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He scowled, his eyes filmy. “We’re not damn well married yet, girl. Save your nagging until there’s a ring on your finger.”
She should have known she wasted her concern. “Your pardon, my lord.”
He nodded in acknowledgment. “And when you get back to London, wring Ashcroft dry.”
The next morning, Diana appeared at the door of the study in the neat little house where she’d grown up. Familiar scents overwhelmed her. Paper. Ink. Her father’s old spaniel Rex. The dog raised his head from the rug before the unlit hearth and banged his tail in welcome.
John Dean dictated a letter to Ezra Brown, the young man from the Abbey staff whom Burnley supplied as assistant in Diana’s absence. Sun poured through the open casement window behind her father, lighting him like a saint in a devotional painting.
The young man had his back to the door and didn’t realize he was under observation. Her father, however, tilted his grizzled head and directed his gaze to exactly where she stood. She was used to this immediate awareness of what went on around him although she knew it disconcerted strangers.
“Diana?” His soft voice was warm with pleasure, and his face lit with expectation.
“Yes, Papa.” She stepped into the room as the secretary turned in surprise. He was a shy young man who reminded her of William before she’d married him. “You look well.”
It wasn’t completely true. Her father looked tired and harried. And the stacks of paper on his desk were considerably higher than they’d been before she left. She’d already noticed the air of neglect the house wore in Laura’s absence. The knowledge only added another layer to the suppurating guilt that had become Diana’s constant companion.
Her father stood and stepped unerringly around the desk, opening his arms wide. “Daughter, I’m glad you’re back.”
She’d sneaked into the house and slept in her room for the few remaining hours of the night. After the decadent splendor of Lord Peregrine’s house or even the more modest luxuries of Chelsea, the narrow cot had seemed incongruously innocent.
For all her exhaustion, she’d tossed and turned, and disturbing, difficult dreams shattered what scraps of slumber she snatched. Most involved Lord Ashcroft banishing her from his life, contempt darkening his lean face.
Eventually, she’d lain awake listening to the familiar sounds of home. The faint creak of the house as it settled. The chirp of a night bird. The distant bustle of their two servants starting work before dawn.
Every sound insisted she no longer belonged in this haven of safety.
She’d risen early to alert the staff to her presence. She’d told them not to let her father know she was here. They’d been puzzled, but they’d obeyed. While her father might be titular head of the household, Diana had been mistress since long before her marriage.
She’d eaten in her room, then dressed in one of her old gowns. It too felt unfamiliar, and her eyes, freshly accustomed to fashionable clothes, immediately recognized that the dress was cheap and worn.
Now she rushed into her father’s embrace. His arms closed around her with the unconditional love she’d known since she was a little girl.
If he learned of the evil she did, would he greet her wi
th affection? She buried the troubling thought as she buried her head in his shoulder. Hot tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back. The arms she snaked around his waist returned his hug with unusual fervor. She tried to draw on his strength as she had so often.
Awareness of her sins prevented her taking comfort from her father’s presence.
He was the one who broke away. Diana straightened her spine and battled for composure. She summoned every acting skill. He’d immediately divine the slightest hint of distress or falsehood.
She’d considered not seeing him. But the gossip mills at the big house would soon alert him to her visit. If she didn’t look in on him, he’d worry.
He worried anyway. As was clear from the frowning, fond glance he leveled on her. “I’ve missed you, child.”
“I’m so glad to see you, Papa.”
Most days they worked closely. She might be bailiff in all but name, but he was still a source of advice and wisdom and experience. She suffered a pang of nostalgia for the busy, worthwhile, honest life that had been hers until she left for London. She also missed her father, his integrity and his sweetness and his endless trust in her.
A trust she no longer deserved, she was grimly aware.
John Dean directed a glance toward his secretary. “Ezra here is a worthy substitute, but you and I are such a team.”
“I hope he isn’t working you too hard, Mr. Brown.” She made herself smile at the young man.
Brown blushed and stood with an eager expression. She’d long ago realized Ezra Brown harbored a tendre for her. She’d thought he’d grow out of it, but he never had.
“He’s taught me a great deal, Mrs. Carrick, even in this short time. I’ll be sorry to return to my work at the Abbey.”
