mews to catch me. The Duke had decreed that since her former friends were not of suitable rank—I’d not yet married Randolph—she was no longer permitted to associate with them. Saying she must return before her absence was discovered, she gave me her love and said goodbye. I—I didn’t know what to make of it at the time, but I do know she never received any of her other friends, either.’
‘“No longer permitted”?’ Alastair echoed. ‘Could a husband enforce such a stipulation? Or was that a convenient excuse?’
Lady Randolph shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t see her again until years later, after Randolph won a seat in Parliament, and we were invited to a political dinner hosted by the Duke. There had already been rumours that the match was a most—unusual—one, and I was quite anxious to have a chance to speak with Diana again.’
She paused, looking troubled. ‘Did you speak with her?’ he prompted, impatient for her to continue.
She started a little, as if she’d been lost in memory. ‘No, for reasons I will soon make apparent. The Duke came down after the guests had assembled, but as the hour grew later, Diana still had not appeared. Finally, just after the butler announced dinner was to be served, she suddenly arrived at the doorway through which the guests must pass to reach the dining room. She wore a striking white-silk gown with a very low décolletage, but neither gloves nor jewels. Instead, circling her neck and wrists were...bruises, the ones beneath each ear clearly fingerprints. In the shocked silence, she walked up to the Duke, and as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, said she was ready to go in to dinner.’
‘What did the Duke do?’
Lady Randolph laughed shortly. ‘What could he do? I’m told he seldom exhibits any emotion, but those near him said his face reddened. Without a word, he offered his arm—and ignoring it, she walked beside him into the dining room. It was the most magnificent bit of defiance I’ve ever witnessed.’
It was all Alastair could do to guard his expression. To hear of any woman abused would have aroused his anger and pity—but Diana! Sickened, furious, he struggled to find a comment that expressed a degree of outrage appropriate for a former fiancé—rather than a man once again involved with the woman in question.
Giving him a sympathetic look, his hostess continued. ‘I know what a shock that news must be, even for one who no longer has any warm feelings for Diana. It’s simply wicked, what a wife can suffer without any legal remedy, and makes me daily grateful for my Randolph! Sadly, I’ve known several poor souls whose husbands treated them...ungently, and without exception they tried to hide the abuse, were embarrassed by it. And afraid. Whereas Diana flaunted the Duke’s lack of control for all his world to see, embarrassing him. With utter disregard for how he might make her pay for it later.’
The thought chilled him. He’d seen no evidence of current bruises—but her husband might have been ill for months, for all he knew. Had she suffered his hand raised against her through all her marriage?
‘As soon as dinner concluded,’ Lady Randolph continued, ‘the Duke took her arm and escorted her upstairs, saying she was feeling “indisposed”, then returned to his guests.’ She shuddered. ‘I hesitate even to imagine what must have happened later. In any event, it was the last time I saw her. Soon afterward, the Duke took her to Graveston Court, and though he returned to London for Parliament and occasionally entertained there, she never again accompanied him. I heard from guests who dined with them before her banishment that she always conversed freely at table, giving no deference to the Duke or his opinions, pointing out discrepancies as she saw them in his arguments or those of his Parliamentary supporters.’
‘Not an ideal political wife,’ Alastair observed, before his own words came out of memory like a stiletto to the chest: You shall have to marry me, rather than some dandy of the ton, for as impossible as you find it to prevaricate, you’ll never be fashionable.
Anguish twisted in his gut. Never fashionable. Never appreciated.
Never safe.
‘Quite frankly, after what I’d seen and heard, I’m rather surprised she outlived him—but ever so glad! Despite what the malicious are saying about her in Bath, I intend to seek her out and offer her friendship.’
To his surprise, Lady Randolph seized his hands and looked up at him earnestly. ‘Diana made a terrible decision that summer so many years ago. But whatever advantage she thought to gain, she’s paid a dear price for it. Paid enough, I think. I just ask that you have pity, and if you can’t forgive her, at least don’t add to her sufferings.’
‘I can assure you, I have no intention of doing that.’
Releasing him, she sat back. ‘Thank you! Since you are a man of honour—most of the time,’ she added with a smile and a pointed look, ‘I am satisfied.’
* * *
Taking his leave a few minutes later, Alastair scarcely recalled what had been said during the rest of his visit, so preoccupied had he been by what Lady Randolph had revealed—and with not betraying by some comment or expression his full reaction to the information she’d conveyed.
Once free of her restraining presence, though, electing to walk back to his sister’s townhouse so he might think uninterrupted, he methodically reviewed her recitation, looking for bits and pieces that fit with what he’d learned himself.
Lady Randolph’s account seemed to confirm Diana’s assertion that she had never confided to anyone else the account she’d given him of being coerced into marriage. Of course, as he’d told her and she’d readily admitted, the story beggared belief. Even her dearest friend thought it was the temptation of marrying into the highest rank of Society that had, in the end, induced her to abandon him.
Had it been?
His certainty about that, already shaken, wavered further as he allowed himself to recall more about the Diana he’d known. The Diana who, without question, would never lie. The Diana who, even now, could not come up with a plausible evasion.
Equally without question, the girl she’d been would have been capable of sacrificing her own happiness to save those she loved.
A girl who, heedless of her own safety, had had the courage to publicly defy a duke.
Suddenly he recalled her confusion when he’d offered her the paints. The confusion of someone who had received so little for so many years, she no longer knew how to respond to a gift.
The confusion of one who only knew what it was like to have what she loved taken away.
Feeling sick inside, Alastair halted at the street corner, mopping his face with a trembling hand. Had he been wrong all this time, wallowing in self-righteous indignation over her supposed betrayal?
Common sense rejected that conclusion, and yet... Like snow silently accumulating on a windowsill, the doubts that had begun creeping in to trouble his assumptions over what she’d done, and why, redoubled.
He had to know the truth.
Little by little, he promised himself as he resumed his walk, with a tenderness and concern she apparently had not been shown for years, he would coax her to tell it to him.
But before that, he’d need to get a pianoforte delivered to Green Park Buildings.
