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    A Marquess Is Forever: Tales From Seldon Park, #5
    A Marquess Is Forever: Tales From Seldon Park, #5
    A Marquess Is Forever: Tales From Seldon Park, #5
    Ebook394 pages7 hours

    A Marquess Is Forever: Tales From Seldon Park, #5

    By Bethany M. Sefchick

    4.5/5

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    About this ebook

    Lady Diana Saintwood is fed up - with the men of London, a man who refuses to marry her, and her interfering mother.  As she faces what might very well be her last season in London, she is determined to live life to the fullest.  All she truly desires is a few moments of fun for herself before the ever-proper Duke of Hathaway proposes - more out of a sense of duty than for any other reason, of course.  If he ever gets around to the actual proposal, that is.

    Laird Lachlan McKenna, the newly named Marquess of Hallstone, is in London for more than one reason.  Lachlan is on a quest to right the wrongs his father has committed over the years before the disagreeable old man passes on and leaves his only son and heir nothing more than a bad reputation.  If Lachlan should find a woman that captures his attention in the process, one who might make a suitable wife, so much the better.  When he encounters Lady Diana Saintwood, however, Lachlan learns two things rather quickly.  One, she is far from suitable wife material, and two, she has completely captured his heart with one witty conversation.

    Will Diana choose the wild, reckless path that leads straight into Lachlan's arms or will she do as duty demands and wed Hathaway as everyone - including her mother - expects?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBethany M. Sefchick
    Release dateMay 18, 2015
    ISBN9781386449065
    A Marquess Is Forever: Tales From Seldon Park, #5
    Author

    Bethany M. Sefchick

    Making her home in the mountains of central Pennsylvania, Bethany Sefchick lives with her husband, Ed, and a plethora of Betta fish that she’s constantly finding new ways to entertain. In addition to writing, Bethany owns a jewelry company, Easily Distracted Designs. It should be noted that the owner of the titular Selon Park - one Lord Nicholas Rosemont, the Duke of Candlewood, a.k.a. "The Bloody Duke" - first appeared in her mind when she was eighteen years old and had no idea what to make of him, or of his slightly snarky smile.  She has been attempting to dislodge him ever since - with absolutely no success. When not penning romance novels or creating sparkly treasures, she enjoys cooking, scrapbooking, and lavishing attention on any stray cats who happen to be hanging around. She always enjoys hearing from her fans at: bsefchickauthor@gmail.com

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      A Marquess Is Forever - Bethany M. Sefchick

      Prologue

      June 1818

      Lach, my darling viscount, come to bed.  It's late and I want to play some more.  In fact, I have something rather special in mind for you.  When he did not immediately respond, the woman lying naked upon his bed pouted prettily but with a nasty edge to her voice.  Now, my darling, Lachlan.  When I am viscountess, I will not tolerate you disobeying me like this.  I shall be mistress of Tinsburg Castle, after all, and will command respect.  Then she giggled like the little girl she often seemed to be, a change so abrupt that had he not just witnessed it himself, he would have found it difficult to believe.  Imagine!  Me!  A viscountess!  That whore Una McLeod will be positively green with envy when I inform her that we are to wed, Lach! She can only dream of aspiring to so high a lover.

      Lachlan glanced behind him to where his mistress, Fiona Campbell, still lay with her legs spread wide open across his bed, despite his repeated requests that she find some clothing.  The daughter of a local shipping merchant, one look at Fiona and it was clear that she was not equal to someone of his higher social standing, but she had more than enough assets, as he gently termed them, to make up for it.  Or she had up until this moment.  Now she was merely annoying, the sexual pleasure they had just shared leaving him more unsettled than satisfied.

      However, she was still extremely creative in bed, and she didn't mind sharing him, at least on occasion.  Which was why Brae, the lusty bar maid he had selected earlier in the evening had only just departed his bedroom moments ago, her large, succulent breasts still naked and swaying freely and temping Lachlan to invite her to stay the night.  That was the only reason that he had not asked Fiona to leave his life permanently.  And now even that excuse was wearing thin.

      For as adventurous as she was, Lachlan had learned less than a fortnight ago that Fiona was not inclined to allow that sort of fun on a more permanent basis.  The scene she had caused when he had invited another bar wench to stay in their love nest was still being gossiped about.  He had placated Fiona for a time by having the other woman leave, but he had hoped that in time, she might be inclined to accept another woman in their bed, if only for a night or three.  She wasn't, it seemed.  More was the pity, really.  His romp with the two women this evening, especially Brae, had truly excited him, something that was rare as of late.

      Not to mention that if he continued to allow Fiona to get away with such behavior, she might think that she was in charge - of everything.  That it was acceptable for her to order him about.  It wasn't.  No one told the future Viscount Gladston what to do or how to behave.  It was time the lovely wench remembered that.  Beginning now.

      Instead of doing as Fiona demanded, Lachlan instead poured himself another drink, hoping to ease the pounding in his head as, in the dim light he had insisted upon earlier, he watched shadows play across the red velvet drapes that served as bed curtains.  He had overindulged earlier in the evening and he was beginning to pay for it now, with Fiona's incessant demands only adding to the din that was making it impossible to think.  Not that this was unusual for him.  As the son of Duncan McKenna, the most powerful laird in the area and the man who also held the title of Viscount Gladston, Lachlan was next in line to be viscount some day.  To be fair, he lived his life as if he was already the viscount.  Not that his father particularly gave a damn.  About anything involving Lachlan, truth be known.  It was, as Duncan had often told his only son, precisely what he expected from a weak, half-English whelp of a boy.

      Except that Lachlan was anything but weak.  In fact, he was one of the strongest men in all of Scotland with a sexual appetite to match.  Not to mention a strong affinity for drinking and gambling.  Oh, and whoring.  Couldn't forget that one.  That was how he had come to acquire Fiona as his mistress, though at the moment, he really was beginning to doubt the wisdom of that idea.  Lachlan was many things, but stupid was not one of them.  Stubborn and foolish, not to mention selfish?  Well, he was those on occasion, too.  However, he was far too intelligent to let a bad decision go without correction when necessary.  His lover's words moments ago indicated that some correction was now necessary.  Even if it was messy.

      Where did you come up with the idea that we would marry, Fiona?  Lachlan deliberately kept his tone as light as possible, but he also made certain to keep his back to her so that she could not see his face. Very often, his handsome visage betrayed his every emotion, including his less than pleasant ones, and he wanted her to answer him honestly rather than telling him what she thought he wanted to hear.  Especially if she knew he was angry.  And he was angry.  Very angry, in fact.

      Well that is what I want.  Therefore, it is what we shall do.  He could tell from her tone that she was working up to another pout, if not a full-blown tantrum.  Fiona might spread her legs like a doxy, but at heart, she was nothing but a spoiled, willful child.  It was simply too bad it had taken him so long to discover her true nature.  Then again, when he had taken her to bed, he had not been interested in her nature.  Perhaps he should have been.  Besides, you love me.  It's so plain that anyone can see.

      He took another drink from the tumbler in his hand, sipping the fine scotch and letting the fiery liquid burn its way down inside of him before he cleared his throat.  Finally, Fiona had crossed a line that she knew good and well to avoid at all costs.

      Lachlan did not, would not, and could not love a woman.  Ever.  And I do not have a say in the matter?  Is that it?  He drew in a deep breath and placed the tumbler on a table before he crushed the delicate glass with his bare hands.  Fiona, you know bloody good and well that I do not love.  I lust.  I desire.  I fuck.  But I do not love.  He turned now, displaying his gloriously naked body to her, knowing that she would be more interested in coaxing his cock up to play again than the emotions on his face.  Again, a pity he did not realize how shallow she was before this night.  At one time, he supposed that he found her agreeable.  No longer.  He did not know what had changed within him, but something had.  And the change was within him.  Lachlan knew this.  For Fiona was now as she had always been.  Only now, he cared more about her desire to control him than about how well she could suck his cock.  Again, a pity.

      Fiona, however, was undaunted.  She batted her lashes at him in what he knew she believed to be a coquettish and charming fashion.  He often though she resembled someone with a mental disorder when she did that, not that he had ever mentioned it.  Again, odd that he had not truly noticed that this habit of hers annoyed him greatly until this night.  "But lover, we are perfect for each other.  You have a title, or will, and I desire one.  More than that, I deserve one.  We both know this is true.  I am a wealthy merchant's daughter.  If I do not marry you, whom should I wed?  For no other is deserving of me, certainly!  Then she plucked her own glass filled with claret from a night table and took a long drink.  Besides, in time, you will come to love me if you don't already.  You're just too afraid to admit it."

      Crossing the room in two quick strides, Lachlan snatched the glass from her hand and slammed it on the table, shattering the fine crystal and raining shards of glass over his hand.  If he was cut, he did not notice, nor did he care.  She moved to strike him from where she still reclined on the bed, but in his anger, he was quicker, grasping her wrist firmly in his hand, though he was careful not to hurt her.  She might try his patience, but he did not hurt women.  He was many things, but not that.  Never that.

      I.  Do.  Not.  Love.  His eyes flashed fire and his lips curled in a sneer, not bothering to mask his disgust with her.  I have been clear from the beginning, Fiona, that there is no such emotion as love.  Not for me.  You fool yourself and you make a fool of me if you believe otherwise.

      Rising on the bed on shaky knees, she stood her ground, twisting in his grasp so that she could look directly into his eyes.  I will make you love me, Lachlan McKenna.  I will force it upon you if you resist.  Just you wait and see.  I refuse to let you go!  You are mine!  Now and forever!

      Lachlan clamped down hard on the rage that threatened to swallow him whole, the same rage that lived inside of his father and often burst forth to disastrous results.  But Lachlan was not that sort of man.  He was half-English.  He had better manners.  Better control.  Still, he could not help but toss Fiona's dressing gown at her with a snort of disgust as he shoved her lightly away from him, sending her sprawling across the bed.

      We are done here, Fiona.  Get dressed and get your things.  You are no longer welcome in my home.  Or at Tinsburg Castle.  There was a dark edge to his voice that he knew she would do well to heed.  However, given the look of rage on her pretty face, the idea of having a title so close in her grasp and then missing it because of her own foolishness clearly did not sit well with her.

      I will do no such thing! she shrieked, attempting to claw at him while he held her away from his body.  She tried to kick him as well, but he caught her ankle and essentially pinned her to the bed.  He did not want her to harm herself either as she attempted to strike at him.  Why else would I have let you into my bed?  Given you my virginity if I was not to be your wife?  Your lover?  She managed to work up some tears but Lachlan knew they were more for her and what she was about to lose than for him.

      You were hardly an innocent when I took you to my bed.  I do not dally with virgins, as you well know.  He snorted, disgusted more with himself this time than with her.  And if you think that pig's blood on my counterpane was enough to fool either me or my valet, then you are mistaken.  Roughly, he pushed away from her as she grasped at him again.  How had he ever thought this was a good idea?  Now go.  And do not attempt to finagle money or gifts out of me, Fiona.  I have been more than generous with you.  Then he sneered.  And I do know where all of your skeletons are buried, my dear.  Literally.

      He hated to be so crass, but he did not know of another way to be rid of her permanently.  

      It was common knowledge among Scottish society that well before Lachlan had met her, Fiona had borne and lost a child, the babe coming too early to survive.  It was not his, obviously, but rather the bastard son of a local minor viscount.  One whose wealthy wife, the daughter of an earl, would not be pleased to discover that her husband had been one of Fiona's many lovers.  Or that he had gotten a child on her while his own wife remained childless.  Without a husband in her bed most nights of the week.

      And Lachlan knew where the child was buried, or had been, wrapped in the plaid of her lover's family's clan.  No woman would bury a child thus unless the babe was of that clan's blood.  And the child, a much longed for son, had been.  Of that there was little doubt in anyone's mind.

      Lachlan would hate to use that knowledge against Fiona, but if she pressed the issue of marriage to him, he would have no choice.  He would not be trapped into a marriage with this scheming shrew who would cuckold him the moment a younger, more handsome and wealthier man came along.  Fiona had insisted to Lachlan that she had changed, that her affair with the viscount was a youthful indiscretion.  Given tonight's performance, one where she had overplayed her hand rather spectacularly, he knew she had not.  She was still the same scheming, social-climbing wench she had been when he had met her.

      After more shouting and thinly veiled threats, along with a healthy dose of false tears, Fiona had finally gone, still spouting threats against him and his family.  However, he also knew she would not come back.  She could not risk news of her stillborn child's whereabouts becoming public knowledge.  Speculation was one thing, but a body, wrapped in her lover's family's plaid was quite another.  And a body he could lead the authorities to, if necessary.  The child had been buried long before he had met Fiona but in a fit of madness, she had shown him the location where she had buried the child.  Why?  He still was not certain but it had been a grave miscalculation on her part.

      One he would now use to his advantage.

      At the time, Lachlan had not cared that Fiona was a woman of such low morals.  He was too involved in gambling and drink to think he deserved better.  However, over the last few years, something inside of him was changing.  Had already changed, actually.  He had not asked for it, nor did he particularly want it, but the change was there and he could not seem to stop it.

      At first, it was the gambling.  The cards no longer held the allure they once had and he grew bored attempting to amuse himself in that manner.  There was simply no challenge in it.  Then it was the drink, the sparkling liquid no longer able to numb him as it once had.  He still drank, and, on days like today, perhaps a bit too much, but no longer was he drowning in endless days of a liquor-induced haze, unable to collect his wits or form a coherent thought.  Tonight, unfortunately, he had come to realize that women like Fiona, and yes, even Brae, no longer appealed to him, either.  He liked to fuck.  He was a man after all.  However, each encounter left him emptier than the last, his body yearning for something his mind could not name.

      Lachlan hated to admit it, but he was afraid that he was growing up.

      His mother had said that one day he would grow into a fine and upstanding man; he had not believed her.  He reminded his mother that she was a lady and knew nothing of men and their behaviors.  Lachlan had been a typical, spoiled young man who thought he knew everything.  Now?  Now he was something else entirely, a man in between two worlds.  He was not yet the laird or viscount.  However, a part of him deep inside knew that he could not be a lay-about spendthrift any longer either.  So where did that leave him?  He did not know.  Other than in a place without a mistress at present, though in truth, he didn't mind all that much.  He wasn't even certain he would take another one.  At least not for a good, long while.

      Lachlan had no idea how long he sat there on his bed, his body still unclothed, but eventually, he heard his butler, Roberts, clear his throat.  Lachlan looked up to see the old man shifting nervously from foot to foot.  An urgent letter for you, my lord.  He offered Lachlan a silver tray.  On it sat a letter bearing his father's seal.

      With a sigh, Lachlan took the note and opened it, not caring a whit about his nudity.  After all, Roberts had seen it all before, and Lachlan did so enjoy the feeling of whimsy it inspired in him to shock his valet slash butler.  When Lachlan had finished reading, however, his heart was in his feet, no whimsy to be found.  In fact, his heart was dead.  Like another member of his family.

      My father's wife, Annis, has passed, he announced as crisply as he could, cursing the fates that had taken another good woman from his life.  Lachlan had genuinely liked his father's second wife, technically his stepmother.  She had been kind to him when she did not have to be, making Lachlan feel like a true part of the family instead of the outcast his father often viewed him as.  Pack my things.  I must return to Tinsburg Castle immediately.  Then he looked around his room, a room that had known nothing but depravity and lustful acts.  In that instant, he was ashamed of the life he had led, the things he had done within the confines of the room.  In fact, pack everything.  We won't be returning.

      My lord?  Lachlan could see the confusion on his butler's face but in that moment, Lachlan was finally seeing clearly for the first time in his life.  Unfortunately it had taken the loss of Annis to show him the way.

      I'm going home, Roberts.  My family, or my sisters at least, need me.  I will not be back here.  Ever.

      In the span of less than an hour, Lachlan had gone from ravishing two women in his bed to giving up his life as a libertine completely.  Had it been another man, he would have scoffed at the mere notion of such a change.  But this was his life and, given his father's past behavior, Lachlan knew his sisters would need him.  They would need him to shelter them from their father and his unchecked wrath.  To be the adult.  Especially now that Annis was gone.

      For the first time in his life, Lachlan had a purpose.  A real one.  He had a reason to be a better man and put this life of debauchery behind him.  Strangely, it felt rather good.  In fact, he would dare say that he liked it.

      Chapter One

      Early April 1820

      Lady Diana Saintwood was, to put it mildly, exceptionally irritated.  One might even venture so far as to say that she was angry.  Not that she would ever admit to such a thing, of course.  That sort of behavior was highly improper for a lady of good breeding and even bluer bloodlines.  As the daughter of the Viscount Westfield, she had been raised since birth to know her role in society and never so much as put one foot outside the bounds of propriety.  It was simply too bad that Diana had never put much stock in always doing what was strictly proper.  Instead, she often chose to forge her own path, much to the dismay - and some might say abject horror - of her ever-so-proper mother.

      Such as now for instance when Diana was watching her older brother Oliver be most likely cuckolded - again - by his young and extremely unfaithful wife, Patience, who was mooning over Lord Alex Selby as if she was still an unmarried innocent.  That was something of a problem as not only was Patience married - clearly- but Lord Selby was also completely besotted with one Lady Sophia Reynolds, the imperious Duke of Hathaway's younger and much cosseted sister.

      That Patience was acting the fool at the Duke and Duchess of Radcliffe's now-annual Crystal Ball, which was also now the singular event that kicked off every new London Season - and that she was doing so in front of all the most important members of the ton - only made the transgression that much worse.  And at the moment, Diana was not certain that anything her sister-in-law did in the future could be much worse than the way she was practically undressing Selby right at this very moment.  But then, this was Patience, and the woman had seemingly never met a man of any sort that she did not wish to bed.

      Tall.  Fat.  Short.  Thin.  Ugly.  Handsome.  Rich.  Poor.  She liked them all, or so it appeared to anyone who took even the slightest bit of notice.  Which was, unfortunately, a great deal of society as a whole.

      Seemingly to Patience, none of those things mattered so long as the man in question had the right equipment between his legs, and even then, Diana was certain the woman could somehow manage to find pleasure, even if that particular appendage was not present or did not function.  The woman was, in Diana's opinion, anyway, nothing more than a whore.  Again, not that she would ever say such a thing.  But she certainly could think it, no matter how unladylike such a thought was.

      The entire situation might not have been so disgraceful, had Patience not borne a son the previous summer that even a blind man could see was not of Oliver's bloodlines.  Then perhaps - just perhaps mind you - she could be forgiven this one misstep.  After all, Lord Alex was devilishly handsome and something of a known rake who occasionally dabbled with unhappily married society women.

      However that child, now viewed by all as Oliver's legitimate son, was now heir to both the Westfield viscountcy and, though a quirk of fate, the Tottenshire earldom.  A child not of Oliver's blood, but instead one who was the bastard of Patience's painting master.  One look at the child's mahogany curls, which matched the painting master's perfectly and did not in any way resemble Oliver's or Patience's pale blonde hair, made it plain for anyone to see.

      To further aggravate matters within polite society, as of late, Patience had made a habit of lavishing her attentions on men that were not her husband, including those who were otherwise betrothed.  Tonight her rather overt attentions towards Lord Alex were certain to upset the lovely and delicate Lady Sophia.  And upsetting Lady Sophia was never a good idea, especially if one wanted to keep their good standing in society.  The Duke of Hathaway would not permit even the barest hint of unhappiness to touch his beloved sister if he could avoid it.  And if Lady Diana knew nothing else about the duke, she knew well that he did not have much of a sense of humor - about anything really, but especially where the affections of his sister were concerned.

      It was common knowledge that while Hathaway did not approve of Selby as a potential husband for his sister, he was also not inclined to allow her to marry elsewhere, as she seemed to have her heart set upon the man.  It was also common knowledge that if Hathaway did have one soft spot within him, it was for his family, particularly his sister.  If it was within his power to grant her what her heart desired, the duke did so - save for this one little incident with Lord Selby, for some odd reason.  Over the last several months, Sophia had made it plain that she desired Selby.  Therefore, given time, most expected the duke to likely to approve the match - but not just yet.  Hathaway still felt that Selby, even as the future Earl of Chilton, had some deficiencies, as the duke termed them, to overcome, but Hathaway was also seemingly certain that his sister could, in time, bring the young man up to scratch.

      Therefore Patience's continued pawing at Lord Selby was angering not just Oliver - if one could truly say that he was ever angry about anything other than a bad piece of horseflesh - but the duke and his sister as well.  The lady's actions might have been angering Lord Selby as well, but in all honestly, Diana could not tell.  The man appeared rather dazed, as if he had been hit over the head by a heavy object, and was unable to move out of the path of the approaching storm that was the duke's growing anger.  Selby was truly that dazed by the sheer force of nature that was Patience Saintwood.

      Normally, it would not be a lady's place to intervene.  Certainly, such actions were simply not proper.  However as Diana was somewhat betrothed - which was to say not really at all - to Lord Hathaway and that Lady Sophia was one of her closest friends and that Oliver was Diana's beloved brother, she felt compelled to do something.  After all, inaction often led to unforeseen consequences.  Diana had learned that lesson very well over the years.  It was how she had ended up sort-of-but-not-really betrothed to the duke, after all.

      So with a practiced grace that made it appear as if she was not rushing over to her brother's side - when in reality she was doing just that - Diana wove her way through the room, gracing those she brushed past with a smile, a kind word, and the promise of a dance later when several unmarried gentleman had the nerve to remark upon the nearly empty dance card that still dangled from her wrist.

      Still, she did not rush immediately over to Oliver's side.  At least she tried not to appear as if she was doing so.

      As a general rule, Diana did not rush.  She did have some sense of decorum after all.  However she did make haste, and when she arrived at her brother's side, she was feeling a decided flush of heat on her skin.  Though given what a crush the ball was, she could easily credit the overstuffed room for her rose-hued appearance.  But never would she credit it to anger.  Or fear.  Or worry.  Or any of the other numerous unladylike behaviors she had so recently engaged in.

      Oliver! Diana exclaimed with a false, cheery brightness before looping her arm through his.  And Patience!  Mama said you were not to attend this evening.  Then she looped her other arm through her sister-in-law's, practically dragging the other woman away from Lord Selby's side.  Well not away precisely, but farther apart so that it no longer appeared as if Patience was simply another one of Lord Selby's appendages.

      We weren't, there was a tone in Oliver's voice that Diana could not interpret, but Patience insisted.  He shot his wife a dark look.  Perhaps he wasn't as calm as he pretended to be, Diana decided.  Maybe he was angry too - which would be an event of some note since Oliver, like Diana, was generally known for his cheerful disposition as well.

      In turn, Patience flipped her hand in the air, her gaze still straying longingly to Lord Selby.  "La, but I could not miss this fête!  She took in the room with a hungry gaze, and Diana could almost see her salivating over the unmarried men with titles loftier than the one her husband possessed - including the Duke of Hathaway.  Anyone who is anyone of consequence is here.  And what with Lady Radcliffe so newly a mother..."  She let the rest of the sentence dangle and Diana wasn't certain if her sister-in-law meant that she hoped to catch a glimpse of the babe or whether she felt that left the path clear for her to invite herself into Radcliffe's bed.  Knowing Patience, it was probably the latter.

      Either way, Patience was doomed to failure and at least some part of her must have known the truth, which was why she was practically hanging off Lord Selby while making calf eyes at Hathaway from across the room.

      It is a crush to be certain.  Diana kept her tones neutral and measured so that she would not betray her displeasure at Patience's actions.  In general, Diana was a happy, upbeat person.  She liked people and society in general.  She enjoyed laughing and spending time with her friends.  She liked dancing, musicales, plays, and other entertainments, often spent in the delightful company of others.   Above all, she loved happy endings, especially between two people who were destined to be together, forsaking the rigid rules of purely political society marriages and instead opting for a true love match.

      At one time, she had believed Patience and Oliver to be a love match.  No longer.  Now, Diana simply wished that her sister-in-law would learn a little bit of decorum, though that was as unlikely as a pig flying through Radcliffe's ballroom this evening.

      If you will all excuse me, there is an urgent matter I must attend to.  Saintwood, I will see you on the 'morrow.  At some point, Lord Selby had returned to his senses and had disentangled himself from Patience, though at what point, Diana had not noticed.  He sketched a quick bow to both ladies and then hurried off in the direction of the card room, though not before sending a longing look in Lady Sophia's direction.  It was not lost on anyone that Lady Sophia turned away to resume speaking to her friends, practically ignoring Lord Selby.  While it was not the cut direct, the displeasure in the young lady's gaze was evident.

      Patience clucked her tongue as she watched him depart.  Pity that he is developing morals.  I understood from Lady Fairhill that he used to dally frequently with unhappily married society ladies.

      Which would not include you, I am certain.  Diana felt the need to defend her brother, even though he did not seem inclined to defend himself.  That she did so in such a sharp tone was utterly beside the point.

      Me?  Patience brought a hand to her chest, the very picture of innocence.  Why how could you ever think such a thing?  No, I am very happy with my beloved Oliver!  Her performance was very convincing and had a person not known her history, she would have been extremely believable.  However since Diana knew every last secret of her brother's disastrous marriage, she wasn't fooled for a moment.  She hoped that Oliver wasn't either but Diana suspected that he was.  Either that or he no longer cared.  She would not blame him if that was the case.

      Still, Diana nodded as if in complete agreement.  It was expected of her and she could do no less.  Of course not.  I would never dream of such a thing.

      It was then that Patience smirked a bit, clearly ready for her own venomous strike.  Still, it is not unusual for married women to daydream a bit, don't you know.  Sameness breeds boredom after all.  Then she bared her teeth, making an otherwise attractive face look utterly ugly.  "Not that you would know of course, what with still being unmarried at your age."

      Drawing in a sharp breath, Diana refused to respond to Patience's obvious baiting.  Most in her circle of friends knew that at six and twenty, this was likely to be Diana's last season on the marriage mart.  Not that she was precisely marriageable material anyway, what with the complex and completely confusing situation with Lord Hathaway still hanging over her head.  Even if a man was interested in courting her - and many had been over the years - Diana's parents would likely not allow a courtship.  Instead, her parents, in particular her mother, desperately clung to the pact that Ursula Saintwood - then Ursula Pipwick - had made with her best friend, Mary Wellstone, the future Duchess of Hathaway.

      The pact was really quite simple.  If the ladies married well and produced the appropriate first-born children, then those same children should be wed when they came of age, uniting the two families forever.  And the required children had come to pass - a girl for Ursula and a boy for Mary.  However at some point, someone had forgotten to mention to Mary's son, Adam, now the duke, of the women's long ago forged plans.  Or if someone had informed him, he had simply ignored the dictate, instead choosing to court any number of young ladies in addition to Diana, never being truly serious about any of them.  Often remarking with some dryness and a brief hint of revulsion that he was not yet ready to be leg shackled to anyone.  All despite rumors to the contrary that he was to wed Diana, which passed through the drawing rooms of London like so much hot air on a summer's day.

      Mary Reynolds had, of course, continually reassured her friend Ursula that, given enough time, her son would come around and marry Diana.  Eventually.  Maybe.  As of yet, that had not occurred.  In fact,

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