Too Wilde to Wed (The Wildes of Lindow Castle, #2)(63)

Diana kissed her cheek and gave her another handkerchief. A wise governess carries at least three tucked into her waistband at all times. “I should have tried to write to you again, but it was so expensive, and I hadn’t the faintest idea what your Parisian address might be. And then afterward, once the scandal broke . . .” Her voice trailed off. “I thought your mother might prefer not to acknowledge me.”

“My mother may be indolent, but she is a good person,” Lavinia cried. “She would never have tolerated this state of affairs had we been in England. As it was, she is dreadfully affronted by your mother’s lies. And we had no idea Rose had died. I’m so sorry about her loss.” More tears slipped down Lavinia’s cheeks; Diana mopped them up with her last handkerchief.

A short distance away, North stood watching them, his eyes hooded and serious. Diana had the feeling that if he believed meeting Lavinia was distressing her, he’d come to her rescue.

Just as a friend ought to, she thought, happiness spreading through her.

“How could Her Grace allow you, a lady, to become a domestic in her household?” Lavinia demanded.

“The duchess didn’t know for over a month,” Diana explained. “By the time she arrived at the castle, I was ensconced in the nursery, caring for her daughter, and I wouldn’t have given up Artie. I love being a governess.”

“You do?”

“I thought you would have married by now,” Diana said, thinking of all the proposals Lavinia had received during her first Season.

“My mother decided that I needed Parisian polish before we embarked on another Season.”

Diana laughed. “You were already one of the most elegant ladies in London. And now you look ready to go for a stroll with the queen!”

North strode over, his eyes on Diana’s face. “Everything well here?”

“As well as they can be, considering that my cousin, Miss Belgrave, has been relegated to your servants’ hall,” Lavinia said, a sharp edge to her voice.

“I spent those years in America, and my family chose not to inform me that Diana was employed in the nursery,” North said.

Lavinia searched his face. “You had no idea?”

“I did not.”

“It seems everyone in London has discovered the truth about Godfrey’s parentage,” Diana put in, trying to break the tension.

“Truth is always relative.” Lavinia’s face took on a characteristically mischievous look.

“Don’t!” Diana said, pinching her.

“Ouch,” Lavinia said loudly. “I hadn’t properly greeted your—”

“He is not my anything,” Diana stated.

“I am charmed to see you again, Miss Gray,” North said, bowing.

Something chilled in Diana’s heart, just a little. She didn’t want to be a duchess. Not at all. But Lavinia . . .

Lavinia had wanted to be a duchess. She had once told Diana that she wished North had fallen in love with her at first sight. It had been a joke, nothing but a joke.

“I hope you don’t mind my addressing you as ‘North,’ as Willa and I did two years ago,” Lavinia said, her eyes sparkling. “I daresay you’ve seen all the prints depicting you? One of them sells for four times its customary value.”

North groaned. “The Shakespeare one.”

“Exactly! I understand that you are depicted emerging from a trunk, like a genie from a bottle, all chest and no legs.” Her gaze rested appreciatively on North’s upper body.

“I have a copy of that print in my lodgings in Oxford,” Leonidas said, joining them. At twenty, he was a younger version of North, with the familial slashing eyebrows and startling dark blue eyes, but a lanky build.

“I must buy one,” Lavinia said. “I gave up most of my Lord Wilde prints, all but two favorites, but now I shall start a Wilde collection. I can dazzle Willa’s children someday.”

North groaned.

“Mr. Calico may have the Cymbeline print,” Leonidas suggested. “He has a huge pile over there. I saw a few of Alaric and one of Father riding to hounds, which is absurd because he gave that up years ago.”

Lavinia tucked her hand into Leonidas’s arm. “Lay on, Macduff!”

“Wrong play,” North said wryly.

Lavinia turned toward Diana. “If we do nothing else, dearest, we are buying whatever fabric Mr. Calico can sell us so you needn’t wear that dress even one more day. We might start a fashion for togas while a proper wardrobe is being sewn.”

“Miss Belgrave, may I ask you to join us, please?” Mr. Calico called.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” Diana said to Lavinia. She was contemplating whether she could accept a gift of fabric. Everything in her revolted against the idea of charity. But Lavinia had come all the way from France to rescue her.

“He’s got a peacock for Fitzy,” Artie said, coming up, grabbing Diana’s hand, and dragging her toward the peddler.

“Well, no, my dear, I don’t have a peacock,” Mr. Calico said, when they reached his side. “I did see a peacock just outside the village, though. It was tied to a fence. When I saw this young lady’s fanciful hair ornament, I thought perhaps the castle’s peacock could use a friend.”

“Tied to a fence?” Diana repeated, frowning. Fitzy would hate to be restrained.