Should I ring for some tea?”
“No, thank you. I just had coffee with my stepmother. I have come to bring you this note from her and to discuss…” He glanced at the children. “The other matters.”
“Some wine, then?” When he shook his head, Diana took a seat at one end of the comfortable sofa and he sat in a chair at her elbow.
She took the note and glanced at the name in the corner. “Lady Litton is your stepmother? I had not realized that.”
“Yes, she married Litton quite a while after my father died.”
She broke the seal and perused the message. “Oh! Oh, how kind she is. She invites the children and me to stay with her.” She met his lordship’s expressionless gaze over the top of the note. “I’m sure that you brought this about. I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but… How can I—a virtual stranger—impose on her with two children?”
His expression did not change. “How can you not?”
“How indeed?” Diana studied her hands where they lay in her lap. “I cannot stay here at your expense—and certainly not at my own. I cannot return to our rooms. They have likely been stripped by now. I cannot go to my cousin without knowing he will take us in—and in truth I have no confidence that he will. Oh, God, Vincent! What am I to do? There is always St. Edmunds, I suppose, or someone like him, but…”
He gazed at her intently, as though to see into her mind. “I cannot believe that you are willing to seek a protector.”
“No. No! My children… Do you know what that would mean to them?”
“So accept the invitation for now. We will discover a solution to the problem in time.”
Feeling something brush his sleeve, Vincent looked down to find himself gazing into the upturned face of little Selena where she leaned against the arm of his chair. Storm-gray eyes, the image of her mother’s, stared back at him.
He cast a startled glance at Diana, but before she could speak, Selena blurted, “You carried me. I remember.”
Vincent remembered, too. Never having been around children, he had never had an experience quite like it. The weight of the soft little body on his arms, the trusting little head on his shoulder, the sleepy murmurs. Surprisingly pleasant, in spite of the awkward circumstances. Would he ever hold a child of his own? A moment’s sadness flowed through him. It did not seem likely.
“Selena…”
Before her mother could send her back to copying, the girl hurried on. “Where is my papa?”
Alarm shot through Vincent. How the devil was he to answer that question? He cast a frantic glance at Diana, only to see a moment of panic on her face. In an instant it was gone, leaving the tranquility he had always seen there—and deep, dark circles under her eyes.
She held out an arm to her daughter. “Come here, Selena. Bytham…come and sit with Mama.”
The small boy slid off his chair and slowly crossed the room to his mother while his sister edged closer. Both youngsters clearly sensed the distress of the adults. For a heartbeat Vincent allowed himself to feel relief that it was not his place to tell them their father was dead.
And then he recollected the moment of consternation that had broken Diana’s calm. She knew no more what to say than did he. And she looked to be at the end of her endurance. He should at least support her. Vincent moved to sit beside her on the sofa and lifted Bytham onto his lap. The wiry little boy squirmed himself into place, and Selena climbed up beside Diana. Diana drew in a deep breath. After a second’s hesitation, Vincent lost the battle within himself and slipped an arm around her shoulders.
After a moment she took one hand of each child and pressed a kiss on it. “I have something sad to tell you, children.” Her voice choked a bit and she swallowed. “Your papa…your papa is dead. We will not see him again.”
“Not ever?” Selena’s diminutive brows came together. “Never?”
“No, my dearest. That is what it means to be dead. He has…he has gone away into heaven.”
Vincent wondered briefly if that had, in fact, been Wynmond Corby’s destination. He hoped so. For all his shortcomings, Wyn had been a loyal friend.
But how could he have done this to his family?
Selena’s face puckered. “But I don’t want him to be dead. I want him to come back!”
She burst into tears and Diana pulled her daughter into her lap, resting her cheek against the child’s hair and rocking her gently. Tears streamed down her own cheeks. Bytham, not quite understanding, but seeing his mother and sister in tears, began to wail. Diana freed a hand to clasp one of his, and Vincent held him closer.
God! How could these tiny beings stand such loss? How could Diana bear to see her children so unhappy? She had already borne so much. What could he say or do for her? Able to think of nothing else, Vincent circled the three of them in his strong arms, willing his strength to shelter them.
Only later did he feel the tears on his own face.
Strange. Vincent could not remember the last time he had shed tears. In fact, he could not remember the last time he had felt any strong feeling for someone else at all. He made a policy of not having strong feelings for others. That way lay danger. Detachment provided a much better wall against the world.
But Diana was different.
He had known that for months, watching her contend with the miserable circumstances of her life—always calm, always patient and kind, always lovely. Had he actually embraced her? How often in recent weeks he had longed to do that? To comfort her. To offer her protection. To feel her sweet body against his.
But his relatively new, carefully nurtured sense of honor would not let him. Even had she not been the wife of his only friend, he would not have done it. Not even if he thought that she would have someone like him. His own existence remained too precarious. He must be careful.
This afternoon the children sat primly across from them in the carriage, dry-eyed but tense. Diana had dressed them in their best— Selena in a simple white dress and Bytham in short britches and jacket. Vincent wished they would smile. How did one play with children and make them laugh as he had seen Wyn do?
Vincent had no idea. His father had taken him fishing from time to time and taught him to ride and hunt and other manly arts, but he had never been one to play. Perhaps the burden of so many children lost, so many babies buried, had taken the joy out of being a father for him. But he had always defended and forgiven Vincent’s every misdeed.
Even when he should not have.
Especially when he should not have.
Vincent’s gaze shifted to Diana. She stared out the carriage window, apparently lost in thought. At least he was able to bring her to the Litton mansion in the comfort and discretion of the Litton carriage rather than a dirty hackney. No one would think ill of his escorting her there.
Or perhaps they would. He could not put a stop to that. The ton always hungered for something to gossip about. If he and Diana did not come upon a solution to her problems soon, society would find a great deal about them to discuss.
One more thing to be careful about.
As the carriage pulled up before the stylish house, Diana dragged her gloomy thoughts away from the unprofitable channels they had followed for the last night and day. There was no benefit in going over and over the same ground until she had heard from her cousin. Perhaps he would prove to be more magnanimous than everyone expected, and the anxiety would have been for nothing. In the meantime, she would take advantage of Lady Litton’s hospitality to give her attention to her children’s disrupted lives.
The carriage door opened and Vincent Ingleton stepped out and turned to assist her. As she leaned forward, their gazes met. The intensity in his black eyes suddenly took her breath. Why had she