Page 43

Yes. She would like that more than anything. But that wasn’t why she was here. “You are kind to offer, and I thank you for doing so, but no.”

After Polly retreated, Diantha realized with dismay that she’d left her book downstairs. She and Lady Harcourt had passed some quiet time that afternoon in the drawing room. She stood at the door and cocked her ear. She could hear everyone down there, talking and laughing.

Lord Marsden had said he knew what it was to be alone. Far be it from her to discount anyone’s lived experience, but she would wager he didn’t know what this was like. Sitting alone outside the party. Close enough to hear but as far away as ever.

She shook her head. What was she doing? Mounting a competition over who was lonelier? She went and sat by the window.

She ought to get used to it. In five months’ time, she would be more alone than she’d ever been.

But also busier, and perhaps that would be some consolation. She had pledged to pay Mr. Baldwin an amount that would deplete her savings by half. She was, as she had told Lord Marsden, no stranger to poverty. And it wasn’t as if she would be plunged into such a state immediately. She would have enough money left to rent a room somewhere for a while. But she would have to figure out a way to support herself, and if it wasn’t going to be as a companion or a governess—she took Lord Marsden’s point on the matter—which were the only occupations open to a lady in her position, she would need to get creative, like her mother had. Take in piecework, perhaps.

She was going to have to abandon her silly cottage fantasy, that much was certain.

There was a tap on her door.

It was Lord Harcourt, peeking his head around. “I thought to say good night to Mother.” He held out a hand to forestall Diantha from rising from her chair. “Don’t get up.”

She beckoned him in and pointed toward the door to his mother’s adjoining room.

“Is all well?” he whispered as he passed by.

“Yes, my lord. I think you may find her already asleep. She was very drowsy just now.”

He disappeared for a minute, and when he came back, he said, “She is indeed asleep. I confess I find myself relieved at how smoothly the day appears to have gone. You were correct in your observation that her routines have been entirely upended. But I see that you managed to pack so many of her favorite, familiar things. Thank you.”

“And I see you papered her bedchamber so that it would remind her of home.”

Lord Harcourt did not like to be complimented. She could see him preparing to deflect, so she took the opportunity to say, “Lord Harcourt, I left my book downstairs. Would you mind terribly waiting while I go fetch it?”

“Of course not. Please take your time.”

The chattering grew louder as she approached the drawing room. She hoped not to make a scene and was relieved to see that everyone was engrossed in a card game. With any luck, she could slip in and out unnoticed.

She glanced toward the armchair tucked into another corner where she thought she might find her book, and discovered she’d been wrong. Everyone was engrossed in a card game, minus one gentleman.

“Pardon me, my lord,” she whispered as she approached, and Lord Marsden looked up, an expression of bewilderment giving way to a smile.

“Miss Brown! Will you be able to join us, after all?”

He was rising. She waved to indicate that such formalities were not required. “I am merely here to retrieve my book.” She pointed to where it was resting on a side table on the far side of his chair.

He held up the book he was reading. She recognized the copy of Frankenstein she’d lent him. “I am so engrossed that I am compelled to hide here in the corner instead of playing with the others.” He picked up her book. “I was speculating on whose book this was. I had it narrowed down to one of the ladies, and I wondered if it was yours.”

“How did you know it belonged to a lady?”

He read the title aloud. “The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent.” That doesn’t give away much, but there is a brilliant purple ribbon marking the page. I suppose it could have been Stonely’s, but he tends to read poetry on these trips, and the ribbon felt to me as if it belonged to a lady.”

“I have an inordinate fondness for ribbons,” Diantha said. And that purple velvet one was a beauty.

“Ribbons?”

“Yes, ribbons.” She smiled. He sounded as if he’d never heard of such a thing. “You know, of the sort you might find on ladies’ bonnets, for example.”

“You do have a hat adorned by a very striking ribbon. It is the color of the sun as it begins to set on a hazy day.” He took off a pair of spectacles as he spoke. She hadn’t realized he wore them. But then, she hadn’t before had occasion to observe him reading. They suited his face.

“I admit to being more flattered than I ought that you noticed,” she said, ordering herself to attend to the conversation. He really did have the loveliest eyes, though, under those glasses. They were the most extraordinary shade of brown, rich and warm, leaning almost toward rust.

“I suppose I noticed because most ribbons you see are blue, or white, or green. Or any color, really, but the … usual versions of those colors.” He paused. “I am not making sense.”