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Surrey, 1816
Diana strolled beside her husband, enjoying their afternoon constitutional. It was beautiful here. The sun was warm on her back, the breeze cool on her cheeks, carrying with it a hint of the flowers blooming in the hedgerow.
Lucas laughed at the spectacle ahead of them as their almost four-year-old son, Jason, chased after his new puppy, which gamboled to and fro across the path. When the rambunctious duo trundled off to have a look at the pond and see if there were any frogs to catch, Lucas put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “I meant to tell you, Westing and Charlotte will be visiting us next week.”
She grinned in delight. “I can hardly wait to see them again!” The pair had brushed off Society’s disapproval to become their closest friends. “I also have news. I received a letter today from Mr. Lambert.”
“So that’s why you wanted me to come along on your little jaunt,” he teased, shooting her an amused sidelong glance. “And how is your dear cousin?”
Her “dear cousin” was actually Harrow, who’d written them faithfully over the years under an assumed name to share happy news of his travels with René.
“He’s purchased a villa in Naples, and we’ve been invited to holiday with them this winter.”
“Really? It would be a damned sight warmer there than it will be here that time of year,” he muttered appreciatively. “I know my father would relish the idea of keeping his grandchildren for a month or two. We should go.”
The idea of going someplace where nobody looked at them with accusing eyes appealed, but the thought of leaving behind her Jason and his two-year-old sister Daphne made her chest tight. “Perhaps,” she said noncommittally. “It would be wonderful to see them again. It’s only June, so we have plenty of time to consider it.”
The last time she’d laid eyes on Harrow had been at the docks in Liverpool. A week after the wedding, she and Lucas had gone there to begin their honeymoon—a sail around the peninsula and a two-month-long tour of Greece. By no coincidence, Harrow had also been at the docks with René, preparing to board a ship bound for the East Indies. That was where they’d said their final goodbyes.
How their lives had all changed since that day!
Lucas’s father, although wroth over his decision to marry her, had refused to punish him, citing his own poor example as the fault. Although absolved in the eyes of Society of the original reason for having been cast out, thanks to Harrow’s comment about her virginity, he’d been unable to accept a “fallen woman” as his daughter-in-law and had refused to receive her. His enmity had finally abated, however, when she’d presented him with a grandson.
Her mother-in-law had received word of their marriage with even less equanimity than his father but had likewise thawed upon Jason’s arrival. The lady had also taken a lover last year, an Italian painter she’d gotten to know while having her portrait made. Her mood had since, in general, improved considerably.
Bolingbroke had never gotten over his mortification and, along with her aunt, had withdrawn from London Society entirely and retired to the country—on the other side of England. They’d never attempted to contact her.
Grenville and his wife were still in London, but that gentleman’s standing had been greatly diminished by the news that his allegations regarding Diana’s immorality had been false.
All in all, everything had turned out well for her. She wasn’t the Society darling a duke’s daughter ought to have been, but she was more than happy here in Surrey, where she and Lucas had settled upon returning from Greece. She peered at her husband’s profile, marking the healthy glow of his sun-kissed face. “Do you ever regret giving up the excitement of living in London for such a quiet life as we have here?”
Stopping, he took her face between his warm, dry palms and looked deep into her eyes. “Never. There is no regret when it comes to love, save for those who choose not to have it. I’d give it all up again without hesitation to have you, Lady Blackthorn.”
As he pressed her lips in a tender kiss that quickly heated with the promise of passion later tonight, Diana thanked Fate for leading her, though the path hadn’t been an easy one, to this place. This was her home now, where she belonged—in Lucas’s arms. And this was her life, a life of love that had proven capable of weathering any storm.
She couldn’t have asked for more.
