Chapter Seventeen
Diana cast her gaze toward the house above and tried not to let her thoughts wander too far. It was almost impossible when all she wanted to know was whether Lucas was well. Whether he was able to face the friends he so cared about despite whatever had inspired him to push them all away. She longed, in some foolish part of herself, to be with him. To support him.
“You and I are of a mind,” the Duchess of Crestwood said as she sank down into the bench along the garden path and gently settled her hand on her belly. She looked up toward the house, as well, her concern plain.
The difference was, she had a right to feel that way. Diana’s cheeks grew hot with a blush. What this woman must think of her, despite all her outward kindness and friendliness.
“I do not know Willowby’s intentions,” the duchess continued. “But I can assure you that Simon and Tyndale’s are only the most loving. Their entire group of friends has missed him keenly, especially considering all the turmoil and joy that has come to our circle in the last year and a half.”
Diana swallowed hard. “I am certain it is none of my business.”
“Isn’t it?” She glanced back up at the house. “It seems he feels differently.”
Diana shifted at those words. At what they meant in this context. At the idea that this lady knew she and Lucas were lovers. That she labeled Diana a whore, however quietly.
“You know what I am,” she said.
Meg’s cheeks darkened and she darted her gaze from Diana’s. “His friend,” she said.
“Your Grace,” Diana began.
The duchess smiled. “Oh, please don’t do that. We are a very informal group, with too many dukes and duchesses to go around Your Gracing everyone. It gets too confusing. Please call me Meg, and I shall be very forward and call you Diana in return.”
Diana blinked in confusion. “Meg?” she repeated.
“Excellent,” Meg said. “You’ve made this very easy, with far less argument than I encountered with, say, Adelaide or Helena.”
Diana shook her head. “I don’t—”
“It seems very possible you might know them soon enough.” Meg sighed. “Assuming all goes well with the gentlemen, as I’m sure it will.”
Staring at the duchess, Diana tried to think of something to say. Here she’d thought Meg viewed her as Lucas’s mistress, but she was speaking to her as if she were something more important. Someone that deserved a place at a table full of dukes and duchesses in the upper echelon of Society.
“I think you may be mistaken in your view of me, Your Grace.”
“Meg.”
She clenched her hands in front of her. “Meg. I-I am not going to be a part of your circle, no matter how this meeting of Lucas’s goes today.”
“Are you not?” Meg laughed, and it was a gentle, playful sound. “I know there are a great many unsavory tales of those with titles, but I assure you, we have not an ogre in the group. They’re all good men with many fine qualities. And the wives, thus far, are a girl’s dream when she thinks of the friends she would be lucky to have in her life.”
“I’m certain you are right. It isn’t a slur on any of you, I assure you. It’s just that I am…I’m…”
Meg lifted her brows when Diana didn’t finish and nodded. “You are…?”
Diana folded her arms and fought not to turn away. “You will make me say it out loud? I’m staying in his house, unchaperoned. I’m his…”
“His mistress,” Meg finished. “Yes, that is how it appears. I admit that idea made me a bit uncomfortable at first, but having talked to you, I’m beginning to think my view of it isn’t entirely true.”
Diana drew back. “I assure you, it is. There is nothing between us outside of our—our arrangement.”
She blushed even hotter at those words. Here she had been telling Lucas that she didn’t want to be seen as a lightskirt by his friends and now she was defending her position as just that. All the while, the duchess gave her a knowing look.
“We are not a…a typical group of friends, my dear. Our ranks are filled with men who have suffered greatly and women who have had their own secrets. So if you were Willowby’s mistress and nothing more, I assure you it would not make me like you less. But that isn’t what you are.”
“I would think I know what I am more than anyone. What do you think I am?” Diana asked.
Meg laughed again. “Someone who makes Lucas Vincent, Duke of Willowby, stop running. A woman who holds his arm with great protectiveness when he enters into a room where he is uncertain. A woman who seems to belong here in this place. That is who you are.”
“He…he didn’t stop running because of me,” Diana whispered, for she had no answer for the rest of Meg’s charges.
“If you insist,” Meg said. “But I’d still like the rest of the duchesses to meet you.”
Diana stared down at herself and blushed yet again. “Your Grace, this is the finest outfit I’m in possession of. Not fit for the company of duchesses, I think you would agree.”
“The color is pretty on you,” Meg said. She stood slowly, steadied herself and then approached Diana. She moved around her, examining her. “You and I are of a similar size, and since I am not currently wearing my usual wardrobe, I think I could solve your problem of dresses.”
Diana’s mouth dropped open. “You cannot be serious that you are offering to let me borrow your clothes?”
“No,” Meg said. “I’d let you keep them. Simon will buy me new things after the baby, for I’m certain my body will change. You would look lovely in my green silk—it will bring out your eyes like jade.” She clapped her hands together. “Oh, jade! I have the prettiest necklace and it—”
“Please, Meg,” Diana interrupted. “You are too kind, but—”
“No buts,” Meg said. “Really, let me do this. At least do not refuse me out of hand.”
Diana sighed, for the offer was very tempting. She could tell from the gorgeous cut of Meg’s current gown that whatever she offered would be beautiful beyond Diana’s wildest dreams. That charity felt…wasted. She had no life or place amongst these people.
Yet she felt so comfortable.
“Ladies!”
Both of then turned, and Meg broke into a wide grin as the men strode down the garden path toward them. Diana pushed aside her feelings about Meg’s offer and stared at Lucas. She could not fully read him, but she saw that he looked…relaxed. Happy. And she drew her first full breath since she’d left him nearly an hour before.
The Duke of Crestwood extended his hand and Meg took it, stepping into the circle of his arm with a smile that could have lit a thousand nights. Diana shifted in the face of such adoration between them. It felt almost accusatory as she glanced at Lucas and found him smiling at her.
“Miss Oakford, Willowby tells us you are quite the horticulturist,” Tyndale said. “And that your garden far outstrips this one.”
Diana shook her head. “I often wonder if Willowby had a head injury when he saw my little garden, that he was so enchanted by it when he had this to come home to.”
“Home is where the tasty chicken is,” Lucas murmured. “There were a great many things to recommend your garden, Diana.”
She blushed and was pleased when the others moved to a different topic. Lucas complimenting her garden felt like…exposure somehow. This important thing, laid bare to those who were all but strangers.
“So we’ll have a ball,” Crestwood was saying with a smile for Meg.
She laughed. “In my condition? You might want to have someone else do it.”
“Well, not Adelaide,” Simon said. “For she is in a similar condition, though not as far along as you. What about Charlotte?”
“I would say Charlotte or Emma would be best.” Meg said, clapping her hands. “Oh, a ball. How lovely to have everyone together.”
Tyndale smiled, but Diana thought she saw a tension to his lips. She would have taken more time to wonder at it, but her heart had begun to race. “A ball?” she repeated.
Lucas turned to her. “Yes. Diana, I-I told my friends the truth. About me. About you.”
Her lips parted. She had not been prepared for that statement. “I—oh.”
“The truth?” Meg repeated, tilting her head. “Well, I look forward to wheedling it out of Simon.”
“As do I,” Crestwood muttered.
Meg’s cheeks brightened and she laughed as she said, “But for now, I think we should go.” She moved toward Diana, hands outstretched, and leaned in to buss her cheek gently. “You think about what I offered. You’ll need it even more now if there’s to be a ball and I would love to be of help.”
“Thank you,” Diana said, feeling Lucas’s stare focused on her. “I appreciate the offer, I assure you.”
Meg turned to Lucas and kissed his cheek, as well. “So lovely to have you home, my friend. I know James and the others are also dying to see you, so we must arrange that before any ball we host or else you will be surrounded and that would be quite awkward.”
“Quite,” he agreed with a smile.
Diana watched as he said his farewells to Tyndale and Crestwood. Both gentlemen acknowledged her, and then the small group headed back toward the house, leaving Diana alone with Lucas. When they were all out of earshot, she moved forward. She needed to touch him. To make sure he was whole after what was likely a taxing ordeal, no matter how well it had gone.
“You look happier,” she said softly.
He looked down at her and nodded. “That was a reminder of the piece I’ve been missing in my life. And how foolish it was for me to throw it away when—”
He cut himself off and paced away from her. She pursed her lips. When he pulled back like this, when he cut her away from his past or his pain, it made her position very clear, no matter how strenuously he denied it.
“You told them you are a spy,” she said in an effort to change the subject. For her own sake as much as his.
He nodded and faced her. “If I’m going to use their hospitality to reenter Society and goad our traitor, I felt it was only right. And I admit that when I saw them, I wanted to tell them. So that they’d understand why I disappeared. That it wasn’t because of them.”
She folded her arms. “Well, it is good you have someone to share your past with.”
He arched a brow and she shifted, for she knew her tone had been petulant. Unfairly so, likely. He owed her nothing, after all. Still, she wanted more.
“You think I don’t share my past with you?” he asked.
She shrugged. “You keep hinting about some horrible thing that happened to you and yet you do not reveal yourself in any meaningful way. I’ve confessed some of my darkest secrets and yet I know so little about you.”
“Not all your secrets.”
She drew back. “I beg your pardon?”
“Come, come, Diana. Don’t play at something that neither of us will believe. You have told me a great deal and I am honored that you would trust me. But please don’t pretend that you have emptied your soul to me. I can sense that there is much more you’re holding back.”
She took another long step away from him, shocked by his casual observation. Shattered by how right he was. The secret he wanted to know was looming over her at present, and to have him mention it, even without understanding it, cut her to her aching heart.
“Well, then I suppose we both have our secrets,” she said. “And we shall both keep our own counsel on them.”
He opened his mouth like he wanted to say more and she leaned forward, secretly hoping he would. But he didn’t. Instead, he sighed. “Meg told you to think about an offer. What was it?”
It was like a wall of ice went up between them. The matter was closed, it seemed. “She has offered to share some of her gowns with me so that I might be more presentable as your companion.”
His eyebrows lifted. “That was kind.”
“Yes.” She nodded. “Meg is very kind. Insistent, even, though I tried to explain to her that I wouldn’t be accompanying you to any event, so it was unnecessary.”
He stared at her. “What do you mean? Of course you’ll attend any ball or event I go to.”
She gasped. “Are you mad? You are trying to reintroduce yourself into good Society as a way to lure your traitor, and you want to take your mistress with you? Don’t you think that will cause a stir?”
“I suppose it might,” he said. “But a stir wouldn’t be the worst outcome. Besides, I want you there with me. You are my partner in this, aren’t you?”
She swallowed hard. His partner? That implied a certain connection, a certain intimacy. And yet it wasn’t true, not really. As she’d already pointed out, there was such a wall between them on so many issues.
Perhaps it was time to stop pretending that wasn’t true.
“We are not partners,” she said softly, and watched how he recoiled at that quiet denial. “We are two people thrown into a terrible, common experience. And we became lovers. But we both made it clear from the beginning that it was nothing more than that, didn’t we?”
“Diana,” he said, lifting his hands as if to protest.
She shook her head. “Please don’t. You are going to be able to investigate your case without any help from me the moment you step back into Society’s gaze. Every time I check your shoulder, it’s better and better. Your limp is barely noticeable. You don’t even need my skills as a healer anymore.”
He moved closer to her, pressing into her space. She fought to hold her ground rather than fall into his arms or run away. “What do you mean by that? What are you saying?”
She drew in a long breath. “Perhaps it’s time that we stop pretending, Lucas. Perhaps it’s time for us to…part ways.”
He caught her elbow and shook his head. “No. You are saying that because you’re afraid to attend a ball?”
“No!” she cried out, but she knew that was a lie immediately. From his expression, so did he. “There are many reasons for us to end this affair,” she corrected herself. “Certainly one of them is that you are entering into the next arena of your case and of your life. One where I most definitely don’t belong.”
“Because I’ve taken you to my bed?” he asked.
She nodded. “That’s part of it.”
“Well, I hate to disabuse you of the notion that all ladies are pure, but I happen to know that all my recently married friends who are dukes bedded their ladies before they said their vows. We are human, my dear, no matter what titles are laid upon our heads at birth. A lady has desires as much as a woman whose father was not called ‘my lord’.”
“Yes, a lady. Meg is a lady. All of your friends’ wives are ladies. I am not. My father was half a step above a merchant in their eyes. I am the kind of woman who would tie their ribbons or clean their chambers, Lucas. I do not belong in their world. In your world. You are a duke, for heaven’s sake.”
His breath was short and he stared at her. Just stared at her. Then he said, “No. I’m not.”
She threw up her hands. “You can wish you weren’t, you can run as far and as fast from it as you like, but you are who you are. You are the Duke of Willowby, Lucas. The most recent one in what I assume is a long line. To pretend otherwise is—”
He caught her arms again, and the sudden action stopped her talking, as did the forlorn, pained expression on his face.
“Listen to me, Diana. I’m not saying I’m not the duke because I don’t want to be. I’m telling you…I’m telling you I’m not the duke because the last Willowby wasn’t my father.”