Too Wilde to Wed (The Wildes of Lindow Castle, #2)(75)

Diana stared at her. “Did you know that you are remarkably like North?”

The pillow Lavinia threw missed Diana and bounced off the wall. “I have nothing in common with North; for one thing, I enjoy wearing pretty gowns and presumably he does not. Were you really happy being a servant and wearing that ghastly dress?”

“Not entirely,” Diana found herself saying. “But I wasn’t comfortable being a lady either. The idea of being a duchess is horrible.”

“You are so peculiar,” Lavinia said. Then she grinned. “You must be a relative of mine!”

“North spent most of the time we were betrothed trying to teach me how to be a duchess,” Diana said morosely. “‘Peculiar’ is not a desirable trait in a duchess.”

Lavinia pursed her lips. “No wonder you fled the betrothal. Perhaps I should give him some helpful instruction before he tries to find another wife.”

“You would be much better at keeping him on a string than I was,” Diana said.

“Keeping him on a string? Behind me, like a footman?” Lavinia grinned naughtily. “Have you noticed how much North has changed? There is something very male about him now. I might have trouble keeping him behind me, except in bed!” She burst into a fit of giggles.

Diana found herself laughing too, even as her mind was reeling over the memory of North ravishing her from behind. She had been on her hands and knees, her hair falling over her shoulder. He had been thrusting—

“A woman could guide him easily,” Lavinia said, so overcome by hilarity that she wrapped an arm around her tummy. “‘Get thee to the North of me!’”

It didn’t make much sense, but Diana dissolved into laughter as well.

“What’s funny?” a little voice asked.

Artie was standing in the doorway, thumb in her mouth.

“Where’s Mabel?” Diana asked.

Artie shrugged.

“And Godfrey?”

“Sleeping.”

“Ladies’ jests,” Lavinia said, beaming at her. “Diana, you must introduce me, because we didn’t properly meet yesterday in the village.”

“May I introduce Lady Artemisia Wilde?” Diana obeyed. “Artie, this is Miss Lavinia Gray.”

The two of them regarded each other for a moment, and then, to Diana’s utter astonishment, Artie pulled her thumb from her mouth and dipped into a curtsy. Or what passed for one in a miniature person with extremely chubby legs.

Lavinia immediately rose and curtsied as well. “Lady Artemisia, it is an honor.”

“Tell me a lady’s joke,” Artie demanded, putting her thumb back and coming over to lean against Diana’s knee.

“I can’t,” Lavinia told her. “All the best jokes are forbidden to young ladies of your age.”

Artie’s brows drew together, and Diana’s heart sank. When Artie was thwarted, she had an unfortunate propensity to fall to the ground and drum her heels on the floor.

“When you are old enough, I shall invite you for tea and tell you many jests. All of them,” Lavinia added quickly.

Artie nodded. Crisis averted.

“That was an excellent use of ladylike restraint,” Lavinia said warmly.

Artie likely didn’t understand, but she smiled and took a step toward Lavinia. Diana held her breath. Artie didn’t care to be held by strangers, but she had just invited Lavinia to do so.

Once in Lavinia’s lap, Artie relaxed against her shoulder with a sigh and began sucking loudly.

“Artie,” Lavinia said. “Stop sucking your thumb. You’re making me feel sick.”

Diana watched, curious but wary. She’d never tried to make Artie stop sucking her thumb. There were so many things to worry about, like curtsying, and she assumed Artie would drop the habit by herself in good time.

Artie withdrew her thumb, looked at it, then put it back in her mouth and closed her eyes, apparently deciding to ignore Lavinia.

“It’s not easy to be a governess,” Diana confessed. “I had never imagined a situation in which my commands were routinely ignored.”

“I see what you mean; servants do precisely as I ask, and I trust my husband will as well,” Lavinia stated. Her eyes darkened. “The only person—other than this little scrap—who has heedlessly ignored me is Parth Sterling. Do you remember him?”

“Certainly,” Diana said. “He seems agreeable enough, though I remember you disliked him.”

“Lady Knowe invited him to the ball,” Lavinia said, an edge to her voice.

“I like him,” Artie said, around her thumb.

“Is there some reason that my gown feels disturbingly wet?” Lavinia inquired.

“Oh, no,” Diana groaned.

Artie smiled.





Chapter Eighteen





Five days later



North had become convinced that Dante had omitted one circle of hell—the one he was in. He saw Diana often, but never in his bed, and never to talk to.

She usually had Godfrey and Artie with her, and Lady Knowe had had no success in persuading her to join the family for supper or, indeed, any meal.

He lured himself into fitful sleep by thinking of her. She was like a dream that he wanted to live in.