“Do not contradict me, young lady. If I let you eat everything you wanted, you’d swell up like a hot air balloon.” The words caused a wave of heat to mount slowly into Diantha’s cheeks. No matter how hard she tried, she could never live down her mother’s disappointment in having borne a daughter who did not match her own beauty.
“For heaven’s sake, Mally, there’s nothing wrong with the girl’s figure.” Her grandmother, the one person in the family unafraid of her daughter’stemper, patted her lips with a damask napkin. “I certainly never treated you like that growing up.” The old woman winked across the table at Diantha, signifying the arrival of a slice of cake in her room later that evening.
Diantha dared a small smile of thanks while her parents were distracted.
“I never had the opportunity to marry a peer of the realm. Although I have had a very satisfactory life with Mr. Quinn.” Her mother inclined her head toward her spouse.
As the two regularly engaged in sharp disagreements, she and her brothers had glanced at each other and sought for another subject to discuss.
Diantha pattered down the steps into the darkened entrance hall. The scent of burning oil drifted from the lamp in her hand as she passed the ballroom, already decorated and set up with tables and chairs for three hundred. She did not bother to look inside. Mama had arranged the decorations without consulting her.
Since that conversation with her family, she had suffered through a series of humiliating meetings with her husband-to-be. Forbidden to utter more than the barest commonplaces, she had listened, eyes downcast, while her mother arranged every detail of the wedding and reception. Her parents had even planned their honeymoon trip aboard the flagship of her father’s shipping line.
Worse, Mrs. Quinn, in an attempt to secure attention for the splendid match, had permitted several pieces of Diantha’s trousseau to be examinedby society writers from a popular journal. After exclaiming over the exquisite creations ordered from Worth of Paris, they published descriptions of several items.
Diantha had wanted to sink with shame when she read a detailed account of her embroidered underclothes. The article sparked one of the few times she protested to her parent.
“No one I know has ever had such intimate intrusion into their weddings!” She had shaken the paper in accusation.
Her mother rebuked her sharply. “Stop crying, you stupid girl! Society has closed its doors to this family for twenty-five years. Well, this will make them sit up and take notice.”
“I hardly think they’re going to be impressed because my corset-covers are embroidered with a flower-and-leaf pattern.” The remark earned her a box on the ear, but in her agitation Diantha had not cared.
She had tried to escape the single time they left her unwatched, but failed. Wedding arrangements continued. To the gratification of her father, Astors, Belmonts, and numerous other names from select clubs accepted their invitations.
So tonight she engaged in the only act of defiance she could think of. Slipping into her father’s darkened study, she retrieved a small key from its place under his inkstand and opened the inlaid wood liquor cabinet. Her brothers had taken Lord Rossburn out for a last spree this evening. Therefore she would have one of her own.
She supposed they were visiting the establishment of a Madam Sweet. From whispered conversationsbetween James and Thomas, she gathered gentlemen obtained the services of loose women there. She occasionally wondered just what those services entailed, but knew better than to ask.
After examining each bottle, she picked up one and read the label aloud.
“COGNAC XO IMPERIAL.” She poured the dark amber liquid into a cut-crystal snifter and sipped cautiously. It burned going down her throat, but not unpleasantly. In fact, the warmth in her stomach felt very nice indeed in the chilly room.
She filled the bulbous container nearly to the brim. Papa and her brothers often drank several glasses over the course of an evening.
Removing a book on architecture from her father’s bookshelf, she settled into an overstuffed wing chair and opened it to a chapter on the Georgian era.
Then she started to weep softly.
James Quinn needed to go on a slimming regimen. Kieran Rossburn held the portly young man up while his younger brother fumbled to unlock the door. “Why not ring for a servant?” His irritation roused his burden from his stupor.
“Father considers drinking and debauchery a waste of good money. So every single time we go out for a bit of fun”—his future brother-in-law indicated the front door of the Fifth Avenue mansion with a sweeping gesture that nearly pulled Kieran off his feet—”the old goat locks the door on us at midnight. We have to let ourselves in as if we still lived over the shop.”
“Damned unreasonable, if you ask me.” Beside them, Thomas looked over his shoulder from where he struggled with the key. It fell to the top step with a cold ping. “Missed again. You don’t think he changed the locks, do you?”
“Highly unlikely.” His lordship’s patience evaporated as the young man stooped to pick up the key and failed.
“Stand up and hold this.” He shoved James into his brother’s arms and retrieved the key from its resting place. Seconds later, he opened the door and guided the inebriated pair to a Louis Quinze settle. Groping his way in the dark to a switch, he turned up the gas-lit chandelier overhead.
“Say, you can’t do that!” Thomas stood up in protest and promptly collapsed back onto the settle. “The gas isn’t supposed to be lit after Father goes to bed.” Ignoring him, Kieran tugged vigorously at a bellpull.
“I do not care in the least what your father does or does not permit. And after tomorrow, I shall be free to tell him so myself.”
“That’s what you think, old boy.” James gave a snort of laughter, or perhaps contempt. “Harold Quinn never gives up a groat without a fight. If you want to live off his money, you dance to his tune.”
Kieran regarded the younger man coldly. “My estate brings in an adequate amount for me to live off of, thank you. I would like to remind you that your sister comes as part of a business arrangement with him.”
A bleary-eyed footman arrived a few minutes later, struggling into his livery jacket. Consigning Thomas to this unfortunate individual, his lordshiphoisted James to his feet and ordered the servant to lead the way to their bedrooms.
