Too Wilde to Wed (The Wildes of Lindow Castle, #2)(61)

“It’s covered with pins,” Mr. Calico told him, “shiny pins from all parts of the world. Good morning, Miss Belgrave.”

“Good morning,” Diana said, smiling at him. “May I introduce Lady Artemisia? She is very excited to meet you.”

Artie performed a credible curtsy without taking her thumb from her mouth, a skill one didn’t see in Almack’s.

North stepped forward and bowed as respectfully as if he’d met a local squire. “Mr. Calico, it is a pleasure to see you once again.”

The peddler bowed with a flourish. “I am happy to see you returned safe and sound from such a perilous adventure, Lord Roland.”

“War is no adventure,” North said dryly.

“I’ve heard the same from other acquaintances,” Mr. Calico agreed. He turned to Godfrey and Artie. “My young friends, I have something to show you.” He picked a large basket from a shelf in his wagon and placed it on the ground.

Artie fell on her knees. “Dolls!”

Godfrey’s whole being reverberated with approval. He reached out and picked up a horse that had a raised foot and an open, crimson mouth.

“What do you lack, Miss Belgrave?” Mr. Calico asked, gesturing toward the shelves lining the side of his carriage. “I’ve everything a lady might desire: pins, powder, lace, even a wig or two, and lengths of fabric.”

“Miss Belgrave has been suffering from a melancholy complaint,” North said, his eyes clear and innocent. “Perhaps you have a tonic. Cod liver oil is thought to be an excellent remedy, is it not?”

Diana couldn’t halt her startled little puff of air.

Mr. Calico’s thick eyebrows jerked up and down. “I have just the cordial for the lady. No fish oil, but a mixture of herbs with the power to soothe the most wicked of beasts, or elevate the saddened spirits of a young lady. I have one bottle left.”

He walked to the other side of his caravan and began rummaging about, causing a great tinkling of bottles.

“Revenge,” North whispered in her ear.

“I did nothing to incur such a terrible fate!”

“You pointed out what a tedious, lecturing bastard I am.” His eyes held hers.

Diana caught her breath. His expression made warmth boil up in her belly, all the way to her fingers and toes. She felt dizzily happy. The perfume of a jasmine bush growing next to the church drifted by, and she could hear Artie’s happy stream of talk as she supplied both her side of the conversation and Godfrey’s.

But in reality the only thing Diana was registering was North.

“We noblemen are prone to terrible revenge,” he went on.

A monologue coming from the other side of Mr. Calico’s wagon indicated that perhaps he had sold that last bottle of miraculous elixir.

Just as well, because although Diana had money in her pocket, she preferred not to buy a cordial with it. “You’ll have to drink it, if he finds it,” she informed North.

“I’ll give it to Aunt Knowe. She maintains that Mr. Calico always has the perfect treasure in his wagon for the deepest desire of your heart, which—in one example—was a riding hat she didn’t know she needed, but realized on inspection was precisely what she had been longing for.”

“I wouldn’t describe that as miraculous,” Diana said.

“Another example. He brought Sweetpea to Willa, and arguably the baby skunk helped save Willa’s life. That was after you left the castle, though I suppose you heard the story?”

Diana nodded, feeling a pinch of guilt. But only a pinch.

“Moreover, when we were boys, Mr. Calico brought Alaric a box of curiosities that my brother says provided the genesis of his desire to travel. In a way, Mr. Calico is responsible for Lord Wilde’s adventures.”

“What has he brought you?” Diana asked.

“Those books on architecture I told you about. One a year, carried from London. Until Horatius died, and I became heir to the dukedom, that is.”

“And thereafter? What did he offer you?”

The bleak expression in his eyes was replaced by a rueful smile. “Aunt Knowe bought me canary-colored stockings, which I didn’t think I wanted. Later I wore them to woo you in the style to which I was certain you aspired.”

It felt so good to laugh about their brief betrothal. Ever since North proposed to her, their relationship had been a source of nothing but anguish, guilt, and anxiety.

But now he stood grinning at her, his black hair gleaming in the sunshine. Diana felt a deep wash of happiness, almost as if . . .

No. After closely watching Ophelia, she had a deep conviction that she would be unhappy as a duchess. She had to stop looking at North’s lips and his shoulders and his eyes . . .

Right now.

She had stepped away and crouched down next to the children, when she heard the clop-clopping of hooves on cobblestones. At a quick glance, it seemed to be the castle pony cart, the one she’d taken to the village when she’d made her escape from the betrothal party.

With a shock that nearly made her topple over, Diana realized that Lavinia was holding the reins, Leonidas lounging on the seat beside her. Her cousin Lavinia, whom Diana hadn’t seen since she ran away to London, hatbox in hand.

Lavinia was dressed in what must be the newest in French fashion, since she’d been living in Paris for the past two years. Her golden hair fell in shining waves, topped with a tall purple hat, cocked at a rakish angle. Her traveling costume was navy blue with a wide purple belt and four buttons that drew attention to her bosom.