To Peter, as always
Love, Erica
CHAPTER 1
Seaton Estate
Berkshire, England
January 4, 1813
“YOU’LL DO AS you’re told if you know what’s good for you. I won’t be humiliated again.”
Diana Seaton gripped the back of the chair she stood behind, grateful to have the piece of furniture between her and her father. Red suffused his face, and his eyes glittered. He paced the oriental rug in front of the fireplace in the drawing room of Seaton Manor.
She gathered her courage. “But wouldn’t it be better if I remained here this Season? I could look after Cian—”
“Do not mention that name here. Not his and not his trollop of a mother’s.” The Duke of Seaton halted his pacing and jabbed his beringed finger toward Diana. Her pleas wadded into a lump in her throat, and fierce tears pricked her eyes.
Her half sister, Catherine, hadn’t been a trollop. She’d been an innocent, a naïve debutante taken advantage of by a true rake and scoundrel—a mistake that, had word gotten out, would’ve cost her reputation, and in the end had cost her life. But Diana knew better than to protest aloud to her father.
“It’s bad enough to have her spawn here in the house. At least she had the decency to die and rid us of her shameful presence. I wish both of them had.” He stalked to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a whiskey, though it was barely ten in the morning. This would be a bad day, if he was starting his drinking so early.
Diana only wished he didn’t mean it when he said he was glad his daughter had died in childbirth, but she had too much evidence to the contrary to deny it. The Duke of Seaton was at once a womanizer and woman hater. He had not loved any of his three now-deceased wives, marrying them for either their fortune or the power the alliance would bring him. Each had borne him a child, and he hadn’t loved any of them either. He was not capable of love. Only power. Control. And cruelty.
“You’ll go to London with your brother and me, you’ll be presented at court, and you’ll marry the man I choose for you. Beyond that, keep your mouth shut and mind every rule. There had better not be so much as a hint of scandal attached to your name, or you’ll regret it. Your sister cost me far more than she was worth, outfitting her and bringing her out last Season. She barely lasted until Easter before she was compromised. I had almost brokered a marriage. The bids were set to come in, and she ruined it. If you do the same, you’ll regret the day you were born.” The skin tightened along his jaw as he glared.
Brokered a marriage. Sold into bondage would be more accurate, and such a fate awaited her too. She would be his pawn, and she had no say in the matter.
The lump in her throat grew. How could she keep her promise to her sister to care for Cian as her own if she were in London, married off to a stranger, when the baby was here in Berkshire under the dominance of her father? Her thoughts scrambled as she tried to subdue the panic in her chest. She had to ask.
“What will happen to the child?”
“He’ll stay in the nursery here until I decide what to do with him. I should’ve sent him to the orphanage the day he was born.” It was a threat he had uttered for months before the baby’s birth as a means to keep Catherine in hiding, and one he’d breathed often in the three weeks since Cian’s arrival in order to quell any rebellion on Diana’s part.
The worst was knowing he’d do it, either in a fit of rage or as a calculated move to bring someone under submission to his will.
“And will we stay in London the entire Season?” She infused her voice with innocent inquiry.
“Of course. It takes time to arrange a marriage and a proper society wedding. After you are presented at court, I’ll start the negotiations. Once I find a suitable husband, your sponsor will take care of the wedding details.” He waved his hand, as if what happened to her after the wedding were of little consequence.
Diana must be careful here. If he thought she was manipulating him … a shudder went through her. “Are you worried about news spreading in your absence that there’s a baby at Seaton Manor, if you’re not here to quell the gossip?”
He had gone so far as to forbid having a midwife or accoucheur in attendance at the birth for fear of word getting out, and when complications had set in, neither Diana, who was completely inexperienced, nor Mrs. Hudsworth, the housekeeper, had been able to prevent Catherine’s death.
“Perhaps bringing the child to London, where you could have more control over who might learn of his existence …” She hated herself for even uttering these words, but it was all she could think of to sway him. “If you turn him over to the orphanage here, everyone in the village is likely to know where he came from. But in London, there are many orphanages, and you would be assured of anonymity.”
Her father’s gaze narrowed over the cut-glass tumbler, and she held her breath. Beyond the heavily curtained windows over his shoulder, snow fell in fat flakes, two weeks too late to give them a white Christmas. Traveling to London would be arduous, even if the snow melted soon. The roads would be a muddy morass.
She should be excited about a trip to the capitol, a place she’d never been, though her entire life had been spent in preparation for the event. She should be eager to wear the elaborate gown created for her appearance before Queen Charlotte at court, about attending the social events, about meeting new people. She should be anticipating an escape from Seaton Manor—where the mullions and muntins in the windows might as well have been prison bars—and the dominance of her father. And for most of her life, she had expected this Season to be her emancipation.
But now all she wanted was to stay. To stay hidden in the Berkshire countryside with a newborn boy she loved as her own and had promised to protect.
“Hmph. You could be right. Tossing him into a London orphanage would be easier if we want to keep it a secret.” Father set the glass down hard on the rosewood table. “Very well. Tell the nurse to get ready to travel. We leave in the morning.”
Waiting until he strode out, slamming the door in his wake, Diana rounded the chair and sagged onto the brocade cushion. She felt like a rag doll with all the sawdust leaking out. Elation that Cian would be coming along warred with fear that she had only hastened his being placed in an institution, and clamminess swept over her skin. Lord, help me find a way to keep him safe, to keep my promise to Catherine.
It was a prayer constantly in her heart and on her lips, but did praying do any good? Was God listening? Did He care about an illegitimate child that nobody but her seemed to love? Diana had never been certain that God cared about her prayers or that she was of enough significance to arouse His interest. When Diana had been small, her nurse had prayed aloud, but only that Diana would be a good girl and not tax her nurse’s patience. The rector at the girls’ school Diana had attended had read all his prayers from a book, as if he were bored. Only the assistant matron in her dormitory had taught them that God wanted a personal relationship with them through His Son, Jesus. That it was right and proper to read Scripture and pray from the heart. How Diana wished she had Miss Bonham to talk to now. Diana prayed, but she sometimes wondered if her words reached any farther than the chandelier, since nothing she had prayed for seemed to have changed her circumstances. Before she could summon the strength to rise and head to the nursery, the drawing room door opened again. Her heart leapt to her throat. Had her father returned? Had he changed his mind about taking Cian with them? She straightened and folded her hands in her lap, lowering her chin to present the properly demure daughter her father required.