Notorious Deception (6 page)

“Yes,” Diana whispered softly. “I found the story quite moving.”

“Then I shall be certain to read it also,” Caroline declared, rising to her feet. “And now if you gentlemen will excuse us, we will leave you to your port and cigars.” She waited until Diana had also risen from her chair; then the two women swept regally out of the dining room.

 

Once alone in the drawing room, Diana and Caroline fell into a companionable silence.

“Would you care for anything to drink?” Caroline asked suddenly, walking over to the Pembroke table in the corner, where various decanters of cut crystal were filled with spirits.

“No, thank you,” Diana replied, confused by the other woman's anxious tone of voice. Although Diana did not think she could lay claim to a friendship with Caroline, she did believe they had progressed beyond awkward politeness.

“I am sorry for the dreadful way I have been acting,” Caroline blurted out, “both yesterday when you first arrived and today. My conduct was disgraceful. I can only offer in defense that I was. . . not quite myself.”

Diana's eyes widened in surprise at Caroline's apology. “It really is not necessary to explain,” Diana replied gently. “Mrs. Roget already informed me about your medication.”

“But I must explain,” Caroline insisted. “I was so jealous when I first saw you with Tristan yesterday. He was so kind and solicitous toward you, and when he told me that ridiculous story about Giles—well, I thought for sure he was lying to me.” Caroline's voice became strained as she fought against the urge to cry. “I thought Tristan—well, that he might have an interest in you.”

It took a few minutes for Diana to comprehend Caroline's meaning. Tristan interested in her? The very notion was absurd!

“There is no cause for distress, Caroline,” Diana said, too affected by the other woman's sadness to be insulted by her remarks. “Surely you cannot doubt Tristan's affection. Why, 'tis plain for anyone to see how dearly he loves you.”

“I know,” Caroline said, shaking her head. And then without warning, she burst into tears.

Diana walked over to Caroline and place a hand on her shoulder to comfort her, but Caroline sobbed louder. Diana fumbled in the pocket of her gown, pulling out a snowy-white handkerchief and handed it to Caroline.

After a few moments, Caroline regained control, and her sobbing slowed to short hiccups. “You must think me the greatest fool,” Caroline said, wiping her face. “I am sorry to be such a watering pot. I just seem to be taking everything to heart these days.”

Diana escorted her to the settee and they sat down. “You must not get so upset, Caroline,” she said softly. “Tristan is a special and wonderful man. He loves you very much and would never do anything to hurt you.”

“I know that he loves me,” Caroline admitted as she patted her nose. “And I love him so—almost beyond reason, I'm afraid.” Caroline sniffed loudly, and her eyes filled again with tears. “But I am so unhappy, Diana.”

Caroline put her head in her hands and wept loudly. Uncertain how to react, Diana patted Caroline's hand gently, waiting for her to regain her composure.

Finally Caroline threw her head back against the settee. “I'll get you a drink,” Diana said, hoping the other woman would be able to collect herself before the men joined them. She was sure Caroline would not want Tristan to see her so distraught, and the earl would most likely jump to the conclusion that Diana was the cause of Caroline's unhappiness. Caroline accepted the glass of brandy with a sniff and took a tentative sip.

“You must tell me what is wrong, Caroline,” Diana said sympathetically. “Perhaps I can help you.”

“If only you could,” Caroline said wistfully. “It is all so dreadful.” She hung her head and spoke in a low monotone. “I am barren, Diana.” Caroline heaved a tremendous sigh, and continued speaking, her voice so low that Diana had to lean closer to hear her. “Tristan and I were married over five years ago. At the beginning of our marriage, I was relieved that I didn't become pregnant. I was present when my sister-in-law, Alyssa, gave birth several years ago, and it frightened me. But since that time, I've come to realize how much I want a baby, need a baby. And yet I cannot conceive.”

“What does Tristan say?” Diana asked, finding it difficult to keep her expression impassive.

“Nothing,” Caroline whispered. “He refuses to discuss the subject any longer, since it upsets me so much. Tristan claims it doesn't matter, but I don't believe him. I know how much he adores children. You should see him with his two nieces, Diana. He fairly dotes on them. And they think the sun rises and sets on their uncle Tris.” Caroline blew her nose again and heaved another sigh. “How I long for a child of my own.”

“I am so sorry,” Diana said with genuine feeling. She was not unfamiliar with the longings of unfulfilled motherhood. “Have you spoken to a physician about this?”

“Yes,” Caroline replied. She gave a small, hollow laugh. “I've seen several doctors, for all the good it has done me. They are a bunch of charlatans, the lot of them. Even Baron Wells, Tristan's family physician, and a man I have great respect for, can come up with no particular reason for my problem. Baron Wells told me I must relax and not think about it so much, but I cannot help myself. I fear I'm becoming quite obsessed.” Caroline shrugged her shoulders. “And it is beginning to affect my marriage.”

“You must not allow that to happen, Caroline,” Diana insisted.

“I know.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Diana offered, touched by Caroline's raw anguish.

Caroline's face suddenly became very still. “I do know there are people who can mix potions for barren women, but the cures I have tried thus far have made me dizzy and sick to my stomach. I just know if I could find the person with the right knowledge I can give Tris a child. Will you help me find such a person?”

Diana eyed Caroline with trepidation, uncertain how to respond. Caroline had already tried the usual cures concocted for her problem with no success. At this point, she appeared desperate enough to do something dangerous, and Diana could not allow that to happen. But what could she do? Through her love of flowers and gardening she had gained some knowledge about the healing properties of plants and herbs, but she knew nothing about concocting a remedy for a barren woman. What possible assistance could she offer to Caroline? Diana racked her brain for a suitable reply, while Caroline continued to watch her with luminous eyes.

Finally, Diana said, “It is true, Caroline, that some healers will sell you a portion for your ills and know very little about the power of the herbs in it. These individuals are usually of an unsavory and dishonest nature. Oftentimes, the cure they sell you can be dangerous, sometimes fatal.” Diana paused a moment to allow the importance of her words to sink in. “I do possess a rather small amount of knowledge about the healing properties of certain plants and herbs.”

Caroline reacted instantly to her words, throwing her arms about her and hugging her tightly. “Oh, Diana,” Caroline cried, her voice choked with emotion. “I feel as though my prayers have finally been answered. I shall be in your debt for the rest of my life.”

“Wait a moment, Caroline,” Diana cautioned. “I can make no promises. My knowledge is somewhat limited.” And she was not precisely sure what she was doing when it came to creating potions for fertility, she concluded to herself silently.

“You are just being modest,” Caroline insisted, tilting her chin upward. “I just know you shall be able to help me. You can make a list of the things you will need this evening. I shall send Lucy out to the apothecary first thing in the morning.” Caroline turned anxiously toward Diana. “That is to say, if we can purchase everything at the apothecary. Do you think you will need any special sort of ingredients?”

“Special ingredients? Do you mean like the eye of a newt or ground spiderwebs,” Diana teased, unable to help herself.

“Well,” Caroline said, her voice trailing off.

Her expression clearly told Diana that she would have moved heaven and earth to find any item Diana requested, no matter how ridiculous. Diana knew, in that moment, she had made the correct decision in offering her assistance to Caroline. At the very least, she could be sure her potion would not harm the other woman. And perhaps it would even help.

Tristan and Derek entered the drawing room at that moment, and all further discussion between Caroline and Diana ceased. Tristan immediately strolled over to his wife's side, and Diana marveled at his devotion. The earl's voice startled Diana and she turned quickly toward him. She raised her face and met his gaze. His normally cold blue eyes softened as they gazed at her, and he broke into a charming grin.

“I must take my leave, madam,” he said pleasantly. “I shall call on you tomorrow so we may discuss your future plans.”

Unconsciously, he lifted Diana's hand to his lips. Diana drew in her breath sharply at his warm, intimate touch. Then she admonished herself to calm down as the earl's lips gently caressed her hand, soft and feather light.

“Until tomorrow,” he said in a deep husky voice, his powerful eyes never leaving Diana's face.

“Now please don't call on us too early in the morning, Derek,” Caroline instructed the earl, hooking her arm through his and walking him to the front door. “Diana and I will be busy for most of the morning. You may collect her directly after luncheon. Perhaps you could bring your new phaeton? I'm sure Diana would enjoy an outing in Regent's Park.” .

Belatedly, Diana followed them and she arrived in the entrance foyer just as the earl left the house. She stood at the bottom of the staircase, absently rubbing her hand, puzzled by his strange behavior. Tristan also came out of the drawing room and invited both the women back inside.

“I think I shall retire now,” Diana said, deciding she needed some time alone. She was very confused and slightly suspicious about the earl's rather pleasant good-bye. He obviously had decided to change his tactics when dealing with her. Why?

“Good night, Tristan. Caroline,” Diana called to the couple as she began the long climb up the central staircase.

“Sleep well, Diana,” Caroline said. “I shall see you first thing in the morning.”

Diana did not miss the anxious note in Caroline's voice, and she felt a pang of guilt. She sincerely hoped she could in some way aid Caroline. Even if she couldn't help Caroline become pregnant, she could at least prevent her from doing harm to herself.

Diana shook her head suddenly, laughing out loud at the irony. Caroline was so positive Diana would be able to assist her in having a baby. She wondered how strong Caroline's faith in her would be if Caroline knew the truth about her. When it came to the conception of a child, Diana had only a vague notion of how it actually was accomplished physically. Naturally, her ignorance put her at a great disadvantage, but after all, virgins usually were ignorant in those matters.

Diana slept fitfully that night, awaking suddenly in the early morning hours, her body drenched in a cold sweat. She squirmed uncomfortably under the thick satin coverlet for a time, until she finally sat up in disgust and threw off the offending material. Running one trembling hand across her damp forehead, she pushed her hair away from her face and tried to slow her ragged breathing.

She squinted in the semidarkness, wondering what the hour was. No point in trying to gain any more sleep, she decided with a weary sigh. The demons haunting her dreams would surely return if she tried to close her eyes again.

The images in her dreams had been so real that she could still hear Giles laughing at her, still picture his evil, malicious grin. She shuddered at the memory, but refused to give in to the tears she felt stinging the back of her eyes. Giles was dead, and no matter what bizarre circumstance he had left her in—legally married or not, stolen property, stolen funds—it should not matter. It was time to finally let go of the pain and humiliation of her past.

Diana felt a knot of anxiety form in her stomach as she allowed the memories to surface one final time. Giles, gloomy and foreboding on the trip to Cornwall after the wedding ceremony. His loud contempt for her on their wedding night, mocking her maidenly curiosity about the intimacies between a husband and a wife, and rejecting her in no uncertain terms. His blatant refusal to consummate their marriage was merely the ominous beginning of the years of neglect to follow.

When Giles had first left her, Diana had been shocked and hurt, but her spirit remained optimistic. She had swallowed her pride and bewilderment and vowed to do whatever was necessary to become the kind of wife Giles would have been proud of. She studied all the genteel arts so prized among women of society: music, painting, needlework. She strived to turn Snowshill Manor into a beautiful home, a place of elegance, warmth, and comfort.

Her efforts were all for naught. When Giles returned to Cornwall after her father's death, he cared nothing for the lovely home she had worked so hard to create nor her personal achievements. Diana could recall with startling clarity the fury and spite in Giles's voice as he accused her of trying to cheat him out of his rightful monies. He took great delight in informing her that he had only married her for her fortune and that he had no interest in her. Diana's fragile confidence and sense of self-worth were shattered.

The veiled threats Giles had made against her had really not been necessary. She was defeated, lacking of both spirit and will. She signed whatever papers he brought her, never questioning his motives. She was merely thankful that, once she did as he demanded, he no longer took the time to remind her how deficient he found her as a wife and as a woman. And then he would leave, not to been seen again for months.

Left on her own, Diana found her instincts for survival emerging, and her fighting spirit and self-confidence slowly returned. However, her secret pain and humiliation had always resurfaced during Giles's rare visits to Cornwall, for he had always made it perfectly clear that he could barely stand the sight of her.

Giles's double life explained a great deal about the man Diana had mistakenly called husband. She always felt there was something dark and menacing in the back of Giles's mind, and she had always believed she was the cause of it. She knew now Giles must have projected onto her the anger and disgust he felt as a bigamist. With his perverse sense of logic, he had probably blamed her for the entire situation.

Diana felt the warm wetness on her hand, and brushing a silent tear aside, she vowed to lift from her heart the burden she carried about her inadequacies as a woman. It was her final link to Giles, and she was determined to break it.

Off in the distance, Diana heard the grandfather clock in the hall strike the hour. Nearly dawn, she mused. She decided to get up. No doubt Caroline would be knocking at her door soon, requesting her list for the apothecary. Diana lit the candle by her bedside, holding it high in her hand as she walked barefoot across the room. She searched among the drawers of the small writing desk for a paper and quill. Locating the items, Diana dipped the quill into fresh ink and began composing her list for the apothecary.

Chamomile flowers, lemon grass, blackberry leaves, orange blossoms, hawthorn berries, and rose hips. Diana read the list carefully, hoping she had remembered all the ingredients. She would instruct Caroline to brew the concoction carefully and to drink it twice daily for several weeks. It was nothing more than a soothing blend of flowers she often made for herself when her nerves were on edge. Perhaps it would help Caroline follow her doctors advice to relax. Diana surveyed the list again and then made another notation: passion flower leaves. She suspected Caroline would like that. Diana added the passion flower leaves purely for effect; she knew they had no mysterious power in determining whether or not Caroline would conceive a child. And yet if Caroline truly believed passion flower leaves contained some special power to help her, perhaps they would.

As Diana had predicted, she had barely finished writing before she heard a discreet knock at her door. She crossed the room soundlessly and opened the door quickly, not wanting to arouse the entire house. Caroline stood breathlessly in the doorway, clutching her silken wrapper together with one hand.

“I was on my way downstairs to the kitchen when I saw your light,” Caroline said lamely, entering the room. “Tristan was sleeping so soundly, and I just couldn't keep my eyes closed, so I thought I'd get myself something warm to drink. Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” Diana answered automatically, her mind puzzled at Caroline's statement. Sleeping with Tristan? But they had separate bedchambers. She looked at Caroline with a bewildered expression.

“Tristan's brother, Morgan, and his wife also share a bed every night,” Caroline explained in her defense. “And Morgan is a duke.”

Diana nodded mutely, refusing to think too closely about it. She knew that, when husbands and wives were intimate, they took their clothes off and slept together in the same bed, but she had always thought it was something they did occasionally, perhaps once a month or so. If Tristan and Caroline had slept together every night for the last five years, and Caroline had not yet become pregnant, then she must indeed be correct about her problem. She was indeed barren.

“Caroline,” Diana said, her voice tinged with regret. “I really don't think there is anything I can do to help you.”

“Don't say that, Diana,” Caroline cried. “You promised me.”

Diana winced at the panic in Caroline's voice, the accusing note of disappointment. “I cannot perform miracles, Caroline. If you and Tristan are already together every night—” Her voice trailed off, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“Good Lord, Diana,” Caroline cried out. “You cannot possibly think that Tristan and I. . . every night! Good Lord!”

Diana's face grew even hotter, and Caroline giggled. She paused suddenly when she saw the paper on the writing desk. “For me?” Caroline asked hopefully.

“Yes,” Diana reluctantly admitted. “'Tis a very special brew that is designed to calm your nerves and relax your body.”

Caroline's eyes sparkled with excitement as she picked up the paper and read the contents. “How often shall I take it and when?” She turned expectantly toward Diana.

Caroline waited patiently for the specific instructions. Only by the light of the full moon, Diana wanted to say, but she did not. In her opinion, the entire situation had gotten completely out of hand, but she had come this far and could not abandon the woman now. “You must drink this twice daily, Caroline, in the morning and at night.”

Caroline nodded enthusiastically, and Diana's mind raced furiously as she concocted instructions. She was firmly convinced that, the more Caroline believed the potion would help her, the greater the chance it actually might. “Now you must wait one full week before you start drinking the brew. And then take it each and every day for three consecutive weeks.”

“Anything else?”

Diana chewed furiously on her lower lip, trying to properly phrase her next remark. “During those three weeks, you should probably—well, that is—at least once a day.”

“Make love?” Caroline asked. She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “Only once a day?”

Good God, Diana thought with alarm, her eyes widening with surprise. Did people actual do it more often? Diana was momentarily stymied by her ignorance. Since Caroline obviously had considerable experience on this subject, Diana decided it would be prudent for her to make the decision.

“What is your opinion?”

Caroline pondered the question for several moments. “Twice a day,” she decided pertly and then gave a small laugh. “It will be as if we are newly married. I dare say, Tristan won't know what is going on.” She laughed again. “I will, however, endeavor to make sure he is far too content to give it much thought.”

“Fine,” Diana agreed hastily, anxious to end the discussion. “Instruct Lucy to bring the herbs directly to me so I may blend the brew properly. I shall deliver it to you when it is ready.”

Whispering a quiet thank you into Diana's ear, Caroline hugged her tightly before she left the room. Diana stood staring at the closed door for several minutes after Caroline had gone, offering a silent prayer, hoping she had not unwittingly made an already difficult situation worse.

 

“Are you warm enough, madam?” the earl inquired in a polite voice. “Perhaps you would like another blanket?”

“I am perfectly fine,” Diana answered, tilting her face up to the sunshine. The air was crisp, but the sun's rays were warm and inviting. It felt glorious to be out-of-doors. She turned slightly in the phaeton, facing the earl. “I have never before ridden in an open carriage. Thank you for bringing it.”

Derek merely smiled as he picked up the reins and expertly negotiated the carriage onto the main street. “Caroline suggested we drive up to Regent's Park,” he said conversationally. “But I thought it might be best if we head in the opposite direction, toward St. James's. It tends to be less crowded at this time of day, and there are more interesting sights to see along the way.”

“That would be lovely,” Diana said smoothly. She was well aware that the earl would also run less of a risk of meeting up with members of the
ton
in St. James's Park, but that would also work to her advantage. She had no wish to be viewed with speculation by prying eyes and gossiping tongues. “It probably would be best if we avoid the crush.”

They drove along at a sedate pace, and Diana was glad the earl did not feel compelled to engage her in mindless conversation. There was a considerable amount of traffic as they drove down Regent Street, and Diana admired the earl's skill with the whip as he guided the horses through the maze of coaches, wagons, and pedestrians.

Derek pointed out Carlton House, the prince regent's London residence, and she craned her neck to catch a glimpse as they drove by. “Is it truly as lavish as they say?” she asked.

“Overdone in the extreme, madam,” the earl stated. “Lots of gilding on the ceiling designs, walls covered in French moire silk, shiny marble floors, countless pieces of new and antique furniture, and endless bits of artwork. It is truly an assault to the senses to wander the rooms of Carlton House.” Derek leaned closer Diana, remarking in a conspicuous tone, “And I have heard that the regent's new pavilion at Brighton is even more excessive.”

Diana digested this piece of gossip silently, wondering at the earl's congenial manner. When bidding her good night last evening he had been almost friendly, but Diana had eventually attributed his pleasant manner to the enjoyable dinner and quantity of wine consumed rather than a change in attitude toward her. She wondered if he had discovered any information this morning that might have influenced his belief of her story.

They turned down the tree-lined mall heading toward Buckingham Palace and veered off sharply to the left, onto a gravel drive as the carriage entered the park. The new spring grass smelled fresh and the sunlight filtered charmingly through the trees, shimmering off the small lake they circled. As the earl had predicted, there were few people about, and Diana saw only one other carriage and several lone gentlemen on horseback.

Derek pulled the phaeton off the path, settling it between two trees. Lithely, the earl jumped down from his seat and automatically reached up to assist her.

“Shall we stroll a bit, madam?” he asked, extending a gloved hand.

Diana hesitated momentarily, eyeing the considerable distance down, but then placed her hand into his much larger one. She jumped down from the carriage, fervently hoping she would not miss her footing and land in a heap at the earl's feet. His strong arm steadied her, and she landed without incident.

The earl tethered the horses to an enormous oak tree, and he and Diana ambled among the sparse trees and sloping hillside. She glanced covertly at the earl as they walked, admiring the fine figure he cut in his forest green greatcoat with its numerous capes. He was hatless on this fine afternoon, his hair curling in charming disarray just below the collar of his cravat. His leather breeches were fawn colored, and his black Hessian boots sported their customary high shine.

Seemingly unaware of her scrutiny, the earl casually removed his leather driving gloves and pocketed them. “I spoke with Mr. Bartlett this morning,” he announced without preliminary.

“My father's solicitor?” Diana asked.

“Not your father's solicitor,” the earl said. “Mr. Thomas Bartlett has since retired from the firm and is no longer engaged in the practice of law. He now lives in Surrey. I spoke with his son, Mr. James Bartlett, today.”