Chapter 11
“Well, if this isna a blethering thing to do. A Sassenach!”
“A duke,” reminded Diana, clinging to whatever bloody bright side she could find in all of this affair.
“A Lowlander,” breathed Nellie, horrified.
Diana groaned. “His estates are in Northumbria! I’m sure there are mountains.”
Nellie harrumphed. “Hills.”
“Nellie!”
“I’ll wager there isna a proper castle in sight.” Nellie folded her hands beneath her ample, motherly bosom and pursed her lips. “Or a loch.”
She, too, doubted there would be a loch in Northumbria but she really couldn’t be particular. Most young ladies would swoon at the mere possibility of marrying a duke. She’d nearly swooned to escape the madhouse. “We shall just have to see.”
“And I suppose this means we will be living in London.” Nellie glanced about the beautifully-decorated bedroom as if she’d been put into the pits of hellfire.
“I suppose we must,” Diana agreed. Though, she wasn’t sure she’d hate it as much as Nellie. She’d always quite enjoyed reading plays. Now, she’d get to see them. There’d be galleries, fine music to listen to and work for her to put her hands and mind to in a city this great.
“Now,” Diana wheedled temptingly. “Nellie, have ye never wondered about the pleasure gardens?”
Nellie sniffed.
“I’m sure I could take ye to Vauxhall,” Diana offered, hoping beyond hope that Nellie would find it in her heart to accept an English mon for her mistress. “There will be all sorts of spectacles to take in,” Diana added.
Nellie’s terse expression softened. “I do have an affection for fireworks.”
At that concession, Diana grabbed Nellie in a familiar hug and squeezed. “We shall make the best of our circumstances.”
Nellie hugged her quickly but then held her back. “And what will ye do when the wild wind and the sea call yer bonnie Highland blood, my lass?”
“Why. . .” Diana searched her thoughts, desperate for an answer. For it wasn’t a fanciful question. “I’ll just have to buy a castle north of Fort William, willna I?”
“And do ye think yer lord and master will allow it?”
“Why, ye ken, Nellie, I think he shall,” Diana said, suddenly happy that she was about to marry a man who thought rather highly of women. “The Highland air would do him a great deal of good. Even Northumbria. I think he spends too many hours in the halls of power. For though he’s robust, I do believe he carries a great deal on his shoulders.”
Nellie peered at her. “Admire him, do ye?”
“Aye, I suppose I do.” Diana shrugged, trying to make light of the way she felt about the duke which, in truth, shocked even her. She’d never known a man like him and she’d never been so inspired by one. “How can I no’?”
“Just mind yerself, lass, before ye stumble about like a moon calf.”
“Nellie!” Diana gasped. “I would never.”
“He’s a fine-looking man. With a fine braw body. Braw enough to turn any lass’ head.” Nellie cocked her chin down and warned, “But we dinna ken him.”
Diana couldn’t deny it. Groaning, she pointed out, “He’s better than the alternative.”
“Grand.” Nellie rolled her eyes. “He’s better than death or the madhouse.”
A scowl pulled at Diana’s lips. “When ye put it like that. . .”
Nellie hugged her tightly again. “Look here, lass. Never mind that. It’s glad I am that ye’ll be safe. I couldna bear the danger ye are in.”
She, too, had begun to feel the pressure of it all. Now, she would know the demands of being a wife. . .
“D-do ye think he’ll wish to bed me right away?”
“He’s a mon. But he’s English.” Nellie’s brows quirked, perplexed. “It’s hard to ken.”
There was a knock upon her bedroom door and she all but jumped. Blazes, it was a nuisance, the feeling of being on edge.
But here she was. “Who is it, then?”
“Your future husband.”
Diana swallowed. All her life, she’d never much been intimidated by men. She’d known great, braw fellows who could toss trees for goodness’ sake. Men who’d seen hardship and loss and who had few kind words for anyone. But she’d always met their eyes and never felt the urge to step back.
The duke? He was a different. Och, she wasn’t frightened of him, but there was something about him that she couldn’t put her finger on. He fairly made her shiver with awareness of his power and strength. And there was something else. A knowledge of the dark side of this world.
She liked him well, despite it, as if her heart felt an affinity to his.
“Come in,” she called.
Nellie gave her a bracing smile.
The door opened slowly and, in the shadows of the night, he all but looked like a demon that had come up from the depths of hell. A beautiful demon, with sparks in his gaze. “Are you ready?” he asked, his deep voice a shocking rumble.
“Now?” she queried.
“Now,” he confirmed. “I have the license and do not advise delay. We’ve rousted the bishop from his bed and he is waiting downstairs. He’s already had three cups of wine. So, we must make haste.”
She pressed her lips together, knowing this was the best possible course for her. A remarkable one, really. One which would give her power, wealth, and protection. Yet, she barely knew him.
Still, a voice deep within her urged her to leap. Urged her to believe that she did know him.
She looked to the dark windows. This was hardly how she’d imagined her marriage. Once, as a girl, she’d assumed she’d make her way from the castle to the beautiful and ancient kirk on her family’s lands to go before a man of God who had presided over her clan since she was a child. There would be no winding journey through the heather. She wouldn’t step over the stone threshold. And she certainly wouldn’t be marrying a man she loved.
But then again, she had never imagined that her once beloved brother might wish her harm.
“My shawl, Nellie,” she said firmly.
The maid’s eyes widened, not with surprise, but approval. For now was not the time to lose her sense of purpose or determination.
Nellie quickly scurried to the tall walnut armoire at the end of the chamber and fetched her woven green silk India shawl.
Much to Diana’s surprise, the duke waited silently as Nellie quickly placed the thick folds about her shoulders.
As she adjusted it and smoothed her gown, she lifted her chin and met his dark eyes.
“Lead the way, Yer Grace, I am ready.”
He gave a single nod, his dark hair brushing his sculpted cheekbones.
She slipped past him and out into the dark hall.
Nellie and he followed with only the light of a single taper flickering over the walls, covered in paintings, to light their way.
She found herself hurrying down the hall, towards the grand staircase. Now was not the time for lingering or doubt. Now was the time to seize her future.
They strode silently across the shadowed foyer, their boots echoing over the marble.
And much to her relief, the duke circled in front of her and opened the heavy door to his library.
The library!
It was the perfect room. And somehow, with her marriage about to take place surrounded by books, she knew all would somehow be well.
All she had to do now was step through the door and her fate would be sealed.
Her foot paused for a single moment at the threshold, but then she squared her shoulders and charged into the room, surprisingly filled with strangers. She let the duke take her by the hand.
She did not look back. There would be no looking back now.
***
Diana took another long drink of the bubbling champagne.
The bishop had already had the good sense to depart back to his bed. But she and her husband had lingered in the long salon. . . surrounded by the most powerful men in England.
Nellie sat in the corner, her own glass of wine held aloft as she all but gaped at the scene before her.
Diana couldn’t blame her maid for gaping.
In all her life, she had never been surrounded by such beautiful or powerful men.
It had been a shock, finding so many dukes awaiting her. They had all witnessed the wedding. . . as had two wives and a rather magnificent-looking French woman she could not quite make sense of. Was she a wife?
It seemed not.
Diana drank again.
“We shall have to have several parties for you, Your Grace,” one of the ladies said.
Diana blinked. “Forgive me, I ken we were introduced but this is all. . .”
“Overwhelming?” another lady asked.
The two beautiful women had crossed the room to her almost as one, clearly knowing each other quite well.
The first lady smiled kindly, her blue eyes flashing with intelligence. “I am Harriet, Duchess of Blackstone.”
“And I am Eglantine, Duchess of Harley,” the other lady said.
They were both stunning. But not in the way she imagined most ladies presumed beauty to be. Both women had distinct faces and bold spirits.
She could not imagine either of them surrounded by what she had assumed London ladies would enjoy. There wasn’t a hint of silliness or furbelows to either of them.
“So, you’ve caught our Raventon,” the Duchess of Harley said, grinning. “He is a most remarkable fellow.”
“So, I gather,” Diana replied.
“You know him little?” prompted the Duchess of Blackstone.
Diana tensed, uncertain if she was about to be devoured by a pair of gossips and, yet, she detected nothing vicious about either woman.
“I havena kent His Grace above thirty hours.”
The Duchess of Harley’s russet brows rose ever so slightly. “It’s a great adventure then. Very bold of you.”
Diana bit the inside of her cheek. It was a kind thing to say in the circumstance and she didn’t detect a hint of sarcasm. But they must have imagined all sorts of possibilities for such an abrupt wedding.
“Life is too short to be anything but bold,” Diana replied.
“I like her,” the Duchess of Harley said firmly to the Duchess of Blackstone. “I knew I would. The moment I heard you say I will as if you were voting on a bill in the House of Lords, I knew. Nothing timid about you. I wager you like to read. You do, don’t you?”
“We are both prodigious readers,” added the Duchess of Blackstone.
Diana stared at the sprightly and open young women and felt amazed. They both seemed so generous of heart and mind. After months of uncertainty, it was most surprising. She had not expected to come to London and feel an immediate affinity for someone but here she was, certain she had just made fast friends.
“Reading has been one of the great pleasures of my life.” She smiled, a sudden and genuine smile. “I dinna ken how anyone can survive winter nights in the Highlands without a love of books.”
“Or a revolution!” the French lady chimed in as she joined them. “I do not think I would have endured without the good and most loyal friendship of books.”
Diana blinked. The woman was striking and at least a decade older than herself. But age did not make her seem unapproachable, arrogant, or full of mere tolerance. No, the woman’s blue eyes fairly danced with mischief as if no hardship could snuff out their playful light.
Red hair surrounded the woman’s pale face, curled in the most expert fashion and her gown was fairly scandalous, an emerald green silk affair which clung gently to her curvaceous frame. It seemed to barely cover her bosom and left little to the imagination of her lower limbs.
It was magnificent.
Diana knew immediately she was speaking with a cultured woman who was more concerned with art than propriety. And she also knew immediately she wished to know more about her.
She stuck out her hand. “I’m Lady Diana.”
“Non, cherie!” The French lady said good-naturedly, her lips quirking. “You are not. You are Diana, Duchess of Raventon.”
Diana laughed, a quite unexpected sound as if she could not quite believe it herself. “So, I am. How do ye do?”
“I do very well now that I’ve met you.” The lady took her offered hand warmly. “I am Madame de Coqueville.”
Diana gasped. “Madame Yvette de Coqueville?”
“Oui. C’est moi.”
“But. . .” Diana could scarcely convince her mouth to work in tandem with her riotous and excited thoughts. “But, I have read all yer plays and essays! Yer Rights of Women was most formative to me.”
Madame de Coqueville beamed. “Liberté! Egalité!”
“Sororité!” Diana finished enthusiastically.
“Exactement!” Yvette’s blue eyes all but sparkled. “I like you very well, indeed. Yes, you will not be frightened of him.”
Diana swallowed. It seemed a cryptic thing to say. “Of Raventon?”
Madame de Coqueville nodded. Meanwhile, the Duchesses of Blackstone and Harley watched the exchange with what seemed to be unbridled pleasure and relief.
“He is. . . unique but not frightening,” Diana replied easily.
Madame de Coqueville drew in a slow breath and smiled gently. “Oui, mon cher duchess. I do not think there is a more unique man living. Felicitations on your marriage and we must become very good friends, indeed.”
Diana smiled in turn, trying to take it all in stride as the French author turned and crossed over to the gentlemen who were speaking to each other with a surprising animation that Diana had not thought the English capable of. For she had always been told of the notorious dryness and sense of noblesse oblige which left the enemy rather bloodless.
She couldn’t imagine the term bloodless as describing these particular friends.
In fact, nothing seemed to be further from the truth with these tall, fine dukes.
“You did very well,” the Duchess of Harley said brightly, her russet curls dancing.
“Did I?” Diana asked, confused.
“Oh yes,” agreed the Duchess of Blackstone before she took a long sip of her wine. “We all did wonder if you’d like each other.”
Diana frowned, not out of displeasure, but with a lack of understanding as to why such a thing should hold significance. “Madame de Coqueville and I?”
The Duchess of Harley let out a relieved sigh. “Yes.”
The Duchess of Blackstone smiled kindly. “You see, they are the dearest of friends.”
“He saved her life, don’t you know,” added the Duchess of Harley.
“In the revolution,” the Duchess of Blackstone added factually.
There wasn’t a hint of anything untoward in what the other ladies said, only genuine relief.
Diana eyed the Duke of Raventon with renewed admiration. “Och, I see. Then the world of literature owes a great debt to my husband.”
“I knew I liked you quite well the moment I saw you,” the Duchess of Harley proclaimed.
Cocking her head to the side, the Duchess of Blackstone grinned. “You’re not silly at all, are you?”
“No,” Diana agreed. She allowed herself one brief moment to wonder if her now husband and Madame de Coqueville had ever been lovers before she quickly dismissed the thought.
It didn’t matter if they had. Her connection to the Duke of Raventon was one of necessity. She would not worry about past friendships or even present ones.
After all, one could not change a person. Raventon would behave however he wished. She could only hope that he, too, wished to make a real marriage since they were married, in fact.
No, the only thing to truly wonder about was if her husband had been saving people his whole life. It seemed so. And what a magnificent man that did make him. For few had such convictions or bravery to help people with so much dedication.
One day, she would ask about it. About what he had done in France. For she had a deep suspicion that Madame de Coqueville was not the only beneficiary of his convictions.
She let her gaze travel across the room to the beautiful, yet, intimidating man that was the Duke of Raventon.
She wouldn’t be afraid of him. How could she? His very nature was one of goodness. And how could one be afraid of that which did good? No, if anything, she admired him deeply and hoped that he would allow her to know him. To know his secrets and his heart.
For that was the one thing that did whisper through her own heart and give her a moment’s fear. A man like that might never let her in. Might never see why it would be beneficial to him. But somehow, she would make him see. Perhaps, their marriage was one made out of danger, but that didn’t mean they could not have a beautiful future together. For beautiful things did often come out of pain. Life had taught her that.
As if he could hear her thoughts, suddenly, he looked to her across the room. Their gazes met and abruptly she felt as if she had been deliciously scorched by a man who worked very hard to contain the flames which burned bright inside him.
She did not look away. No, she held his gaze then slowly smiled, ready to leap. Ready to take her chance with him.