The Dangerous Viscount (26 page)

Sebastian was almost sorry as they passed Much Wenlock and the journey drew to an end. Carriage
travel, which he generally loathed, was quite bearable as arranged by Diana. She had a talent for comfort and luxury. And for the first time since their forced betrothal Diana appeared happy. In his more optimistic moments he hoped her prickly attitude was largely the moodiness and irrational emotions attributed to pregnant women, and not because she hated him. Today she’d been in a delightful humor.

And there’d been a moment when their eyes had met across the carriage. Sebastian wasn’t quite sure what he’d do if she stuck to her decision to ban him from her bed, but he feared he might become a worthy candidate for a lunatic asylum.

Both the older Montroses, along with young Stephen, came out to greet them with much embracing and kissing and hand pumping all around. About the warmth of his reception he could have no complaint. During dinner, served soon after their arrival, the enthusiasm expressed at welcoming him to the family made him feel like a fraud.

“Now!” Mr. Montrose said, after the last cover was removed. “It’s time for you girls to be weighed. Iverley, too, if he wishes. In fact,” he added with satisfaction, “you’re a member of the family so I’m not giving you the choice.” Totally oblivious to the disgust on his daughters’ faces, he emitted a rumbling laugh.

“Perhaps not tonight,” Sebastian said quickly. He and Diana had agreed to keep their secret to themselves and present themselves as a happily engaged couple, eager to marry quickly. He didn’t know about the rate of weight increase during pregnancy, but even at this stage the infant had to count for something.
Diana wouldn’t wish to be interrogated on any extra pounds.

Her father was not so easily deterred. “It won’t take a minute, and I’d like to show you my new improved bootjack, too.”

Despite her obvious reluctance, she was about to give in. Diana liked to grumble about her parents but Sebastian knew it was all bark and no bite. She wouldn’t stand up for herself if it meant disappointing her father.

“No,” Sebastian said. “Diana is tired after the journey. She needs to rest.” He took her hand from her lap and lifted it so their clasped fists were visible to all at the table.

“Quite right!” Mr. Montrose beamed his approval of this loverlike behavior. Sebastian felt even guiltier.

Life at Wallop Hall was a bit like living in a foreign country. Aristotle’s Beard was only Sebastian’s first encounter with a body of language peculiar to the Montroses. Sometimes it was an idiomatic, though comprehensible, usage of common words. But he also heard Minerva and Stephen conduct an entire conversation which meant something to them but to him sounded like “eggy-peggy.”

Diana merely shrugged when he commented on the phenomenon. “All families do it. The only difference is that the Montroses are more bizarre and annoying.”

“It has stopped raining,” Minerva interrupted. “Time to go out and gather greenery to decorate the house. Only two days till Christmas and if we don’t
do it no one will. Mama’s too busy preparing for the meet the day after to even think about it. If it were up to her we’d get dog food for Christmas dinner. Are you two coming?”

“No thanks,” Diana said. “I’m much too comfortable by the fire.”

“Lazybones.”

“I plead guilty.”

“Come on, Min,” said Stephen. “I’ll race you.”

After they left the room Sebastian stood in front of Diana’s sofa and frowned. “I think you should come out. It will be good for you.”

She pouted. “I don’t want to.”

“Exercise is good for pregnant females.”

“Oh? Who says so?”

“Dr. Thomas Denman.”

“Who’s he?”

“An authority on pregnancy and childbirth. His book came highly recommended and I’ve been working my way through it. He says a generally healthy woman will have a much easier time of it if she takes regular exercise.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard. I think I’ll have a little sleep this morning.”

“Denman has based his conclusions on his observation that the lower class of women, who work in the open air, do much better than the more affluent who are encouraged to be idle. I am afraid I must insist.” He held out his hand. “Come. You’ll feel better. You look pale.”

She grumbled but assented and half an hour later her color had improved. She positively glowed as she
directed him to cut a particularly thickly-berried branch of holly.

“Ouch,” he said. The prickle had penetrated his glove. “Why do I have to do this?”

“Because you are so much taller than Step and can reach higher.”

“I mean, why gather holly at all? It appears to be a dangerous enterprise.”

“We can’t have Christmas without holly.”

“I don’t see why not. I’ve survived twenty-six years of Christmases without so much as a prickle.”

“You are so strange, Sebastian,” Minerva said. “I suppose you don’t know about mistletoe, either.”

“I believe it is a parasitical plant used in various medicines.”

They all laughed at him and he didn’t mind.

“What?” he said.

“Nothing,” Minerva said.

“We’re not letting any of that stuff in the house,” Diana said.

“Yes we are,” Minerva and Stephen responded.

Which set off a whole new round of Aristotle’s Bearding and presumably a deluge of correspondence.

Sebastian continued to fend off Mr. Montrose’s attempts to weigh and measure Diana. For himself, he confirmed he was six foot one and one half inches and hadn’t changed his weight since the summer.

“Come into my study, my boy,” Mr. Montrose said after he’d recorded the information. “I wish to talk to you.”

His host cleared a place for him to sit, among the books, papers, and miscellaneous and mysterious objects that cluttered the small room, then took his own place behind the desk. There wasn’t usually anything formidable about Diana’s father. That Christmas Eve afternoon, however, his stern expression made Sebastian feel like a scrubby schoolboy.

“So you intend to marry my daughter in three days,” he began.

“Yes, sir. I am so fortunate.”

“Diana is of age, of course, and her own mistress, but I would be remiss in my duty as a father were I not to enquire into the circumstances.”

“I’ll do my best to answer your questions,” Sebastian replied cautiously. “Some information you require may be more properly obtained from Diana herself.”

“Hmm. You must be aware that Diana is a very rich woman. Fanshawe left her his entire fortune. I don’t like to think of her being married for her money.”

“Have you heard of the Saxton coalfield?” “I believe not.”

“It is located in Northumberland on the Saxton Iverley estate and belongs to me. It is highly productive.” He named a sum that made Mr. Montrose whistle.

“Good Lord. Your income is even greater than Diana’s.”

“I’d take her without a single penny.” “You love her then?”

Sebastian could only manage the same promise he’d made Minerva. “I will always do my very best to take care of her.”

“I know it’s hard for we men to speak of our feelings but it’s all right, Sebastian—I may so call you, no need for formality here. It’s all right because I can tell that you do love my daughter.”

Sebastian felt unable to deceive this kind, affectionate man a minute longer. If they were to be related for their remaining mutual lifetime, almost father and son, he preferred it to be based on honesty.

“I hate to confess this, and perhaps I should let Diana do so but I fear she will not. Our marriage is not her choice. She is with child.”

Montrose didn’t insult his daughter by asking if Sebastian was the father. “I see,” he said, pursing his lips and stroking his whiskers. “This isn’t news to gladden a father’s heart but since you are to be married, there’s nothing I can do but rejoice in the prospect of my first grandchild.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“All’s well that ends well.” He chuckled. “That explains why Diana is so crotchety. I sympathize, my boy. I’ve been through this a few times myself. I can tell the marriage is
your
choice.”

“But not hers,” Sebastian blurted miserably. “She wanted to marry Blakeney. I ruined it for her.”

“Blakeney? Oh no! Of course she had a girlish tendre for him but he would be quite wrong for her. He needs to grow up.”

“He’s two months older than me.”

“Years don’t always matter. Blakeney’s still a boy and Diana needs a man. You, my boy, are a man.”

“I
hate Dr. Denman!”

“Try not to get upset. Dr. Denman says it’s bad for pregnant females.”

Diana gritted her teeth and prepared to dig in her heels. The rest of the family, including Henry who had surprised them by arriving from Edinburgh late on Christmas Eve, had already left the breakfast room.

“How often must I tell you, Sebastian, that I cannot bear to eat any of this food.”

“That,” he replied with odious patience, “is because it’s all animal food.” He waved at the array of breakfast dishes laid out on the sideboard. “Dr. Denman says pregnant females will often eat vegetables and fruit when everything else disagrees with them.”

Diana began to feel an inkling of respect for the doctor, despite his obnoxious use of the phrase “pregnant females,” as though she were a member of a herd of milch cows.

“I’m not going to eat vegetables for breakfast,” she said with diminished vehemence.

“How about some fruit?”

“Maybe. Grapes would be nice. I love grapes.”

“I hate grapes,” he said.

“That’s ridiculous. No one hates grapes. Not that it matters. We won’t have any unless someone robbed the Mandeville hothouses.”

He rang the bell for a maid who looked dubious when asked what fruit the kitchen might have. “Maybe Cook has some stewed prunes.”

Diana’s stomach lurched. “No thanks. I could eat an orange.” It sounded delicious. “Are there any left?”

When the fruit arrived Sebastian insisted on peeling it, a task he performed with deft efficiency. “There. Once you’ve eaten it you can change into your habit and we’ll follow the hunt for a while, at a gentle pace of course. No jumping.”

“My mother will think we are cowards.”

“I can’t live my life worrying about other people’s opinion of me, and neither should you.”

“I was thinking of you. I certainly don’t care what Mama thinks.”

“So I noticed.” His tone was even drier than usual. “And since you don’t care if you are branded a coward, there’s no reason not to go out.”

Half an hour later Sebastian gave her a leg up onto her horse and they left the stable yard to join the hunt gathering in front of the house. In spite of the irritating Dr. Denman, Diana admitted to herself that she was coming to appreciate the care of this man who would become her husband the next day.

He looked good on a horse. In fact, he looked good to her almost everywhere. She still felt bruised by the events that had led to their forced marriage but began to see the possibility of forgiving him, of putting it
all behind her and achieving a mutual accommodation. Or something even better. Perhaps they could be happy together.

Once she stopped feeling sick she’d probably rescind her prohibition on bed sharing. She hardly yearned for a life of celibacy. She peeked sideways at the way his thighs straddled his mount and felt an answering throb in her own body.

Maybe it wouldn’t be too long.

At dinner that night, Sebastian’s wedding eve, Mr. Montrose drank to the health of the bridal couple.

“This is the second time I’ve had to give away this daughter,” he said with suspiciously shining eyes. “I shall never forget the day my little goddess was born.” He groped for his handkerchief and applied it to his nose with a loud snort. “I always miss her when she isn’t here but I couldn’t relinquish her to a better man. And I expect you to visit us often.”

Diana looked as though she were about to cry, too. Sebastian took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “We will, sir,” he said. “On one condition.” A flurry of protests rose around the table. “You must agree never to weigh Diana again.”

“Thank you!” she said, and Minerva cheered.

Her father surrendered with grace. “I announce a new rule. In future married women need not be weighed unless they wish it. It’s the same rule I’ve always had for Mrs. Montrose.” He raised his glass to his wife with a look of great affection. “You, miss.” He turned to Minerva. “In the hall, after dinner.”

“There’s an incentive to find a husband, Min,” Diana said.

“Minerva, married!” Stephen taunted. “Who’d marry her?”

“I’d like to welcome Sebastian to the family, too.” Henry Montrose was a big man, both tall and broad. His incisive intelligence and mordant wit gave him a maturity beyond his twenty-four years. “I wish you years of joy and want to assure you that if you make my sister unhappy I shall dissect your body for anatomical study while you still breathe.”

Sebastian wasn’t sure he was joking.

Mrs. Montrose, who tended to be lost in her own world of horses and dogs, frowned at her son. “This is no time for threats. I suppose we should be grateful William and Rufus aren’t here to disgrace us. Sebastian, the first time you came here I told Diana she ought to marry you. This is the only time she’s taken my advice since she was ten years old.”

Immensely touched, Sebastian noted that his betrothed was blushing but not, he thought, unhappily. A strange emotion welled in his chest. He couldn’t identify it, but he did like it. Then he noticed that Stephen had slipped away from the table and Minerva grinned like a mad thing.

“You’re about to find out what mistletoe’s for,” she crowed.

Twisting his head he saw the youngest Montrose standing behind him and Diana, flourishing a sprig of green with pale berries. “Kiss her, Sebastian!” Minerva ordered. Diana regarded him with huge blue eyes and parted her lips.

This was a Christmas custom he could learn to love. Cupping her flushed cheeks in his palms, he brought his mouth to hers. She tasted of brandy
and spices and her own indefinable sweetness that seemed to dispel the bitter memory of earlier kisses and promise a new beginning.