Too Wilde to Wed (The Wildes of Lindow Castle, #2)(5)

“Who is Mabel?” North asked.

“She’s the nursery maid. I’m the governess,” Diana explained. “I’m really more of a nanny, but Lady Knowe was kind enough to give me the title. Mabel has fallen in love and is often absent from her post.” She hesitated, and added, “I apologize again for the graceless way I ended our betrothal.”

He didn’t shrug, but his expression made it clear that he couldn’t have been more uninterested. It was ancient history to him; she was the one who couldn’t forget her bad behavior.

“Diana,” North said, “what are you doing in my home?” A hint of ironic humor lurked in his eyes, but mostly, he just seemed tired.

That look he used to give her? The one that promised secret delights?

Gone without a trace.

Of course, it was gone. She wanted it to be gone.

“I might add that my valet is under the impression that I fathered your child,” he said, his voice even.

“There wouldn’t have been time for that,” she blurted out. “Not between all those lectures you gave me about the duties of a duchess.”

With an inward groan, she added that sentence to the list of stupid things she had instantly regretted saying. Some days the list grew hardly at all. Others . . . Well, other days she embarrassed herself fifty times before bedtime.

Genuine surprise crossed North’s face. Of course, he believed she was the meek creature whom her mother had tailored to a nobleman’s specifications.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” she added quickly. “I seem to have forgotten the rules of being a lady, let alone a future duchess. Servants tend to be much more direct. More to the point, I didn’t bring it up as a defense for my behavior.”

“I was trying to ease your entry into the peerage,” North said. He didn’t raise an eyebrow, but somehow he managed to give his words a sardonic air without moving a muscle. “I apologize if I made you uncomfortable, or bored you.”

“Imagine, you almost married a woman whose heart belongs in the servants’ hall,” Diana said, offering him a tentative smile. “You should be on your knees thanking me for running away.”

“As I recall, I didn’t kneel when I proposed to you,” North remarked. “I think we both agree that we are better unmarried, at least to each other.”

He was right, so it was absurd that his comment stung. It wasn’t what he said as much as the indifferent look in his eye. Whatever affection he had felt for her was gone.

She had behaved appallingly. Not worth his . . . his affection, if that’s what it had been.

His earlier sentence sank in, and she said with a little gasp, “You didn’t tell Boodle the truth?”

“I am a gentleman, Diana. I judged it best to inquire about your intentions as regards my supposed son.”

As she stared at him, a crash sounded from the dining room—and this time, it wasn’t knives and forks, but china. Experience told her that Godfrey had managed to crawl onto the table and was now throwing plates over the side.

She turned and raced down the corridor. Artie might be in the path of shattered dishes, and the housekeeper had been threatening to deduct breakage from her wages.

Behind her, North barked, “Diana!”

Skidding into the room, she found Godfrey sitting in the middle of the table, Artie beside him, wrestling over a plate. Diana felt another stab of panic at the idea of separating them. Artie was Godfrey’s tie to the world, the only person who really understood him.

“DeeDee,” Artie shouted, dropping her side of the plate and waving her hands in the air. “Free is throwing things again.”

Godfrey threw the plate into the wall at the precise moment North arrived at her shoulder.

Diana swept Godfrey off the table and put him on the floor, crouching before him. It was hard to ignore North’s presence behind her, but she had learned that Godfrey only listened to her directly after he was disobedient. A delayed reprimand was the same as approval.

“Darling,” she said, holding his eyes, “you must not break plates. It is very naughty, and it makes Mrs. Mousekin angry at both of us.”

North had stepped up to the table. “You must be Artemisia,” she heard. “I’m your oldest brother. We haven’t met since you were a newborn.”

“My name’s Artie,” his sister informed him.

Diana focused on Godfrey’s face. He never spoke, but she was certain that he thought deeply. She had the idea that he might be smarter than the average child.

“Please promise me that you won’t throw any more plates off the table or at a wall?” She had to be very specific when reprimanding her nephew.

Godfrey’s limpid blue eyes were as sweet as an angel’s as he planted a squishy kiss on her cheek. Her arms wrapped around him for a moment, and she set him free.

Artie swung her legs over the edge of the table. “Down.” She lifted her arms to North.

The courtier Diana remembered, the man who wore violet-colored silk embroidered with silver thread, would have avoided a sticky child.

“She’s a Wilde, all right,” North muttered. He picked up Artie with no sign of distaste.

As he put her down, Mabel ran through the door. “You needn’t have tattled on me to Prism—” Her voice choked. “Forgive me, my lord. I didn’t know you were here.” She curtsied, head bent.