “I was hoping you’d say that. I’m quite concerned about her plan to change her identity. I honestly don’t know what she was thinking. She is who she is, and I don’t think she’d like to be alone without support, regardless of how strongly she yearns for independence.”

“Those aren’t really the same things, though, are they? She could have independence and still have people to support her.”

“You’re quite right. I’ve managed to find that here, managing things in my husband’s absence. But that’s not what Diana would have—she wouldn’t be Diana Kingman anymore.”

“No, she wouldn’t.”

“There is that other alternative…”

Not changing her name and disappearing, and not awaiting her father. That left… “I don’t think she’s interested in marrying me.”

“Have you asked?”

“I have.”

The duchess blew out a breath and lowered her lids as she stared at him expectantly. “Did you really, or was it more of a suggestion?” She waved her hand. “Have you asked her recently?”

“Er, no.” He didn’t count the discussion they’d had at Brereton. They hadn’t seriously discussed it as an option.

“You may consider doing that.”

What did that mean? Had she and Diana discussed this? Was Diana expecting a proposal? Did she want to marry him? A cold sweat dappled his neck, and ice slid down his spine.

“She wants that?”

“Do you?” the duchess countered. She straightened. “I’ve meddled too much, probably. I just want, no, I need for Diana to be happy.”

Then on that they were agreed. Simon just wasn’t sure marriage to him was the answer. But neither was he sure it wasn’t. “I want that too.”

“If there’s any chance you care for her—and it seems you do—please think about it. We have an excellent stable. You can take horses and be in Gretna Green in three days if you change a few times a day. I’ll send a groom with you to help. Actually, I may come along myself. My presence will lend some prestige to the event. And please don’t think I have a lofty opinion of myself—I’m a woman out in the country raising a son. But if I can use my title for some good, especially where it concerns Diana, I am happy to do so.”

Simon couldn’t argue with that. “Your offer is most generous, Duchess.”

“I insist you call me Verity, especially if we’re to be family.”

She made it sound as if it had all been decided. Really, was there any other choice? He wasn’t going to let Diana’s father get near her, and the only way he could protect her was to make her his wife. He just hoped she would agree.

“You’re a formidable woman, Verity. Diana is lucky to have you on her side.”

Verity laughed. “I’m not sure I agree with formidable.” She seemed to think about it for a moment. “But maybe you’re right.” She grinned. “I think I like you, Simon. I hope you don’t mind, but I’m calling you Simon. Since we’re to be family.”

Yes, it had been decided—at least in Verity’s mind. “Of course.”

She scooped the toy soldiers from the table into her left hand. “We should rise early and leave by eight, I think. I’ll have everything organized.”

Simon gave her the soldier he’d been holding. “You really think she’ll say yes?”

“Are you going to make her happy?”

“I’m going to try.” But he honestly didn’t know if he could. Hell, he didn’t know anything anymore.

“Then she’ll say yes. She’s not stupid, but you know that. It’s one of the reasons you admire her, I’m sure.” She gave him a small, almost secretive smile, as if she knew more about their relationship than even they did. “Sleep well.”

Simon watched her go and wondered if he and Diana had just been managed. Did it matter?

Not particularly. He couldn’t say he was distressed by this turn of events. Nervous, worried, and incredibly apprehensive—yes, he was definitely those things.

What the hell was he going to do with a wife? He’d considered remarrying, had thought he wanted to, but now faced with doing so, he wondered if he could do it again.

He’d have to take Diana home to Lyndhurst. Home. It had ceased being that when Miriam had died. Now when he went there, it felt like a mausoleum.

The ice returned to his spine and spread through him like a sickness.

He knew what he had to do. He just prayed he’d be a better husband this time.