The Dangerous Viscount (36 page)

Marianne seemed baffled. “What has Minerva done? Why should
she
be disgraced?” She clapped a hand to her mouth. “Surely you didn’t take her with you!”

“Me? What have
I
done?”

Marianne threw up her hands and appealed to the Chases. “We are talking about the same thing, aren’t we? About Diana?”

“Yes!” they said together. “Diana,” Juliana said with a nod.

“Lady Iverley,” Tarquin agreed. “I was there.”

Marianne looked at Diana with a combination of deep concern and avid curiosity. “Georgina Harville is telling everyone that she saw you in Bond Street this morning going into Jackson’s Saloon.”

“Oh! That.”

“And I expect you to tell me all about it. Is it true
gentlemen box
naked?”
Every gentleman in the room flinched and lowered his hands.

“Never mind, tell me later. Now, my dear,” Marianne continued sternly. “You can kiss goodbye to Almack’s vouchers this season.”

Minerva gave a crow of triumph and flung herself at Diana, hugging her till she was breathless.
“You
disgraced yourself! It wasn’t me after all.”

“I’m sorry, Min, it never occurred to me. I’ve ruined everything for you. Maybe I can find someone else to sponsor your season.”

“I don’t care. I’d just as soon wait. I think I’d like to travel and improve my languages. My German is shockingly inadequate and I believe the German princedoms will have increasing diplomatic importance in the next decade.”

“As long as you don’t mind, I expect it could be arranged.”

“But what about you, Diana? Being accepted in fashionable circles has always been so important to you.”

Sebastian, who had been a silent observer of the unfolding drama, or farce, was studying her face with an anxious expression. She could read his mind: he was thinking that had she married Blakeney she could storm every male stronghold in London and no one would dare snub the future duchess. The surge of gratitude that she hadn’t wed Blake almost overwhelmed her. By a wondrous stroke of providence she’d won the much better man and muddled into a marriage that promised her everything she’d ever wanted.

And after all, the friends in this room wouldn’t
give a damn if Lady Jersey and Mrs. Drummond Burrell refused to let her into their precious Wednesday night assemblies. Her family loved her and always would. She suddenly understood why her mother had regarded a successful London season with supreme indifference.

She took her sister’s hand. “We’re Montroses, Minerva. We don’t care about such trivial stuff. The opinion of a lot of self-important strangers is of no importance to us.”

Sebastian came and stood at her other side. “You’re not a Montrose anymore,” he said, putting his arm about her waist. “You’re an Iverley.”

“And do we Iverleys care about such things?” she asked, smiling up at him.

“We usen’t to.”

“And now?”

“Let me get this straight. I shan’t be allowed to attend balls?”

“Very likely not.”

“Venetian breakfasts?”

“Doubtful.”

“Musicales?”

“Perhaps occasionally, if the hostess is exceptionally tolerant.”

Sebastian nodded. “I think I’d be willing to share your ignominy and relapse into a state of social obscurity.”

“That’s very kind of you. I will endeavor to make it worth your while.”

“See that you do. This is a big sacrifice.”

Marianne broke in. “Does this mean I can have Chantal?”

“Certainly not. I may be an outcast but I can still be a well-dressed one.”

Sebastian looked around at their visitors. “Well? Is anyone here going to refuse to consort with such a disreputable pair?” Diana thought he was half hoping they’d all leave. She knew he was anxious to get her alone and she looked forward to it herself. It had been far too long.

“Mrs. MacFarland?”

“I’d never desert Diana. And call me Marianne.”

“Tarquin?”

“I don’t follow fashion, I set it.”

“Cain? Lady Chase?”

“We’re in no position to cast stones at others.”

“Have you forgiven
me
yet?”

“What do you say, Juliana?” Cain asked. Juliana looked stubborn.

“You know that female book collectors’ club you were talking about founding?” Sebastian asked. “I think it’s a bad idea.”

Juliana lifted her nose in the air. “You are as ever, Lord Iverley, entitled to your own opinion, however ludicrous.”

“There aren’t enough ladies collecting books to make a good-sized club.”

Juliana snorted.

“So I think you’d better join the Burgundy Club instead. I shall propose an amendment to the byelaws.”

“I’ll second that,” said Tarquin.

Cain clapped. “An excellent notion. You’ve finally seen the light.”

Diana intervened. “Wait a minute. Juliana, do you
really want to belong to a club with a lot of men?”

Juliana frowned. “I thought I did.”

“Will they allow interesting conversation at the Burgundy Club? Will they let you talk about millinery?”

“It’s perfectly all right by me,” said Tarquin.

Her husband, Diana was happy to see, was indignant. Where would be the fun if she couldn’t get him wound up?

“Don’t make me regret my changed position on women,” he said. “It’s bad enough at home. I expect the Burgundy Club to be a fashion-free refuge.”

“Sebastian,” Cain said. “Before you go any further I suggest you recall a certain discussion on the club premises that you might not wish to have revealed.”

“Very well, Lady Chase. If you want to talk about hats you may, but Tarquin will be your only audience. Because if my wife has the gall to apply for membership I shall blackball her myself.”

There was only one possible response to such an outrage. Diana collapsed in a dead faint. She misjudged her fall, almost missed the sofa, and nearly spoiled the effect by laughing. She heard a good deal of clucking and fussing.

“I think you’d better all leave,” she heard Sebastian say. “She’s in a delicate condition, you know, and mustn’t get overexcited. Minerva, why don’t you go with the Chases and call on Lady Esther? I shall take Diana to her room.”

Halfway upstairs he stopped and set her on her feet. “They’ve all left. You can open your eyes.”

She gave him an exaggerated pout. “Do you expect me to walk the rest of the way?”

“Wouldn’t you prefer me to conserve my strength?”

“You make a good point. You’ll need it.” Throwing her arms about his neck, she pressed her body to his in a suggestive manner. “By the end of this afternoon,” she whispered, “you’ll be begging me to join your Burgundy Club. You have no idea of the full force of my persuasive powers.”

Her beloved husband laughed as though he hadn’t a care in the world. “I can’t wait to find out.”

W
hat with one thing and another they didn’t get to Italy until the following year. Diana sat on the loggia of the villa outside Palermo, sharing an indolent morning with the Contessa Montecitta. Half dozing, she absorbed the dry September heat, the song of cicadas, the scent of salt and thyme on the mild Mediterranean breeze. Although she had come to love the bleaker beauty of the North Sea, Italy was everything she’d ever dreamed of.

“Ma-ma-ma.” Her eyes flew open as she responded instinctively to her child who, at the age of only fourteen months, spoke in recognizable words. However much her husband might scoff at the notion, he was just as proud of their son as she was.

She arose and leaned over the stone railing. “Aldus!” she called back. He stood below in his muslin skirts, holding out his arms, a bunch of inky grapes clutched in each hand.

Sebastian picked up his small son. Fruit was crushed against their chests as they ascended the steps to the loggia. “We’ve been in the vineyard,” he said unnecessarily. It was their favorite place.

Aldus gravely offered part of his harvest to Diana.

“Thank you, sweeting,” she said. “Just one or I’ll spoil my dinner.”

Sebastian resisted the boy’s struggles to reach his mother’s arms. “Not until Maria has cleaned you up. Mama and your grandmother will not appreciate those grapey fingers on their dresses.” He blew Diana a kiss. “I’ll be back soon.”

“I can’t believe I have a grandchild at my age,” the contessa said as Diana returned to her chair. “He reminds me of Sebastian but without the clumsiness.”

“As far as we can tell, he isn’t shortsighted.”

“Funny that we never thought of his eyes when he kept running into things.”

Not funny at all, in Diana’s opinion. “Aldus is so adorable I can’t stop looking at him. I don’t know how you could bear it when you had to leave Sebastian behind in England.” She tried very hard not to sound vinegary, but she needn’t have worried. The contessa was impervious to criticism.

“It was sad,” she replied placidly, “and I cried for days, but Iverley was his guardian and wouldn’t let him leave the country. I had to go to Sicily with my darling Ugo.”

“How tragic that the political situation stopped you from coming home to visit him, though I would have supposed after Trafalgar the journey by sea was safe enough.”

“I hate traveling. Lord Iverley said Sebastian was doing well without me. Obviously he didn’t miss me. He never wrote.”

Diana bit her tongue and closed her eyes, resolving once again to follow Sebastian’s example and accept the fact that Lady Corinna never had been, and never
would be, the world’s most affectionate mother. It was enough that neither was she the least.

The contessa was in the mood to reminisce. “I was ridiculously young to be a bride when I married Iverley.” About ten years old, by her idiosyncratic arithmetic. “He was a handsome devil, very wild. Sebastian seems quite staid in comparison.”

If by staid she meant trustworthy, reliable, and unlikely to fall out of a window while drunk, Diana thanked Providence. Not that her husband was without his wild streak, but she wasn’t about to discuss that with his mother. She kept her eyes shut and refused to comment until Sebastian returned wearing a clean shirt.

“Time for your walk,” he said.

“I don’t understand why you need to be so vigorous just because you are increasing again,” the contessa said. “Truthfully I find it surprising. No Iverley has had more than one child in generations. And no girls in a hundred years.”

“I hope that’s another tradition we will break.”

Diana stood up and smiled. “Sebastian is determined we shall have a daughter this time. I confess I’m a little worried if we have to keep on naming our children after his favorite printers. I had to fight to get Aldus Manutius instead of Wynkyn de Worde or Caxton. It would be very hard for a young lady to bear a name like Baskerville.”

“For girls,” her husband said, tucking her arm in his and gazing down at her, the love in his eyes visible even through his lenses, “we follow Montrose tradition. Every woman a goddess.”