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“I assure you he did,” she cut in, annoyed. “Despite my presence and that of several other ladies playing cards, upon your departure it was as though Grafton felt the room had emptied of all but himself and his friend. They were quiet, and I had to listen carefully, but they were quite candid in their discussion. I can only assume that, like my uncle, they felt such a conversation was beyond a mere female’s comprehension or interest. Birds of a feather, I suppose.” She hadn’t meant to say it with such bile, but it was damned hard not to resent having been treated like part of a room’s decor, even if it had worked to her benefit.
“You really do hate him, don’t you?”
She took a steadying breath. “My personal feelings aside, I don’t agree with my uncle’s views. The country is already divided enough. We need to put an end to the rift and soon, before it grows any worse. Our government must remain stable.” She stopped and pressed a hand to her temple. “Despite my dislike for Bolingbroke, I’ve no desire to see him ruin himself through his bullheadedness, for it would only result in the suffering of my kin.”
Harrow’s reply was so soft she almost missed it. “I thought you’d cut your family out of your heart?”
“I thought I had, too,” she replied sadly. “Over time, I’ve come to realize my aunt was powerless to act any differently than she did. She could no more stand against him than I and had as little choice in the matter. She still has none. As for my cousins, they are completely blameless and at his mercy. Unfortunately, their father is thinking only of his own ambition and not of their safety and security. What I did was for them, to protect them from his folly.”
“I understand,” said Harrow. “I just hope Liverpool is discreet concerning the source of his information. While I fully support our new prime minister, I have no desire to become involved in his schemes and intrigues.”
…
“Is everything to your taste, my dear?” asked Harrow.
“It’s truly lovely, and far grander than I imagined,” Diana answered, a little nervous at just how grand it was. The move to Number Nine, Old Burlington Street had gone smoothly. This morning, a veritable army of men and maidservants had come and cleared her old house out, right down to the last lace doily. It was now evening, and here she was strolling through her new residence arm-in-arm with her benefactor and friend.
“A magnificent jewel deserves a proper setting,” said he. “Kindly remember you are the daughter of a duke. Had your uncle been less of a cowardly fool, you would have married well enough to live in just such a house.”
“That may be so, but there are many who will think me unworthy of such an address.”
Stopping, he faced her with somber eyes. “Their worth is equal only to their purse. Yours is in here, and it is beyond any price,” he said, pointing at her chest. “Never let anyone make you feel unworthy, Diana. Never. And for what you’ve given me, you deserve this and far more,” he added, gesturing to their opulent surroundings.
“Your kindness is beyond measure,” she said, smiling at him with genuine affection. Here, at least, there was no need for pretense. “I bless the day we met, and I’m honored to be your friend.”
His answering smile was just as sincere. “Likewise. Now, what will you do with your old house?”
“I’ve decided to sell it,” she answered after a moment. “When I leave, there must be nothing here to tie me down. I realize that day is still far off, but when the time comes, I want to be able to go quickly and quietly. With any luck, I’ll be long gone before anyone even notices my absence.”
“I feel no shame in admitting I don’t look happily to that day,” said Harrow. “I shall miss your company terribly.”
“And I, yours,” she replied, her eyes smarting. “You and René are my dearest friends. More than that, you’re my family. I truly hope everything works as planned.”
“We shall see.”
His tone was confident, but she marked the crease between his brows. Monsieur René Laurent, his longtime lover and the guest at their recent littl
e “ménage a charade”—though no one would know it thanks to his disguise—was to be installed as her music instructor a fortnight from now. Over the ensuing months, Harrow would publicly take a keen interest in the gentleman’s compositions and become his sponsor. With his wife’s help in the form of an apparent reconciliation, their connection would be solidified with no one being the wiser concerning its true nature. At that point, Diana would no longer be needed to maintain the complex web of deception that had kept her benefactor’s neck from the noose. She’d be free to start her new life.
“This is your bedchamber,” he said, stopping at a door. Opening it wide, he ushered her through with a flourish.
Diana’s mouth hung agape as she entered. Everything was decorated in cream and gold with a pattern of pale pink roses. It was elegant, lavish, and exquisitely feminine. A sweet fragrance filled the room from clusters of matching pink roses in vases set throughout. The coverlet on the bed was sprinkled with petals, and more trailed from it all the way to the door.
“It’s a room for a fairy tale princess,” she murmured, then shook herself out of her daze to bend and scoop up a handful of petals. “A bit overmuch, don’t you think? I can only begin to imagine what people will say when they hear of this.”
“They will say I’m besotted with you.”
She turned to see the wry amusement in his voice reflected in his eyes. “Which is the point of all this, of course.”
“Yes, but I selected the decor especially with you in mind.”
“It could not be more perfect if I’d chosen it myself,” she said, gazing around in delight.
“It was nothing,” he said with a shrug. “Your liking for all things pink made it a simple matter, really.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You asked Minerva.”
A guilty flush rose in his cheeks at the mention of his wife, and his mouth crooked in a half smile. “You know me far too well.”
