Diana pushed herself up from the floor, every muscle aching, her knees on fire and her head still ringing. Her velvet cloak tangled around her feet, and she stumbled upright, groping for the door handle and slipping out, trying to ignore Percival’s laughter and snide comment about how clumsy she was.
The butler stood in the hallway, his face composed but his eyes showing pity. “I’ll take your wrap, my lady.”
She undid the frog closure and handed over the cloak, cold air from the foyer chilling her skin. “Thank you, Carson. Have the seamstress check it over. There might be some small tears. A glass … got broken.”
Lifting her hem slightly, she grasped the banister and tried to hurry up the stairs, her knees still throbbing. Cian’s wails had become louder, and by the time she reached her room, she could plainly hear each sob.
Beth had the baby against her shoulder, bouncing him, walking around the tufted circular ottoman in the center of the dressing room. The baby’s face bobbed, knocking against her shoulder, red and wet, eyes screwed shut.
“I’m sorry, my lady. He won’t leave off. He’s been crying most of the evening.” Her own face bore streaks of tears over her freckles as her brow bunched and her mouth trembled.
“It’s all right, Beth. I’ll take him. Just let me get changed, and you can take a break.”
In the dim light of the dressing room, Diana hurried out of her ornate butter-yellow gown and satin slippers and into a flannel nightgown and wrapper. As she took the wailing baby from his nurse, Beth gasped. “Oh, my lady, your face.”
Diana probed the inside of her cheek with the tip of her tongue, feeling the stiffness and swelling. “I’m fine.” She laid Cian on the ottoman and rewrapped him tightly in his blanket. She’d learned that if she swaddled him, he soothed more easily. “Please run to the kitchen and get us a tea tray. Warm the flannel pads, and bring a cold, wet cloth.”
“Yes, my lady.” The girl was gone in a trice, and Diana settled into the low rocking chair by the window. She tucked Cian tightly against her shoulder, set the rocker in motion, and started the familiar pat-pat, rock, pat-pat, rock, to which he’d become accustomed. In spite of the swelling of the right side of her face and lips, she sang softly.
Hymns were Diana’s favorites, mostly because they were the only songs to which she knew all the words. She had learned the songs in school, and singing had been her favorite part of the daily chapel services. She imagined Cian requesting some Isaac Watts, and smiled, brushing a kiss across his downy hair.
O God, our help in ages past,
our hope for years to come,
our shelter from the stormy blast,
and our eternal home.
Under the shadow of Thy throne
Thy saints have dwelt secure;
sufficient is Thine arm alone,
and our defense is sure.
Before the hills in order stood,
or earth received her frame,
from everlasting Thou art God,
to endless years the same.
O God, our help in ages past,
our hope for years to come,
be Thou our guard while life shall last,
and our eternal home.
By the time she started the fourth verse, Cian’s cries had subsided to snuffles and hiccups, and his eyelids drooped. She sang through the song once more, and he relaxed into sleep. Beth returned with the tea tray, the warmed flannels under her arm, and a small pitcher with a damp cloth draped over the rim.
“He always quiets best for you, don’t he, miss?” She poured a cup of tea and set it on the windowsill beside Diana.
Cian hadn’t been asleep long enough for Diana to trust stopping the rocking and patting, so she left the tea where it was. And the compress for her face too. Time enough when the baby was deeply asleep.
“Put those warm cloths in the cradle, and cover them with the blankets. That way the bed will be warm when I lay him down.”
“Did you have a nice evening, miss?” Beth sat on the ottoman, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. “Was it as beautiful as they say, Almack’s? Did all the handsome gentlemen beg you for a dance? Did anyone offer for your hand in marriage? Did you cause any duels?” She sighed, as if causing men to shoot at one another over winning her hand would be the most romantic thing imaginable.
Diana closed her eyes, resting her aching head against the rocker. “No duels. At least I don’t think so.” Though the consequences of this evening’s work felt as dire. “Promise me, if I can’t take care of Cian, you’ll do your best to look after him.” She lifted her head to look at the girl.
“Of course, miss.” Beth raised her head and clasped her hands under her chin. “If His Grace sends our little man to the orphanage, I’ll do my best to get a job there to look out for him until you can get us both out.”
She said it with sincerity and such trust that Diana’s eyes smarted. How could she carry such responsibility on her own? God, do You see this? Do You hear me? I feel so alone. I pray and I pray, but nothing seems to change. At least not for the better.
Diana sighed, laying her head back again, inhaling the sweet scent of Cian’s skin, holding him tightly. She’d promised her sister that she would raise the boy as her own and love him as a mother, and she intended to keep that promise. If it meant stringing the Earl of Whitelock along, just as her father wished, she would do it. When the Prince Regent forgot about his suggestion that they marry, she would accede to her father’s wishes and marry whomever he required, but she would make it a condition of the marriage that Cian’s guardianship be transferred to her.
It was the only thought that made any of this bearable.
Evan stepped out of Marcus’s carriage, borrowed for the morning, and looked up at the imposing edifice that was the Duke of Seaton’s Mayfair home in the capital. White stucco molded to look like marble blocks, precise over-and-under windows, and a fanlight over the entrance. And a dozen steps up from the street to reach the massive black doors. Reeking of money and status.
Checking his appearance, pulling down on his waistcoat, rolling his neck against the high, tight cravat Marcus insisted he wear, Evan gathered his courage. He’d feel much more comfortable in his uniform, but Marcus had shot that idea down quickly.
“You can’t propose to the daughter of a duke wearing your green woolens and pewter buttons. You’re a gentleman now, and you must dress accordingly.”
How, in such a short time, had he gone from simple army officer to calling on the daughter of a duke? What was God thinking? Nothing was going according to Evan’s plans, and that didn’t look to change anytime soon.
He patted the letter in his inside coat pocket. The Prince Regent was most serious about his suggestion of last night. The missive had arrived during breakfast, all but ordering Evan to get around to Lady Diana’s home and make his proposal.
And one did not say no to the Prince Regent.
Marcus thought it a sound match. Evan and a duke’s daughter. A beautiful debutante who could have her pick of men in the peerage. She wasn’t likely to welcome the offer of an upstart such as him. A sound match. What a bag of moonshine.
If anyone looked out the window and saw him dithering at the curb, they might think he was scared. Just get on with it. Maybe she’ll say no and you’ll escape.