At Aubynwood, events were no better. Gervase’s guests ate and flirted and rode, enjoying country pleasures while settling affairs of state. The Count de Veseul drifted about with an expression of secret satisfaction. In a fit of perversity, Gervase had invited the decorative and predatory Lady Haycroft, since he was in need of a new mistress, but her highly practiced overtures repelled him.
He’d also invited Francis Brandelin because he felt the need of having a friend near. Even that was a mixed blessing because he couldn’t see his cousin without wondering if the younger man was one of Diana’s lovers. He could have asked but did not. He didn’t want to hear the answer.
Talking politics with George Canning was less painful than brooding about his personal life. The two men were descending the main staircase when a diffident knock sounded at the door. The handful of guests milling about the front hall didn’t notice, but Gervase snapped to attention when a footman opened the door and he heard the sound of an unforgettable female voice.
With a soft clarity that carried, Diana said, “Good day, Hollins. Please inform my husband that Lady St. Aubyn has arrived.”
Musical though Diana’s voice was, a cannon shot could not have produced a stronger impact. Gervase wondered for a moment if he was hallucinating, if he had been thinking so much of her that his mind had conjured up a phantom, but everyone below was staring at the newcomer, so she must be real.
Beside him, Canning said, “Well, well,well,” on a note of rising admiration.
Diana stood serenely indifferent to the effect she had produced, a shaft of sunlight gilding her hair, her head high and a relaxed smile on her exquisite face. Gervase watched in shock, feeling a gut-wrenching mixture of black fury that she had invaded his home, reluctant admiration for her effrontery, and aching desire at the sight of her loveliness.
Hollins recognized her from the Christmas visit, and there was a palpable pause while he evaluated her words. Everyone in the household had known what was going on between the master and the beautiful Mrs. Lindsay, and most had approved. It was quite possible that Gervase had married his mistress without mentioning the fact to his staff.
Deciding to err on the side of caution, the butler bowed, “I shall inform his lordship.” He turned and disappeared from view.
Lady Haycroft was in the group below. Strange how vulgar her overgroomed blondness appeared next to Diana’s gentle beauty. In a voice harsh with surprise, the widow said, “Impossible! St. Aubyn isn’t married.”
Diana turned to her with an expression of mild surprise. “Have you ever asked him if he is?”
“Why . . . well . . . of course not.” Lady Haycroft stopped, temporarily at a loss. “Have you just married?”
“Not at all,” Diana said with undiminished good humor. “We have been husband and wife any time these last nine years. I’ve spent much of that time living quietly in the north. Our son’s health was delicate when he was younger, but he is so much stronger now that finally I can join my husband.”
Her voice acid with malice, Lady Haycroft said, “It’s said that St. Aubyn has a mad wife locked up in Scotland.”
“Heavens, is that what people say?” Diana gave a sweetly humorous laugh that entranced all the men below. “I never cease to be amazed at how word of mouth can alter even the plainest of facts. I did grow up in Scotland, but I’ve never been either mad or locked up.”
With delicate suggestiveness, she added, “My husband has often said how much he would like to keep me to himself. Perhaps that’s where the rumor started.”
As Lady Haycroft stared in defeated astonishment, Diana smiled graciously. “It was very bad of me not to be here to greet our guests, but I was delayed in Yorkshire. I do hope you’ll forgive me. Surely you are Lady Haycroft? My husband has mentioned you to me, and there could not be another blond guest as lovely.”
Game, set, and match. Lady Haycroft inclined her head in acknowledgment, her hostility undiminished, but unable to say anything more without appearing churlish. Gervase might have laughed at Diana’s deft handling of the situation if he hadn’t been so furious. If he had ever wanted proof of his wife’s ability to warp the truth, she was providing it.
Forgetting his companion, he started down the stairs. At the same time, Francis came into view. He must have heard most of the conversation, because he walked up to Diana and gave her a light cousinly kiss. “Diana, how wonderful to see you. Gervase was not sure when you would arrive.”
Such a greeting by St. Aubyn’s cousin sealed her acceptance. The guests began to coalesce around Diana, eager to make her acquaintance and delighted to have been present at an occasion with such gossip potential.
Gervase reached the bottom of the stairs and stalked toward the group. People turned to stare at him, wondering if something even more interesting would take place.
He’d be damned if he would air his dirty linen in public. Inclining his head to his wife, he said coolly, “I trust your journey was a pleasant one, my dear.”
Diana’s head snapped around at the sound of his voice. Their gazes struck and held, and for an instant he forgot the guests that surrounded them, forgot his wife’s treachery. He wanted to take her in his arms, taste her lips and loosen her hair, and make slow intense love to her.
She made a movement toward him, then checked it, fearful of her welcome. Closing the distance between them, Gervase took her arm in a punishing grip and led her away. From the calmness of his face, the onlookers would have assumed that he was giving a quiet, husbandly greeting, but his voice was low and furious as he demanded, “Just what the devil are you trying to accomplish with this? Whatever it is, you will not succeed.”
Diana’s drowning blue eyes met his, pleading and apologetic, but before she could speak, the door opened again and Geoffrey marched into the tense silence. Everyone in the hall looked from the dark-haired boy to the viscount, then back. It was possible to doubt Diana’s identity, but not that of the heir to St. Aubyn.
With a temerity to equal his mother’s, he walked through the guests to Gervase and offered his hand. “Good day, sir. It is good to see you again.” Not an affectionate greeting, but quite in line for a well-mannered son of the nobility.
Geoffrey’s eyes were very like Diana’s, both in lapis-blueness and the anxious question in them. Gervase studied the boy’s dark hair, the jawline, the wide cheekbones, and wondered how he could have been so blind.
There was much that he could have said, but not here, in front of others. “Good day, Geoffrey. I trust you have been working on your Latin.” His greeting was prosaic, but his handshake far from casual as he welcomed his son to Aubynwood.
Responding to the expression in his father’s eyes rather than the actual words, Geoffrey beamed. “Yes, sir. And my Greek, too.”
Hollins returned with a footman. Perhaps he had listened at the door and knew in which quarter the wind lay. “Bring her ladyship’s baggage from the carriage,” the butler ordered.
