C*cky Marquess by Annabelle Anders

Chapter 12

Diana’s all-too-knowing sister didn’t say anything over dinner but followed her into her room later that evening. By then, Diana was ready to burst.

Because Collette was the only person she could talk to about everything going on with Lord Greystone, and with the heaviness weighing on her heart, she most definitely needed to talk to someone about it.

When Lord Greystone had escorted her up the front steps after their outing, he hadn’t mentioned taking her driving again, nor had he insisted she save him a dance at any of the upcoming balls. Those were for other ladies—proper ladies.

Such as Lady Isabella.

Which was just as well.

She supposed.

“You did not go driving in the park.” Collette wasn’t asking, rather pointing out something she already knew to be true.

“But how would you know—?”

“Sit down.” Collette gestured for Diana to take her place in front of the vanity and didn’t continue until she began removing the pins from Diana’s hair. “Just a guess. Your cheeks were far too flushed after you returned, and you weren’t going on about what anyone was wearing. But that’s beside the point. Bethany, Lady Tabetha, and I spent the remainder of the afternoon sharing confidences with Miss Faraday and Lady Posy.” Her sister sent her a look—a look that implied her time spent with Lord Greystone’s cousins had been more than a little interesting.

“Hmm. You’re missing a pin.” Collette shrugged and then lifted the brush off the table. “The marquess is going to offer for Lady Isabella.”

Diana exhaled. “I know. I mean, I suspected as much. I just didn’t realize it was official…” She twisted to stare at Collette from over her shoulder. “Is it? Official that is?” She didn’t bother trying to hide her disappointment. She should have, of course, but this was Collette.

If his prospective betrothal was about to become official that would certainly explain the regret he’d expressed after kissing her. And she could almost feel sorry for Lady Isabella.

Almost.

“His aunt believes it is official,” her sister continued. “As does Lady Isabella and her mother, the countess.” Collette froze and met Diana’s gaze in the mirror. “Where did the marquess take you this afternoon?”

At the mention of her outing with Lord Greystone—with Zeke, as she’d teased him when he’d raced her along that country road—Diana’s heart flipped over. “He took me to a lovely meadow on the edge of town where there was the prettiest stream with fish that you could see, and he took me driving.” She widened her eyes back at Collette in the looking glass. “Not the dull sort of driving, either. We raced—back and forth along an empty lane three times.”

She had kept one arm clutched around his back and waved the other high in the air. He’d even allowed her to stand up beside him for one of the runs, gripping her around the waist the entire time to keep her secure.

The wind had nearly stolen her bonnet, and the landscape had passed more swiftly than she’d ever imagined it could.

Of all the people in her life, she never would have guessed the Marquess of Greystone would be the one to show her what it felt like to fly.

“It was the most incredible feeling… although not quite so incredible as—” She broke off.

“As?” Collette stopped braiding Diana’s hair to remove her tin of comfits and pop one into her mouth.

“He kissed me again, Collette, more than once.” At her sister’s disapproving scowl, Diana hurried to explain. “Please don’t tell Bethany—she’ll tell Chase for certain. Besides, Lord Greystone ended it before anything truly untoward happened. He wanted to keep kissing me; I know he did. But he stopped because he has responsibilities and, I understand all that with my head. He is a marquess and well… I know I am too low for him, but—”

“You are not too low for anyone,” Collette insisted.

“I appreciate that, but you know what I mean.” And as Collette was her sister, of course that was what she would say. “Besides, just the other day, you were reminding me of the unfortunate fact that Lord Greystone is a blasted marquess.”

The two sat in silence for the next few minutes, both contemplating Diana’s predicament until Collette finally sighed. “Miss Faraday does not approve of his match to Lady Isabella. But she says he will never marry for love. His parents married for love and, in the end, died for it as well.”

“His grandfather raised him after their death,” Diana offered. These ladies certainly had had an interesting discussion in her absence. Diana almost wished she’d been at home to hear all these things about the Marquess firsthand. But then she would have missed out on time spent with Lord Greystone himself. “What do you mean when you say his parents died for love?”

“According to Miss Faraday, their marriage was a stormy one. His mother experienced the most horrible bouts of jealousy, and then his father would either end up begging her forgiveness or imploring his innocence, Miss Faraday wasn’t sure which.”

Collette tied off the first braid she’d finished weaving. “Miss Faraday says that the day they died, the two were having one of their quarrels, and his mother stormed off in a temper toward the lake where she rowed herself out into the middle. The Marquess’ father followed her in a second boat, both of them yelling and screaming at one another.”

“Miss Faraday witnessed this?”

Collette nodded. “She and her mother lived at Greystone Manor at the time. Both she and your Lord Greystone witnessed it from shore. She said her cousin ran into the water, but his father’s steward held him back while manservants went in after them instead.”

“And both his parents drowned?” Diana guessed, remembering the caution the Marquess had exhibited when he’d taken her onto the lake.

Diana felt a flush of shame.

She had not taken his warning seriously. How many times had she carelessly rocked the boat before causing it to flip? And he hadn’t said a thing…

He’d told her they’d died when he was six and ten, but he’d not told her how. How horrid to have not been able to do anything to save them.

She’d been eleven when her own father died, but that had been under very different circumstances.

“Lord Greystone, your Lord Greystone’s father, attempted to climb into the marchioness’ boat, and it capsized. In her panic, she managed to drown both of them.” Collette finished Diana’s hair at the same time she finished her story. “And that is how two people die of love.”

“Why would Miss Faraday tell all of you this?”

Collette merely shrugged. “Bethany brought up that she’d invited Lady Isabella and her parents to dinner at the request of Lord Greystone’s aunt, but mentioned that he didn’t seem overly pleased and…” Collette shrugged. “They all seem to care about him. The marquess is one of Chaswick’s oldest and dearest friends.”

Diana stroked her fingers over one of the ribbons on her gown, not looking at her sister. “Did Miss Faraday tell you why she doesn’t approve of his… Lady Isabella?” Her heart sank as she imagined him with the other girl, and yet it made sense that he would marry the daughter of an earl. Such a match ensured that he would please all those ghosts and future Greystones.

Unfortunately, Diana could also imagine him growing into a stodgy old man. One who lived a somewhat peaceful existence but rarely laughed and most definitely didn’t go racing along a country road on beautiful spring afternoons.

And that would break her heart.

“I think you know why.” Collette met her gaze, and Diana nodded. And then Collette reached into her pocket and drew out a folded piece of paper. “I looked him up in Debrett’s. His actual name is—”

“Ezekiel Winston Leonard Faraday the fourth.” They both said in unison.

“He told you his name?” Collette lowered herself onto a chair, her eyes wide with astonishment.

“But he did not give me leave to address him by it.”

“He cares for you.”

Diana suspected as much but wasn’t at all sure. Furthermore, according to him, anything beyond what they’d already shared was out of the question.

She doubted he’d kiss her again. When he’d delivered her home, he’d told her goodbye with guilt in his eyes.

Blasted aristocratic duties and expectations.

“It doesn’t matter anyhow. I doubt I’ll be seeing much more of Lord Greystone this spring.” It wasn’t as if Diana could present herself at Knight House uninvited and unchaperoned.

“Oh, but I think you will,” Collette added.

“What do you mean?”

“After discussing the tragedy of how his parents died, Bethany and Miss Faraday pointed out the danger ladies face on open water, especially when weighed down by gowns and petticoats and stays. With that considered, they’ve decided that all of us must learn how to swim. You were lucky, Bethany said, in that you capsized in shallow water. She’s already discussed all of this with Chaswick, and he intends to speak with the Duke of Blackheart and your Lord Greystone about swimming lessons. Apparently, the Duke has an indoor swimming bath at Heart Place.”

“Swimming lessons.” Diana murmured. How many times had Lord Greystone mentioned them to her? “At Heart Place?”

“Yes, Blackheart had one specially built where half the ballroom once extended. The lessons will be taught by Chaswick, Mr. Spencer, and—" Collette waggled her eyebrows “—your fashionable marquess.”

“You must stop calling him that. He isn’t mine…” But… “Swimming lessons? What are we expected to wear? Our shifts?” She immediately pictured herself in a white chemise that, once soaked, would turn transparent. “I would die!”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Collette laughed. “Bethany sent word to Madam Chantal to design us swimming costumes. So it will all be perfectly acceptable.”

“Swimming costumes.” Diana parroted her sister again. “That we would wear in the Duke’s private swimming bath. For swim lessons…” Provided by Lord Greystone.

Diana fell silent as it was all a little overwhelming.

“Perhaps he is your Lord Greystone after all. If anyone can convince the marquess to give love a chance, it’s you.” Collette rose, preparing to leave.

“When are these swimming lessons to take place?”

“In three days—that is, if Madam Chantal can produce costumes for all of us in time.” Diana had no doubt the French dressmaker could accomplish such a feat. It wasn’t as though she did all the sewing herself.

“At least we won’t have trouble deciding what to wear.”

* * *

“Swimming lessons?And you want me to provide instruction?” Greys looked up from his paper to stare at his early morning visitor—Lord Chaswick—the very same gentleman whose sister had caused Greys to toss and turn uncomfortably the night before.

“You’ve suggested it in the past.” Chaswick reminded him.

Greys had been a proponent that Londoners from all walks of life learn the most fundamental swimming skills for some time now, even going so far as to bring forth a bill that would fund a public building to house a swimming bath. Indeed, he had been more than willing to provide instruction for the women under their protection in the past.

But that was before he’d taken liberties with Diana, damnit. The last thing he needed was to have her floating about Blackheart’s swimming bath in nothing but a transparent shift, allowing him a glimpse of—

Greys scrubbed a hand down his face, disgusted with himself. He was conversing with the lady’s brother, for God’s sake.

Chaswick took a leisurely sip of his tea and then lowered it back into its saucer. “It was your cousin who persuaded my baroness, so you may thank Miss Faraday for that. Scared the stuffing out of Bethany and Collette yesterday with tales of your parent’s unseemly demise. And now my wife is adamant that she and all the ladies she cares about learn to swim in case they are ever in a boat that overturns in the middle of a lake.” Chaswick frowned. “I’ll admit, Diana’s dunking at the duchess’ garden party could have turned out much worse.”

Greys didn’t require reminding. A chill washed down his spine, even knowing that he’d never have allowed her to come to any real harm.

“I didn’t realize Violet was inclined to gossip,” Greys grumbled. But truth be told, he was glad to hear of the proposed lessons.

“Blackheart insists we make use of his swimming bath. He, of course, cannot be there, what with the bet and all. But his sisters and their chaperone will be present.”

Greys turned the page of his newspaper.

“Blackheart’s sisters are more than capable of providing instruction,” he protested. Greys had had trouble enough keeping his hands off Diana under normal circumstances. How much more difficult would it be with her frolicking around in a swimming costume, revealing far more than would generally be considered appropriate.

Chaswick, however, was scowling and shaking his head.

“The bath is deep in parts. Much better to have strong swimmers standing by in case any of the ladies meet with difficulties. Wasn’t it you who said, “A man is not learned until he can read, write and swim?”

“You mistake me for Plato.” But yes, Greys was apt to recite the quote himself. “Nonetheless, improper, Chase,” he uttered one last feeble protest.

He conceded, however, that as Posy’s guardian, he was responsible for ensuring her safety.

“The water’s fifteen feet deep in one end.” Chase fingered an unlit cigar he’d removed from his pocket. “Blackhearts staff is making arrangements to accommodate all of us next Thursday. Bethany insisted she needed at least three days for her modiste to make up swimming costumes for the ladies.”

Greys eyed the baron’s cigar. “Are you going to smoke it or play with it all day?”

“I’m cutting back at home. Bethany shares them with me occasionally, and the day before last went off on a coughing fit. I can’t help but wonder if the smoke might be bad for her health.”

“But not yours?” Greys eyed his friend doubtfully.

“Men aren’t the same as women,” the baron scowled at such an assumption, his comment giving them both cause to smirk.

“Here, here.” Greys lifted his half-empty cup of coffee.

“Indeed.” Chaswick agreed.