Since she had not simpered or been tearful, he had bowed to her logic. He’d had no excuse to send her to her room for being too emotional. And in such a way, she’d gained control of her staff. They were obedient to her wishes, or they were fired, whether they were new hires or lifelong retainers pensioned off without a tear of regret.
That had been the first step, and it had taken two years for her to root out those servants who gave their allegiance to her stepdaughter Penelope, Lady Beddoe. The woman was a vicious shrew with nothing better to do than to make sure Diana felt small as all her plans turned to ash.
It had taken several more years of strict, unemotional management before her husband sought her advice on how to handle his increasingly wild heir, Geoffrey. Even then, he’d asked her advice out of desperation. If he’d listened to her then, she wouldn’t be in her current situation, but—ironically—her husband had been too tenderhearted in his dealings with Geoffrey to ever get him under control. Then just last year, her coup de grace.
With Oscar’s health failing and Geoffrey’s debts becoming an embarrassment, Oscar had allowed her to write his letters for him, most specifically his instructions to his man of affairs. And if either man questioned her directives, she had a well-reasoned answer that forced them to bow to her dictates. The most important one had been that Geoffrey’s allowance flowed at her husband’s command. And she, of course, managed what he commanded because she was the one who wrote the letters.
After twelve years of thwarting her at every turn, she had indeed become exactly what Oscar’s children feared: a managing woman. And she was very good at it.
Until today. Until Lucas Crosse, the future Earl of Wolvesmead, had stepped into her husband’s sickroom and brought back feelings long since buried.
Damn him!
He was the one man who had ever tempted her to folly, the one man who had made her good sense scatter. And then he had failed her. Not only failed to marry her but failed to even stand by her side when she was most alone. A young bride of seventeen married to a man three times her age. She needed a friend, and he had been nowhere to be found. She’d shoved him out of her thoughts until today when he’d marched in with a cocky smile and a scar to make him dashing. She wasn’t a girl to have her head turned by a handsome man, and she certainly had the experience to know that he could not swoop in and save her from anything.
And yet how her heart had twisted when she realized his identity. How she’d longed to collapse into his arms. Ridiculous! She’d spent the last twelve years refusing to collapse for any reason at all.
It infuriated her because he clouded her thinking. All she could think about was to get rid of him, to keep him away from her because he upset everything about her life. He upset her very calm, implacable will, and that was a sin she could not afford.
It was his fault, and she damned him for it even as she reached for the chair of her dressing table with an unsteady hand. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. She had no thoughts except for a silent wrench inside her. It hurt to breathe, so she barely inhaled. And she felt so alone sitting in her bedroom. Through the connecting door, she heard her elderly husband cough. It was a dry sound, ineffective and weak. She would have to kiss him on his mouth soon. She would have to stroke his fine wisps of hair and pretend that she adored him.
Part of her did love him. They had been together twelve years, and he had been kind at times, certainly affectionate, and never brutal. She had found peace in that. In truth, it had been many years since she screamed into a pillow that she hated him, hated his children, and hated everything about her existence.
Was that because she had accepted her fate? Or gotten too tired to scream?
A knock sounded at her bedroom door. She blinked, wondering how long she had been sitting here.
“Enter,” she said, but the word had no sound. She had to clear her throat and then repeat the word. “Enter.”
“Simpson said I could come up,” her half-sister, Lilah, said. “I hope I’m not intruding.”
“Of course not,” Diana said, and she meant it.
Her sister was a bastard only by a quirk of fate. In all other respects, she was the best of them. Her mother was irresponsible, her brother was exceptional, but only in the last few years. It helped that he met and married a wonderful woman named Amber. Gwen cared nothing for life except her books, but Lilah was kind and generous. Her smile had a flaw in one tooth that had come in twisted and pushed slightly forward. It gave an uneven look to her mouth that made her all the more endearing. Her hair was a golden blonde with soft curls ruthlessly suppressed. And when she spoke, she used tones so gentle that, at times, Diana had found her annoyingly deferential. Today, she found her sister to be the only person she could tolerate. “I need someone to take me out of my melancholy.”
Lilah shut the door behind her. “You don’t look melancholy as much as…” Her voice trailed off. It was a trick she often used as she let others fill in the blank, and it worked very well on Diana sometimes.
“It is merely melancholy,” she said. Then she glanced at the connecting door. “Oscar is better today, but there is no escaping the inevitable.”
Lilah nodded as she sat down on the edge of Diana’s bed. “Your feelings are natural. Is there anything I can do to help?”
And there was the question Lilah always asked—if she could help. She twisted in her seat and felt a wave of gratitude for her youngest sister. “There is nothing to do except tell me why you are here.”
Her sister shrugged. “Mama wants to know if Amber is pregnant. She thinks you know.”
“Me? Why would I know?”
Lilah chuckled. “Because I have no idea and certainly won’t ask.”
“You can tell Mama that the two are blissfully happy together. And given the way they look at one another, I imagine she will become a grandmother soon enough.”
“That’s almost exactly what I said, but Mama is—”
“Impatient? Demanding? Tired of meddling in Gwen’s life?”
“All of that and more,” Lilah responded. “But she also loves us deeply. She doesn’t want Amber and Elliott to make babies too soon. She wants them to enjoy their time now before things get more complicated later.” She raised her hands in defeat. “She wants to suggest that you speak to Amber. She believes you know about ways of prevention.”
Prevention? She did know, but she would never presume to suggest to a married couple what might be good or bad for their marriage. “That is something Elliott and Amber must decide for themselves.” She shook her head. “And Mama must accept that her children can decide these things without her interference.” Then she paused as she looked at her sister. Lilah would never presume to say something so blunt to Mama. She was the epitome of self-effacing kindness. “I’ll speak with her,” Diana finally said.
Lilah’s expression softened with relief. “Thank you.”
Diana smiled. She was happy to help. But as much as she enjoyed seeing her brother ecstatically happy, she couldn’t deny a twinge of jealousy. He was a titled man of means. He could afford to find and marry a woman he loved. She, on the other hand, was a woman who had been sacrificed so he could have time to grow up. It wasn’t fair, but she’d grown past the resentment. Or she had until Lucas brought everything back.