Too Wilde to Wed (The Wildes of Lindow Castle, #2)(66)

North went to the window. Like his bedchamber, Lady Knowe’s sitting room looked east, over Lindow Moss. In winter the bog was often covered with a thin sheet of ice that delicately outlined every blade of cottongrass that hadn’t been flattened by rain. Now, in late spring, the grass spread like a rolling sea, if oceans were greenish-brown and full of life.

At this distance, he couldn’t distinguish the fluffy tufts of hare’s-tail cottongrass or the darker green clumps of maidenhair moss. He couldn’t see the midges dancing over the surface, or hear the warning gurgle of an underground stream.

“That’s done!” his aunt said cheerfully. Following the death of his mother—the first duchess—his aunt had never been precisely maternal. She had never made any obvious attempt to be a mother to her nephews, but all the same, she had become the fulcrum around which their days turned.

He bent over the desk and kissed her cheek. “Good morning, Aunt.”

“How are you getting along with Lavinia?” she asked, her eyes twinkling. “I’m so happy she and her mother have come to pay us a visit. I do believe she’s one of the most direct people I’ve ever met. She says exactly what’s she’s thinking, but with utmost tact. I adore her.”

“Lady Gray is of the opinion that Lavinia would make an excellent duchess,” North said.

“She has every possible air and grace; she’s absurdly beautiful; she knows how to run a large household. You could do much worse.”

North nodded.

His aunt waved at a tall stack of letters. “I’ve been attending to my mail. My correspondents can be divided into two camps: those who feel that an appropriate betrothal with any young woman of quality will mend your invidious reputation, and those who think you are irremediably beyond the pale.”

“According to Lavinia, my reputation is on the mend.”

His aunt’s eyebrow flew up. “How so?”

“Polite society has learned that Archibald Ewing fathered a child on a daughter who was disowned and died shortly thereafter. It would seem that disowning one daughter is acceptable, but two is criminal; Mrs. Belgrave is being shunned.”

“Excellent!” Lady Knowe cried. “I couldn’t have wished for a better bout of gossip.”

There was something about her face . . .

“Aunt,” North said. “What did you do?”

She grinned. “Nothing much.”

“Aunt Knowe.”

“I blackmailed Boodle,” she said, chortling. “Told him to gossip all he wanted, and to make sure that the news reached the right ears, because otherwise I would have to inform the sheriff of his light-fingered ways. I wrote to some friends myself, but I haven’t had replies to those missives yet.”

“My dearest of aunts,” North said, “did you ever read the fable about the frog who gossiped so much that he burst?”

“I’ll look it up when I next find myself at leisure,” she promised, twinkling at him.

“So you didn’t actually blackmail Boodle?”

“Not unless you count a promise not to prosecute,” his aunt said. “With that hanging over his head, I expect he scurried around London as quickly as he could. On a different subject, I have decided to throw a ball in honor of Lavinia’s visit, during which we shall make it clear that Diana has been in the castle as a dear and honored guest ever since you left for the colonies.”

“Who would possibly believe that? The prints depict her as a scullery maid.”

“No one would dare gainsay myself, the duke, or the duchess to our faces. If we say she has been our guest, then that is the case. Mrs. Belgrave will still be blamed, but frankly, my dear, she deserves no less. I’ll invite everyone for miles around. All they need to do is meet Diana in her current incarnation—albeit properly gowned—not as the miserable girl who first arrived here.”

North grunted. Of course they would love her. Diana—when she was being herself—was irresistible.

“I was prepared for trouble when I brought her and Godfrey to Lindow,” his aunt said, “thinking the household would dislike a lady living below-stairs. But my fears were unfounded: She won them all over, even Prism, who is far more straightlaced than we are.”

“Whoever heard of a duchess who was happier in the servants’ hall?”

“The question is, my dear, what do you mean to do about it? I should add that, considering Diana’s disinclination to marry you, she will appear at the ball as a dear family friend. You will have to bestow your charms on Lavinia in order to quell gossip.”

North nodded. “She told me the same, though her goal was to soothe her mother.”

“You wooing Lavinia, while Godfrey is freely acknowledged to be Diana’s nephew rather than her son, will kill the scandal like cold water on embers.”

“Paying court to Lavinia in order to entice Lady Gray into a longer stay in the castle is one thing, but I dislike the idea of wooing her in public view.”

His aunt was never interested in remarks that disagreed with any of her plans. “I have a letter from Willa here.” She poked around in the piles that covered her desk. “Here it is! She and Alaric are very happy and well. She says they might pay us a visit before traveling to India; wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

“Do you think that the scheme will raise false expectations in Lady Gray?” North asked, ignoring her attempt to distract him.