The Willful Widow (6 page)
The older woman frowned. It was high time she took a hand in things. Diana must be made to go out and about where she could be appreciated. Whenever the two of them made one of their rare appearances, the young widow never lacked for admiring glances, and Ferdie's friends were quick to seek her out. She was charming, clever, and quite ravishing really, though not in the usual way. Her nose was straight rather than fashionably retroussé. Her lips were beautifully sculpted rather than kissable, and she was witty where most of her contemporaries were flirtatious, but there was an air about her which captured the attention and interest of everyone—men and women, young and old. The quality of her mind and conversation fulfilled the promise of her elegant appearance—a condition that was all too rare in the fashionable world of the
ton.
Seraphina shook herself briskly and reached for the paper her niece had discarded so abruptly. She turned to the 50
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theater announcements and noted with satisfaction the performance of
La Clemenza di Tito.
Diana was fond of Mozart, and this seemed a likely inducement to bring her out into the world. Knowing the viscount's predilection for more serious entertainment, especially if Diana were involved, her aunt felt certain they could count on his escort. Though it seemed a trifle churlish to take advantage of the lad, it behooved them to have an eligible man in attendance. Seraphina had seen enough of society to know that males were far more likely to pay attention to a woman in whom one man already demonstrated interest than if the woman were alone—men being such creatures of habit. Her dearest Thomas was a notable exception, of course. Lord, how she missed him. Gathering her skirts. Lady Walden prepared to make her way downstairs and relieve her niece of the tete-àtete that she had gone to with such reluctance. Meanwhile, in the drawing room, Diana was trying to show her appreciation of her visitor's latest offering in a way least likely to encourage the viscount. Reginald was a sweet boy, but she did wish he would stop staring at her as though she were a goddess. Truly, it was most tiresome having someone hanging on one's every word as though one were an oracle.
"How thoughtful of you to bring me the new edition of
Alcest.
I am not as familiar with it as I am with Euripides' other works, but this looks to be a most complete edition," Diana thanked him, eyeing the eight leather-bound volumes with some misgiving.
"I do hope you like them," her caller responded eagerly. "I was worried lest they appear too frivolous to someone of your 51
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serious tone of mind, but it was either that or
Ovidii Opera
Omnia,
which I felt certain you already possess." Recalling the plethora of Ovid's works in multiple editions of multiple works cramming the bookshelves in the library at Buckland, Diana nodded gratefully. But when on earth was she to have the time to do justice to this latest gift? Glancing at the viscount's hopeful countenance, she suppressed a sigh. He did try so very hard to please that she loathed herself for the creeping boredom she felt setting in whenever she was in his company. Then, remembering her earlier interview with his uncle, Diana quickly forgot his dullness, banished as it was by a fresh spurt of indignation at the high-handed ways of Justin St. Clair. It would not do, a hateful voice echoed in her head. No, it most certainly would
not
do. She, Diana would be dead of boredom in a fortnight if forced to spend it in Reginald's company, but there was no need for anyone else to know that.
Summoning up a brilliant smile, she continued, "How clever of you to divine that. Yes, Papa was a great admirer of Ovid, and thus he is disproportionately represented in our collection."
Reginald blushed with pleasure. "How fortunate you were to have a parent who understood your interests," he remarked wistfully. Then, realizing the heresy his statement implied, he hastened to defend the Earl of Winterbourne.
"Father is all that is excellent, and I could never respect him enough. It is just that he has so many responsibilities that he has no time for such things."
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And no patience either, I'll warrant, Diana thought to herself as she conjured up the sanctimonious expression of the earl's face as, forcing himself to look at her, he had offered her one hundred pounds to free his son from her
grasping toils.
She did feel sorry for the viscount. He was an estimable young man who was clearly in complete awe of his father—desperate for his approval on one hand and yet longing for something more than the pedestrian existence that the earl so obviously expected of him. At the moment, Reginald's pleasant though unremarkable countenance had a touch of pathos about it. Diana sympathized, but at the same time she wanted to shake him, to put a spark of defiance in the mild blue eyes or some determination in the cherubic features. Inadvertently, the harsh angles of St. Clair's swarthy face came to mind to be quickly banished. "My father merely made certain that my interests coincided with his," she responded dryly. "Come, don't repine. Parents never understand their children, after all. It is the way of the world."
The viscount brightened. "Is it? Naturally I am glad that Father is so occupied with important matters, but I wish we shared more. You always see things so clearly. Lady Diana. I wish I had your perspicacity. I can't tell you how enlightening I find our every conversation."
Before Diana could think of a way to cut short these encomiums, the door opened and Aunt Seraphina burst in clutching the
Times.
"You see, Diana, I was sure I had heard they were presenting
La Clemenza di Tito.
Oh!" Catching sight of the viscount, she executed an admirable start that did not 53
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fool her niece in the least. "I do beg your pardon. I did not know you had a visitor."
"La Clemenza di Tito?
I would be most honored if you ladies would allow me the pleasure of escorting you." Reginald grabbed the proffered bait with alacrity.
"I, well..." Diana began helplessly.
"Thank you. You are most kind," her aunt accepted briskly.
"Most kind, most kind," Boney echoed groggily. The minute he had discovered the identity of his mistress's visitor, he had promptly fallen asleep on her shoulder; but with the entrance of the more stimulating Lady Walden, he had awakened and was lazily surveying the proceedings out of one eye.
"I shall look forward to it. I cannot think why the idea had not occurred before, as I knew Lady Diana to be as interested in the arts as she is in literature. I am most grateful to you, Great Aunt Seraphina..." Boney promptly put his head under his wing and went back to sleep.
"Very good, then. We shall see you tomorrow evening, but you must excuse me, the post has just arrived and I must consult with Diana about something."
"Yes, yes, of course. I only wished to deliver this parcel to Lady Diana, but I must be on my way. Until tomorrow." The viscount emerged abruptly from his rapt contemplation of an entire evening spent at his adored one's side and grabbed for his hat, worried lest he had overstayed his welcome or that the length of his visit had extended beyond the bounds of propriety. "Good-bye. I look forward to escorting you," he 54
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reiterated as he hurried out the door leaving Diana to stare suspiciously at her relative.
"Well, I had to do something. I could see you and Boney were like to perish of boredom," Aunt Seraphina defended herself.
"After consigning me to an entire evening in his company." Her niece was not to be mollified.
"Pooh! You know you will enjoy the opera, and he won't dare interrupt your intense concentration," her aunt replied not the least abashed.
Diana laughed. "You are a dreadful conniver, Aunt Seraphina. No wonder the men of the city quake in their boots when you enter their domain."
Seraphina chuckled ruefully. "Now that my poor Thomas is gone, I am afraid I do rather manage everyone who comes in my path."
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Lady Diana was not the only one suffering the affliction of managing relatives. The very next day after his visit to the
"harpy," Justin was enduring yet another visit from his brother. Though it had only been two days since their conversation, Alfred, unable to wait any longer, had called on his brother at an hour only slightly more fashionable than that of his first visit. Close on the heels of Preston, he burst into the room demanding, "Well? Have you seen her? What did she say?"
"Alfred, what a surprise. I had thought you so eager to be off to the country." Justin, just back from an invigorating ride in the park, glanced idly through the morning post before turning to greet his brother.
Still puffing from his hurried climb up the stairs, the earl reiterated impatiently, "Well? What do you think?" His brother cocked his head speculatively. "What do I think?" he paused ruminating, "I think brown is unbecoming to a man of your complexion, Alfred. You would do better to wear dark blue or green."
"Damn it, Justin, you are the most exasperating..." "I know. I apologize, but the temptation was irresistible, you know." The gray eyes glinted with amusement. "You asked what the ... er ... harpy said. To put it bluntly, she doesn't give a rap whether the family approves or not. Says she and Reginald are both of age, and as she doesn't care for his 56
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relations above half, she prefers it that she is not acceptable to them."
"But, but..." the earl was speechless with the effrontery of it all. Not wish to be honored by the Earl of Winterbourne?
The idea of such a thing was impossible to grasp. "But she cannot! To risk being unacknowledged by the Earl of Winterbourne? She must be mad!"
His brother's amusement deepened. "Difficult as it is for you to accept, Alfred, the cachet of easy intimacy with the Earl of Winterbourne is not the height of everyone's aspirations. I don't think she'll cry off."
"Never say she is in love with my son?" Alfred was incredulous.
"No, I don't think she is the least bit in love with him. Judging from what little I saw of the lady, she could have Reginald for breakfast. I would venture so much as to say that she can run rings around him and most probably finds him rather dull." He held up an admonitory hand. "Now don't fly up in the boughs. Reginald is all that one could wish in the future Earl of Winterbourne, but even you must admit that he is rather a dull dog." The earl subsided, glowering. "No," Justin continued, "I think that she had not the least idea in the world of marrying Reginald until you put the notion into her head by kicking up such a dust. Really Alfred, you must admit, you have behaved rather foolishly over the entire affair. But the lady has no more taste than I do for being ordered about. I don't blame her in the least for wishing us all at the devil."
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The earl, who had been rocking back and forth on his toes in an agony of impatience burst forth, "But what am I to do?
She will make the lad miserable!"
Justin could not fail to note the desperation in his brother's tone, nor was he unmoved by the genuine concern he detected in his worried frown. "What can you do? Why, nothing."
"Nothing?" The earl's voice rose to what almost might have been called a shriek. "I cannot just sit by and do nothing while my son ruins his life."
"Relax, Alfred," Justin laid a placating hand on his brother's sleeve. "Reginald will not ruin himself. He will soon discover that she is not the lady for him. He will select a biddable and, one hopes, a suitably dowered young miss from the Season's crop of eager young ladies, and live happily ever after."
"I wish I shared your optimism," the earl muttered gloomily. "But you haven't heard him speak of her. Faugh, the lad talks of nothing else. I tell you, Justin, something must be done. If we can't appeal to her honor, then we must appeal to her baser instincts."
"I thought she had already spurned your filthy lucre."
"Not
those
baser instincts, the other kind."
"Other kind?" Justin's lips twitched in amusement.
"Don't be so obtuse, Justin, you know what I mean. They say no woman can resist you. Frankly, I can't see it, but..."
"It's my tailor, Alfred. He absolutely refuses to let me wear brown. Women detest brown."
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"Really, if that isn't just like you! Never a serious thought in your head. Amelia says..."
"That is unkind in you, Alfred. I give a great deal of serious thought to my appearance. And what does Amelia say? I am willing to wager that she doesn't care for brown above half either."
Alfred restrained himself with an effort. "Amelia likes all my clothes. Besides, my wife is above such things." His brother remained unconvinced. "Have you asked her?"
"No, but..."
"Well, perhaps you should."
"Never
mind
that, just say you will." Justin looked blank, "Will what?"
"Seduce the wench, of course. That's the only way she'll leave Reginald alone."
"Seduce her? But what will I do with her?" Justin wondered, his eyes dancing with suppressed laughter.
"Lord, how should I know? Whatever you do with all of the others."
"You forget, dear brother, she wishes to have nothing to do with the rest of the family, including me."
"Surely such paltry objections never weighed with you before," the earl replied sarcastically. His brother grinned. "How true."
"Then I fail to see why they should do so now."
"Especially when my familial duty stands so clear before me, eh, Alfred?"
"Just so." Failing entirely to catch his brother's ironic undertone, the earl looked to be relieved. Justin was a rare 59
