Chapter Seven − A Heart's Desire
The whole carriage ride home, Diana marvelled at the smile that seemed to be stuck on her face. As much as she tried she could not convince the corners of her mouth to abandon their post. They were set firmly in place, causing her heart to skip a beat every now and then as she remembered how differently the evening had gone from how she had hoped it would.
And yet, she had no regrets.
Diana had wanted to enjoy herself, to feel something, to feel alive.
And she had.
The moment Lord Stanhope had pulled her behind the column, his grey eyes dark with concern as he had shielded her from the threat of discovery, her heart had leapt into her throat. She had seen the rapid beating of his pulse right above his collar. She had felt the warmth of his body as he had towered before her. And from one moment to the next, she had felt like the young, innocent girl she had once been.
Not since that night when she had followed Lord Norwood into the garden had she felt like this.
Her heart seemed to dance in her chest. Her breath could barely draw enough oxygen from the air around her. And her skin tingled with the memory of their kiss.
Had she truly kissed him? Diana marvelled once again, shocked to have acted in such a brazen way.
After spending the past four years living a life dictated by countless rules and restrictions, that night had Diana feeling beyond daring and bold. The whole night had been an adventure, and she could only hope that the next one would find her sooner rather than later.
Almost dancing up the steps to the upper floor of her townhouse, Diana stopped just outside her door when a soft wail reached her ears.
At first, she was confused. What could possibly make such a pitiful sound?
Then, however, the wailing increased, and Diana froze when she realised that it was her son.
Instantly, Lord Stanhope’s voice echoed in her mind. Raise him into a man you can be truly proud of, and the past will not repeat itself.
As her heart thudded in her chest and her breath came in laboured gasps, Diana slowly made her way down the hall toward her son’s nursery. Never had she felt a desire to see him, to hold him, and always had she wondered what that said about her as a woman, a mother.
However, such thoughts had always been more disturbing than beneficial, and so Diana had refrained from entertaining them too often. After all, they had served no purpose.
Tonight, however, everything seemed different.
For a reason she could not name, her son’s wails drew her near. Opening the door, a distant part of her mind wondered where his nurse was, but it was quickly silenced by a new sense of awe as she spotted her little son, standing in his crib, his cheeks stained with tears and his tiny hands reaching for her.
Swallowing to dislodge the lump in her throat, Diana stared at the small child. What was she to do?
Usually when he started fussing, the nurse would take her of him. But how? What did one do to soothe a crying child? With no younger siblings or cousins, Diana was at a loss. Never had she considered herself a maternal person, and considering the circumstances under which her son had been born, she never thought that that would ever change.
Then why did his tear-streaked face as it glistened in the soft light of the moon cause her such discomfort?
Taking a step into the dark room, Diana drew in a deep breath, her mind racing, still unclear as to what to do.
Sobs escaped her son’s lips, but the wails had stopped as he watched her, his little fingers stretched as he stood on his tiptoes, reaching for her.
Why did he want her? Diana wondered. Never had she been a mother to him. Why would her presence comfort him?
You’re his mother.
Again, Lord Stanhope’s voice echoed in her ears, and for a reason Diana couldn’t name, she believed him, believed that−despite all the evidence to the contrary−there might still be a connection between her and her son. If only she could find a way to…
Coming to stand in front of the crib, Diana lift her arm and carefully−and a bit awkwardly−patted her son’s head. “Hush, hush,” she whispered. “Go back to sleep.”
However, her son had another plan.
The moment her hand came within reach, his own reached up and closed around it, holding on tight as though for dear life.
Stunned, Diana tried to pull back, but her son held on, pulling himself toward her, his left foot already lifted off the mattress.
Afraid he might fall, Diana suddenly acted on instinct.
Stepping forward, she bent down and scooped him into her arms, feeling his little hands curl into the fabric of her sleeves as his tiny head came to rest on her shoulder. Then a loud yawn reached her ear, and she could feel his soft breath against her neck before he snuggled closer.
As her son fell back asleep, feeling safe and content, Diana stood stock-still in the middle of the room, staring at the far wall, overwhelmed and unable to process the myriad of emotions that suddenly flooded her heart.
How had this happened? How had she gotten here? And what was she to do now?
Feeling his tiny weight resting in her arms, Diana noticed the gentle sway that had come to her movements as she carefully walked around the room. He warm and soft in her arms, and a sudden desire to protect him washed over her. How could she ever have seen him as an extension of her husband?
Coming to stand in front of the small mirror on the side wall, Diana glanced down at his sleeping face and delighted at the gentle smile that came to him as he dreamed. In answer, the corners of her own mouth strode upward, and Diana’s gaze shifted from her son to the image of the two of them together.
In that moment, she noticed that she was crying.
Large tears ran down her cheeks and dropped onto her dress as well as her son’s nightshirt. And yet, the image she saw was incredibly peaceful, and Diana wondered how she could have ignored him for that long. Had she truly never longed for him? Or had she never allowed herself to feel that longing out of fear?
What if she had tried to love her son only to discover that she couldn’t? That thought had always been in the back of her head, urging her to stay away, whispering that it would be better for her not to know.
Only now he was here, sleeping peacefully in her arms, and although her hands were trembling and her legs felt as though they were made of pudding, Diana felt something stir deep inside her that wasn’t fear.
It felt warm and comfortable, and yet, she was afraid to trust it for love was inevitably lost, was it not?
Could she risk her heart yet again? What if she simply couldn’t be the mother her son needed and he would come to resent her? Would she be able to survive being rejected by her own child? Would it not be better for them to maintain a safe distance?
As though in answer, her son’s little hands curled more tightly into the fabric of her sleeves as he snuggled closer, his little nose resting against the side of her neck.
In that moment the door opened and the nurse walked in, her eyes widening as she saw Diana. “Mrs. Reignold,” she exclaimed a bit too loudly.
Instantly, Benedict stirred, a small noise of complaint leaving his lips.
“Hush, hush, little man,” Diana whispered in his ear, gently rubbing one hand over his back. “Sleep.”
When he had quieted down again, the nurse stepped forward. “Do you want me to take him?”
As though in reflex, Diana’s hands tightened on her child. However, her mind reasoned that she didn’t even know how to take care of him. After all, she couldn’t spend the whole night in the nursery holding him in her arms, could she? No, of course not. What a ridiculous thought!
“Yes,” Diana finally said, feeling her muscles tense in objection when she handed her son to his nurse. Her arms felt suddenly empty, and a shiver ran over her at the absence of his warm, little body. Somehow, it was as though he belonged in her arms.
“Good night, Mrs. Reignold,” the nurse whispered, and reluctantly, Diana turned to the door, wondering about the strange events of that night. Nothing had gone as planned, and yet, Diana had no regrets.
On the contrary, new possibilities seemed to be waiting for her around each corner.
***
Sitting down for breakfast with his mother and sister by his side, Arthur was still contemplating the events of the previous night. As promised, he had not breathed a word of Mrs. Reignold’s appearance at the theatre to anyone, especially not to his mother, who would in all likelihood have spread it to the rest of the ton in less than a day.
And yet, Arthur felt the inexplicable desire to know more about the contradicting woman he had met the night before. Although he had spent all night convincing himself that her well-being did not concern him, the early morning sun had found him still remembering her soft kiss. Despite her frank way of speech and the scandalous behaviour she openly portrayed, Arthur did not believe that she was the kind of woman who went around, kissing strangers.
Then why had she kissed him?
“Arthur!”
His mother’s sharp voice cut into his thoughts and his head snapped up. “I apologise,” he stammered, clearing his throat. “What did you say?”
A frown on her face, his mother looked at him, her eyes watchful. “You seem distracted today, my son. Is something on your mind?”
“Nothing important,” Arthur lied, almost cringing at the breach of his own principles. After all, he could count on two hands how often he had been dishonest with his family. “I’m merely thinking about Mr. Hill’s last visit.”
“The steward?” his mother asked. “Is something the matter?”
“Nothing that would concern you, Mother.”
“Very well.” Taking a sip from her teacup, his mother turned her attention back to the breakfast on her plate. However, Arthur could tell from the slight tension in her shoulders that she wasn’t convinced.
Apparently, he wasn’t a good liar.
Arthur chuckled silently, wondering if he ought to consider that a compliment or not.
“Lady Oxbridge told me last night,” his mother began, dropping another lump into her tea, “that she saw Mrs. Reignold in Hyde Park that very morning.”
Arthur’s head snapped up once more, his ears eagerly awaiting the next bit of information.
“Once again, she was in Lady Norwood’s company,” his mother continued, glancing at her daughter as though trying to determine if Eleanor possessed a deeper knowledge of the woman’s whereabouts, “and once again, she had accentuated her gown with…accessories.” Her nose crinkled at the last word as though she smelled something rotten. “Unbelievable! Apparently, she is determined to continue her outrageous behaviour. Poor Mr. Reignold. After he saved her from ruination, she treats his memory with such disrespect.”
Arthur gritted his teeth, feeling the sudden and rather inexplicable need to defend Mrs. Reignold. However, that would only draw his mother’s suspicion and so he held his tongue on the matter.
“Eleanor,” his mother said, turning sharp eyes on her daughter, “I want to take this opportunity to remind you to keep your distance from that woman.”
“I barely know her, Mother,” Eleanor objected. Her voice, however, held no strength. “I only spoke to her once, but I have to say she was very kind.” Her eyes dropped to her plate, and Arthur thought to see a similar sadness to the one he had seen in Mrs. Reignold’s eyes. Had his sister noticed a certain kinship to her as well?
“That is of no importance, Eleanor,” Lady Stanhope protested. “I insist that you keep your distance lest an association to that woman ruin your marriage prospects.”
An even darker cloud descended upon Eleanor’s face. “Yes, Mother.”
After breakfast, Lady Stanhope strode from the room, calling for her carriage. However, Eleanor stayed behind, waiting until her mother was lost from sight before she approached her brother. Wringing her hands, she looked up at him, the expression on her face strained.
“Is something wrong?” Arthur asked, finding himself concerned for his sister’s well-being. “Are you unwell?”
A sarcastic snort escaped his sister before she nodded her head. “I’m fine,” she insisted, however, the look on her face spoke to the contrary. “I only meant to ask you…”
“Yes?” Arthur prompted, wondering why his sister would barely meet his eyes. “Why are you so nervous?”
Closing her eyes, Eleanor took a deep breath, then met his gaze. “I meant to ask you about Mr. Waltham.”
“I see,” Arthur mumbled, finally understanding and wondering why he had not seen this sooner. “And what would you like to know?”
Eleanor swallowed. “What did you talk about at the theatre? Did he say anything?”
“About what?” Arthur teased, carefully trying to gauge how deep his sister’s feelings were for the man their mother spoke about so harshly.
As her eyes narrowed, Eleanor fixed him with an impatient stare, her hands coming to rest on her sides. “Me, of course.” She took a deep breath. “I would ask you not to tease me so. Believe me, it is most hurtful.”
Placing a gentle hand on his sister’s shoulder, Arthur said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I merely wanted to see how much he means to you.”
Dropping her gaze, Eleanor sighed. “He’s my other half,” she whispered much to Arthur’s surprise. Because of their age difference, Arthur still saw her as the little sister he had doted upon. It was difficult for him to see her as a grown woman.
“He said that it was his intention to marry you,” Arthur said, finding the breath catch in his throat at the sight of his sister’s happiness. A deep smile came to her face and her cheeks flushed red as she stared at him with huge eyes. Strangely enough, in that moment, she seemed more like the little sister he had known than ever before.
“Truly?” she asked almost breathless.
Arthur frowned. “Has he never said anything like that to you?”
Eleanor shook her head, a hint of doubt coming to her eyes. “I sometimes wondered why, but I was afraid he didn’t…”
“Care about you the way you care about him?” Arthur prompted, feeling slightly uncomfortable about the emotional depth of their conversation. Matters of love were not his strong suit as he usually found them confusing and far from rational.
Eleanor nodded, a question burning in her eyes.
Arthur sighed, yielding at the sight of her unease. “He said he would even marry you without your family’s consent,” Eleanor sucked in a sharp breath, and Arthur wondered if it was truly wise telling her this, “however, he knows that you would never agree, and he didn’t want to put you in a position where you would have to choose between him and your family.”
A large tear rolled down Eleanor’s cheek before she turned away, trying to hide the evidence of her emotional upheaval. “Thank you,” she whispered after a while, silent sobs echoing to Arthur’s ears. “Thank you for telling me. I’ve always wondered. Now, I know.” She nodded and strode for the door. “At least, I know.”
Then Arthur was alone, and the many emotions that suddenly assaulted his heart felt like a burden he had never known before. Life had been far easier without this marriage business!