They had been in London for five days now, and Diana Somerville was still adjusting to her new status. On Tuesday, Lord Endicott had taken her driving in Green Park. On Wednesday, they had toured the larger, more fashionable Hyde Park, exchanging polite greetings with other members of the ton who had gathered to show off their finery and enjoy the pleasant day. For someone who claimed to rarely mix with society, Lord Endicott certainly had a wide circle of acquaintances.
On Thursday, her mother had held an at home, having sent notice of their new address to her acquaintances in London. The house had been thronged with callers come to offer their congratulations and inspect the future Viscountess Endicott. It was fortunate, indeed, that the viscount had offered them the use of this house and its excellent staff. Their former residence, while respectable, would never have held even one quarter of those who had come. As it was, Diana felt very much on exhibition, forced to smile and nod as middle-aged women congratulated her mother on her good fortune in firing off her eldest so successfully. Meanwhile, their daughters none so subtly questioned Diana, trying to discover the stratagems by which an insignificant country miss had captured the eye of such an eligible nobleman.
After three hours of such nonsense, Diana was heartily glad when the last of the callers had left, and she felt a new sympathy for the beasts displayed at the Royal Menagerie.
On Friday, Lord Endicott suggested another drive, but Diana had had enough of being on display. Instead, she proposed a trip to the bookseller’s, and after a moment of consideration he agreed. He had even gone so far as to present her with a copy of Sir Henry Richman’s account of his adventures on the Amazon, much to her delight.
Now it was Saturday, and they would make their first formal appearance as a betrothed couple, at a dinner party to be hosted by his friends. As the evening approached, Diana found herself growing more nervous. It was one thing to deceive strangers, or those whose opinion she cared little about. But these were Lord Endicott’s friends. Would they not see through the deception? And, if they did, what would they think of her for agreeing to this sham?
“I do not like this,” Mrs. Somerville said, as she came into Diana’s room. In her right hand she held a jewelry case, covered in worn green velvet.
“What don’t you like, Mama?”
“This. All this,” Mrs. Somerville said, waving her unencumbered hand in a gesture that encompassed Diana, and her gown hanging on the wardrobe door.
Diana frowned. They had visited the dressmaker earlier in the week, but of course none of the gowns she had ordered were ready yet. Instead, they had altered one of the gowns made earlier in the season, replacing the plain white bodice with one of primrose satin, which contrasted nicely with the white silk skirt. She had thought the gown quite sophisticated, but now she had her doubts.
“Is it too plain? Perhaps I should wear the lilac silk instead, or is that too formal?” Diana asked.
“The gown is fine. You will look lovely,” Mrs. Somerville said. “It is the deception I do not like. Pretending to our friends and acquaintances that you and the viscount do indeed plan to be wed. And now tonight we will begin to deceive his friends as well.”
“The engagement was Lord Endicott’s idea,” Diana reminded her mother. “Surely he has thought through all the consequences.”
“And do his friends know you are only playacting at this engagement?”
“He did not say. For now, we must assume that only the four of us are privy to this secret. You, Papa, myself, and Lord Endicott. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, Lord Endicott and I are no different from any other couple that is pledged to wed.”
“I do not like this. I was never any good at secrets,” Mrs. Somerville repeated.
Indeed, her mother had a distressing tendency to blurt out the truth at the most inconvenient of times. Whether it was Mary’s infatuation with the son of the vicar, or Diana’s surprise gift for her father’s birthday, no secret was safe with Mrs. Somerville. Her daughters had learned the perils of confiding in their mother at an early age.
It would have been far safer to leave her mother in Kent, but that would have begged too many questions. And yet each day her mother was here increased the risk that her mother would accidentally reveal their deception.
Diana thought furiously. It was time to take a page from Lord Endicott’s book and bend the truth to fit their purposes.
“It is not a deception, Mama. We would not ask you to lie. Lord Endicott and I are truly engaged to be married,” Diana said.
Mrs. Somerville regarded her doubtfully. “You are engaged, but you do not plan to be wed.”
“That does not matter,” Diana replied. “We will not be the first engaged couple to part ways at the end of the season. What matters for now is that we are engaged, and you can tell your friends and acquaintances so with a clear conscience.”
“And if I am asked about the wedding?”
“Tell them we have not set a firm date. That we are still making our plans,” Diana advised.
“I will do as you say,” Mrs. Somerville said. “But this all would be easier if you were to marry Lord Endicott in truth. I don’t suppose—”
“No, Mama,” Diana said firmly. It would be cruel to encourage her mother in false hopes. She knew her mother wanted her to be happy, but she also knew her mother believed that such happiness was best found with a kind husband and a family of her own.
It was time to change the subject.
“There was a reason you came to see me?” Diana asked, indicating the jewel case.
“Oh, yes,” her mother said. She walked over to the dressing table and put the case on top of it. Opening the lid, she reached in and withdrew a pair of garnet earrings that glittered in the late afternoon sunlight.
“I thought these would go well with your gown,” Mrs. Somerville said. “And there is a pendant to match.”
“They are beautiful,” Diana said, reaching her hand forward to touch the delicate jewels. Until now she had worn only the pearls her father had given her or the diamond earrings inherited from her great-aunt Sophie.
“They were a gift from your father when you were born,” Mrs. Somerville said, smiling in remembrance. “William was so pleased he could hardly contain himself. You would think he had invented you.”
“I will take good care of them,” Diana said.
“They are yours now. Anyway, they will suit your coloring far better than mine,” Mrs. Somerville said, touching one hand to her graying curls.
“Thank you,” Diana said, swallowing around a suspicious lump in her throat. She wished for an instant that this was all real. That she was truly engaged to a man that she loved, and that her mother’s gift was something that Diana, in turn, would pass on to her own daughter some day.
Lord Endicott called for them at seven, and Diana and her parents rode with him the short distance to the Dunnes’ residence. They were the first to arrive, as Lord Endicott had no doubt planned. In her mind she had imagined that his friends would be much like the viscount, courteous, but reserved. To her surprise she found Mr. Anthony Dunne and his wife, Elizabeth, were two gregarious souls, who greeted the Somervilles as if they were old friends instead of newly made acquaintances. Within moments they were merrily chatting away, and by the time the guests began arriving, Diana had forgotten any trace of her nervousness.
Mrs. Dunne had described this as a simple dinner, but a full two dozen couples sat down at her table as the servants brought one lavish course after another. At the table, Diana was partnered on one side by Lord Endicott and on the other by an elderly Irish peer by the name of Lord Peter Quinn. Lord Peter nodded politely as she took her seat, but had little conversation, instead devoting his full attention to his plate.
Fortunately the Dunnes did not hold to strict formality, and conversation was general. She noticed that Lord Endicott seldom initiated conversation and, when addressed by the others, confined himself to the briefest of replies, stopping just short of incivility. Still, with so many lively conversationalists, she doubted anyone else would have noticed his restraint.
“Miss Somerville, I must confess the news of your engagement took me quite by surprise,” Miss Clemens said, catching her eye from her seat across the table. “I had not thought you so fickle-minded.”
Diana took a sip of her wine to cover her dismay. It had been too much to hope that no one would comment on the rumors that had linked Diana with Mr. George Wright.
And Miss Clemens had a powerful motive for stirring up trouble. Envy. After all, Miss Clemens was in her third season as one of the reigning toasts of London. Rumor had it that she had turned down dozens of eligible suitors, claiming that she was holding out for a title. No doubt she saw Diana’s engagement to the Viscount of Endicott as a personal affront.
“Fickle?” Diana repeated.
“Why, yes,” Miss Clemens said, with an artificial laugh. “I remember quite plainly the night of Lady Jersey’s rout. You were telling all who would listen that the institution of marriage was a trap, and that no intelligent woman would be part of such. And yet now you yourself are to be married. Have you so changed your mind?”
She thought for a moment, hearing the other conversations fall silent as the company awaited her response. “I believe I said that the institution of marriage benefits men far more than it does women. When a woman marries, she gives up her independence and, indeed, all her legal rights. That said, I have no objection to a marriage where the partners enter into it with their eyes wide open and the intention of making a match of equals.”
“And are these your sentiments as well, Lord Endicott?” Miss Clemens pressed.
Diana held her breath, wondering how he would respond.
“Only a fool would discount Miss Somerville’s worth simply because of her sex. As for myself, I count myself lucky that she agreed to have me, despite my own flaws,” Lord Endicott said.
His ready support pleased her, and she smiled at him, willing to believe for the moment that he did, indeed, respect her opinions and that this was not all just part of their playacting.
“Gentlemen are poor creatures, indeed,” Mrs. Dunne said. “Where would they be if we did not take pity on them?”
Mr. Dunne laughingly agreed, praising his wife for having the great kindness to marry him, and Diana breathed a sigh of relief as the conversation turned to less dangerous topics.
After dinner, the ladies retired to the drawing room, while the gentlemen enjoyed Tony Dunne’s fine port. The talk soon turned to politics, but Stephen found his mind was elsewhere, wondering how Diana was faring.
Not that he did not trust Elizabeth Dunne to keep an eye out for her. But there were harpies aplenty in London society, as witness Miss Clemens and her insinuations. Even if Miss Clemens was hardly a match for Diana, who had put her in her place with a few choice sentences.
Still, it was a relief when the gentlemen finally rose to rejoin the ladies.
As Stephen entered the drawing room, his eyes were drawn immediately to Diana, who sat on the sofa, conversing animatedly with Mrs. Forsythe. Mrs. Forsythe was something of a bluestocking herself, and no doubt the two had much in common.
Stephen made his way through the room, paying his respects, until his footsteps drew him as if by accident to Elizabeth Dunne. He allowed her to pour him a cup of tea, though in truth it was far too late to drink such a beverage. Still, it gave him an excuse to linger, and he took a seat opposite his hostess.
“I think the evening is a success. As usual you have outdone yourself,” Stephen said.
Elizabeth Dunne shook her head modestly. “It was only a simple dinner party. Nothing to fuss over.”
“We gave you little time to prepare, and yet you still managed to plan the affair and assemble a respectable guest list.”
Indeed, the guests appeared to have been very carefully chosen. Most of them were friends of his or the Dunnes, leavened with a sprinkling of the leaders of London society, such as Miss Clemens and her brother, Matthew. And if asked, all who dined here would recount the tale that there was nothing at all remarkable in the evening, which was precisely as they had hoped.
“It was not difficult to convince folks to attend,” Elizabeth Dunne said. “Everyone was eager to meet your intended. As was I.”
He raised one eyebrow. “And?”
“And she is not what I expected,” Elizabeth Dunne said.
There was a strange heaviness in his chest, and Stephen schooled his face not to show the disappointment he felt.
“She is uncommonly intelligent and forthright,” Elizabeth Dunne added musingly. “An original, in the truest sense of the word. I find I like her.”
“I am glad,” Stephen replied. He wanted his friends to like Diana. Which was strange, he knew, since the engagement was only a pretense.
“But she is not a woman I would have picked for you.”
Ever since she had married Tony, Elizabeth Dunne had been trying to find a bride for his friend. She had introduced him to a score of eligible maidens: cousins, school friends, acquaintances from her home. Finally Stephen had had enough, and he had begged Tony to intercede for him. From then on the matchmaking stopped, although Elizabeth persisted in voicing her determination that what Stephen truly needed to secure his happiness was a wife.
“Under different circumstances we would probably have never met,” Stephen said.
Elizabeth Dunne glanced around, making certain no one was near enough to overhear. “How on earth did she get mixed up with George’s set? His reputation is well known, and surely she was not naive enough to fall for his wiles.”
Stephen shook his head as a trace of the old anger arose. “Do not mistake intelligence for common sense. Miss Somerville is still quite the innocent, for all her vaunted learning. And I dare say if her parents had moved more often in society, rather than rusticating in Kent, they would have known enough to warn her of my brother.”
“It was not your fault,” Elizabeth said.
It was kind of her to try and absolve him from blame, but Stephen knew full well where the fault lay.
“What is done is done,” he said.
“And what will you do this autumn? When she decides it is time to part ways?”
Diana’s laughter rang out from across the room, drawing his eye toward her. He had thought her pretty before, but now, seeing her cheeks flushed with laughter, he admitted that she was, indeed, beautiful.
Strange, he had known her for less than a fortnight, and already he felt protective of her. What would he feel four months from now, when it was time to let her go?
“By the autumn I will have plenty of practice at playing the part of a fiancé. When Miss Somerville decides to cast me off, perhaps I will let you give full rein to your matchmaking instincts and direct you to find me a wife.”
“It will be difficult to find you another such original,” Elizabeth Dunne said.
It would be impossible.