“I wouldn’t,” Verity said, “although I must admit that his body—”
“Yes, yes, you were rather vocal about that already,” Diana said irritably, then looked at Eliza. “Now, are you going to open the damned door or not?” Before she started crying. Before she could think about how hard it was to be in love with a man who probably only loved her for her body and her breeding capability, because he clearly didn’t respect her opinion at all.
Eliza let go of the handle, then turned to Verity. “She’s already cursing like him.”
“Perhaps that’s why he likes her so much,” Verity said. “Or perhaps it’s her rather large bos—”
“Enough!” Diana said as she opened the door. “I am not going to sit here while you start catalogingmyattributes. I’m going to bed.”
“She gets so fussy after a ball,” Eliza said. “Have you noticed that?”
“I haven’t,” Verity said. “But I’m noticing it now.”
Diana didn’t grace them with a reply. Instead, she made for the steps as quickly as possible. Unlike her, the two of them were always energized after any ball they organized that turned out well. Afterward, they loved to dissect the entire evening and figure out whether it had been a success.
But with the sun peeking above the horizon, she had no desire to do anything but go to bed. Not only was she too tired for any sensible conversation, she’d been unavailable for at least half the ball—either with Geoffrey or watching him deal with the Fieldhavens. So she couldn’t exactly chime in on certain aspects of the evening.
As soon as they’d entered and divested themselves of bonnets and shawls, she said, “Good night to you both. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Thankfully, they let her go. They didn’t always.
Once she was undressed and in bed, she lay there a while replaying everything he’d said and everything she’d said, and she got angry at him all over again. So she finally stopped thinking ofthat.
Instead, she worried she’d never get to be with him alone again. Elegant Occasions hadn’t contracted with him for anything beyond Rosy’s ball. Granted, he would have to pay them for what they’d done so far, but that wouldn’t necessarily be something he must do in person. He could send his man of affairs over.
Wait, did he have a man of affairs? She’d never seen one if he did.
She had to stop thinking of all those things—they were making her daft. Instead, perhaps she would think of Geoffrey and his kisses and how amazing it had felt to have him inside her. As she did so, she began to touch herself. Unfortunately, it was unsatisfying compared to doing the real thing with him.
A pox on the man! He’d both convinced her she wasn’t too cold for passion . . . and made it impossible for her to be passionate withhim.
If she ever had the chance to be with him intimately again, she would enjoy that part first and then get into an argument. Or perhaps skip the argument. Because if they couldn’t find a way to compromise, they would never find a way to make a marriage work. And she began to think that marriage to Geoffrey was precisely what she wanted.
Now if only she could figure out a solution to the issue of his late father’s situation. Clearly the gossip in Newcastle was a problem. But how much of a problem was it? Was it as bad as the Fieldhavens said? Given that Lady Fieldhaven had a vested interest in presenting it that way, Diana doubted it. She fell asleep contemplating the suicide of Geoffrey’s father.
Well into the afternoon, she woke up to discover her courses had come. She burst into tears. Now she couldn’t even hope for a child with which to force Geoffrey into marrying her. Not that she wanted him that way. But now she would have to wait on him, and she didn’t want that either, because she might be waiting foryears.
So if she ever disentangled her heart from Geoffrey, who now held it hostage, she wasnotgoing to fall in love ever again.
Being in love was utter misery if you couldn’t be with the one you loved.
Chapter Nineteen
Geoffrey had considered going over to Grosvenor Square a hundred times in the past four days. But he’d been busy reassessing his situation. Thanks to Diana, he’d started thinking of possibilities beyond the horrible box he’d built for himself, the one that cut him off from every person he cared about.
Between the ongoing social events Rosy was attending now that she had so many invitations and the daily visits from suitors whom he felt honor-bound to scowl at, he hadn’t had much of a chance to pay Diana a visit. Especially because he’d been working up the courage to tell his mother and sister what had really happened to Father. And why he hadn’t told them before.
Indeed, now that they were past the time for callers and his sister and mother miraculously had no social affairs for the evening, they sat in his study, with the door closed and locked, and he still scarcely knew how or where to begin.
The letter. That had worked for Diana. He would let his father tell his own story. That was what Geoffrey should have done in the first place with Mother and Rosy. He truly believed he’d done the right thing by waiting to tell Diana until he was surer of her. But not to tell his mother and his sister? That was unforgivable.
Now he realized it was a betrayal of the deepest kind. It may have been his father’s wish, but Diana was right when she’d said,No one gets to keep making choices for their families from beyond the grave.
Diana was right about a lot of things.
With a sigh, he took the letter from his desk. “I should have done this a long time ago. You both had the right to know. I had hoped to keep from causing you pain, but I think I may have just mucked things up even more.” He dragged in a heavy breath, then handed over the letter. “This is what Father wrote and gave to me right before he died. He already knew he was dying because he ensured it himself by drinking two bottles of laudanum along with his usual brandies.”
His mother’s eyes went wide and she seized the letter as if it were the key to a vault of jewels. As they both began to read, Rosy started to weep. But his mother just became angrier with every word.
