“What is it?”
“Did you feel something for him that I was unaware of?” she asked. “I am certain your father is upset, and I know why, but it seemed to me that he was more excited about this marriage than you ever were.”
Diara looked at her sharply. “That is a terrible thing to say.”
Iris averted her gaze. “As I said, it was not a kind question,” she said. “I do not mean to be cruel, but Uncle Robin always seemed much happier about the marriage than you were. He spoke of it so frequently, while you… you were less inclined to speak of it.”
Diara knew she was right. It was certainly a terrible thing to say, but it wasn’t untrue. She couldn’t hold up a front any longer because Iris, who had lived with her family for years, knew everything that went on. She knew the players, she knew the nuances, and she knew the situation.
She knew what Diara thought of her intended.
There was no use denying it.
With a sigh, Diara sat heavily opposite her cousin on the window seat.
“Two years ago, my father came back from France crowing about the betrothal he’d made with the House of de Lohr, a marriage he’d practically sold his soul for, or so he said,” she said wearily. “He’d arranged a contract with the Earl of Hereford and Worcester’s second son, Richard, the man named after the Lionheart. According to my father, Richard de Lohr will replace his father as the greatest knight in the realm once his father passes away, and his son would enjoy all of the benefits of such respect. That means his son will enjoy the same prestige.”
Iris was watching her cousin closely. “I know.”
“Then Beckett came here with his father.”
“I was here.”
“And you saw what went on.”
Iris nodded slowly. “I saw a man who was arrogant and apathetic towards you,” she said. “Beckett was not kind to you in the least.”
Diara put her hands over her face. “It was worse than that,” she said. “You saw what happened. He would mostly ignore me, but the moment I spoke to any man other than him, he would glare at me.”
“But he hardly spoke to you himself!”
Diara threw up her hands in despair. “He called me a whore before he left,” she said, verging on tears. “Do you remember that? He told me that he’d heard all about how I had dozens of men following me around, and he said that only a whore would have such a following.”
Iris went to sit next to her, putting her arm around her shoulders. “He did not know you,” she said softly, with encouragement. “He did not know that you are bright and witty and men are naturally attracted to you. You are a happy,sweet woman, Deedee. Beckett could not see that through his suspicion and jealousy.”
Diara flicked a tear from her eye. “I’ve never even been kissed,” she said sadly. “How can I be a whore?”
“I know,” Iris said, giving her a hug. “But it is not for lack of trying. From men, I mean. Some of your admirers are here at Cicadia, and they hang on every word you speak. They would gladly give you a kiss if you would let them.”
Diara snorted softly. “My father’s knights?” she said, smiling weakly at something she didn’t find particularly humorous. “One of them has probably never taken a bath in his life, another one is simply a good friend, and the last one is too, too old. I have known him since I was a child.”
Iris removed her arm from the woman’s shoulders and clasped both of Diara’s hands in her own. “Though I am sorry for Beckett’s death, because surely it is a terrible thing for his family, I do believe it is a good thing for you,” she said. “You were going to be miserable with him, Deedee.”
Diara wouldn’t look at her as she shook her head. “That is not true.”
“It is,” Iris insisted. “I have watched you try to convince yourself for two years that this will be a good marriage. We both know it would not be. Beckett made it clear he does not want a wife, and he made it very clear that he was unhappy his father had forced him into a betrothal. He would have made you miserable.”
“I would have been a good wife.”
“To a man who did not want one?”
“He was young,” Diara argued weakly. “That’s all I really saw in him—immaturity. He would learn to appreciate a wife as he grew older.”
Iris sighed sharply. “That is your mother talking,” she said. “Aunt Annie was trying to convince you that all would be well if you would only be patient. But she was wrong.”
Diara looked at her then. “She had no choice,” she said, suddenly firm. “I had no choice. Truth be told, I was not happy my father forced me into a betrothal either, but there was nothing I could do about it.”
“There is now.”
