Lord Endicott shook his head in bafflement. One moment he and Miss Somerville had been chatting pleasantly about the opera. And the next instant they had been quarreling, about his brother of all things.
George, who had deliberately flouted his brother’s wishes and sought out Miss Somerville’s company. And who apparently had used his glib tongue to convince Miss Somerville of the sincerity of his repentance. When he had tried to point out that she was allowing herself to be duped, by a man who had betrayed her once before, Miss Somerville’s attitude had turned positively frosty.
Even now, as the singers massed on stage for the conclusion of the first half of the performance, Miss Somerville had turned away from him, conversing animatedly with Elizabeth Dunne. But he knew from the set of her back that Miss Somerville was angry with him—very angry—and he did not know how to remedy the situation.
As the lights rose for the intermission, many in the audience rose as well, hoping to stretch their legs or to visit acquaintances in the boxes.
“Ladies, shall we fetch champagne?” Tony Dunne asked.
“That would be lovely,” Elizabeth Dunne replied. “If you do not mind, Diana and I will stay here. I have no wish to fight the crowds.”
“Of course,” Tony said, with a quick glance at his wife’s face and waistline. Though no public announcement had been made, Stephen had learned only this week that the Dunnes were expecting their long-hoped-for second child. It was no wonder she had no wish to be jostled by the unruly crowds.
When he and Tony returned to the box, they found a small crowd had gathered, and they had to shoulder their way back in.
“Pardon me,” Lord Endicott said, brushing aside one young fop. There were only a half dozen or so visitors, but they filled the tiny box to bursting.
He looked over the crowd and spotted Diana’s dark head, nodding as if in agreement. And then he saw the sandy brown hair of her conversational partner, and he knew at once who it must be.
He swallowed hard, tasting bile. Was this really how it was to be? Could George have wormed his way back into Miss Somerville’s graces so easily?
By dint of personality he managed to clear a path through the box and reached Diana.
“Your champagne,” he said, handing her the glass flute.
“Thank you,” Diana replied.
“George,” he said coldly, giving his brother a frosty glare. “I did not expect to see you here.”
“Miss Fox insisted on paying her respects, and as her escort, I could hardly let her come alone,” George replied. He smiled ruefully, as if inviting his brother to commiserate on the difficulties of catering to whims of the female sex.
“Miss Somerville told me of your encounter yesterday,” Stephen said. He wondered if George could hear the warning in his words. Though there was little enough, in truth, that he could do to his brother. He had already warned him, banished him from Grosvenor Square, and withheld the advance upon his quarterly allowance that George had requested to pay off his many debts. There was nothing else he could do to control his brother, though a public flogging held more and more appeal.
“I am glad that she told you,” George said. “I hope we now understand one another.”
“I think we understand one another perfectly,” Stephen said. He did not know what game George was playing at, only that whatever scheme he had up his sleeve, it was sure to bode no good for anyone.
Diana stood equidistant between them, her gaze unreadable. He found himself wishing that she would come stand beside him, in a show of public support.
He heard the ringing of a bell and the attendants moving through the halls calling out that the performance was about to recommence.
“I have taken enough of your time,” George said to Diana. He picked up her hand, and Stephen watched in disbelief as she actually let him brush it with his lips. Then he relinquished it with every sign of reluctance. What would have been a polite courtesy in another gentleman seemed an obscene act, given George’s past treatment of Diana.
Then he turned to Stephen. “Brother,” he said. “George,” Stephen replied stiffly. He would not call this man brother.
“Give my regards to my mother,” George said. “Since I seldom have the opportunity to see her these days.”
“I will speak of you to Caroline,” Stephen promised, though he intended to do far more than simply pass along George’s regards. He would speak bluntly with Caroline about her son and see if she could convince him of the folly of his present course. If George continued to pester Miss Somerville, Stephen would have no choice but to take drastic action.
Diana was surprised to receive an invitation to take tea with Lady Endicott, for despite having hosted a ball in celebration of the engagement, the dowager viscountess had shown little interest in her future daughter-in-law. Nor had Stephen shown any interest in having her become better acquainted with his stepmother; indeed, he deliberately seemed to be keeping them apart. Strange, too, that his stepmother was not privy to the facts of their engagement, while his closest friends, the Dunnes, had been told the truth.
Even more intriguing was the postscript requesting that Diana come alone, without her mother. It was either a mark of rudeness or a sign that Lady Endicott wished to impart confidences that were best aired in private. And so it was with great curiosity that Diana ventured to the viscount’s residence in Grosvenor Square on the appointed day.
A liveried footman wearing an old-fashioned powdered wig greeted her at the door.
“The viscountess is expecting you,” he said. “If you would follow me, I will show you to the Chinese drawing room.”
He led the way down the hall, pausing outside the door to knock once, and then he opened it.
“Miss Somerville,” he announced, as if there was any doubt.
As Diana entered the room, her eyes were struck at once by the crimson-and-gold-colored walls and the sofas and settees which were upholstered to match. Two enormous blue-and-white vases flanked either side of the fireplace, while the mantel above displayed carved figurines of ivory. More vases and jade statues were found on the small tables that cluttered the room. It was as if she had stepped into a room in the palace of a Chinese emperor, and she marveled at the time and skill it must have taken to amass such a collection.
“Miss Somerville, it is so good of you to come,” Lady Endicott said, rising from her seat on the sofa. “Please, take a seat.”
“Lady Endicott, thank you for inviting me,” Diana said.
She stepped carefully around a table displaying an ivory and jade chess set and gazed longingly at a curio cabinet before she took a seat opposite her hostess.
“Pardon my staring, but you have so many beautiful things in this room,” Diana explained.
“You are most kind,” Lady Endicott said, with a smile. “This room is a favorite of mine. Most of the objets d’art in here were gifts from my late husband, and for that reason I treasure them.”
“He had exquisite taste,” Diana replied.
“In all things,” Lady Endicott agreed.
She poured a cup of tea into a porcelain cup that was so delicately fashioned that it was nearly translucent. Diana accepted it carefully, thinking that such beauty belonged on display rather than being used for an everyday occasion.
Or perhaps this was not an ordinary occasion, she reminded herself, as the viscountess poured her own tea. The two of them busied themselves adding cream and sugar and then exchanged the expected pleasantries. Diana offered the good wishes of her mother and father, neither of whom were aware of her presence here today. For her part, Lady Endicott expressed herself eager to better their acquaintance.
As they chatted pleasantly about trifles, Diana took the opportunity to study her hostess. Sunlight was not as kind to Lady Endicott as the candlelit glow of a ballroom, but she was still quite beautiful for a woman who must be nearing forty years of age. Her blond hair showed not the slightest trace of gray, and her French silk gown was in the height of fashion.
It was not till they had finished their tea that Lady Endicott turned the conversation toward more serious matters.
“I asked you here today so that we could get to know one another, since we are to be so closely related,” Lady Endicott said, putting down her tea cup upon the tray. “But I will admit to another motive as well.”
“Yes?” Diana prompted.
“I want to ask your help in healing the rifts between my sons,” Lady Endicott said.
This was something Diana had not expected. She had wondered at the reason for this meeting and supposed it might be natural curiosity. Lady Endicott might simply wish to quiz her in private, wondering how it was that Diana and Stephen had become acquainted. Or, if somehow word of the scandal had reached her ears, Lady Endicott might have intended to question Diana about it. She had even imagined that Lady Endicott might wish to apologize for any pain that George had inflicted. But never had she imagined that the viscountess would ask Diana to play the role of peacemaker.
“I don’t understand,” Diana said, as the silence stretched on between them.
“Surely you must have noticed at the ball there was some awkwardness between them,” Lady Endicott said.
“I am afraid that I did not notice,” Diana lied. “In truth, I was overwhelmed by the excitement of the evening.”
Lady Endicott gave her a shrewd look and then sighed. “You must understand that I was but a girl when I married Lord Endicott. And though there were fifteen years between us, it was, indeed, a love match, and we cared for each other greatly. But from the very first, young Stephen resented me.”
“I suppose he missed his own mother,” Diana said.
“Of course, and I tried ray best to make it up to him. But the harder I tried, the more stubbornly he pushed me away. It was worse when George was born. Rather than being pleased at having a new brother, he resented every minute that his father or I spent with the baby.”
It was difficult to imagine. How could anyone not like having a new brother? Diana had been thrilled each time her mother had presented the family with a new sister, her only disappointment that none of them was the brother that they hoped for.
“No doubt it was hard for him to share your attention. After all, he was the only child for eight years,” Diana said, feeling she had to defend him.
“We thought it was just a childish whim and that he would soon outgrow it,” Lady Endicott said. “Andrew and I tried hard to treat both boys equally, but Stephen was always jealous. Whatever George had, Stephen had to have as well. When George was given a pony, Stephen demanded a new hunter. If George had a set of toy soldiers, Stephen needed the same, no matter that he was too old for such childishness. As the boys grew older, it became worse. George worshipped his older brother and could never understand why Stephen rebuffed his every offer of friendship.”
Lady Endicott painted a grim picture, indeed, but one that was all too plausible. A grieving widower, his young wife, and the only child who found himself no longer the center of his father’s attention. Many a boy might have acted as she described. But it was hard to reconcile these images with the man that she had come to know. The Stephen she knew was invariably kind and thoughtful. He had displayed infinite patience when dealing with Diana’s younger sisters. She found it hard to believe that he could have behaved as badly as Lady Endicott seemed to imply.
“But surely they are both gentlemen now and of an age to mend any childish quarrels,” Diana protested.
“So one would hope. And in time they might have mended things, if my husband had lived. As it was, he died most unexpectedly, leaving Stephen the burden of the title when he was barely one and twenty. His new stature quite went to his head, and Stephen became even more dictatorial and controlling. It was no wonder that George rebelled. With neither father nor brother to guide him, I fear greatly that my son may fall into unsavory company.”
Lady Endicott took a handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed at her pale blue eyes. “A mother worries so,” she explained.
And she was right to worry, though Diana had no intention of being the one to tell Lady Endicott that her precious son was well on his way to becoming an incorrigible rake having tried to ruin a young gentlewoman to satisfy a drunken wager. Diana could not make such an accusation without revealing that she herself had been the intended victim.
It was no wonder that Lady Endicott had such a biased view of Stephen’s behavior. Diana wondered how many other scandals George had caused that his mother had remained oblivious to. Lady Endicott saw only Stephen’s efforts to rein in his brother, without understanding the reasons why Stephen acted as he did. It was a dilemma, to be certain, but it was not her place to solve it.
“And you wish my help?” Diana asked.
“Yes,” Lady Endicott replied. “I will admit that the news of your engagement came as a surprise, for Stephen had never even mentioned you to me. But then I realized that your marriage would be a blessing for us all. Once he has a family of his own, Stephen will no longer have any reason to be jealous of George. You can help him see the light and to appreciate George’s many fine qualities.”
Diana doubted that very much. Merely mentioning George’s name was enough to make Stephen’s jaw clench with anger. And she had her own quarrel with George that made her disinclined to advance his cause.
“Stephen, that is, Lord Endicott, is a good man. An honorable man,” Diana said. “I know that he can be trusted to do what is right by his family.”
And there was little enough she could do. If she were to marry Stephen, then that would be a different story. Then, given time, she might be able to influence the behavior of both brothers. But as a temporary fiancée, her powers of persuasion were, indeed, limited.
“Of course. And I hope I have not distressed you with my candor.”
“Not at all. You have given me much to think about,” Diana said.
Now she just had to decide what, if anything, she would tell Stephen of this meeting. Or perhaps she would be better served to keep her own counsel. Time and observation would prove or disprove Lady Endicott’s assertions, and then Diana would make up her own mind on what course of action she should take.
On Monday evenings the Explorers’ club served sirloins of beef, and in the height of the season it was no surprise to find the dining room filled to capacity. When he arrived, Lord Endicott was shown to a table where his friends were already seated. They greeted him amiably, remarking on how seldom he had been seen at the club this season. He explained that he had been uncommonly busy, which drew nods of understanding and reassurances that once he was wed, there would be no need to dance constant attendance upon his wife.
Fortunately the servants chose that moment to bring the main course, saving him from the necessity of making a reply. As they devoured the excellent beef, a reverent hush fell over the table, testimony to the chef’s great skill. It was not until the main courses were cleared away that the conversation once again became general. Stephen toyed with his fork, barely touching the sweet set before him.
He felt curiously disconnected from this place, as if he were an observer in his own body. It was strange. These Monday dinners had been part of the ritual of his existence for years now, and yet on this night he wondered why he had bothered to come. Even the things that had once brought him pleasure now seemed dull and lifeless. Twice he looked up and found Tony Dunne’s eyes resting on him, his face showing concern. But they were seated at opposite ends of the table, so he was safe from interrogation.
After what seemed an eternity, the sweet course was cleared away, and the diners arose. Mr. Smythe and Mr. Campbell took their leave, no doubt bound for some gaming hell or another. The rest expressed their intention of retiring to the library for brandy and cigars.
Tony Dunne caught his eye. “Shall we play a hand or two of piquet?” he asked.
Stephen shrugged. “Why not?”
He had no wish to play at cards, but neither did he wish to return to the house in Grosvenor Square and to his solitary thoughts.
He followed Tony up the stairs and into the blue parlor, which was quiet at this time of the evening. Save for Lord Grimthorpe, who dozed quietly by the fireplace, the room was empty.
A footman brought a fresh pack of cards and placed a brandy decanter and two goblets on the table beside them
He wondered if Tony would press him, but his friend seemed content to let him be, talking only as the game dictated. Stephen tried to lose himself in the play; but his mind wandered, and it was no surprise when Tony Dunne took the final trick and won the round.
“Again?” Tony asked, gathering up the cards.
“Yes,” Stephen said, reaching for his goblet. He raised it to his lips, but only tasted the brandy before setting it down. He knew instinctively that the answers he sought were not to be found in a brandy glass.
They played for a few moments, and then suddenly he could take no more of this. He folded his cards together and set them carefully down on the table. “I am losing her,” he confessed.
Tony Dunne set down his own cards. “What do you mean?”
Stephen kept his gaze fixed upon the brightly colored playing cards. It was easier to talk this way. “Miss Somerville. I am losing her, and I don’t know what to do.”
He waited for Tony Dunne to remind him of what they both knew. That Miss Somerville had never been his to lose in the first place. That they had entered into their arrangement both knowing it was a temporary affair, a deception meant to fool society. But, instead, he had been the one fooled. He had tried to convince society that they were in love, and, instead, he had convinced himself.
“You do not wish her to return to Kent?” Tony Dunne asked.
Stephen shook his head. “Actually, I would be happy to see her back in her home. Circumstances being what they are, I urged her father not to delay their departure, but, instead, to leave as planned.”
“The circumstances being your brother’s arrival.”
“Yes,” Stephen confirmed. He did not trust George and was convinced that his brother had it in mind to work some great mischief. But Miss Somerville had no intention of heeding his cautions. “When Diana found that I had spoken to her father, she was furious. She told me that I had no right to do so and that I was a high-handed brute for trying to dictate her life. Said she had no intention of leaving London and missing the excitement of the visiting foreign royals.”
“But you are her fiancé.”
“For now,” Stephen said. “She offered to release me from the engagement at once if her behavior displeased me.”
“Naturally you refused.”
“Of course.” Stephen ran one hand through his hair. “I do not know what to do. A fortnight ago I was certain we were approaching an understanding. I planned to ask her to marry me in truth. And then George returned, and everything changed.”
Tony Dunne gazed at him keenly and then reached over to the decanter and refilled his glass. He contemplated the brandy in silence before lifting his eyes to his friend. When he spoke, his gaze was full of compassion. “Have you considered that this may be for the best? If Miss Somerville is so easily swayed, then she is not the woman for you.”
“No,” Stephen replied without thinking. The fault lay not with Miss Somerville, but with himself. He should have spoken of his feelings, convinced her of the sincerity of his regard. Instead, he had courted her slowly, not wishing to frighten her off. He had hoped that in time she would see how well suited they were for each other and agree to become his wife.
“She does not want me. I am too dull, too conservative for her tastes. She wants excitement. She wants George, and she is ready to forgive his misdeeds.”
The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. How could she be so naive? George had callously tried to ruin Diana. And yet, such was his charm that with a few glib speeches and show of contrition, he was well on the way to regaining Miss Somerville’s trust. Not that Diana was foolish, but rather her own good nature blinded her to the wickedness of others. Such innocence made her easy prey here in London. He shuddered to think what would happen if she was ever able to fulfill her dream of traveling the world.
“So what do you plan to do? Will you just stand aside, and let George take her?”
He had spent two sleepless nights pondering this very question. He did not know what to do. Diana would not listen to reason, and if he pressed much harder, he was afraid that she would carry through on her threat and notify the papers that the engagement was at an end. And then he would have no opportunity to see her at all.
And as for his brother, there was another dilemma.
“I tried to buy him off,” Stephen said. “Offered him a thousand pounds to leave England and return to the Continent. But he refused. Said he wouldn’t leave for ten thousand pounds.”
He had been certain that his brother would accept the bribe. Money had always worked with George before, and a thousand pounds was more than George’s annual allowance. But it seemed this time his brother had something different in mind.
“If he is not willing to leave, then perhaps you have misjudged him. Perhaps he does, indeed, love this Miss Somerville, in his own way.”
“No,” Stephen said. “That I will not believe.”
“You could always have him kidnapped. Find some captain heading to India or the Orient and pay him to take on an unwilling passenger,” Tony suggested.
“Do not tempt me.” He had already thought of this himself. He supposed it was a measure of his desperation that he was willing to consider such dishonorable actions.
“Then, what shall you do?”
“What I can. Watch. Wait. Be her friend, if she will let me,” he said. He could not let her go, and he refused to let George win. Somehow, he would find a way to convince her that he was the only man for her.
Nearly a week had passed since she had taken tea with the dowager Lady Endicott, and Diana still did not know what to make of the viscountess’s remarks. The picture she had painted of Stephen as a brooding and jealous older brother was a grim one, indeed. A part of Diana wanted to dismiss it out of hand, and yet another part could not help wondering if there was at least a grain of truth in what Lady Endicott had said. It was against Diana’s nature to be suspicious of anyone, and yet clearly here someone must be lying or, at the very least, bending the truth to suit their own purpose.
And then there was Stephen, who rather than playing the sinister role assigned to him was acting as a perfect gentleman, seeming to belie his stepmother’s words. He had apologized to Diana for their quarrel at the opera, saying that he had been wrong to doubt her judgment. To make up for his sins, he had offered to teach her to drive a whiskey-gig, and his kindness made her feel all the more wretched for harboring suspicions about his motives.
If only there was someone she could trust, an impartial bystander who would help her tell truth from falsehood. But there was no one she could turn to. Stephen was hardly a neutral party, and yet she longed to confide in him. Still, she knew instinctively that he would be displeased to learn that she had discussed him with his stepmother, and she had no wish to quarrel with him. She shivered as she imagined how angry he would be if she tried to discover whether there was any truth in his stepmother’s accusations.
“Are you cold? We can do this another day,” Lord Endicott said.
“No,” Diana replied, summoning up a bright smile. “The fog will soon burn off, and I would not miss this for anything.”
It was just past eight o’clock, and the fashionable streets in London were empty, many of their residents still in their beds after staying out till nearly dawn. Green Park would be all but empty at this hour, which was why Lord Endicott had chosen it for her driving lesson. He was far too cautious to let her try her skills during the afternoon, when the park would be crowded with the fashionable set. But perhaps, after she had had a lesson or two, she could convince him to let her drive during the afternoon promenade. She imagined the look of astonishment and envy upon the faces of the other young women of the ton, as they saw Diana expertly tooling the carriage along the crowded pathways.
The gates of Green Park loomed up through the fog, and the carriage passed between them. A few yards inside the gate, Lord Endicott drew the gig to a stop, and the groom hopped off the rear seat and went to hold the horse’s head.
Lord Endicott set the whip into a small holder and then pulled up a wooden lever on the left-hand side of the coach. “The hand brake,” he explained. “Though it will not hold a horse if he chooses to bolt, which is why I bring Jim along, to hold the horse when I stop the carriage.”
Diana nodded. This much she already knew.
“You have driven a pony cart, yes?” Lord Endicott asked.
“Yes,” Diana replied. Several years before, her father had given in to her pleading and taught her to drive the pony cart. She had often driven her sisters into the village or to pay calls upon a neighboring estate. But the cart was a slow, four-wheeled contraption, and the pony that pulled it was a placid beast, who had never galloped in his life. A far cry from the two-wheeled gig and the fine thoroughbred that Lord Endicott drove. At this moment she was grateful that Lord Endicott had chosen the whiskey-gig, rather than the highly fashionable and equally unstable curricle.
“The principle is the same,” Lord Endicott said. “But you will find that Ajax here requires more sensitive handling than a pony. And the whiskey-gig is lighter than a cart, which means he can set a fast pace, when needed.”
“How fast can he go?”
“We will not find out today,” Lord Endicott said. “Let us try simply to make a circuit of the park without mishap, shall we?”
“Very well.”
Lord Endicott moved his grip so he held one rein in each hand, and then he drew them toward her. “Here, put your hands on the reins, just above mine,” he said.
Diana leaned forward slightly and grasped the reins. She was conscious suddenly of his nearness, his side pressing against hers, and his large, capable hands seemingly dwarfing hers. It was a dizzying sensation, and for a moment she could not concentrate.
She took a deep breath. “I have them,” she said.
Lord Endicott removed his own hands from the reins.
“Good. Let’s try this at a walk. Jim,” he called, and the groom let go of the horse’s head and climbed on the back.
“Ready?”
“Yes,” Diana said, trying to ignore the butterflies that had taken up residence inside her stomach.
Lord Endicott released the hand brake and then placed his own hands over hers. She could feel the heat of them even through the kid leather gloves she wore. “Shake the reins once, and Ajax will know to walk on.”
Diana did so, and the horse obediently set off at a rather tame walk. Lord Endicott’s hands rested lightly over hers, steadying her as she became accustomed to the sensation. The reins were far lighter than she was accustomed to, and Ajax was exceptionally well trained, for he moved at the slightest touch. When the path split into two, it took only a subtle pressure on the right rein, and he turned himself obediently down the right-hand path.
Diana beamed over at Lord Endicott. “See? I knew I could do this,” she announced.
“Keep your eyes on the path,” he said. But he smiled back at her and released his hands so that she was driving on her own.
Diana felt a thrill of exhilaration, realizing that this magnificent conveyance was, indeed, under her control. It was better than she had ever imagined, and she pitied the young ladies who lived their whole lives without ever once having experienced this for themselves. They made three circuits of the park, two at a walk, and the final one at a smooth trot. Lord Endicott was endlessly patient, even when she misjudged a turn, causing the carriage to leave the pathway for a moment, leaving wheel tracks upon the dew-soaked grass. He waited until she had guided Ajax back onto the path before reminding her that when moving swiftly she needed to keep looking ahead, to give her plenty of time to maneuver.
When they finished the third circuit, the fog had, indeed, burned off, and there were now a handful of people strolling along, enjoying their morning constitutional, as well as a few other carriages. But there was no one she recognized who could bear witness to her daring.
“Again? Please?” Diana asked.
“Not today,” Lord Endicott said. “We should stop now, before your arms get tired and you make a mistake.”
Reluctantly Diana handed him back the reins, and as she flexed her hands, she discovered that they were, indeed, tired. And her shoulders were slightly sore, but these minor aches meant nothing when compared with the excitement of her experience.
“That was wonderful,” she said.
“I am glad that you enjoyed it,” Lord Endicott replied. “It is my pleasure to please you.”
“And you have done so very well,” Diana replied.
Her happiness and the bright sunshine combined to dispel her earlier doubts, and she felt in perfect charity with him as he drove her back to Chesterfield Hill.