11

Diana could not escape Lucius Boyle.

He was like some kind of perpetually bowing puppy, always dogging her heels and either unaware or unheeding of her attempts to discourage him.

If she and Regina went shopping on Bond Street, he was frequently waiting outside the door of whatever shop they’d entered, be it milliner or modiste, offering to carry their boxes and escort them home. If they went to a ball, he’d somehow have procured an invitation and would appear at Diana’s side as soon as she entered the room, asking for multiple dances. (And even though the Ladies of the Registry had decreed it was permissible to refuse a dance partner, Diana found it difficult to deny one of her own relations.) He was often to be found in Lady Regina’s drawing room as well, conveniently scheduling his calls to coincide with the entrance of other ladies and gentlemen, so that Diana and Regina could not deny they were “at home.”

After one of these calls had concluded and all the visitors had left, Diana was surprised to hear Mr. Dean’s voice in the hallway.

“I seem to have lost my watch fob when I was just here. No need to announce me, I’ll explain to the ladies,” she heard him say to the footman who had opened the door at his knock.

Lady Regina had gone upstairs already, but Diana was standing at the window, staring out of it, and thinking how frustrating it was to always be in the company of the man you disliked rather than being in the sole company of the man . . . well, that you didn’t dislike.

She turned at Mr. Dean’s entrance and was surprised by how her heart leapt in her chest at the sight of him, especially as she had only said goodbye to him a few minutes earlier. He looked pleased to see her as well, and she reflected for a moment on how two men’s smiles could evoke such vastly different reactions. When Lucius Boyle smiled at her she thought it a repellant thing; it never seemed to reach his eyes, which were always darting around greedily, like a snake’s. But Mr. Dean’s smile lit up his entire face. His gaze never faltered but met hers steadily, and there was warmth, tenderness, even affection, in its silvery depths.

She wondered what he saw in her eyes and if they betrayed her fondness for him. She had yet to acknowledge that she felt so strongly about him, even to herself.

“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Boyle, for intruding on you once again, but I seem to have misplaced my fob.” He was still standing in the doorway as he said this, where he could be heard very clearly by the servants.

“It is no intrusion at all, Mr. Dean, you are always welcome,” Diana replied.

Mr. Dean stepped into the room, hesitated a moment, and then shut the door behind him. He did it very softly, but the sound of the door closing seemed to Diana to be unnaturally loud in the quiet room. Then he crossed quickly to her side.

“I must sincerely beg your pardon this time,” he said in a lowered tone, “because I did not, in truth, lose my fob. I placed it in the seat cushions myself so that I would have an excuse to come and speak with you after the others had left.”

“It is no matter, Mr. Dean, I suspected it was an excuse,” Diana replied, in a similarly quiet tone so as not to be overheard by the servants. She was as affected by his nearness as she always was, however, so was slightly breathless and doubted she could raise her voice much louder, anyway. She stepped back a few paces in an attempt to gather her composure before smiling playfully at him. “To be entirely honest with you, I didn’t believe in the fob’s existence, and am amazed you had the presence of mind to actually hide something.”

He smiled briefly, but then quickly turned and walked to the sofa. She wondered if she had offended him when she had moved away from him, but then she realized he was feeling around between the cushions, looking for his fob. She followed him to the sofa, curious to see it, as she was aware he wore something hanging from his watch chain but had never paid it much notice. He retrieved it from the sofa just as she arrived at his side.

“May we sit?” he asked, and she was embarrassed that she hadn’t already invited him to do so. But after she’d sat on the sofa and he sat next to her, she was conscious once again that they were in the room alone together, unchaperoned, with the door closed. She had only ever been in private like this with one other man, her late husband, and then only rarely, as they’d almost always been accompanied by Mildred.

Mr. Dean started to put the fob back on its chain but she stopped him. “May I see it?” she asked, reaching out her hand.

He placed the small golden object on her outstretched palm, his fingers lightly brushing her hand.

She stared unseeingly at the fob for a moment, forgetting it altogether in the excitement and nervousness she felt at his touch. She realized that her hand was trembling and was mortified that he might notice. Finally, when she’d calmed herself and her hand was steady, she brought the fob close and examined it carefully.

It was shaped like an upside-down V and carved from two shades of gold, rose and yellow, with bands of intertwining leaves and roses forming the neck of it, and ending at a round amethyst base. The base was an intaglio on which was inscribed the French phrase: “Je pense à vous toi.”

“ ‘I think of you,’ ” Diana murmured, translating the phrase aloud. But before she had finished her inspection, Mr. Dean had rushed into speech.

“I suppose it’s not a manly trinket, but I’m very fond of it. My brother has one with the family crest; it’s quite intimidating with a lion and armor and an obscure Latin motto, so my mother had this one made for me. She didn’t want me to feel left out, I imagine.” He spoke jerkily, almost as if he was embarrassed, and Diana realized the fob must mean a great deal to him. “I always thought I would give it to my wife one day to wear on a neck chain. If I marry, that is. And if she wanted it, of course. I suppose it’s not very impressive, compared to a necklace of diamonds or sapphires.”

“It’s beautiful. I’m sure she would greatly cherish such a gift,” Diana said, wondering why Mr. Dean was so self-conscious, and if it was because he was worried she would find his treasured possession lacking. Or perhaps it was because he was not wealthy and couldn’t afford to buy a woman expensive gifts, and knew that Diana did have the means to buy precious gemstones and it made him feel inferior. Diana remembered very clearly how it felt to be poor, and how, though she’d have given her mother the world if she could have, the only gifts she’d been able to give her were drawings she’d made on scraps of paper, or little baubles made over from other people’s garbage. “I would cherish such a gift,” Diana emphatically said, and so eager was she to reassure him that she did not think how her words could be misinterpreted. However, when Mr. Dean’s expression changed to one of delighted wonder, and he moved closer and grasped her shoulders, she realized that he had imbued more significance into her statement than she’d intended. “I mean, that is—I didn’t mean—” she said inarticulately, too nervous to form a complete sentence.

She was dismayed to see his face fall, and he dropped his hands from her shoulders as if scalded. “I apologize,” he said, backing away from her.

“You need not—” she began, but he wouldn’t allow her to absolve him.

“You have made it clear that you have no desire to marry,” he said, “and I have no right to press my attentions on you.” He moved further away from her as he said this, and Diana shivered a little in an involuntary response.

“It was my fault entirely—” Diana said, but once again he interrupted, and she realized he was indeed upset, as he was usually scrupulously polite when conversing with her.

“No, I wronged you before we even met, publishing that directory and exposing you to attentions that are burdensome to you. I’ve regretted it many times since, but I don’t think I fully appreciated the enormity of my mistake until very recently,” he said. “That is the reason why I manufactured this opportunity to speak to you alone. I wanted to talk to you about Lucius Boyle.”

Diana wasn’t sure she was ready to change topics so quickly. Her head was still whirling from Mr. Dean’s near-embrace, and at the present moment she wasn’t as convinced she wanted a life of chaste singleness as she had been when she’d first met him. “You wanted to talk to me about Lucius Boyle?” she repeated, as she could only barely comprehend what he was saying and wanted to confirm she’d heard him correctly. She’d had no idea what he had intended to discuss when he’d created this opportunity to be alone with her, but if she were to have her pick of subjects, Lucius Boyle would not be one of them.

“I feel it is my fault that he is so determinedly pursuing you, since my directory is inevitably what brought you to his notice, and I wanted to be sure I was correct in assuming you did not desire his attentions before I rid you of them.”

“Before you . . . rid me of them?” Diana asked, thinking as she did so that he must think her simpleminded, to keep repeating his words as she did.

“I beg your pardon, that sounded as if I intended to murder him,” said Mr. Dean, with a crooked smile. “I don’t intend anything so drastic. But before I do anything at all, I wanted to obtain your permission.”

“This is very chivalrous of you, Mr. Dean, but you are mistaken in thinking that it is your fault my cousin is pursuing me. It was my sister-in-law who introduced him to me and who is promoting the match.”

“Is she? That’s interesting,” Mr. Dean said, frowning slightly.

“Therefore, as eager as I am to escape Mr. Boyle’s attentions, I could not impose on you in such a manner,” Diana said, though she couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement that he wanted to intervene on her behalf. She had used the word “chivalrous” without giving it much thought, but she did feel a little like a maiden in the Middle Ages, with a brave knight offering to joust for her favor.

“Nonsense, it is what any man of honor would do if he became aware of a lady in distress,” Mr. Dean said. “It is not an imposition in the least; it is my privilege.”

Diana decided not to waste any more time trying to dissuade him from helping her, for if he considered such a thing a privilege, it would be selfish of her to deprive him of it. And, as independent as she liked to think herself, and as happy as she was to have total authority at Whitley House and not have to answer to any man, she had to admit it was refreshing to have someone constitute himself her protector and defender. It occurred to her that perhaps this was what a real marriage was like, and how a true husband should act. Maybe Lady Gordon was correct: it wasn’t matrimony itself that was so terrible but entering into it with the wrong person.

“Well, sir, if you are determined to help me, I will admit to you, in confidence, that I find Mr. Boyle’s suit unwelcome. But it’s difficult for me to dissuade him as he is a relation, however distant,” Diana said. “If you are able to find a way to spare me his attentions, you would have my heartfelt gratitude.”

“That is more than I could wish for,” Mr. Dean said, with a slight bow, and Diana felt none of the irritation that Mr. Boyle’s bows induced in her. In fact, when Mr. Dean lowered his head, it made her conscious of the fact that his face was now closer to her own. As were his lips . . .

After a silence that stretched a little too long, Diana realized she had been gazing at him, at his mouth in particular, and quickly looked down at her hands. Only to see that she was still clasping his fob.

“Oh, Mr. Dean, I beg your pardon; I never returned this to you,” she said, and in her eagerness to do so she dropped it just shy of the hand he’d reached out. “Oh! I am so sorry,” she said, looking down to where the fob lay glittering on the carpet. She dropped to the floor to retrieve it as Mr. Dean was telling her there was no harm done and he would get it. But by this time she already had the fob in her hand and had begun rising from the floor just as he was kneeling down. She accidentally collided into him and her head brushed against his chest.

And stayed there.

Diana could not figure out what had happened, she just knew that when she attempted to pull her head away from Mr. Dean’s chest she could not, and such an action caused a painful jerking of her hair. She felt exceedingly awkward and uncomfortable, especially as she was in a precarious position and had to hold on to his arm so that she did not fall.

“Mrs. Boyle, I’m afraid that your hair has caught on my watch chain. Or perhaps it’s stuck on my button, I cannot exactly tell,” Mr. Dean said, and although Diana could not see his face, she imagined he must feel as silly and awkward as she did. Though perhaps not. She was the one plastered against his chest, practically embracing him, while in a crouching position on the floor. Why had she ever thought it a good idea to get on the floor? She had not spent very long at that school when she was fourteen, but she could imagine that one of the cardinal rules must have been: “Proper young ladies should never crouch down on drawing room floors.” Was it all a bad dream? She did not see how it could really be happening. She closed her eyes, hoping that when she opened them, she’d wake up alone in her bed, but she could still smell Mr. Dean, so she knew she was not dreaming. She was thankful that he, like Beau Brummel, obviously believed in the importance of daily bathing and freshly laundered clothes. His scent was not at all offensive, quite the opposite in fact. It was rather enticing, like the man himself. But such thoughts were not at all helpful in her current predicament. She tried to pull her head away again, but only succeeded in jerking her hair so hard her eyes watered.

Mr. Dean put his hand against the back of her head to keep her from moving it. “Please, don’t. You’ll only do yourself an injury. I can free you, if you will allow me?”

“Yes, of course,” she said, even though she had no idea what his methods would entail. She hoped they did not involve sharp blades, but then again, a haircut might be the quickest and least painful way out of this.

“If you would just make yourself comfortable, this might take a few minutes,” Mr. Dean said, and she could feel the reverberation of the words in his chest as he spoke. She wondered how he could think she could possibly ever be comfortable in such a situation, but he slowly shifted his own position while gently guiding her with his hands, and somehow he was sitting on the floor and she was perched on his thigh with her legs stretched out in front of her, and it was definitely less awkward than the bent position they’d been in previously, though she was still overcome with embarrassment to find herself in such an intimate situation. Then she felt his fingers gently moving through her hair, and it was as if a host of butterflies were fluttering inside of her.

“I am more sorry than I can say to have to take such liberties,” Mr. Dean said, in a constricted tone, and she wondered if his entire body was tingling from head to toe, as hers was. “I cannot see what I’m doing, but I am trying to be as gentle as possible.”

“Don’t worry, I’m fine,” she managed to respond, which was possibly the biggest untruth she had ever told.

He removed a few hairpins, then threaded his fingers through the strands he’d released, and Diana hoped he couldn’t feel how rapidly her heart was beating. “Your hair is like silk; it’s so beautiful,” he whispered, as if he did not mean to say it aloud but could not stop himself.

“Thank you,” Diana whispered back, settling herself more securely onto his lap and into his arms. She had nearly forgotten what had brought her to this moment with its attendant embarrassment, and now, instead of wanting it to end, she was wishing she could stay forever in this haven of warmth and tenderness. Though if she were perfectly honest with herself, his arms weren’t exactly a safe haven, as there was a very real danger in the desire that was stirring between them.

Mr. Dean had at least retained enough presence of mind to continue his task because, although Diana had lost almost all awareness of her surroundings, if he did not free her from her entanglement their only alternatives were to be discovered together or to call for help, either of which might prove disastrous to her reputation. However, he did not seem to be in a hurry, and removed all of her pins until the hair that wasn’t caught in his watch chain was tumbling down around her shoulders. Then he proceeded to run his hands through waves and curls that Diana knew, and he had to have known, too, were not part of the problem.

Still, she did not utter one word of protest, even when his fingers dipped down to caress her neck, which made it more than obvious he’d lost sight of his supposed goal. But finally, inevitably, he returned to his task, making little murmured apologies when he felt he’d tugged too hard in his attempts to free her.

Diana would murmur reassurances back, though she had little idea what she was saying, and when he finally succeeded in detaching her hair, she made no move to remove herself from his arms. But really, she hadn’t much time to do so, because as soon as she raised her head from his chest he was kissing her.

His hands were still in her hair and so she figured that gave her the right to touch his, too, and she understood then why he had so enjoyed stroking hers. She wanted to tell him she found his hair beautiful as well, but not only was she unsure if that was the type of compliment you paid a man, it would also require her to stop kissing him, which she was extremely loath to do.

She was not sure how long or how many times he had kissed her, she was not even sure how (or if) you were supposed to keep count of such a thing, she only knew it seemed not nearly long enough when she heard the creak of the stairs.

She was aware of the noise before Mr. Dean was, and when she pulled away from him, he merely looked confused, as if he hadn’t quite awakened from a dream. “Someone is coming,” Diana hissed at him, and his rapturous look quickly transformed to one of alertness, then trepidation.

They both jumped up from the floor and Diana noticed that she must have dropped the fob at some point during their embrace, as it was lying, forgotten, on the carpet. Diana allowed Mr. Dean to retrieve it, having learned her lesson. He quickly put the fob in his pocket, before picking up her hairpins, which were also scattered on the floor.

“Mrs. Boyle, please forgive me,” he said, handing her the pins with a look of dismay. “Your hair . . . this all looks extremely untoward . . .” he said, running his hand through his own hair. This prompted Diana to try to tidy hers as well, but she could tell from Mr. Dean’s expression that such efforts were useless; there was absolutely no way she could pin it back up before they were discovered. And a lady with her hair down, alone, in the presence of a man she was not married to, was breaking a number of rules so shocking that even the Ladies of the Registry could not absolve her of the consequences.

They could now hear voices in the hall, and Diana was relieved when she realized that it was Regina talking to a servant. Perhaps she was leaving on an errand and would not even enter the room.

This wish was not to be granted, however. Diana and Mr. Dean stared at each other in silence, their eyes wide, as they heard Regina say: “Mr. Dean is here?” and then an apparently affirmative reply from the footman, whose words were indecipherable. They then heard Regina’s footsteps as she approached the door, and they both turned to watch fearfully as the knob turned, the door opened, and Regina entered the room.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Dean,” Regina said with a pleasant smile, which disappeared after she had fully taken in the scene before her. Diana realized it must look very bad, indeed, if Regina could look so very shocked at the mere sight of her. Regina turned quickly and shut the door behind her, though after doing so, she said loudly, “I’ve been told you misplaced your fob.”

Regina then walked over to where Diana and Mr. Dean stood. “Diana, are you all right?” she asked.

“I am fine, Regina, though I realize I do not look it,” Diana said, with a slight smile.

Regina expelled a breath of relief and said, “Well, I, more than anyone, should know not to judge by appearances. Perhaps I am de trop and should leave you to your private affair—matters?” she asked, deciding to rephrase the sentence but doing so a little too late.

“Of course you are not de trop, it is merely a comedy of errors,” Diana said, at the same time Mr. Dean said, “I hold myself fully to blame, Lady Regina.”

Diana turned to him and said, “No one is to blame, Mr. Dean.” She then turned back to address Regina. “Though if someone is at fault it is I, for being so clumsy as to drop Mr. Dean’s fob after finding it, bumping into him when we both bent down to retrieve it, and getting my hair caught in his watch chain.”

Regina laughed. “Is that what happened to your hair? You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedgerow. And did you lose all your pins in the process, too?”

Diana could not control her blush at her friend’s innocent question, and Mr. Dean also looked uncomfortable. “It was a difficult task, extricating ourselves. I had to . . . remove Mrs. Boyle’s, um, hairpins,” he said, looking so very guilt-stricken that Diana reflected that he must be as unused to participating in amorous intrigues as she was. (A thought which delighted her for some reason that she didn’t have time to analyze at that moment.)

“I see,” said Regina, and Diana was very much afraid that she did. There was an awkward silence, broken at last by Mr. Dean.

“If Lady Regina will help you with your hair, Mrs. Boyle, I will take my leave of you. But I will keep you apprised of my progress in that matter we discussed earlier.”

“I greatly appreciate your assistance, but I wish you will not go to too much trouble,” Diana said, realizing he spoke of Lucius Boyle.

“It is no trouble at all,” he said softly, and taking her hand in his, he bowed over it, before saying goodbye to Lady Regina and leaving the room.

“ ‘A comedy of errors,’ was it?” Lady Regina asked. “Were you enacting a scene from A Midsummer Night’s Dream?”

Diana ignored her friend’s remark, plopping herself down on the sofa with a sigh. “Can you do anything with my hair? I would prefer that none of the servants see me coming out of the room like this.”

“I would do a very poor job of it I’m afraid, but if you give me your pins, I think I can manage a coronet of braids. And if any of the servants notice, we can pretend we were trying out new hairstyles on each other. Perhaps you should do something to my hair as well,” Regina said. “We can tell them it’s a new parlor game that’s all the rage.”

Regina started braiding Diana’s hair, but there was a definite feeling of constraint between them. “What I told you was the truth, by the way,” Diana finally said, in an attempt to dispel the uneasy atmosphere. “I did get my hair caught in his watch chain in the manner I described. But it’s not the entire truth. While he was untangling my hair we were thrown into very close proximity, practically an embrace. And after I was finally free, he, that is, we . . . did embrace.”

“That was rather obvious, Diana dear. You both looked entirely too guilty, like cats who had just been feasting on some particularly tasty cream. And it was mighty suspicious that he found it necessary to remove every last one of your hairpins. Though better those than any items of clothing, I suppose.”

“Regina, really! It was just a kiss,” Diana said, shocked.

“Only one?”

“Regina!” Diana said, before she started giggling. She was suddenly overcome with a rush of gratitude that she had a friend in whom she could confide, and one, too, who wouldn’t immediately assume the worst of her. She hugged Regina, startling her. “Thank you.”

“I am not sure what you are thanking me for, but if it’s for your new coiffure, I’m not quite done with it,” Regina said, returning her hug. “And you haven’t seen it yet.”

Diana laughed and was silent once again. Regina broke the silence after a minute or two to tell her she had finished and it was Diana’s turn to do her hair. “And Diana?” Regina said.

“Yes?”

“I just wondered, couldn’t Mr. Dean have just removed his chain from his waistcoat, and freed you much more quickly?”

Diana thought about it for a moment and then shrugged. “I am not sure. Possibly. Neither of us were thinking very clearly. But I am very glad he did not,” she said, with a reminiscent smile.