Too Wilde to Wed (The Wildes of Lindow Castle, #2)(91)

“I’m unhurt,” Diana said, contentedly leaning her head against his chest. “He has disgusting teeth, though.” North smelled good and clean, like starch and safety, like expensive wool and the very best soap.

“I have to admit something,” she told his coat. But this wasn’t the place for a serious conversation. “I am not a good barmaid.”

There was a moment of silence, and then a roar of laughter.





Chapter Twenty-five




North escorted Diana to the Beetle & Cheese’s private parlor, where he had left Godfrey in Hickett’s care. The boy slid from the coachman’s lap and ran to Diana as if it had been weeks, not hours, since he’d last seen her.

North left to ask the innkeeper, Mr. Barley, to prepare a hot bath in his best bedchamber. He was talking to the man in the front entryway when two carriages drew up and a stream of Wildes poured out. Plus one laird.

“They are with me. We’ll need a lot of tea,” North said to Mr. Barley. “And food,” he added, thinking of his younger sisters and brothers, who always seemed to be hungry.

Five minutes later, the room was churning with Wildes lamenting they’d missed seeing Diana draw pints. Lady Knowe was deep in consultation with Mr. Barley, who was insulted at the very notion they might retire for supper to the Royal George, and was promising a very fine roasted sirloin and some plump chickens.

“I neglected to tell you that we have an unexpected visitor,” North said, making his way to Diana. “Miss Belgrave, may I introduce Diarmid Ewing, the Laird of Fennis, Godfrey’s great-uncle?”

Diana’s eyes rounded and she made a deep curtsy. “I’m honored to meet you, my lord.”

“It’s a true pleasure,” the laird said. His eyes were gentle, but his voice was a burr accustomed to being obeyed. “My dear, we had no idea that Archibald had left a child. I gather that your mother felt it too disgraceful to acknowledge his birth. We Ewings would be happy and proud to welcome both of you to our family.”

Godfrey grabbed North’s hand, scowling up at the old Scotsman. He couldn’t have made it clearer that he considered himself a Wilde.

“That is tremendously kind of you,” Diana said.

North reminded himself that he had learned patience during the war, because it seemed remarkably difficult to keep silent.

“Miss Belgrave,” the laird continued, “will you and Godfrey come home with me? We’ll be most glad to have you.” He paused and looked down at his great-nephew, still clutching North’s hand. “Though it might be that you have other plans.”

Patience be damned. “I want to marry Diana,” North said, adding, reluctantly, “however, she does not wish to be a duchess.”

A high but firm voice cut across whatever Diana might have said in answer. “If my aunt doesn’t want to be a duchess, then you shouldn’t be a duke.”

Diana let out a startled gasp, and Lady Knowe came out with “Bloody hell.” A roomful of Wildes went silent perhaps for the first time.

North stared down at the little boy holding his hand. His mind reeled—not only because Godfrey had just uttered his first sentence, but because what he said was so simple.

And so right.

Out of the mouths of babes, indeed.

Diana fell to her knees. “Oh, Godfrey, you spoke!”

The laird chuckled. “On the way here, these kind people told me that you didn’t talk, lad. I’m glad to find they were mistaken. It’ll be easier to lead your clan.”

Godfrey leaned into Diana’s embrace, but he continued to stare expectantly up at North. The Wildes, even Artie, remained quiet. Astonishment and a heady feeling of joy spread through North’s body. The solution was obvious, now that a little boy had revealed it. Of course he shouldn’t drag Diana into a trap; instead, he should get himself out of it.

His father and aunt were regarding him with uncannily similar expressions. “I shall not be a duke,” he said slowly, hearing the words come from his mouth as if spoken by another man.

Aunt Knowe’s face creased into the biggest smile he’d ever seen, and she elbowed her brother. “It’s called renunciation of the title,” she said merrily. “We’ve been waiting for you to throw up your hands for, oh . . . five years now?”

The duke nodded, his eyes on North’s face. Ophelia joined them, Artie on her hip. “Your father didn’t feel it was right to suggest something so weighty. You had to say it yourself.”

“I was getting desperate,” his aunt said with a chuckle. “I was on the verge of joking in front of you about the Earl of Harebottle, that madman who renounced his title because he thought the stress of it was making him bald. And then he died without a hair on his head anyway.”

North smiled at that as he helped Diana back to her feet. “Will you marry me, Diana, if I renounce the title?”

“You’d be giving up so much,” she whispered.

She didn’t say no.

“As it is, I would be giving up you, and you are worth more to me than forty dukedoms.” Diana made a choking sound. He pulled her into his arms and clasped her as tightly as he could. She was his.

At this, the room burst into excited chatter.

“Alaric will do the same,” Lady Knowe said to no one in particular. “No question about that.”