To Love and to Loathe (The Regency Vows #2)(80)
“And what are you risking all of this for, then?” Diana asked curiously. “What is your plan, precisely?”
“I only need another year or two before I am so firmly on the shelf that I hope to convince my brother to purchase me a cottage in the countryside where I can rusticate in peace with a single servant,” Lady Helen confided. “It has been a great deal of trouble, making it this far, but the end is in sight.”
All at once, Diana felt more than a little ashamed. Lady Helen had risked everything for Sutton, for the chance of some semblance of a happy life together, even if that life would undoubtedly be far less comfortable than the luxury to which she had been born. Was Diana not willing to risk far less than that for the chance of keeping Jeremy—the private Jeremy, the real Jeremy?
She had no ready answer, and it was deeply unsettling.
“I think I shall leave you to your thoughts,” Lady Helen said, standing and brushing off her skirts in rather ostentatious fashion. “Please do not allow this discussion to change anything in your manner toward me—I have worked quite hard to craft this particular image of myself, as I have just explained, and I shall be most vexed if you undo all of my labor with a sympathetic glance.”
“You have my solemn vow that I shall continue to speak to you with thinly veiled distaste,” Diana said. “Shall I continue to fling Willingham in your direction, then?”
“That, my lady, is entirely up to you,” was Lady Helen’s reply. “I certainly do not intend to change anything in my manner to him. Whether you continue to enable my attempts to seduce him, however, is of no matter to me—and should the gentleman suddenly find himself otherwise engaged, I shall of course retreat hastily, albeit with very bad grace.”
“Duly noted,” Diana said, not entirely certain what other response she could offer to this.
“Hire a new maid,” was Lady Helen’s parting shot over her shoulder as she floated away through the gardens in the direction of the house, leaving Diana alone with her very complicated, very inconvenient thoughts.
Twenty-One
The gentlemen were not yet returned from their day of shooting helpless creatures in a rustic woodland setting when Diana returned to the house to seek out Violet and Emily. She found them in the library, tucked into a window seat together, a book spread across their knees. As Diana drew closer, she could see that it had illustrations, which Violet pointed to as she spoke in a low voice to Emily. Emily, it should be noted, sported cheeks even rosier than usual, and was emitting a rather shocked giggle at the moment Diana came within earshot.
“… have found that friction in this particular area produces extremely positive results,” Violet was saying. “But I think it’s likely different for everyone, so it’s particularly useful to discover for yourself what you might enjoy before finding yourself called upon to instruct a gentleman in this regard.”
Diana stopped in her tracks. “Are you looking at lewd illustrations?” she asked. “Not that I’m surprised Willingham would leave such a book lying around the library—it seems entirely in keeping with his character—but you might have found somewhere more discreet to look at it, for heaven’s sake.”
Violet looked up, startled, evidently having been so involved in her instructive lecture to Emily that she hadn’t heard Diana’s approaching footsteps. “For your information,” she said, with great dignity, “this is an anatomy text.”
Diana blinked, and looked closer. Violet was entirely correct. The book was full of text set in very small type, which seemed dreadfully dull, but also—as Violet illustrated by flipping through a few pages—littered with extremely interesting, and accurate, anatomical illustrations.
“I am merely trying to offer Emily the assistance that no one gave me before my own marriage,” she explained.
Diana arched an eyebrow. “Please, Emily, tell me Cartham hasn’t proposed. I don’t know how I shall bear it.”
“Fortunately, he has not,” Emily said with a barely suppressed shudder at the thought—which was as close as she’d ever gotten to complaining about the situation. Had Diana been in her shoes, she would have been hollering to the rooftops—not to mention plotting how to ruin herself at the earliest possible opportunity, to ensure that Cartham no longer found her company so elevating—but Emily had precious little to say of the years (years!) she had spent in the man’s company, her father rejecting all other suitors who looked twice at the beautiful daughter of an impoverished marquess.
“It’s always best to be prepared, however,” Violet said. “One can’t necessarily rely on a gentleman to know all of these things, though I must confess that I’ve never had any complaints in that regard.” Her lips curved upward in an expression that Diana—who was not, perhaps, feeling her most charitable at the moment—could only describe as smug.
“Yes, Violet, we are both very pleased for your newfound matrimonial bliss,” Diana said acerbically. Violet’s smile slipped, and Diana cursed herself—she did this sometimes, spoke without thinking of how her words would sound.
“We truly are pleased,” she said more softly. “You know that. I’m sorry, I’m all at sixes and sevens at the moment and I hardly know what I’m saying.”