“Yes, he … he dropped something. He is just cleaning up.” Gilbert hurried her down the stairs even quicker than before, meaning that his door disappeared entirely from view behind a banister. “What was it you wished to talk to me about?”
“I was wondering,” she said, placing a hand on his arm as she reached the bottom step. He seemed startled by the touch, too, for it brought him to a halt. “Would it be possible for me to invite some friends from London to stay?”
“What? Whatever for?” he asked sharply. “Ah, Mr Arnold, there you are.” He walked away from her. Hearing the butler’s name, she flinched and turned round, seeing Mr Arnold was waiting for his master, holding his frock coat in one hand and a top hat made with beaver fur in the other.
“Some of my old friends have expressed an interest in their letters in seeing me, and as I am not to return to London for a while, I was thinking I could invite one or two of them here.”
She followed her husband across the marble floor, eagerly asking her question as she stood beside him, watching Mr Arnold thread him into the frock coat and offer the top hat.
“For how long?” Gilbert asked.
“Just a couple of days. Perhaps a long weekend?” she asked with hope, feeling that perhaps she was finally going to have some company in this large house at last.
“Well …” He seemed to genuinely think about it for a minute, making her stand a little taller, then his answer came sharply. “No, that will not be possible.”
She parted her lips to ask why not when her father’s words came back to her.
Stay quiet, Diana.
“I think it best they do not come, for now, Diana,” Gilbert said distractedly, turning to a mirror in the hallway and putting on his hat. “It would be a long trip for them from London to here. It is much better things stay as they are.”
“As you wish,” she said softly, working hard to keep the sadness out of her tone. She could feel eyes watching her. She looked away from Gilbert as he fussed with his appearance and turned to see Mr Arnold was watching her. He didn’t even look away when he knew he’d been caught staring.
There was something in that gaze that made the same familiar jolt in her chest. Only this time, it wasn’t just because of the handsome face, but because of the keenness of that gaze.
“Right, I must go.” Gilbert turned away from the mirror and walked straight past Diana, heading to the door without a second look.
Diana debated following him to say goodbye properly, but with the cold dismissal, she found her feet wouldn’t move. She stood perfectly still, staring at the mirror and the position where her husband had just vacated. She couldn’t see her reflection very easily, for it was off to the side of the frame, but what she could see was Mr Arnold.
He had no idea she was watching him, evidently from the way his lips were moving, apparently muttering something under his breath as he closed the door on Gilbert. He looked irked. Once the door was closed, he turned back, finding her looking at him through the mirror. She looked away, trying to pretend she hadn’t been staring at him at all.
“How long will the duke be gone, Mr Arnold?” she said, clearing her throat and trying to find a formal matter to discuss.
“Two days at least, Your Grace.” He moved forward until he reached her side. “May I offer to find you paper and ink? Perhaps you would like to write to the friends you mentioned.”
She winced at the words and looked down at the marble floor between them. What would be the point in hurrying to write to old friends to tell them she could not see them for some time?
A door closed on the landing above the stairs. Diana flicked her head towards it, so certain it had come from Gilbert’s bedchamber. She moved towards the staircase, about to enquire what had been dropped and what the valet had to clear up so noisily when to her surprise, Mr Arnold jumped onto the stairs in front of her and blocked her path.
They stared at each other, both with apparently equal surprise.
“You seem to be as alarmed to be standing there as I am to find you there,” she said with a smile, feeling the temptation to laugh.
“I am rather,” he confessed, using that deep voice he had first shown her the night before. “Forgive me, Your Grace, I believe there is a problem upstairs, and I would like to ensure it is tidied up for you.”
You think I go into my husband’s bedchamber very often? What an incorrect view you have of our marriage!
“As you wish,” she said and turned away, walking back across the hallway. She had not quite reached the drawing room door when a second set of steps entered the hallway. She looked around to see the valet walking from the corridor that led to the servants’ staircase and heading to the main one.
Wait … if the valet is there … then who is in Gilbert’s bedchamber?
She moved away from the drawing room again, but not before she found Mr Arnold blocking her path for a second time.
“You are making a habit of this, Mr Arnold,” she said, cocking an eyebrow in surprise.
“Forgive me,” he said hurriedly, “but I think it for the best. Tommie wished to see you. He would like to discuss your plans for dinner tonight.”
“Oh, very well.” She turned away, deciding she could ask for another slice of that chocolate cake for dessert that evening, yet her gaze kept slipping back toward the staircase as the valet hurried up the steps.
