Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

D iana had meant every word that she had said. She did not want to be around him, and he was not at all interesting, and she wanted to be alone. Thus, escaping to the gardens made perfect sense.

And yet, as she listened to the others in attendance, she couldn't help but feel that horrible sense of longing once more—longing to be a part of things, longing to not be under their judgment. It did not matter how little she valued their opinion, she did value it at least a little, and it was enough for it to have eventually gotten to her.

The gentleman couldn't have known that of course. He was likely the same as everyone else in his thoughts on the matter. She was nothing more than an unfortunate girl from an unfortunate family, and she was unable to do what her younger sister could and break away from that.

She wondered what Samantha was discussing with the professor and his companions. Her sister could have picked up on any old thing and discussed it for hours; that was just how she was, and in some ways, Diana envied that. She did not, of course, envy the fact that there was nothing Samantha could do with all of the knowledge in her mind, but at least she had something to begin with.

There had already been one dance that evening, and she knew a second one was to begin, meaning they were only halfway through the evening. She would have to go through it all for longer, and she didn't want to, and it made her feel utterly ridiculous.

"There are those that cannot even feed themselves," she whispered to herself. "This is a privilege. Act like it."

"It isn't the privilege that you think it is," the voice came once again.

"Was I not clear enough?" she snapped, turning to the same tall gentleman that she had walked away from mere moments ago.

"You certainly were, but I did not want to leave things how they were."

"I am perfectly happy to. That is my preference, in fact."

"Then at least tell me your name."

"Do you honestly mean to say that you do not know who I am?" she asked.

He eyed her carefully, but it was how she felt. It had certainly seemed as though everyone knew who she was when they had entered the ballroom, and he was all too interested in her for her not to question why.

"Well, do you not know who I am?" he asked in return, and she blinked.

No, she did not. She did not know anyone in the ton save for herself, her sister, her father, and her aunt. Everyone else was utterly inconsequential unless they were making some sort of remark about her mother.

"There." He smiled triumphantly. "Then might we assume that it is entirely possible not to know someone even if there are others that do?"

"I suppose," she grumbled. "Very well, my name is Lady Diana Winston, the eldest daughter of the Earl of Colton."

"It is a pleasure to meet you."

"For the first and last time," she sighed, rolling her eyes. "I do believe that it is now your turn to speak."

"You are right in supposing that." He laughed. "Colin Novak, the Duke of Abaddon."

"You are a duke?"

"Yes," he replied, though he did not seem all too proud of it.

"Well then, goodnight, Your Grace."

"Why are you so eager to leave?"

"Why are you the exact perfect opposite of prim and proper? Is it not your duty to be an upstanding citizen?"

"What am I doing that is improper, exactly?"

"You are out in the dark with a lady, alone."

"And you with a gentleman, and so I hardly think that you are in any position to talk."

"Oh, I suppose you are right."

"Besides, there is nobody here. They are all watching the dance. There is only you and I out here, which is only one more than you might have preferred, and so I think you might be able to find peace with that."

"You might see it as one more, but I see it as twice as many. It sounds far more that way, does it not?"

"Well, when you put it that way, I can see the problem. Whatever will you do?"

"I shall leave and find my sister."

"What does she even want to speak about with that professor?"

"I am not entirely sure, she did not wish to bore me with it, even though she could not have done that. She is most interesting when she speaks of her passions. I would assume the current topic of conversation is science, as she so loves it."

"Science?" he echoed. "She is a debutante, is she not?"

"It may come as a surprise to you, but ladies are more than capable of having their own minds and passions beyond the art of embroidery."

"To be sure," he said quickly. "Forgive me, I was only surprised that she had chosen science of all things."

"It was never my preference, either. Sometimes I wonder if that is why she chose it as her favorite subject, but that is unfair to her. She also adores reading and mathematics, and?—"

"Do you talk of anything other than your sister and your desire to be alone?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well, it seems that you can only speak about one of the two matters. That is not necessarily a bad thing, but it is something I have noticed."

"We have had but one conversation, Your Grace."

"Yes, but?—"

"And I must say, you have not told me all too much about yourself either."

"There is not much to tell. I am a duke, and that is all you ladies ever care about."

She scoffed at that, and she knew that he heard her.

"I could not care less about your title." She laughed. "Why would it be of any consequence to me?"

"Because you are of marrying age. An unmarried duke should be held above all, should it not?"

"You certainly think rather highly of yourself. No, an unmarried prince would be seen in higher regard. In any case, it is of no consequence to me because I am not of marrying age, in spite of what you might think. I am a spinster."

"You are hardly a spinster. You could have fooled me, at least."

"I am five and twenty with no marriage prospects. I am a spinster. That is perfectly fine."

"Why is that?"

"Because…" she said, trying to think of a good reason. "Because my sister is my priority. Not only that, but our father is… unwell. It is better that I remain at home and care for him."

"Is that not a task for your mother?"

She bristled. She had heard so many times that her mother should have done different things, as if what had happened was her fault and not a horrible accident.

"My mother passed away when I was young," she whispered.

"Oh, oh my, I do apologize."

"It is alright," she replied with a weak smile and tears in her eyes. "You couldn't have known."

"No, but I should not have assumed, especially given that…"

"Given that what?"

"It is unimportant. Regardless, I should know better."

"Well, all is forgiven."

She hated that the mere mention of her mother had upset her so. It had been almost twenty years since she lost her, and no matter how much she tried to forget about what had happened, she almost couldn't help but blame her mother too. She shouldn't have been left like that. It wasn't fair, nor had it been fair to Samantha.

She scolded herself. It had never been their mother's fault. It had been their father's.

"So, do you suppose that we might start again?"

"No," she said softly, shaking her head, "I do not like to start again. I cannot start again anymore. I just want to keep moving forward."

"You are strong, Lady Diana. Do not forget that."

It felt strange that he said that to her like that. It was as he said—he did not know her, and all that she could speak of was her sister and her spinsterhood, and now her mother. She truly did not want to be there with him.

"Thank you, Your Grace."

"You know, I am still adjusting to that, the title. It is not something I was expecting to have."

"Were you not prepared from birth for it?"

"Not exactly, but that hardly matters now."

"Perhaps we have more in common than we think." She laughed softly. "Neither of us was ready for the lives we must lead, and neither of us thinks that it matters."

"I suppose you are right. I must say, though, that it is a wonder that you are unmarried. You are not unfortunate-looking, and you are more than capable in conversation. Given that you seem so proud of your sister, one can only assume that it was you who helped her there, so you must be quite intelligent too."

"That changes nothing."

"You are a lady of marriageable age no matter what you might think, and you are tolerable. The gentlemen in that ballroom should have proposed to you the second they saw you."

"Well, that would be a question for those gentlemen, I suppose. In any case, I am perfectly content to be unmarried. It gives me freedom, which is something that a married lady does not have."

"An unhappily married lady, to be sure, but there are husbands that do not limit their wives."

"Which is a chance that I do not wish to take. As long as I am alone, I need only answer to myself. I need not be meek and simper to my husband and cater to his every need. It may come as a surprise to you, Your Grace, but we are not all so desperate to do that."

"And yet you are happy to do so for your father?"

"That is quite different. He raised me."

"Be that as it may, you are limiting yourself. Do you not agree?"

"I do not. There is no difference at all between caring for a father and caring for a husband, save for the fact that a father has been responsible for his daughter and has therefore at least earned it. You do not deserve a life of luxury simply because you marry a lady."

"It certainly feels that way at times," he sighed.

"Are they awful?" she asked, laughing again. "I can imagine how young ladies are in your presence. They likely see you as a way out of their situations, or perhaps even a way to a better life than their already wonderful ones."

"It is something like that. Sometimes I look at them and I see it, that desperation to not become a spinster, and I wonder why they are made to feel that way in the first place. Perhaps that is why I am so puzzled by you."

"Puzzled? I should think I have made my position quite clear."

"You certainly have, and yet you are still here. You are in a dark garden with a stranger, and you are doing nothing about it even if you continue to say that you must."

"Because if we were to be seen, I would be ruined."

"Is that not what you want?"

"Not when my sister must marry," she huffed. "I will not destroy her in the process of whatever terrible things I do."

"Is this so terrible?" he asked, brushing her arm with the tips of his fingers.

Perhaps it was because she had grown tired, or that she hadn't felt anything beyond contempt in a long time, or even that she had never been touched before, not by a gentleman at least, but his touch felt like lightning against her skin.

She could feel her breathing grow shallow, and her heart pounding. She was aware that they had been close, far too close, but she never would have expected him to close the gap between them. What caught her even more off guard was how much she liked it.

"Your Grace," she whispered.

"Lady Diana," he replied softly.

She shook her head, hoping her thoughts would leave as she did. This was improper and asking for trouble. No matter how much she thought she might like him, or how much she enjoyed the feeling of him, it was wrong of her to be there, and she needed to leave.

"I must go."

"But—"

"No," she snapped. "No, this is wrong of me. I am risking my sister's future by being here with you. Being here right now is a very, very bad idea."

"And what if a bad idea is precisely what you need?"

And maybe it was because she had never thought of that before, or because she knew in a way that he was right, but she decided to close the gap entirely. She hadn't even realized what she had done until his lips had been on hers for quite some time, and for whatever reason, he had given in to her and had kissed her back, perhaps even more intently.

This couldn't be wrong, at least that was what she told herself, because the gentleman's lips on hers certainly felt anything but. Besides, it was perfectly normal for a lady of her age to kiss a gentleman, provided of course that she was married to him, but that was a mere detail.

But then she thought of how she was risking Samantha's future for a gentleman she was not even sure if she liked at all, and in any case one that she would never see again. But she did not care. He was there and he was nice to her, but he was making her question things that she could not question and so she had to quieten him in some way.

If only she hadn't thought of that method first.

She pulled away suddenly, her face showing confusion and perhaps even anger, and she noticed that his expression was one of shock, plain and simple.

"Lady—"

"Do not say a word," she said coldly. "Not now, and not ever, not about any of this. You are to forget that it ever happened, and we will never speak again at all."

"But, Lady Diana, I?—"

"I do not care what you want. I cannot concern myself with it. What I must concern myself with is my dear sister, who is in the ballroom just over there and will one day be a wife, and I cannot allow my willfulness to jeopardize that. It cannot. It will not."

"You must know that you have done nothing wrong."

"I have. I have, and I think you know that. My sincerest apologies, Your Grace. Have a good night."

She was aware of him trying to call after her, but he was at least doing the respectable thing and doing it quietly so that he did not draw the attention of anyone else.

But she did not turn back.