Too Wilde to Wed (The Wildes of Lindow Castle, #2)(88)

North’s fingers curled hard around the edge of the desk. “By himself? He left Diana there?”

“Hickett reports that she has decided to play barmaid for the night,” his father said wryly. “He failed to persuade her that it was a poor idea, so he returned to the castle.” Then he added, as if to himself, “If my sister couldn’t change Diana’s mind about being a governess, poor Hickett was bound to fail.”

A barmaid? North was speechless.

“Diana is no duchess, but she may be one of the most intrepid women I’ve had the pleasure to meet,” his father said, a smile playing around his lips. “Oh, and Godfrey’s great-uncle has just arrived. That would be the Laird of Fennis.”

North strode into the entryway. It was full of Wildes, talking at once. His eyes went to Godfrey, who was crying. Artie was holding his hand, and the duchess was trying to soothe him.

The moment he saw North, Godfrey dropped Artie’s hand and ran to him. North scooped him up. “We’ll go to her,” he said, as the little boy buried his face in North’s neck, his body shuddering with sobs.

North raised his voice. “Prism, I need a carriage. A fast carriage.”

“Hickett has the small traveling coach ready for you, my lord,” Prism said.

“Please have my bag put in the carriage, along with Godfrey’s necessities.”

His father joined them, accompanied by a middle-aged man with hair like a rusty gate, liberally sprinkled with white. “May I introduce my son, Lord Roland,” His Grace said. From the tone in his voice, he was highly amused. “North, this is Diarmid Ewing, the Laird of Fennis—Archibald Ewing’s uncle and thus Godfrey’s great-uncle.”

North nodded. “Please forgive me for not bowing, my lord.” Godfrey’s narrow shoulders stilled under North’s comforting hand but he kept his face hidden.

“I traveled from the Highlands in hopes of gaining some acquaintance with my great-nephew,” the laird rumbled in a strong Scottish accent.

“We will return tomorrow evening,” North said. “Godfrey will be happy to spend time with you then.” He ignored the way Godfrey shook his head.

“I have urgent business in London,” the laird said, his face settling into disappointed lines.

Godfrey clung harder to North.

Hickett broke in. “I couldn’t convince Miss Belgrave, my lord.” His forehead was sweaty. “My sister’s just the same, and neither of them would listen. I left a groom in the public room, but if we leave at once, we’ll arrive within an hour of the pub’s opening.”

“Believe me, I understand,” North said. “I don’t blame you.”

“We can change horses at the King’s Elbow, in Headington,” the coachman said anxiously.

“I’m coming,” North said, with a nod.

From the other side of the entry, Lady Knowe cried, “Put on your pelisse, Ophelia! We have to arrive in time to see Diana draw a pint! There’s a sight not many will see in their lifetimes.” She began shooing everyone out the front door into the courtyard.

It seemed that the whole lot of them were traveling to Manchester with North and Godfrey.

“May I suggest that you accompany us to Manchester?” his father asked the laird. “The Wilde family intends to join Godfrey’s aunt, Miss Belgrave, there.”

The laird looked aghast. “I was led to understand that Miss Belgrave was forced to work in a nursery to support my great-nephew. Are you saying that she has become a barmaid?”

North strode out the door, leaving his father to make explanations.

The family was sorting itself into two large carriages. Leonidas was bellowing with laughter and threatening to open a tavern of his own, to be operated by the family. Artie was refusing to leave because the baby finches still had not made an appearance. Aunt Knowe was directing a groom to ride ahead and alert the Royal George that the Wildes would be arriving in two or three hours, and would require an entire floor. Another carriage would follow in an hour with changes of clothing, as well as the ladies’ private maids.

The Wildes were going en masse to rescue Diana.

Not that she needed rescuing.

Hickett was standing next to a small carriage at the entrance to the courtyard, so North made his way through the crowd, Godfrey still clinging to him.

“North!” his aunt shouted.

He bent and deposited Godfrey on the seat and turned. “You’ll be there in no time,” Lady Knowe said, coming over to him. “If she’s safe and well, don’t make her stop simply because of fool ideas about what a lady can and can’t do.”

North gave his aunt—who had never, in his memory, paid more than lip service to ladylike behavior—a kiss and a nod before he climbed into the small carriage.

It wasn’t easy to be in love with Diana, he thought ruefully. Not only could he not make her a duchess, but he couldn’t stop her from barmaiding either.

They were trundling down the road in a minute; Hickett was obviously hell-bent on reaching Manchester before Diana wearied her arm drawing pints.

In fact, North wasn’t worried . . . much. Diana was curious and impetuous, but she was also highly intelligent. He had a feeling she might develop an acute distaste for beer.

Godfrey soon fell asleep, so North occupied himself by imagining what the men gathered at the public house would make of Diana’s delightful figure. And her voice. She had an elegant accent, as refined as any duchess’s. Yet she spoke with a husky lilt that hinted at her irrepressible nature. She was a study in contrasts.