Page 25 of Five Nights to Claim His Duchess

“I see you and the Duke get along famously.”

She stopped. She did not turn at once.

“I am blessed,” she said, and did turn, and smiled. “I must thank you for it. After all, you arranged this good fortune.”

Octavia’s mouth curved. “Do not be in haste with your gratitude. There are few creatures on this earth as fickle as men.”

“Your advice is invaluable.” Diana inclined her head. “Thank you. I shall keep it by me.”

She turned to go.

“You could make yourself useful to your father.”

Diana stopped again.

“Instead of cooking up trouble where there is none.” Octavia came down the passage toward her, unhurried, the silk shawl trailing from her elbow. “You might apply the Duke’s assistance to matters of some actual importance.”

She stopped close. Close enough for Diana to smell her scent.

“New clothes for Arabella will make a considerable dent in the running of this house,” she said. “And your father has one or two concerns of his own that a little of His Grace’s generosity would resolve very neatly.”

Diana looked at her.

How, she thought, with something almost like wonder. How is a person shameless to this degree? You stripped her press on Tuesday and sold the clothes, and here you stand on Friday asking me to bill my husband for their replacement, and you do not blink.

She smiled wider.

“You sold—” She stopped. She let it hang exactly one second too long. “Forgive me. You donated perfectly good clothes. I am quite certain a woman so thorough already has a plan for replacing them.”

Octavia’s eyes flickered.

“And as for my father’s concerns,” Diana went on pleasantly, “believe it or not, I have no say whatever in where the Duke’s generosity goes.”

“You could hint.”

“I am afraid not.” Diana’s smile did not move. “I happen to have a husband who sees through things. And as you said yourself, I ought to attend to the pleasing of my husband and speak less.”

She walked away.

“Diana.” Behind her. “Diana. Come back here this instant⁠—”

He was in the drawing room, drinking tea with her father, looking for all the world as though he had been settled there comfortably his whole life.

“Your Grace.” Diana curtsied. “With your permission, I should like to spend a little time with my sister before we go.”

He set down his cup. “Is she coming with us?”

The door opened behind her.

“Do not tell lies, Diana.” Octavia swept in, breathless and bright. “We shall have the child down and let her say it herself, shall we? Let us all hear it from her own lips.”

“No,” said Diana. “She does not wish to come.”

There it was. The smirk, then it was gone.

“Very well then,” said the Duke.

Diana looked at her father.