A Rogue for All Seasons (Weston Family) (28 page)

“Oh, I’m so pleased for you both!” Isabella flung her arms around him.

He hugged her back. “Where’s the other half of the devilish duo?”

“She had to get home to the baby, but she and Jason will come to dinner to celebrate. Tomorrow will be soon enough for you to go see the duke.”

Henry raised his brows. “A little sure of yourselves, weren’t you?”

“I did have the key, and a refusal was not going to unlock that door.” Isabella released him to embrace Diana. “Congratulations. I couldn’t be more pleased to have you for a sister, and I have every faith you two will be very happy together.” She looked back at Henry, her eyes bright. “Oh, Hal…” Her voice quavered.

“Don’t cry,” he warned her gruffly. “I’ve had all the female tears I can take today. Thank you for your help. Now, go away.” He tugged Diana out of Isabella’s embrace and into his. “I want a moment alone with my bride-to-be.”

“I locked her in a room with you for well over an hour.” Amusement colored Isabella’s voice. “It isn’t my fault if you can’t manage your time wisely. Besides, from the state of Diana’s hair, I believe you managed well enough.”

As Diana patted at her hair, Henry shot her a glare. “Don’t mind her. You look beautiful.”

“My maid will set it to rights,” Isabella said. “This won’t be the first time Becky has fixed someone’s hair before dinner”—she winked—”or the last.”

Diana laughed, and he couldn’t resist kissing her. He breathed in her laughter, happiness, and the utter perfection of the moment. The kiss wasn’t long or deep, but his heart was racing when he drew back. Diana appeared just as affected.

Isabella cleared her throat. “You’d best stop looking at my brother with such admiration, or he’ll become more insufferable than he already is.”

“He’s not insufferable,” Diana objected without taking her eyes from his.

“Just wait,” Isabella advised. “You’ll see.”

A grin flirted with the corners of Diana’s mouth. Henry dropped a kiss on one side, then the other.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Diana said with a happy little sigh.

“No more than I, love,” he agreed, ignoring Isabella’s groans. “No more than I.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

If you ever doubt my love, my dearest Diana, know that I have not written a letter to a female (other than my kin) since I was thirteen and fancied myself in love with Emily Hughes, or at least with the portion of her body between her waist and her neck. Mistress Hughes was a maid at Eton and a dozen years my senior; had she been able to cook, I saw a very happy future for us. Unfortunately, she was impressed neither by my billet-doux nor by my poetry. I will have you know, I labored over those lines. Perhaps she took issue with my poor penmanship, because you cannot deny the brilliance of what little I still remember:

As you sweep the dirt from beneath the rugs
I watch, entranced by the sway of your dugs.

The work here continues on both the house and the stables. I am certain the house will be livable by our wedding, and then we will turn it into a home. Ravensfield and I, we are both very much in need of your woman’s touch…

—FROM HENRY WESTON TO HIS BETROTHED DIANA MERRIWETHER

D
IANA HAD WORRIED THAT HER
mother might think Sir Samuel had been mistreated, but he’d made that difficult. He’d called at Lansdowne House the day after she’d accepted Henry’s proposal. Henry had visited that morning to obtain her grandfather’s permission, and then he’d presented her with a stunning betrothal ring.

When Sir Samuel called, she and her mother received him. Diana broke the news of her engagement to him as gently as possible. He appeared stunned, and for one terrible moment, Diana wondered if she had been mistaken about his feelings toward her. Then he’d smiled warmly and congratulated her, saying that Henry had stolen a march on him. In the next instant, the baronet had turned to her mother to ask if she could recommend another young lady who might suit him as well as had her daughter.

As easily as that, Sir Samuel moved on, and whatever lingering reservations she might have had about Henry, Diana’s mother entered into planning the wedding with as much zeal as Lady Weston. With only one month to make all of the necessary arrangements, the two became almost inseparable. The duchess insisted on overseeing all of the wedding preparations, which meant she did none of the work yet managed to express an opinion on everything. And she had an opinion on
everything,
from the flowers at the church (St. George’s, as Isabella had predicted) to the color of the silk hangings in the gallery at Lansdowne House, the site of the lavish reception that would follow the wedding.

Besides seeing to her dress, Diana found there was very little required of her. Isabella and Olivia insisted that she go to Madame Bessette for her wedding gown. Though the sought-after modiste already had a long waiting list, she promised
Monsieur Henri
that she would make not only a wedding gown for his betrothed, but an entire trousseau.

Diana tried to protest, but Madame and Henry insisted. Morning dresses, walking dresses, evening dresses, a ball gown—she was to have them all. She also needed matching spencers and pelisses, a heavy cloak, and a riding habit. Madame took the names of Diana’s glover and cordwainer and promised to order gloves and slippers to go with her new ensembles. Madame was also to order—Henry was very clear on this—two dozen shifts and nightgowns of the highest quality, all with ribbons as red as the flush on her cheeks.

He
did
like to see her blush. Henry wanted to spend their wedding night—any mention of which made her turn red—at Ravensfield, so he was busy setting the place to rights, but he never stayed away too long. On the days he was in London, they chose furnishings for their new home. Henry had bought quite a bit from the Bedford House sale the previous month, but they still needed a lot. As with the clothes, Diana fussed over spending so much money, but she consoled herself that her dowry would more than cover the expense.

Henry did not seem at all troubled at the cost… or by common decency. The first piece of furniture he insisted they buy was a bed, which he claimed was the only truly essential piece. He asked every shop owner whether he had anything larger, which embarrassed Diana to no end.

After he’d dragged her to no fewer than six stores, she lost her patience. Turning to the owner of the store, she asked if there were somewhere private where she might convince her betrothed to see sense. Having perceived that he was dealing with persons of Quality, and still hoping to salvage the sale, the man promptly ushered Henry and Diana into a small room at the back, then quickly made himself scarce.

“You are impossible to satisfy,” she declared mutinously, crossing her arms over her chest. “Perhaps you should order a copy made of the Great Bed of Ware and have done with it!”

He grinned and pulled her into his arms, then set about kissing her frown away. Irritated though she was, in less than a minute she had her arms crossed around his neck instead.

“You’ll soon find,” he told her between kisses, “that I’m no more difficult to satisfy than the next man. Women are the difficult ones to please, but I’ve always enjoyed that particular challenge.”

“How can you say that when I selected a bed for my chamber in the first shop we visited?” she asked indignantly.

“Oh, Di!” He let out a hearty laugh. “I think debauching you will prove the greatest joy of my life. As for the bed you selected, I hope you’re not overly fond of it, for I have no intention of letting you sleep there. You will spend each night by my side—once I have utterly exhausted you in this business of pleasure and satisfaction—which is why we must find a bed large enough that we can sleep comfortably together and conceive all eight of our future children.”

“Eight?” she exclaimed.

His deep laugh sent streamers of warmth unfurling throughout her body.

He looked thoughtful. “Ten?”

“Henry!” She laughed. “Will you be serious?”

“Not if I can help it,” he responded, kissing her again. They were both breathing heavily when he lifted his head. “Well, my dear Miss Merriwether, is the bed we just saw the one in which you want to yell your head off when I give you pleasure, and then again when you birth our eleven babes?”

She blushed and nodded. As they headed back into the store she asked tentatively, “You don’t really want so many children, do you?”

He shrugged. “I always thought I would have a large family, but there’s no need to worry about that yet. Right now, I can’t think beyond wanting you.”

Diana held Henry’s words to her heart. She refused to let herself think beyond the wedding, beyond the wanting and loving of right now. Well, she let herself think a little bit beyond the wedding. What bride did not think about her wedding night?

When the morning of the wedding finally arrived, Diana stared at her reflection in the dressing table mirror. She might have been looking at someone else. The woman looked like her, only prettier. The stranger’s lips were redder, her cheeks pinker, and the color of her eyes was closer to that of dark emeralds than muddy ponds. She glowed with excitement. This was who she wanted to be, who Henry had helped her become.

Unfortunately, the pretty stranger looked no more knowledgeable than Diana felt. Her mother’s maternal advice last night hadn’t been as instructive as Diana had hoped.

“Your grandmother and I weren’t on speaking terms when I married,” she had said, “which is as well, since she would only have berated me for neglecting my duty. Your duty is to yourself, your husband, and the family you will have together. Your grandmother would also have lectured me about the mistake I was making. You are making the right choice. I had my doubts about Weston, but I can see he is devoted to you. You have a very happy future before you. Now, I know you must be nervous, but see if you can sleep a little.”

“What about the rest?” Diana had asked. “You haven’t said anything about the wedding night.”

“Oh!” The horrified look on her mother’s face had been almost comical. “I don’t think that is necessary.”

“But—”

“Your husband will teach you what you need to know,” her mother had promised her, and that had been her final word on the subject.

Diana had no doubt Henry could teach her a great many things. The man could steal her control and give her pleasure that took her outside herself. She wanted to know if she could do the same to him.

She tilted her head at the mirror, attempting to find her most seductive angle.

“Bouge pas!”
A sharp tug on Diana’s hair accompanied the reprimand, warning her of the consequences should she keep fidgeting. As Diana’s maid, Ellie, had traveled to Ravensfield earlier in the week along with Diana’s trunks, the duchess had tasked Martine with dressing Diana’s hair for the wedding.
“Qu’est-ce que vous faites?”

Diana sighed. If Martine couldn’t tell what she was doing, it clearly wasn’t working. “I want to please my husband.”

“He wishes you to make faces
dans le miroir
?”

“No, of course n— Ouch!” Diana’s laugh earned her another tug on her hair. She watched Martine’s reflection thread white and silver satin ribbons through curls she had twisted into a complicated arrangement. Though the woman must be close to her grandmother’s age, she looked much younger. Along with her native language, Martine had retained the French
joie de vivre
. Diana wondered just how much life she had enjoyed.

“Were you ever married, Martine?”

“
Hélas,
I had not that pleasure, but I would trade places with you tonight.” The older woman’s eyes twinkled.
“Il est très beau.”

Diana flushed. “Yes, he is very handsome.” She bit her lip. “Martine, if… if this
were
your wedding night, would you know what to do? Is it true that all Frenchwomen are born knowing how to seduce men?”

Martine smiled at her in the mirror as she placed the final pins into Diana’s hair.
“Et voilà,”
she said, stepping back. “
Ma chère,
it is for your husband to seduce you,
non
?”

“No.” Diana shook her head. “I mean, yes, he should, but he… He knows just how to kiss me, how to… to touch me so I forget everything and everyone but him. I want to be able to do that to him. I know men are always more eager for the bedding than the wedding, but Henry is particularly excited for tonight. He wants it to be perfect. I try not to think about the women in his past, but I can’t always help myself. I’m certain all of them knew how to please a man. Mother wouldn’t tell me anything, so I—” She stopped when Martine held up her hand.

“Your husband will enjoy your innocence. Men like to teach their women. They feel
plus masculin et plus viril
. But as your
maman
did not prepare you, I will tell you
les essentiels, assez bien
? You will listen as I help you dress.”

Martine’s information had been more than good enough. Diana only understood about half of the rapid jumble of English and French, though she wasn’t sure whether her problem was a lack of vocabulary, imagination, or both. The acts described alternately shocked and intrigued her, but Martine assured her that certain kisses made all men lose control.