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So he waited, every nerve tensed for her answer.
At last, she gave a heavy sigh. ‘Perhaps you are right. Maybe Will can find something.’ She gave him a rueful smile. ‘I can always give myself up in the end.’
She turned to look up into his face. ‘Maybe I should have trusted you more, eight years ago. Maybe Graveston would not have carried out his threats. All he needed, however, was for me to believe he would. A man of his rank, one who had imposed his will on others practically from birth...’ She shook her head. ‘What match was a girl of eighteen, with no experience of the world, against a man like that?’
‘So this time, you’ll trust me to keep James safe, to keep you safe. Trust us, working together?’
She squeezed his hand and nodded. ‘I’ll trust us.’
Overwhelming relief swept through him like a storm wind over the moors. Seizing both her hands, he kissed them.
‘Thank you. I appreciate how hard it is for you to share control over your safety and James’s with anyone,’ he told her, both pleased and humbled by her trust. ‘So, no more running away into the night! We’ll stand and face Graveston, stare him in the eye, if necessary, in the full light of day. Fight, not flee.’
Taking a shaky breath, she nodded. ‘Fight, not flee.’
He released her hands and motioned to her glass. ‘Finish your wine, then, and get some rest. I’m off tomorrow to find Will—I could send a message and ask him to Barton Abbey, but it would be faster to seek him out. I’d like him to head to Graveston Court as soon as possible.’
Obediently, she sipped the last and rose to leave. As he escorted her out, she paused at the doorway to look up at him. ‘Thank you, too. For protecting us.’
She lifted her face. He pulled her to him, and she clung to him through a lingering kiss that set every part of him throbbing with the need for fulfilment.
Oh, that he could make her his—truly his! But that couldn’t happen here and now, so he’d better disentangle himself.
Heeding Jane and his mother’s warnings, he’d better maintain a little more emotional distance, too.
Reluctant despite those cautioning thoughts, he released her. ‘I only wish there had been some other, equally safe place to bring you. I’m already missing Green Park Buildings.’
She sighed as well. ‘So am I.’
Chapter Sixteen
The next morning, Diana woke with a start. Her heart pounded through a moment of panic before she recalled where she was, in a pretty guest bedchamber at Barton Abbey, with James safe in the nursery on the floor above.
Safe.
It had been so long since she’d experienced the condition, she found it still difficult to believe. Like an injured soldier testing a wound, she prodded the edges of her anxiety, feeling for tender places where such concern was justified.
She and James were safe for the moment, but the confrontation had hardly begun. Still, Alastair had an ally who could probe into the circumstances of her husband’s death and produce testimony to validate her innocence. Something she could never have managed on her own.
She leaned back against the pillows. Alastair was right: he was far more than the charming, impetuous young man she’d once loved. If he could face down a charge of French cuirassiers, facing down the Duke or a court of inquiry would hardly faze him. A battle-tested soldier of ingenuity, strength and courage, he would protect her and his family.
Her struggle with Graveston...might even end well.
And if their plan were successful...what then?
She couldn’t summon up a single image of a future beyond that. Despite her confidence in Alastair’s abilities, the confrontation still to come loomed so large, her mind could not yet envisage anything beyond the yawning abyss of Graveston’s threats.
However, until Alastair returned—and his cousin, if Will were amenable to assisting them, completed his work—there was nothing to be accomplished by worrying over the matter any further.
She should instead go down to breakfast and express her thanks to a hostess who, amazingly, had prevented her from departing in the middle of the night and taking her tawdry problems with her.
Hopping out of bed, she crossed to the bell pull. She was inspecting her meagre selection of gowns when a knock at the door heralded the arrival of an apple-cheeked maid.
‘I’m Meg, Your Grace,’ the girl said, bobbing a curtsy. ‘Mrs Ransleigh says I am to attend you while you’re here. I pressed and hung up the gowns; I hope I done it how you like them.’
‘Thank you, Meg, they look quite fine. Is your mistress at breakfast now?’
‘She should be, or if not, she’ll be with the housekeeper. Shall I find her for you?’
‘No, I’m sure I shall see her there, or later.’
Diana let the maid help her into a modest yellow day gown, then direct her to the breakfast room. She’d seek out her hostess, express her thanks, and go see James.
Having agreed to Alastair’s plan, while he pursued the matter of testimony to dissuade the Duke from persecuting her, she’d have more time to get to know her son, she thought, her heart warming with gratitude. And perhaps while they sheltered at Barton Abbey, she might take some lessons from Mrs Ransleigh in how to become a proper mama.
* * *
A few moments later, after only a single wrong turn, she arrived at the breakfast room, to find Mrs Ransleigh still sitting over her cup of coffee. As Diana entered, her hostess rose and gave her a curtsy. ‘Good morning, Duchess.’
Returning the curtsy, Diana grimaced. ‘Please, Mrs Ransleigh, I should so much prefer that you not use the title. Could you not call me “Diana”, as you once did?’
Mrs Ransleigh inclined her head. ‘It’s certainly not proper. But if you truly prefer it...’
‘I would consider it a great favour.’ She managed a slim smile. ‘Anything that helps me put the last eight years behind me is preferable.’
‘Very well...Diana. I hope you slept well—once you slept,’ she added with a lift of an eyebrow.
Diana felt her face warm. ‘I did sleep well, thank you. Though I cannot imagine why you didn’t let me leave.’
‘Can you not? I admit, I did not believe the circumstances of your marriage when Alastair first apprised me of them, but as I considered them again after you spoke with me, I changed my mind. Your testimony reminded me that when I knew you before, you never could lie—truth always rang in your voice and illumined every expression of your face.’
A lump rose in her throat. Convincing Alastair had been a gift—she’d never expected to regain the respect of his mother.
‘Please, fill your plate!’ her hostess urged her. ‘Then we can chat.’
Marvelling that, if she’d followed her own plans, she’d now be riding in some farmer’s cart towards her reckoning with Graveston, rather than sharing breakfast with the mother of the man she’d wronged, Diana served herself and took a seat.
Once the footman had poured her coffee and withdrawn, Mrs Ransleigh said, ‘I liked you immediately when Alastair introduced us years ago, you know, and happily anticipated welcoming you to Barton Court as my daughter. Of course, I was appalled when you jilted Alastair. Incredulous, too,’ she added with a smile. ‘What girl of sense would give up my son for a mere title?’
Diana had to return it. ‘What girl indeed!’
‘I’ve been fortunate,’ Mrs Ransleigh continued, ‘I was allowed to marry a wonderful man for whom I cared deeply, to bear three children who returned a thousandfold in pride and pleasure for any trials experienced in raising them. But I know many women are not as lucky. Men have their land, or their skills or trade; they can choose how to earn their bread, settle in the community where they were born, or leave it to find new adventures—or to forget disappointments. Whereas most of our lives are dictated by others—fathers, husbands, brothers. But within the narrow range of our choices, I believe we women can display bravery and endurance equal to that of any soldier upon a battlefield. “Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for a friend.” As you did. But one sacrifice was enough, Diana. This time, Alastair will fight to protect you, and I’ll do all I can to assist.’
Diana’s hard-won control seemed to be unravelling, for she felt tears prick her eyes. Once again, from deep within where she’d shut away all memories of that long-ago affair, a recollection slipped out: how much she, who’d never known her own mother, had eagerly anticipated sharing Alastair’s. The flush of warmth—and longing—that followed in its wake, she made no attempt to suppress. ‘Thank you for believing me,’ she whispered.
‘It’s a travesty that you were distanced from loving your son! To have been forced to miss his first six years! Fortunately, you have several more before he’s old enough to prefer friends to his mama. You need to make the most of them.’
