"Come here, baby, and let me get you out of dat fancy dress."
"Oh, no, Dido. That's my responsibility."
Dido chuckled and wagged an arthritic finger at him. "Naughty, you are, young master! Randy as a mountain goat, you young fellers. You take care of my baby, you hear?"
"I hear," said Lyon.
The old woman took herself off, still chuckling. "Her highness is in a pelter," Dido added, pausing in the doorway. "You don't wanna rile herself moh. You hear?"
"Yes, I hear," Diana said, repeating Lyon.
When the door closed behind the old slave, Diana turned on her husband. "Lyon, you should be ashamed of yourself."
"She's a funny old duck. You were lucky to have her with you while you were growing up."
"Yes," Diana said, serious now, "yes, I was. I am worried, though. Deborah said something about Dido being above herself and taking the whip to her. I won't allow that, Lyon."
"Of course not." He eased down into a wing chair that faced the tub, stretched his long legs out in front of him, and leaned his head back. "Bathe, Diana. I need to rest awhile."
"You didn't want to rest just a few minutes ago!"
He cocked an eye at her. "I must have forgotten. Lord, I have the strangest feeling, in fact, I think I must be dreaming. I see myself on a sugar plantation in the West Indies. This quite appetizing young lady is prancing about in front of me, and do you know what? I do believe she is going to strip off her clothes, just for my pleasure."
"Close your eyes, you buffoon! And I don't prance, I am not a horse."
He obligingly closed his eyes, at least for a couple of minutes. He opened them to see Diana step into the tub. His body responded instantly. He decided it was the beautiful tan contrasted with her white breasts, her hips, and belly. She turned her head toward him at that moment, and their eyes met.
"Lyon," she began, and made a furtive attempt to cover her breasts.
"Into the tub, sweetheart, or you will go without a bath." But his eyes dropped from her face to the nest of dark-blond curls between her thighs. He swallowed and moaned, as if in pain.
The sides of the copper tub were high and he couldn't see anything but her tanned shoulders.
"Well," she said, rubbing jasmine soap on her arms, "what do you think of everything?"
"I'm still in a state of shock. It is so vastly different here. I understand now how strange London must have been for you. You did very well there, Diana."
She was washing her face and didn't reply.
He steepled his fingers and tapped them thoughtfully together. "Did you truly like Yorkshire?"
She rinsed her face and looked over at him. "Yes, I did. It's wild and beautiful." She suddenly realized where this question was leading and added quickly, "But, Lyon, it's cold there ---"
"It was quite warm, really, and the sun was hot. I will admit that it can be dismal in winter, but the snow is beautiful, turning the moors white."
"I've never seen snow."
"The pond on my estate freezes over. You can learn how to ice-skate. There are a lot of things you've never seen or done."
"The same is true of you too."
"Yes." He rose and began to undress.
She climbed out of the tub in a few moments and quickly wrapped herself in a large towel. Lyon was standing there, in the middle of her bedchamber, beautifully naked, smiling at her.
"You are so tanned, except for your ---"
"Yes?" he prodded when she ground to a halt.
"Please bathe, Lyon, we mustn't be late for dinner. Her highness might get in a snit."
He didn't want to, but he forced himself to think about the hours after dinner. The hours after dinner for many years to come.
"I'll give you a complete tour of the plantation tomorrow. You can meet all my friends. My father owns a stallion that even you won't despise. He's half-wild, a Barb, and his name is Salvation."
"You must be kidding!"
"No, and I don't understand that name any more than you do. I asked Father, but the man who sold him the stallion died before he could find out." Her pulse calmed a bit when he was finally in her tub. His knees stuck up and she laughed.
"I am interested in meeting this new stepbrother of yours," he said, sponging himself.
"I hope he isn't like her highness. You know, prim and proper and stiff." Or like Patricia, she added silently.
"Or stoop-shouldered, dressed in black broadcloth, and toting a Bible under his arm?"
"Evidently, his father was a Quaker. Oh, dear. Deborah wanted to lecture me on our sail over from Tortola. It was hurting her to keep her opinions to herself. I doubt she will be able to hold in her strictures much longer. Poor Father. I grew up with him telling me how gay and charming my mother was."
"Who knows?" Lyon said, giving her a lecherous grin. "Perhaps our good Deborah is untamed in bed."
Diana doubted that sincerely, now that she knew more about bed.
As for Daniel Driscoll, he was not, they soon were to see, at all what either of them expected.
20
Not every truth is palatable.
—BEAUMARCHAIS
Daniel Driscoll was a giant of a man. A gentle giant, Diana soon discovered, despite the square, very stubborn-looking jaw and shoulders, and arms so massive and heavily muscled they strained the evening coat he was wearing. Making clothes for her stepbrother was not an easy task, she imagined, unable to do more at the moment than simply stare at him.
After introductions were genially made, Daniel took Diana's hand in his huge ones and gave her a gentle smile. "I always wanted a little sister. You are beautiful. You look very happy."
His voice was deep and slow, and his eyes, a very light blue, twinkled at her. His mother and wife looked like midgets next to him, and Diana, in hew newly discovered knowledge of marriage, wondered, slightly appalled, how he could make love to Patricia without squashing her.
"And I have never had a brother. I am delighted to have one now. And yes, I am happy." She grinned. "I would be your little sister even if I were older than you." He showed even white teeth as he smiled, and though she knew objectively that he was too rugged to be termed objectively handsome, there was such gentleness, such kindness in his face, that it didn't matter. She felt an odd surge of protectiveness toward him, which, she supposed, was ridiculous, given his sheer physical power.
"I've always wanted to go to England," Daniel said to Lyon. He towered a good five inches over the earl, and his massive shoulders blocked him from Diana's view for a moment. She wondered, stifling a giggle, how Lyon felt about being a little brother-in-law.
"Yes, well, certainly," Deborah cut in, her voice sharp. "It is just that you don't wish to go to England for the right reasons, Daniel. Surely, you must see that everything is changed now. You must ---"
"Yes, Mother." Daniel Driscoll merely smiled indulgently down at his mother from his great height, and Diana wondered how many times this particular strain of conversation occurred. She had a feeling that there was great strength of character beneath this calm-speaking man. But she was curious and was relieved when Lyon, bringing his gaze back to his new stepbrother-in-law, asked, "Why do you wish to go to England?"
"I wish to be a physician," Daniel said simply. "Have you ever heard of Dr. John Lettsom? No, well, he is a Quaker, still alive, I believe, and living in London. He was born here in the West Indies, on Little Jost Van Dyke Island. An amazing man, really, and an excellent doctor. I ---"
"Now, Daniel," Deborah said quickly, placing her hand on her son's arm, "don't run on so. You do not wish to bore his lordship." She gave Lyon an arch look. "My son hasn't yet realized that his place is here, running Savarol plantation. This idea of his is just a young man's fancy."
"Sickness is disgusting," said Patricia, "and doctors are poor folk with nothing to show for all their labors. Why, just think of that doctor you worked with in St. Thomas, Daniel. He was so poor he could barely take care of his wife and family."
> Daniel merely regarded his new wife from his great height, his face showing nothing. "Dr. Gustavus is a good man," he said only, his voice as impassive as his expression.
Lucien Savarol shook his head at his wife to forestall further comments. "We will eat on the veranda," he said.
"But, Lucien ---"
"On the veranda," Lucien repeated firmly. "Lyon is not used to the heat and there's hardly a breath of air in the dining room."
The veranda was on the second floor, some thirty feet long and ten feet in width. There was a railing and a roof and comfortable furniture. It was an odd feeling, Lyon thought as he seated Diana in a tall-backed wicker chair, to be dressed as fine as any English gathering and to be seated outside, the sounds of birds and the sea in the distance. He had wondered as he'd dressed in his evening clothes whether he would be roasted alive, and he greeted the cool evening breeze with gratitude. He stared silently a moment at the beautiful prospect before him. The well-scythed lawn was bordered with palm trees, red bullet trees, a name he'd never heard until Diana had mentioned it upon their arrival, mahogany trees, and masses of bougainvillea.
The servants --- no, slaves, he amended to himself --- walked silently, their bare feet making no sound on the mahogany floors. They were clean, wearing simple muslin trousers or dresses. The women wore bright-colored scarves about their heads.
"That, Lyon," Diana said, "is poached fish with herbed avocado sauce. And here are crab backs."
She watched his face as he tasted the dishes and smiled happily when he nodded. "Do try some sweet-potato casserole. You might not like the taste, it is very different, but ---"
"It is most unusual," Lyon said, and chewed. "Nearly as tasty as your roasted breadfruit, my dear."
"Oh," said Patricia, "I had forgotten that you were marooned together on an island! An English earl. How vastly romantic! You ate breadfruit?"
"Yes," said Diana. "And I made cassava bread, though this English earl thought the root looked disgusting, and then the English earl finally managed to spear a grouper for one dinner. We found a pool of fresh water, so that was no problem."
"You were lucky, my boy," said Lucien, "to be with Diana."
"An understatement, sir."
Diana said to Daniel, "I did not know Dr. Lettsom was still alive and in London. My father has told me he is an extraordinary gentleman. We had an excellent physician on board the Seawitch. His name was Blick, and he took care of Lyon."
"Yes," continued Lyon. "He took his medical training in Scotland, in Edinburgh, I believe. A fine man, and dedicated. He also taught your daughter all about goatweed, sir."
"Beware, my lord husband, or you'll find yourself at an impasse."
"Tell me of London society," Patricia said, her voice high and a bit shrill.
Daniel, who had been listening closely, now lowered his head and began to eat with stolid concentration.
Diana, after a quick drawing look at her husband, said, "Most fascinating. There was this one lady, her name was Charlotte, Lady Danvers. She had a way of making men quite mad."
Lyon, copying Daniel, merely forked down some stewed kidneys.
"Now, I was staying with Lady Lucia Cranston. A martinet and most fond of Lyon here. I personally believed that ---"
"You clumsy idiot!"
Diana gasped to see Deborah slap Moira's face, hard.
"You have ruined my gown, you stupid girl!"
She raised her hand to hit the thin black face yet again, when Lucien said, "Enough, Deborah. 'Tis just a bit of wine. Your dress isn't at all ruined."
Deborah was breathing hard, her eyes narrowed with frustration and anger. "She did it on purpose," she cried. "I will not have it!"
"Nonsense," said Diana sharply. "Moira, please fetch Mrs. Savarol some water. The wine will wash out quite easily."
"You have no say! You are not mistress here!"
Diana was ready to spring at Deborah's throat. She felt Lyon's hand on her wrist. She heard her father say, his voice calm and mild, "I had intended to have a toast to my new son-in-law. And I shall as soon as you have some more wine, my dear."
Deborah subsided. Patricia giggled nervously. Daniel merely continued eating.
"Calm, sweetheart," Lyon said quietly.
"I cannot allow her to ---"
"Later, Diana." She had rarely heard that stern tone from him before, and it stopped her.
Lucien began speaking of the repairs in the boiling house, and after a few moments, Diana managed to reply sensibly. From the corner of her eye, she saw Deborah grab a cloth from Moira and dab angrily at the stain on her gown. There was no expression whatsoever on Moira's thin face. What has she been doing? Diana wondered. She felt awash with sudden helplessness. How could her father have married such a mean-spirited woman?
She speared a bite of coconut fruitcake and chewed it furiously. When her father raised his glass, her mouth was full.
"To my son-in-law, Lyonel Ashton. My lord, welcome to my family."
"Thank you, sir."
Daniel sent a thoughtful gaze to Lyon and raised his glass.
"Yes, to you, my lord," Patricia said, her voice so sweet and winning, Diana could only stare at her. How could she flirt with Lyon with her own husband sitting beside her?
Diana had no opportunity to speak alone with her father. There was a new piano in the drawing room downstairs and Patricia played for them. Quite well, actually, Diana was forced to admit. She herself was yawning mightily after tea, and her father, smiling at her, told her to take herself to bed. He bid her and Lyon good night on the second-floor landing, Deborah at his side.
"I am glad to have you home," he said, and gently kissed her cheek. He stood looking down at her for a long moment, saying nothing, and Diana fancied that he was somehow sad. She wanted only to rid him of that sadness and said lightly, sending a sloe-eyed look toward Lyon, "He is not a bad husband, Father, stubborn and autocratic perhaps, but not exactly unmanageable."
"Daniel is right," Lucien said. "You do look happy. Good night, my dear."
Lyon quietly closed the bedchamber door and leaned against it, folding his arms over his chest.
He watched Diana prowl toward the French windows and jerk them open. Balmy night air swirled into the room.
"She is mistress here, Diana."
Diana whirled about, her face flushed with renewed anger. "She struck Moira! And for what? Nothing, that's what!"
"What does it matter? Moira is a slave, a possession, a piece of property."
"Don't you condescend to me, Lyonel Ashton! Or use that sarcastic tone. She is a human being with feelings! I know that your poor servants in your precious England are many times treated awfully! I can just imagine how your darling Charlotte treats her servants."
"Are you quite through being snide?"
Diana walked to the armoire and smashed her fist against the pale oak door. "Ow," she muttered, and rubbed her hand.
"Do you feel better?"
"No. I wish it were Deborah's face."
"You are quite fierce, aren't you?"
"I would rather be fierce than act so righteously superior!"
"It is not an act, sweetheart."
She heard the humor in his voice, but refused to acknowledge it. She began unfastening the buttons at her bodice. She was so rough that one button popped off and went flying across the floor.
Lyon looked at her a moment longer, shrugged, and pushed away from the door. They undressed in silence. He watched his wife snatch her nightgown from the armoire and carry it with her behind a screen.
"That is a waste," he called.
Lyon stretched out naked on the cool sheet, his arms above his head. He could hear the sweet song of a nightingale and the muted hissing of the waves. In a few minutes, he would kiss away her upset and love her thoroughly. His member grew enthusiastic at the thought, and he grinned. Moonlight flooded into the room. The flowers smelled sweet. And he was randy as a boy.
"What are you doing, Diana?"
"I am sewing together my nightgown," she called out, her voice nasty.
When she finally emerged, she doused the one lamp and walked slowly toward the bed, her body silhouetted in the shaft of clean moonlight.
"I'm tired," she said, sitting on the far edge of the bed.
"Your bed is somewhat short. I'm not at all tired."
"The bed is just fine for me, and you should be."
"Shut up and come here."
"You have no modesty at all." She inched away from him.
He grabbed a nightgowned shoulder, and as she jumped off the bed and he didn't release the delicate lawn, it tore cleanly, from throat to foot.
"Oh!"
Lyon lay back on the bed. "I told you the gown was a waste. I fancy that is one item of clothing you will have no need for, for at least the next thirty years. Come here, sweetheart. You are in a foul humor and you shouldn't be. You have me, after all."
"You are good for very little."
"I beg your pardon, madam?"
"Did you tell my father the truth? About us?"
"Yes. He deserved to know. An honorable man always deserves the truth."
"Does he know that you intend to drag me back to England?"
"We didn't discuss that."
She was still clutching the nightgown in front of her. Her hair was loose and flowing about her shoulders, the way he liked it.
"I don't know what to do."
"I will tell you what you're going to do at this moment. You are going to drop that nightgown and show me your beautiful body. Then you are going to leap into my arms, wrap yourself around me, and let me kiss every inch of you."
She looked at him, suspicion, uncertainty, and if he weren't mistaken, a bit of interest in her eyes. He grinned. "Every inch," he said, his voice low.
"I never thought an English gentleman --- and English earl, for heaven's sake --- would speak in such a manner."
"I am just a man, Diana. I save my peerage for the realm, and my gentlemanliness for my clubs."
"Will you get me with child?"
That bald question took him aback, but just for a moment. "Yes, I will do my best. We will make a battalion of children, if you wish." He wanted to add that she could possibly already be carrying his child, but he didn't. He also remembered the awful time Frances had had birthing her child. He paused, but just for a moment. "Come, Diana."