Page 23 of Five Nights to Claim His Duchess

Then there was a warm weight over her hand. The Duke had covered it with his own, there on the settee, in front of everyone, and he did not look at her; he only patted it once and left it there.

That warmth. She felt her breath come back.

Across the room, Octavia was staring at their hands.

There were footsteps in the passage. Betsy came in with Arabella by the hand.

Diana rose halfway out of her seat before she knew she had moved.

Her sister was dressed as a servant. Plain gray stuff, coarse and shapeless, a white apron over it, the exact match of Betsy’s own. It did not fit her, and her hair was scraped back, and she was looking at the carpet.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Her father blinked. “What—?” He turned, and squinted at the child as though she had only just come into focus. “Bella. Why are you dressed so?”

Diana stared at him.

“Why is she dressed so?” She heard her own voice climbing and could not get hold of it. “Do you not live in this house? Do you not sit at table with her? Have you not laid eyes on your own daughter?”

“Oh, this is all my fault.”

Octavia’s voice went soft and grieving and folded neatly over the top of everything.

“The poor child had outgrown every stitch she owned. She has shot up so much this year that I could not keep pace with it. So I had the old things given away to the parish, as one does, and I fully intend to have new ones made up for her. I have been so busy, Your Grace. There is so much to do in a house like this.” She pressed her fingers to her lips. “I shall never forgive myself. She must have been so ashamed to be seen.”

Diana’s fists closed in her lap.

Busy. Busy with what? What in God’s name have you been busy with? You do not keep this house. You do not raise these children. You have not done one hour’s honest work since the day you came.

“Duchess.” Valentine’s voice came. “Take the child out. Ask her what she wants.”

“Why on earth would she want to?” Octavia began.

“Madam.” He did not raise his voice.

Octavia sat straight.

Valentine turned to her father. “Have you any objection to the girls speaking privately?”

“Well — I hardly think it⁠—”

“Unless there is something you would rather she did not say. What is the crime in a child speaking to her sister alone?”

Her father’s mouth worked.

“Indeed,” he said. “Indeed. No objection at all.”

Octavia said nothing. Her hands were perfectly still in her lap, her face perfectly pleasant, and Diana, crossing the room, could feel the heat coming off her like a stove.

The moment the door was shut Diana was on her knees.

Arabella flew at her. Diana caught her and held on and shut her eyes hard and would not let the tears come, would not, and pressed her mouth into her sister’s scraped-back hair.

“Bella. Oh, my darling⁠—”

“I am fine.” The small voice was muffled against her shoulder. “I am fine, Diana, don’t cry.”

Diana pulled back and took the child’s face in both hands and looked at her. She was not thinner. That was something. Her cheeks were warm, and her eyes were clear, and she did not have the pinched look of a child who is not being fed.