They were trundling down the road in a minute; Hickett was obviously hell-bent on reaching Manchester before Diana wearied her arm drawing pints.
In fact, North wasn’t worried . . . much. Diana was curious and impetuous, but she was also highly intelligent. He had a feeling she might develop an acute distaste for beer.
Godfrey soon fell asleep, so North occupied himself by imagining what the men gathered at the public house would make of Diana’s delightful figure. And her voice. She had an elegant accent, as refined as any duchess’s. Yet she spoke with a husky lilt that hinted at her irrepressible nature. She was a study in contrasts.
When they stopped to change horses, North left Godfrey nestled in a blanket on the seat inside, assigned the groom to sit next to him, and leaped up beside Hickett, taking the reins. He could drive faster than the coachman.
After another twenty minutes, he sensed that Hickett had something he needed to say. “You’d best make a clean breast of it,” North advised, steering the phaeton around a slow-moving mail coach.
Hickett clung to the side of the vehicle. “Miss Belgrave isn’t a barmaid. But she knows what it is to earn an honest wage.”
“I agree,” North said, leaving the mail coach behind.
“She’s better off earning it in my sister’s tavern than in some cottage of yours, my lord. If you want to let me go for saying it, so be it.”
“‘Cottage of mine,’” North repeated slowly.
“I heard as how you offered her three hundred pounds and a cottage. Mabel overheard it.”
“Mabel misunderstood.”
“Miss Belgrave, she isn’t that sort. She’s an innocent. Even Mabel wouldn’t say anything about her that way. She tells the boy stories of his mother at bedtime.”
“My offer to support Miss Belgrave implied nothing improper,” North said, his voice turning frosty despite himself. Like his aunt, the coachman was merely expressing the protective affection that Diana inspired in everyone around her.
“You didn’t just imply it,” Hickett said flatly. “From what I heard, you said it out and out, and had her up against the door as well. You can’t blame the girl for taking fright and running to Manchester. She can do better than that, my lord.”
Better than you was the unspoken implication.
“She doesn’t care to be your duchess,” Hickett continued. The man really didn’t know when to shut up. “Nor the other thing either. She won’t marry you, but that doesn’t mean she won’t make some other man a good wife.”
“A man she meets in the tavern?” North asked curtly.
Hickett narrowed his eyes. “There’s many a man in the Beetle & Cheese who wouldn’t make a lady an offer that’s a disgrace to say aloud.”
After that, North concentrated on driving.
Chapter Twenty-four
The Beetle & Cheese
The moment Diana took her place behind the bar, someone had roared, “Her Majesty’s arrived!” With that, men crowded up to take a closer look. Given their greedy eyes, she was glad for every inch of the stout barrier between them.
Diana took a deep breath and addressed the man most directly in front of her. “What will you have?”
“Mumphss,” he said.
“I beg your pardon?” she asked. His Manchester accent wasn’t easy to understand.
“Mumphiskiss!” he repeated, with emphasis.
Diana poured the first ale that came to hand and pushed it across to him. He flipped a coin at her, which she put into a box behind the bar, as Mrs. Barley had instructed. Two more men were shouting and shoving farther down the bar, and someone to her right slammed a tankard so loudly that it made her jump.
She hurried to the other end of the bar and managed to serve the two obstreperous men. Then she ran back, summoned by the slamming tankard.
After two hours of this—during which she could scarcely pause for breath, let alone sit down to rest—she had a new, profound respect for barmaids. She had spilled beer down her front, which the men appreciated. Three or four of them were motionless on their stools, their eyes locked on her breasts. One of them kept shouting at her and breathing heavily through his mouth when he ordered, which rendered his demands impossible to understand.
At some point, her hair had come unfastened and fallen down her back. She let it go. She didn’t have time to bother, not when she had to run back and forth along the bar, dodging to avoid grasping hands, pushing tankards of ale across, collecting coins.
She had no idea what she was meant to be charging. Mrs. Barley had gone over it quickly, but Diana couldn’t remember what she’d said. As a result, she just said, “No change,” over and over.
One customer, who informed her his name was Harvey, kept his eyes glued to her breasts and his tongue plastered to the back of his front teeth. Every time she stood in front of him, he adjusted his breeches and eyed her like an obscene owl.
Mrs. Barley had been serving the tables. At some point, she raised an eyebrow, and Diana nodded, signaling she was finished. She pushed another tankard across the bar, as Mrs. Barley made her way across the room.
Her arms ached and—insult to injury—beer had soaked all the way through to her chemise. “I’m useless as a barmaid,” she told Mrs. Barley, with a tired laugh. She used to think she was exhausted at the end of a long day in the nursery, but she hadn’t truly understood the meaning of that word until now.
“It would have helped if you knew how to return change,” Mrs. Barley said, smiling at her. “But you’ve kept the beer flowing, and it’s given the lads something to talk about for many a day. I’m that grateful.”
“Don’t leave us, Your Majesty!” the men lined up at the bar shouted. They were the agreeable ones, with jovial rather than lustful eyes.
“I’ll just run over to the inn and get one of the lads to help me for the rest of the night.” Mrs. Barley rushed out the door.
Diana pushed open the half door that separated the bar from the rest of the room. Harvey slid from his stool and shambled toward her.
“Good night,” Diana said.
“It’s going to be a good one for us, I promise you that.” His speech was slurred but more or less intelligible.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Us,” he said, reaching her side and wrapping his fat fingers around her arm.
Diana looked down at this trespass on her person. “Unhand me.”
He guffawed. “You’re as good as a play.”
She did sound like a heroine in a drama. “Do you need me to say, ‘Unhand me, Villain’?”
“I like the way you talk,” Harvey said, swaying closer so that his hot, beery breath washed over her cheek. “Fancy-like. I’m going to pretend I’m tupping the queen, you know? In fact, I might pay you more if you say some queen things.”
“What are you talking about?” Diana snapped. “Let go of me this instant!”
That provoked another guffaw. “I paid for you, no time to regret now.”
“You did not pay for me!”
“Oh yes I did!”
She laughed. “You’re out of your mind.”
“You took the coins yourself. You’re paid for. Bought and paid for. Mine for the night. I want the queen.”
“You are a disgusting little worm,” she stated.
“That’s right, Your Majesty,” Harvey panted. “Everyone saw you taking my money.” His grip on her arm tightened; she knew he would leave bruises—injury added to insult, rather than the other way around.
Across the room, the groom Hickett had left to watch her was rising to his feet, and the line of men at the bar had all swiveled around, but Diana believed she could take care of this boor herself. She reached out her free arm, picked up an abandoned tankard sitting nearby, and brought it down on Harvey’s head.
“Hey!” he cried.
Huh. She would have guessed it would do more damage than that.
The door to the yard slammed open and a man came in with such speed that Diana saw
no more than a blur. He caught Harvey by the shoulder, spinning him away with such force that the drunk flew over a table and slammed into the wall.
Her deliverer stood with his back to Diana, hands on his hips, surveying his handiwork. She blinked at him, her eyes moving from broad shoulders down to taut waist, dusty breeches, tall boots . . .
A gentleman’s coat. Not a gentleman’s body.
North.
He was blocking her view of Harvey swaying on the other side of the room.
“Who the hell are you?” Harvey slurred. “I paid for her. Paid for the night. Paid enough for a whole night, I mean.”
A low growl came from North, potent and full of menace. Harvey’s eyes widened and he fell backward a step. “Aw, bollocks. She’s cheating on you? Belongs to a gent.”
Diana stepped out from behind North. “I had no idea that you were overpaying for your ale.”
North pushed her behind him. “There seems to have been a misunderstanding.”
“I want her as I paid for. I even held back on the brew so I could do the deed!”
Diana edged to the side once again. “You could hit him again,” she suggested to North.
He glanced at her, a flash of amusement going through his eyes. “I have your permission?”
“I didn’t get to see it the first time.”
“I wouldn’t want you to miss the spectacle.”
Harvey squeaked like the coward he was and started to move around the table between them. “Mayhaps there’s been a mistake,” he suggested.
“Oh, there has been,” North assured him.
“I can let the money go,” Harvey offered.
“You can,” North agreed. He reached out and dragged Harvey across the same table the man had flown over not two minutes earlier.
It was terribly primitive and ungentlemanly, and Diana had an impulse to applaud. Only, she told herself, because she had enjoyed boxing matches at the county fair, those her grandfather used to secretly take her to when she was a little girl.
Those no lady would enjoy.
“What’s happening here?” Mrs. Barley cried, running in. “Here you all!” she shouted to the men who were standing around, enjoying the spectacle. “Why aren’t you doing something?”
North grinned at her. “We’re just cleaning some rubbish out of here, and we’ll be on our way.”
“Oh, you fool, Harvey,” the lady said, folding her arms over her chest. “You’ve gone too far this time, you old dunce.”
“I ain’t a dunce,” Harvey said indignantly.
“I would think very carefully and then apologize to the lady,” North said, giving Harvey a shake, “because if you don’t, I shall be obliged to satisfy her bloodthirsty desire to see you flat on your back again.”
“I apologize,” Harvey said quickly.
North pushed the drunk away. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Miss Belgrave, but a gentleman always accepts an apology, however poorly it is expressed.”
With this he turned to face Diana at last and opened his arms. “Did he injure you?” he asked, holding her tightly. “If so, I’ll kill him.”
“I’m unhurt,” Diana said, contentedly leaning her head against his chest. “He has disgusting teeth, though.” North smelled good and clean, like starch and safety, like expensive wool and the very best soap.
“I have to admit something,” she told his coat. But this wasn’t the place for a serious conversation. “I am not a good barmaid.”
There was a moment of silence, and then a roar of laughter.
Chapter Twenty-five
North escorted Diana to the Beetle & Cheese’s private parlor, where he had left Godfrey in Hickett’s care. The boy slid from the coachman’s lap and ran to Diana as if it had been weeks, not hours, since he’d last seen her.
North left to ask the innkeeper, Mr. Barley, to prepare a hot bath in his best bedchamber. He was talking to the man in the front entryway when two carriages drew up and a stream of Wildes poured out. Plus one laird.
“They are with me. We’ll need a lot of tea,” North said to Mr. Barley. “And food,” he added, thinking of his younger sisters and brothers, who always seemed to be hungry.
Five minutes later, the room was churning with Wildes lamenting they’d missed seeing Diana draw pints. Lady Knowe was deep in consultation with Mr. Barley, who was insulted at the very notion they might retire for supper to the Royal George, and was promising a very fine roasted sirloin and some plump chickens.
“I neglected to tell you that we have an unexpected visitor,” North said, making his way to Diana. “Miss Belgrave, may I introduce Diarmid Ewing, the Laird of Fennis, Godfrey’s great-uncle?”
Diana’s eyes rounded and she made a deep curtsy. “I’m honored to meet you, my lord.”
“It’s a true pleasure,” the laird said. His eyes were gentle, but his voice was a burr accustomed to being obeyed. “My dear, we had no idea that Archibald had left a child. I gather that your mother felt it too disgraceful to acknowledge his birth. We Ewings would be happy and proud to welcome both of you to our family.”
Godfrey grabbed North’s hand, scowling up at the old Scotsman. He couldn’t have made it clearer that he considered himself a Wilde.
“That is tremendously kind of you,” Diana said.
North reminded himself that he had learned patience during the war, because it seemed remarkably difficult to keep silent.
“Miss Belgrave,” the laird continued, “will you and Godfrey come home with me? We’ll be most glad to have you.” He paused and looked down at his great-nephew, still clutching North’s hand. “Though it might be that you have other plans.”
Patience be damned. “I want to marry Diana,” North said, adding, reluctantly, “however, she does not wish to be a duchess.”
A high but firm voice cut across whatever Diana might have said in answer. “If my aunt doesn’t want to be a duchess, then you shouldn’t be a duke.”
Diana let out a startled gasp, and Lady Knowe came out with “Bloody hell.” A roomful of Wildes went silent perhaps for the first time.
North stared down at the little boy holding his hand. His mind reeled—not only because Godfrey had just uttered his first sentence, but because what he said was so simple.
And so right.
Out of the mouths of babes, indeed.
Diana fell to her knees. “Oh, Godfrey, you spoke!”
The laird chuckled. “On the way here, these kind people told me that you didn’t talk, lad. I’m glad to find they were mistaken. It’ll be easier to lead your clan.”
Godfrey leaned into Diana’s embrace, but he continued to stare expectantly up at North. The Wildes, even Artie, remained quiet. Astonishment and a heady feeling of joy spread through North’s body. The solution was obvious, now that a little boy had revealed it. Of course he shouldn’t drag Diana into a trap; instead, he should get himself out of it.
His father and aunt were regarding him with uncannily similar expressions. “I shall not be a duke,” he said slowly, hearing the words come from his mouth as if spoken by another man.
Aunt Knowe’s face creased into the biggest smile he’d ever seen, and she elbowed her brother. “It’s called renunciation of the title,” she said merrily. “We’ve been waiting for you to throw up your hands for, oh . . . five years now?”
The duke nodded, his eyes on North’s face. Ophelia joined them, Artie on her hip. “Your father didn’t feel it was right to suggest something so weighty. You had to say it yourself.”
“I was getting desperate,” his aunt said with a chuckle. “I was on the verge of joking in front of you about the Earl of Harebottle, that madman who renounced his title because he thought the stress of it was making him bald. And then he died without a hair on his head anyway.”
North smiled at that as he helped Diana back to her feet. “Will you marry me, Diana, if I renounce the title?”
“You’d be giving up so much,” she whispered.
She did
n’t say no.
“As it is, I would be giving up you, and you are worth more to me than forty dukedoms.” Diana made a choking sound. He pulled her into his arms and clasped her as tightly as he could. She was his.
At this, the room burst into excited chatter.
“Alaric will do the same,” Lady Knowe said to no one in particular. “No question about that.”
“Well, I’m not taking the title,” Leonidas announced, in the most decisive tone North had ever heard his young brother use. “I’ll flee to Scotland and help Godfrey head the clan instead. Or open a tavern!”
“Erik wouldn’t make a terrible duke,” the duke said thoughtfully.
“Truly?” Diana whispered against North’s chest.
“Yes,” North answered, deep joy resounding in his bones. There was too much noise and excitement in the room; he walked his future wife from the parlor and out the front door into the courtyard.
It was dark, and the now-empty yard was illuminated by lanterns hanging from the stone walls.
“I’ve never heard of anyone giving up his place as heir,” Diana said. “What if you come to regret it in a few years?”
“I promise you, I won’t.” He grinned down at her. “Why would I want to be duke? Parth has turned my inheritance into an outrageous fortune. You and I can live like a duke and duchess, if we wish, but in private.”
“I don’t wish for that.”
“I don’t wish for more than you,” North said.
Godfrey ran out the door, having followed them. Diana held out her hand to the little boy, but kept her eyes on North. “The odd thing is that I was about to tell you . . .”
“That you love me enough to become my duchess,” he stated, giving her a kiss.
“You guessed?”
“I love you enough to give up the title, and you love me enough to take it on.”
“I will be your duchess,” she promised. “I’ll be a good one too. If I can weather being an inept barmaid, I can certainly manage, at some point in the distant future, to be an inept duchess.”