The gray brows rose. “Clever of you, my dear. How did you get the money?”
“I bet James that Tom would get drunk at Mrs. Stewart’s ball. But that’s beside the point! I found out that his—his—” She took a deep breath. “His mistresses have all been great beauties. With dreadful reputations, but clever.”
She waited for Granny to ring a peal over her for speaking of a class of women she should not even know of. Instead the old woman gave a crack of laughter. “Of course, he has other women.” Diantha gaped at the blunt words. If Mama ever found out about this conversation, she would have a spasm. “My girl, a man picks out a mistress for the same reason he picks a suit of clothes. He wants something that looks good on him, and he changes them just about as often as he does his coat.” She stared hard at her granddaughter. “We’re wives, not strumpets. A wife has a permanent place in her husband’s life and his home, and this gives her what little power she’s got.”
“It’s not fair.” Tears rose to her eyes as she muttered the words.
“Fair or not, that’s the path open to us.” A hand lifted her chin. Her grandmother’s face softened under her regard. “I’d like to see you make more of it than your mother and I did.”
Diantha sniffled, then pressed her handkerchief to her eyes. “I’d rather find a different path.”
A sly smile tugged at the corner of the old woman’s mouth. “You’ve got more heart and common sense than both your parents combined—maybe you will.” Briskly, she turned to gather up an elegant paletot and bonnet obviously designed to match the dress. “But not in the next quarter of an hour. Your mother’s expecting you downstairs. And your husband.”
The girl clutched at the wrinkled hands. “Granny, I’m scared.”
“I know. But the realities of married life aren’t the horrors they’re made out to be.”
As her grandmother embraced her, Diantha wondered if she referred to the mysterious conjugal duties that ladies were not permitted to speak of. They involved a bed, she gathered, and some of her friends described them as very pleasant. But they had not specified the mechanics involved.
“Don’t forget about your old granny after you cross the ocean, will you?” Despite her sharp manner, the withered lips trembled and her voice broke.
Diantha swallowed a lump in her own throat and forced herself to smile. “Don’t be silly, you know I won’t.”
They gripped each other tightly on that last walk from her room to face the crowd waiting to see them off. At the head of the stairs, that disorienting sense of unreality descended once again. Her mother’s artificial smile matched those of the guests crowding the foyer below. Diantha got the distinct impression that they wanted the bride and groom gone so they could return to the ballroom for more dancing.
“What are you doing in that ensemble?” Her mother hissed the words as she brushed each cheek with cool lips. “I selected the blush pink serge for you to leave in.”
Her grandmother sniffed. “That pink monstrosity you picked makes Dina look like an overblown rose. This is a gift from me.”
“Neither of you have the least idea of what is fashionable! Blush pink is thedernier cri, and Miss Fish wore a blue going-away dress just last month!” Diantha willed herself not to flush with shame. She would not miss her mother’s tirades. “How could you do this to me?”
“Fiddlesticks! She looks much prettier in this than that getup you ordered for her.” Mama’s face turned an alarming shade of red, but she bit her tongue in front of their guests. “And I imagine her husband thinks so too.”
Diantha twisted her neck to scan the crowd and instantly felt foolish. He waited for her at the bottom of the steps, one large hand resting on the marble banister. He stared at her with a surprised smile and she tamped down a flash of irritation. She wasn’t that plain, for heaven’s sake!
Her brow puckered as a vague image of telling him something about the carvings swam into her head. Odd, she must have dreamed it.
Even without the blush serge, she received all the appropriate compliments at the bottom of the stairs, including a kiss on her still ungloved hand from her husband. She freed herself from his grasp, resenting the insincere demonstration. Her mother fawned on his lordship one last time. Some of her brothers’ friends shouted a few risqué remarks that left her cheeks burning.
Her father shook his new son-in-law’s hand without sparing Diantha a look. “We’ll see you tomorrow at the dock. Off you go.”
The headache that had plagued her all day returned full force as they were escorted to their coach by the more boisterous elements in the crowd. Looking back, she saw her grandmother at the top of the steps, wiping away tears. Trying to match her husband’s stoicism, she took a shaky breath and lifted a hand in farewell.
Her vision blurred as she turned away to go down the steps. She missed her footing once, butsaved herself almost immediately by clinging to the firm arm linked with hers.
Tilting her head back, her gaze met her husband’s. To her surprise a reassuring smile touched his lips as his fingers interlaced with hers and squeezed gently. Unfortunately, one of the newspaper photographers hired by Amalthea chose that moment to take their picture. She hissed in pain as the blinding light jolted through her aching head.
In seconds, she found herself rushed into the carriage, followed by his lordship. She scarcely had time to seat herself before he banged on the roof to tell the driver to start.
He leaned back and exhaled deeply, as though he had just completed a great task. His eyes flicked a glance at her. “Do you still have a headache?”
She cocked her head at the sympathetic question. “It’s quite wretched at the moment, but how did you know I have one?”
His lips twitched and a twinkle appeared in his eyes. “After the amount of cognac you imbibed last night, it would be amazing if you did not.”
Distracted by the first sign of warmth she had detected in him, his words did not sink in at first. When they did, she gulped weakly. “You—youknowabout last night?”
“Know about it? My dear girl, please remember who helped you to your bedchamber.”
