Forgotten Fiancée (London Ladies Book 3) Read online

  Candles and glass lanterns, a rare sight in most households but of no great expense to a man as wealthy as the Duke of Ashburn, reflected off the curving mahogany banister and illuminated peaceful paintings of the countryside where once only framed portraits of somber looking relatives long since passed had hung. Under the reign of the duke’s mother, the dowager duchess, Ashburn had been a dark, gloomy place shut off from the world. Now that Reginald had returned and married Abigail, however, it was slowly returning to its former glory as one of England’s most prestigious country estates.

  Never one to abide by what was popular within the pages of Ackerman’s Repository, a magazine devoted to everything from home decor to embroidery patterns, Abigail decorated as she pleased. As a result Ashburn was now well on its way to becoming warm and welcoming with bright, cozy colors, natural light, and furniture that was as practical to use as it was nice to look at.

  Dianna’s aunt greeted them at the bottom of the stairs. Tidily dressed in a dark green gown with white ruffles, Abigail’s entire face lit up with a brilliant smile. “There you are!” she said, breathless in her excitement. “I was so very worried about you out in that storm all alone! Thank goodness you managed to find the old gamekeeper’s cottage. Heaven knows what would have happened had you not.”

  Charlotte stepped back with a wink as Abigail enveloped her niece in an enthusiastic embrace. Wrapped in her aunt’s arms, Dianna breathed a silent sigh of relief.

  Unaccustomed to lying, especially to those she loved, she’d been dreading telling her Abigail the truth about what had really transpired in the woods. Thankfully Charlotte - whose moral compass did not always point true north - seemed to have saved her the trouble by omitting Miles from the story entirely.

  “All is well that ends well,” she chirped without a hint of guilt for her well-meaning lie. “Shall we adjourn to the parlor for a glass of wine while dinner is being prepared?”

  “I already had one,” Abigail confessed in a low whisper as they followed Charlotte into the parlor and settled around the fireplace where a half dozen logs quietly smoldered.

  Dianna, taking note of her aunt’s flushed cheeks, bit back a smile. “I don’t believe a second will hurt anyone.” Especially after you learn who is coming tonight, she added silently. “Thank you,” she said automatically when a maid appeared with a stemmed crystal glass half filled with dark red wine. Taking a moment to adjust her skirts, she lifted her arm and the three women clinked their glasses together.

  “To family and friends,” Abigail said.

  “Family and friends,” Charlotte and Dianna echoed in unison.

  “Where is Lady Patricia?” Dianna asked after taking a sip. The wine slid pleasantly down her throat, filled with subtle hints of elderberry and honey.

  “Her husband is not feeling well, poor dear, so they left this afternoon while you were resting. She sends her regards, and looks forward to seeing you again over the holidays,” Abigail said. Setting her glass aside on a table she smoothed her hands over her lap, fingers plucking at an invisible thread. Dancing firelight reflected off the gold ring she wore on her left hand, revealing the Ashburn family crest that had been stamped into the middle and worn smooth with age.

  A ring, Dianna knew, that had been given in love and taken away in haste.

  Once again she was reminded of the uncanny resemblances between her life and her aunt’s, and once again she wondered how Abigail had been able to forgive the Duke of Ashburn his transgressions. For not only did Reginald break their engagement; he moved to another country, married another woman, and raised two children before he returned to England for Abigail. Yet still she had - more or less - welcomed him back with open arms, and never had Dianna seen a couple more happy together (with the notable exception of Charlotte and Gavin, of course).

  “Aunt Abigail, how did you do it?” she blurted out suddenly. The very second the question was past her lips she wished she could take it back, but the damage had been done. Having been conversing rather intently about something or other, Abigail and Charlotte both stopped speaking and turned their heads, making Dianna the uncomfortable recipient of their full undivided attention.

  “How did I do what, dear?” Abigail asked, her brow knitting in bemusement.

  “How did you… ah…” She glanced helplessly at Charlotte, but her friend merely lifted one auburn brow and shrugged her shoulders as though to say, you’re on your own with this one. Needing a bit of liquid courage to steady her nerves and calm the rapid beating of her heart, Dianna took another sip of wine. Skimming her tongue over her teeth to make certain they wouldn’t be stained a dark red, she took a deep breath and said, “How did you ever forgive Reginald for what he did?”

  “Heavens, what a question,” Abigail replied with a startled blink. “To be honest I suppose I forgave him almost immediately, although I did not admit it to myself until much later. A matter of pride and all that, you know.”

  “But how?” Dianna persisted. “How were you able to do it?”

  “I loved him,” she said simply. “Even when I hated him, I loved him. Rocky allowed his obligations to his family to outweigh the promise he made to me, and for that I could not fault him, especially when he suffered for those obligations far worse than I did.” Her blue eyes narrowed. “This does not have anything to do with Miles Radnor, does it?”

  “Why - why would you say that?”

  “Because I know he has recently returned to Winfield, just as I know you have seen him. Oh, do not look at me like that. I may be getting on in years, but I’m not that old. Even if a servant hadn’t spied him roaming about the grounds two nights ago I would have guessed something was amiss. You’ve been acting quite peculiar, Dianna. I knew there had to be a reason behind it. You have always been such a level headed girl, except” - she held up a finger - “where Miles is concerned.”

  Though she had the look of an absent minded spinster, Abigail had always been sharply perceptive, especially in regards to her favorite niece. With a small pang of shame, Dianna realized she had been foolish to think she could have ever hidden the truth from the one person who knew her best. “It is true,” she admitted. “We spoke on the night of your wedding, and again this morning.”

  “This morning?” Abigail repeated, her eyebrows lifting.

  “Dianna…” There was an unmistakable note of warning in Charlotte’s voice, which Dianna ignored. As children and even young women they’d been free to conspire amidst themselves, spouting half-truths when it suited them, but as adults they no longer possessed the luxury of action without consequence.

  “I might as well tell her everything. She will figure it all out eventually.”

  “Of course I will,” Abigail said. “Er, figure out what, precisely?”

  “That your beloved niece is still in love with the man who deceived and deserted her,” Charlotte put in, looking equal parts annoyed and amused.

  “I am not in love with him!” Dianna denied, cheeks flushing with color. “And he did not deceive me,” she muttered, fingers tightening on the stem of her wine glass before she took yet another sip, draining it all the way down to the dregs.

  Pursing her lips in a very ‘I told you so way’, Charlotte leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, lifting the hem of her heavy skirt to expose her ankles and calves. “It’s bloody warm in here,” she said defensively. “And there are no men about. At least not yet. “Oh go on then,” she said, gesturing towards Dianna with her glass. “Tell Abigail everything you told me.”

  Feeling a bit light-headed from the wine, Dianna proceeded to do exactly that. From losing her way in the field to waking up in Miles’ arms, she left no detail unaccounted for. Abigail listened in silence, her expression carefully contained, and only when Dianna revealed Miles would be dining with them tonight did she show a reaction.

  “He is coming here this evening?” she asked.

  “Charlotte invited him.”

  “I did,” the redhead admitted with
out a hint of guilt, “and I would do it again if given the choice.”

  “Good,” Abigail said firmly, taking Dianna by surprise.

  “You think his coming here is good?” she said with a dubious tilt of her head.

  “Indeed I do. It is high time I had a word with that boy, and it is time for you to decide whether you are able to forgive him or not. I hope you do,” Abigail said gently, leaning forward to pat Dianna’s thigh, “but I understand if you cannot. In either case,” she declared, brandishing her empty glass in the air, “we are most definitely going to need more wine.”

  “Charlotte,” Dianna whispered some thirty minutes later, clinging fast to her friend’s arm as they made their way into the dining room, “I believe I may be slightly drunk.”

  “Slightly?” Charlotte snorted. “Sweetling, you are well and truly foxed. Not to fear,” she said when Dianna released a tiny squeak of alarm and stopped dead in her tracks, “I will make certain nothing untoward happens to you. I am afraid I cannot say the same for your aunt, however,” she muttered with a significant glance towards the head of the elaborately set table where Abigail was leaning heavily against her husband, her rosy cheeks and slightly off-kilter grin revealing she’d indulged in one too many glasses of elderberry wine.

  Formerly dashing in a dark gray waistcoat that accentuated the silver in his hair, Reginald looked every inch the presiding duke of the manor. Standing behind Abigail with one broad hand on her shoulder and the other wrapped possessively around the small of her back, he stared down at his wife adoringly, a crooked smile gracing his lips. As Dianna watched, trying to ignore the tiny spark of jealousy that was fighting to ignite into a full blown flame, he lowered his head and whispered something in Abigail’s ear. The words were too quiet to be overheard, but it must have been something quite amusing for Abigail’s peal of delighted laughter rang through the room like a bell.

  “Everyone please take your seats!” she called out, clapping her hands together to punctuate the command. “Cook has outdone herself with the meal so Rocky and I ask that you eat, drink, and be merry as this will be our last formal dinner for quite some time!”

  Having endured far more formal affairs than she cared to remember, Dianna knew this particular gathering was anything but formal. The mood was too light, the smiles too jovial. As everyone sat around the table they laughed and exchanged broad winks, chortling at some inside joke or another.

  Beside herself, Charlotte, Abigail, and Reginald they were joined by a middle-aged couple whom Dianna vaguely remembered from the wedding and two other women who she knew not at all. It didn’t matter. Everyone was in celebratory spirits and as the wine flowed freely those who had been strangers at the beginning of the first course were fast friends by the end of the third.

  Careful to drink only water spritzed with lemon, Dianna soon relaxed enough to join the conversation, and even found herself laughing once or twice, mostly at Abigail whose antics were rapidly approaching the outrageous though no one seemed to mind. She couldn’t keep herself from glancing at the empty chair across the table, however, and as the evening dragged on it became more and more conspicuous until at last the cook, a curly haired woman with laughing brown eyes and a girth as big as her smile, sat down to much applause.

  “Excuse me.” Leaving her bread pudding mostly untouched, Dianna stood up. No one seemed to notice except for Charlotte, who grabbed her arm as she passed and brought their faces side by side.

  “Are you alright?” she whispered, the corners of her mouth tightening in concern. Following Dianna’s gaze to the chair that should have been occupied by Miles, she uttered a short, explosive curse. “I am so sorry, Di. I never should have invited the bastard. I do not know what I was thinking.”

  “It is not your fault,” Dianna said automatically even though it was, at least to some small degree. Still, she harbored no ill will towards her dearest friend. Charlotte had only been doing what she thought was right. Having found her own happily-ever-after, she wanted the same for Dianna.

  Unfortunately, Dianna was quickly discovering some things, no matter how badly you wanted them, were simply not meant to be.

  “Stay for the rest of dessert,” Charlotte urged with a coaxing smile. “Being in the company of others will help cheer you up and take your mind off him.”

  “I think it is best if I retire early,” Dianna said with a tiny shake of her head. “Especially if we are to depart for London at first light.”

  “As you wish.” Charlotte kissed her cheek. “Sleep well, sweetling.”

  Time and distance, Dianna thought as she slipped out a side door and, wanting to get upstairs without being noticed, used the narrow servant’s staircase off the main pantry. That was what she would need to get over Miles.

  All things considered, it was actually a good thing he had not come tonight, for his appearance would have only spurred her secret hope for a reconciliation to new heights, when in truth there could be no future for them. She saw that now. Any dreams to the contrary had been merely that: dreams, no more substantial than mist rolling across the field in the morning or smoke trickling out of a chimney at night.

  Ringing for a maid to help her undress, Dianna stood in contemplative silence while the hooks to her gown were undone and the stays of her chemise loosened. When the maid asked if she would like a bath to be drawn, she shook her head.

  “Only a basin of warm water, please.”

  Washing her face by candlelight, Dianna glanced up at her reflection in the looking glass, studying the tilts and curves of her countenance with a critical eye. Devoid of artificial pigments and glittering jewels she found her face to be almost painfully plain. With the exception of her blue eyes and blonde hair - the color combination currently all the rage according to the ton - there was nothing striking about her features. Oh, she supposed her complexion was without blemish, but then many other women’s were as well. There was nothing remarkable about the height of her cheekbones. Nothing memorable about the angle of her jaw. Nothing notable about the curve of her lips.

  Was it any wonder Miles did not want her?

  At the sobering thought her mouth pinched tight. Ladies, she instructed herself sternly, do not feel sorry for themselves.

  Dianna may not have been sensationally beautiful like Charlotte with her flame colored hair, but enough men had expressed a passing fancy to let her know she wasn’t completely undesirable.

  “I could have a husband,” she told her reflection assertively. If I wanted one.

  The words she couldn’t make herself say aloud, even to an empty room, weighed heavily on Dianna’s shoulders as she donned a plain white nightgown and slipped into bed. A cool breeze, bringing with it the scent of leaves and freshly turned soil, blew in from an open window, brushing across her exposed flesh and leaving goosebumps in its wake.

  Feeling restless, she rolled to her side and then her stomach before finally settling onto her back, arms crossing beneath her head as she stared blindly up at the ceiling. Moonlight danced across the plaster, bringing a silvery glow to the room long after the final candle sputtered out. Still she remained awake, unable to sleep with so many conflicting emotions swirling inside of her.

  Charlotte had been right when she said Dianna was keeping herself closed off. Whether unwittingly or not, she’d ended up devoting the past four years of her life to Miles.

  She could have forgotten him after he left. She could have moved on. She could have married another man and been raising a brood of children. But she did not, and she had not, and surely, surely that meant something.

  Or perhaps, Dianna thought with a defeated groan as she draped a forearm across her face, it simply meant she was a fool, and Miles a scoundrel, and she’d wasted nearly half a decade being in love with a man who was incapable of loving her in return.

  Chapter Twelve

  Tap.

  Tap. Tap.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Opening her eyes to the sound of something striking th
e window beside her bed, Dianna blinked groggily, momentarily disoriented as she grappled with her surroundings in the dark.

  Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

  “What in the name of heaven…” Casting the covers aside, she padded barefoot to the window, one hand reaching out to balance on the spherically shaped mahogany bedpost. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness she could just barely make out the silhouette of someone standing in the bushes beneath her window, a glass lantern at their feet and what appeared to be a small stone clenched in their upraised hand.

  Dianna jumped when the stone struck the window. Jumped again when the mysterious trespasser lifted his head… and she found herself staring down into a pair of achingly familiar green eyes.

  A hot flood of anger washed through her, giving her the strength necessary to grip the heavy window ledge and yank it halfway open. A gust of breezy autumn air rushed in and lifted her hair from the nape of her neck, but did nothing to cool the flames of her temper.

  “What the devil are you doing here?” she hissed, glaring down at the man she would have shyly welcomed into Ashburn Manor if he’d but only showed when he said he would. Now it was too late, and Dianna was not interested in hearing moonlight excuses.

  “I needed to see you.” Miles’ voice, smooth as velvet and hard as iron, rang boldly through the night, causing Dianna to flinch and glance behind her at the door.

  “Be quiet, everyone is sleeping.” At least, she hoped they were. Otherwise she would have the devil’s own time explaining why the Earl of Winfield was standing outside her bedroom window in the middle of the night. “And go away,” she added belatedly. “You are not welcome here.”

  Fishing a crumpled piece of paper from his coat pocket, he held it up for her to see. “This invitation says otherwise.”

  “The invitation was for dinner, which has long since passed.”