Smiling, Rory rose from the table. “It’s my nursery time now. Every day little Diana does something new, and I must be there to witness it.”
“You are the very model of a modern mother.” Diana also stood, knowing that her niece wouldn’t want company during this private time with her baby. “I imagine there will be a number of courtesy calls this afternoon, so I’ll work on my travel memoirs this morning. I thought I’d be done by the time I returned to London, but I kept thinking of new things to add that hadn’t made it into the original journals. This is turning into a series. I’m not sure the results will be worth the effort!”
Rory shook her head emphatically. “You’re wrong! Your travel memoirs are going to be bestsellers, and I speak as someone who knows something of publishing. The original journals were wonderful, and the expanded, polished versions will be even better. I can’t wait to read the first one.”
“You’ll be my first reader,” Diana promised. “But I have trouble believing that my tales of misadventures will be of general interest.
“You’re suffering from writer’s anxiety,” Rory said firmly before she left the breakfast room. “Keep working and eventually it will pass. I promise!”
Diana headed to the small drawing room, the coziest of the public rooms. It was her usual work area and she’d taken over the desk, which was perhaps less neat than the rest of the household.
The Panda was already there, curled up on a folded blanket that Diana had placed on the sofa to protect the upholstery. He raised his head at her entrance, offering the perfect angle for her to scratch his throat. She complied before settling down to work.
She was copying the next to the last chapter of her volume of Greek experiences when a footman entered to announce, “The Duke of Castleton is calling. Will you receive him?”
Her heart gave an odd little lurch. “Of course. Show him in.”
“Shall I summon Lady Aurora?” the footman asked doubtfully.
“Nonsense, I don’t need a chaperone. I’m no schoolroom girl and I’ve known Castleton for donkey’s years,” she said briskly, while wondering if her hair needed attention.
Reminding herself that this was merely a courtesy call, she straightened her papers so they wouldn’t look untidy. By the time she finished that, Castleton was entering the room. Her heart did that strange lurch again.
The night before in his corsair garb, he’d been a perfect fantasy. Now superb tailoring in a quiet style made him a perfect gentleman. With sudden insight, she realized that his present appearance was as much a costume as his corsair clothing the night before. Both appearances were meant to conceal his true self behind the polished façade. He inclined his head courteously. “Thank you for receiving me, Lady Diana.”
She rose and offered her hand. His gloved clasp was warm and firm, exerting just the right amount of pressure. What to say? She must mention the daisies but not single them out. “Good morning, Your Grace. Lady Aurora and I thank you for the flowers. Roses and daisies at this time of year! You have a conservatory?”
“Yes, it was one of the first improvements I made to Castleton House after I inherited. I enjoy flowers.”
So did Diana. It was one of many simple pleasures they shared. “Please have a seat, Your Grace. But have I been away from England so long that I missed the fact that morning calls are now actually made in the morning instead of the afternoon?”
He smiled as he took a chair opposite her. “An advantage to being a duke is that if I break a social rule it’s considered charmingly eccentric rather than rude. I was hoping that by my coming early we’d have a chance to talk. Last night I never did get the opportunity to ask you about your travels.”
She gestured to her desk. “It would be easiest to wait until I publish my journals. Lady Aurora convinced me to work on them on the voyage back from India, so I’ve been copying and polishing my traveler’s impressions. I have grave doubts that a publisher will be interested, but I might do a private publication for friends and family. It will save me answering a lot of the same questions over and over.”
“Please put me down for a copy,” he said a little wistfully. “I should love to visit faraway places, but I have too many responsibilities here to take such a long journey. I’ll likely never travel farther from home than Paris.”
“I have known people who yearned for a duke’s wealth and power,” she said with a wry smile. “But I’ve never heard a man yearn for the endless responsibilities and documents and toadies seeking to curry a duke’s favor.”
“And you never will,” he said dryly.
The Panda suddenly jumped from the sofa and marched majestically to greet the visitor, looking up with his huge green eyes. Anthony regarded him with interest. “Is this fellow a kitchen cat who has decided he likes upstairs more than downstairs?”
“Mrrrp!”
Recognizing a request for attention, Anthony bent to scratch the cat’s head. “Given his size, I’m guessing he spends much of his time in the kitchen, coaxing the cook to give him extra food.”
Diana laughed. “The Panda isn’t a kitchen cat. He’s mine. I brought him back from India.”
The Panda suddenly gathered himself and leaped onto the visitor’s lap, an action that could not be ignored, not least because the cat was shedding black and white hair over the duke’s well-tailored clothing. “He really is huge!” Anthony exclaimed as he scratched the cat’s neck. “He must weigh a stone and a half at least.”
“It’s because he is an Imperial Chinese Throne Cat,” Diana explained mischievously. “Very rare. They are bred to protect members of the imperial court.”
Anthony’s expression was amused. “You’re sure he’s not an overfed alley cat who landed in clover when you brought him inside?”
“Sir, you insult his heritage!” But Anthony’s comment reminded her of his tendency to rescue stray animals. His father would have disapproved violently, so Anthony had secretly made arrangements with tenants and estate workers to take the animals in, with Anthony subsidizing the costs.
“My apologies, Sir Cat,” Anthony said solemnly. “What does ‘Panda’ mean?”
