Page 24 of Five Nights to Claim His Duchess

She looked up at Betsy.

Betsy’s face was tight. “The lady sent word all of a sudden, Your Grace, that the little miss’s clothes were to be brought down—every one. I hid what I could, two frocks, and her good boots; they’re under my own bed this minute. She took the rest.”

“She said it was given to the parish,” said Diana.

“So she said.” Betsy’s voice dropped. “But those were good fabrics, miss: good muslin, and the velvet spencer your mother had made her. I’ve heard it about the kitchen she sold the lot. Sold his lordship’s old coats too, and there’s some of your own gone from the press upstairs.”

Of course she did.

That was the part she could not get past. Her father was under the woman’s thumb entirely; Octavia had only to look sad at breakfast to have whatever she liked by luncheon. She could have had ten new gowns for the child by asking. She could have had a hundred. Instead she had stripped an eight-year-old’s press and sold the clothes off her back for what — forty pounds? Fifty? For the pleasure of it. For the small mean pleasure of it.

Diana knelt again and took her sister’s hands.

“Bella. Do you want to come with me?” She said it as steadily as she could. “There is a room ready, and it is next to mine, and we should be together, and you should never have to see her again. Will you come?”

Arabella looked at the floor and shook her head.

Diana did not move.

“What?” she said. “Bella, why?”

Her sister would not look up.

Betsy let out a long breath.

“The lady got your letter, Your Grace,” she said quietly. “She read it out at the table. And then she was at it the whole day, up and down the house — how the child was trying to ruin your marriage, how she was a burden and a bother and had no gratitude in her. How His Grace would send you back to us the moment he was sick of the pair of you.” Betsy’s jaw set. “The little miss heard the whole of it. There was no keeping her from it.”

The rage came up so hard and so fast that Diana saw herself perfectly clearly, walking back into that drawing room and telling the woman her mind in the most unpleasant way. She breathed out.

“Bella.” She kept her voice very gentle. “You must not listen to her. Not to one word. She is unwell. There is something the matter with her, in her mind. It makes her say cruel things that are not true. You are not a bother. You have never been a bother in your life.”

“I am, though,” Arabella said, and it was to the carpet, and there was no self-pity in it at all, which was what made it unbearable. “I don’t want to make the Duke angry. He might be mean to you.” She scrubbed her nose with her wrist. “I’m fine here. I’ve got Betsy.”

Diana shook her head. “Bella⁠—”

But the small face had set. Diana knew that look. She had put it there herself, years ago, teaching a four-year-old how to be brave.

A tear got away from her. She wiped it off fast with the back of her hand.

“Your Grace.” Betsy’s voice, low and firm. “I’ve my eyes on her every hour. I keep her out of that woman’s path most days, and what I can’t stop I can soften. She’s loved in this house, whatever she’s wearing.” She paused. “You mustn’t take the whole of it on yourself. You’ve enough.”

Diana sniffed hard, and got her face back, and made herself smile. She cupped Arabella’s cheek.

She could not force her. That was the plain fact of it. She could not throw a screaming eight-year-old into a carriage and call it rescue.

“Bella,” she said. “Should you like to play?”

The whole face lit up. “Yes!”

“Then go up. Betsy will take you.” She kissed her forehead. “I shall come to you directly. I promise.”

Betsy dipped and led the child away; there in the passage, coming toward them, was Octavia.

Betsy bowed her head and went past her with Arabella held close on the far side, and did not slow.

CHAPTER TEN

Diana made to follow them.