The Willful Widow
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would merely respond with a deprecatory shrug and some offhand reply that showed all too clearly the pursuit of beautiful women was nothing but a game to him—a delightful one to be sure, but a game nevertheless whose chief attraction was the challenge of the chase.
"You delight in the mysteries and intricacies of your theorems and axioms. I prefer to confine myself to the study of the vagaries of feminine behavior—a far more difficult subject to fathom than mathematics, but infinitely more rewarding," he had often confided to Lord Beardsley with a rakish grin.
However, today there was something different. Could it possibly be true that Justin St. Clair was catched at last?
Ambling along toward Hatchard's, Alan wasn't sure how he felt about all of this, but he set about in his best scientific manner to analyze the situation.
One the one hand, there was Lady Diana—beautiful, intelligent, independent. She would be the perfect companion for a man who insisted on accomplishing something productive with his clever mind instead of wasting it by devoting it entirely to the frivolous pursuits of the fashionable world; a man, moreover, who possessed a limited circle of close friends simply because he would not suffer fools to waste his time. On the other, there was Justin, who had never been constant to a woman in his life and was known to select only the most sophisticated, dashing women as his mistresses, and had also been heard to declare that love was a figment of most people's overheated imaginations or a useful device for poets.
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Alan did not want Diana to be hurt. He liked her too much. She was too honest and genuine a person to be drawn into a liaison with someone incapable of love or constancy. Certainly Justin had never demonstrated that he was capable of either of those things. But perhaps with the right person, he would be. There was no doubt that he could experience life's softer emotions; after all, it had been nothing but sympathy and kindness on his part that had brought about his friendship with Lord Beardsley. Once Justin liked and respected a person, he would do anything for him as Alan well knew. It was merely that there were very few people whom Justin St. Clair could respect.
Lady Diana was certainly someone possessed of all the qualities that his friend usually admired, but Alan had detected some sort of friction between them. It had been the impression of a moment to someone not ordinarily cognizant of such things, but there had been a flash in the dark blue eyes and a hint of defiance in the musical voice every time Diana had mentioned Justin's name. And now that he considered it, he remembered the decided lift to her chin and the quick glances to Justin's direction when she had been speaking to him at the Countess of Axbridge's rout. It was almost as though she were challenging St. Clair—a welcome change from the fawning attitude of most women who, from the little Alan had seen, appeared to be lining up to cast themselves at his friend's feet.
And Justin too had evinced the same sort of symptoms. There had certainly been some devilry in his expression when he had introduced Alan to Lady Diana, and he had certainly 223
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been testy enough when her name had come up just a few minutes ago.
Alan smiled to himself. Having examined all facets of the phenomenon and conducted a rigorous analysis, he decided that a person could reasonably conclude that a match between Lady Diana Hatherill and Lord Justin St. Clair might be a very good thing for both of them. Certainly each of them would provide the other with stimulating company, something they both enjoyed but, as Alan knew from painful experience, was so very difficult to find in the
ton—
or anywhere else, for that matter.
Though not at all given to reflection on matters of the human condition. Lord Beardsley was happy in the thought that perhaps Justin had found someone to care about; for it seemed such a pity that someone as sensitive as the schoolboy who had saved Alan from such misery had never found that sensitivity in others or had ever had his ready sympathy returned—hence his cynical outlook on life. From his own experiences with her, Alan felt confident that Lady Diana was entirely capable of rectifying the situation. While Alan remained wrapped in his cogitations with pedestrians on Piccadilly surging around him, Justin presented himself at Brook Street and, puppy in hand, asked after the lady of the house.
"Madam is in the drawing room, sir. If you'll just follow me." Finchley welcomed him with as much dignity and aplomb as if his caller were not vainly clutching a wriggling ball of fur. But the butler did unbend enough to permit 224
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himself a small sly smile as he ushered St. Clair toward the drawing room.
"Lord Justin St. Clair to see you, madam," he intoned majestically, opening the double doors. Boney, taking his daily exercise by circling the room, paused in mid-flight to let out a horrified "Scraaack!" at the sight of the visitors, one of them in particular. Dismayed, he plopped down on the arm of a nearby
bergère
then, having satisfied himself that his first horrified impression had been correct, took himself off to cling with offended dignity to one of the curtains. He turned his back to the room's occupants and sought to forget the unsettling developments by concentrating on the passing scene in the street below.
His mistress, however, was more forthcoming. "Good morning, sir. And who is this you have brought with you to call on me?" She rose to greet them. Though her words were addressed to Justin, her welcoming smile and extended hand were for the bright-eyed bundle under his arm, which at this moment was surveying the room, particularly that part occupied by the injured Boney, with lively curiosity. Though he had known how it would be, Justin could not help but feel the slightest twinge of annoyance that the gift's deliverer should receive so much less attention than the gift itself. In fact, Justin thought acidly to himself, he might just as well not have been there. "You seemed to be having such fun at Buckland that I thought you might like one of your own." In spite of the number of times he had practiced this little speech en route from Barnes, he still could not quite manage the offhand tone he had tried for. He needn't have 225
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worried as the gift's recipient, entirely occupied with having her hands vigorously licked, barely heard his words. It took a moment before Diana absorbed their import, but when she did, the delight on her face was more than enough to make him forget his touch of irritation, the harassing trip to Barnes and the even more harassing drive back with a passenger who insisted on climbing down at the most awkward moments. In fact, he forgot everything but the sparkle in her eyes, the delicate flush that suffused her cheeks, and the entrancing way her lips parted in delighted disbelief "For me?" she whispered, hardly daring to ask. Justin could only nod.
"Oh, oh, how lovely! I can't remember the last time someone gave me a present," she exclaimed, entirely forgetting poor Reginald's laboriously chosen offerings.
"The landlord at the Sun assures me that he is sired by the best ratter around, and is in a fair way to proving his heritage."
"I expect you are," Diana replied, taking the square little jaw between her hands and looking into the bright eyes. She relieved Justin of his burden, laughing as it licked her face.
"But there are precious few rats around here. You are like to find life in London sadly flat I am afraid, but we shall do our best to keep you amused. We can walk in the park, though doubtless you will find it just as dull as Ajax does." Diana set the little dog down.
"And Ajax's mistress," Justin interjected.
"And Ajax's mistress," she agreed. "But you, my fine fellow, will make life infinitely less dull for me. I can see that 226
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the curtain tassels are already on their way to being dismantled and strewn around the drawing room." She bent down, snapping her fingers to distract him from the quarry and could not help laughing as he came bounding back toward her, a ball of fluff, full of exuberant energy and expectation.
Seeing her this happy and excited was all the reward that Justin had looked for,
but
when Diana turned to him, her face suddenly serious, eyes bright with unshed tears, to stammer,
"I can't thank you enough for bringing ... for you, your kindness ... for thinking of me..." he was unprepared for the rush of emotion that overwhelmed him.
It was a jumble of feelings that he could not quite identify, but first and foremost was the thrill of having been able to do something—such a little thing really—that brought joy into her life and made her look, for a moment at least, as young and carefree as she had at Buckland. Along with that came the feeling that in doing this he had become in some way special to her. After all. Lady Diana Hatherill was a lady who tried hard to convey the impression that she needed nothing, but he had been able to see beneath that cool, collected exterior and gratify a wish that even she herself had not been aware of.
Those magnificent eyes of hers were telling him all these things, even if her voice could not, and Justin could not remember a time in his life when he had felt so pleased with himself or with something he had done. He wanted the moment to last forever, but an insistent canine tug on Diana's skirt distracted her and broke the spell. 227
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"Does he have a name?" she asked—
"I don't believe so. I was rather hoping you would give him one as well as a home."
Diana thought for a moment. "I shall call him Wellington. I already have a Bonaparte who is master of all he surveys. I feel that this little fellow will rather change all that, and besides, he certainly looks to be a tenacious sort." By now the puppy had seized a discarded copy of the
Edinburgh Review
and, growling ferociously, was tugging it around the room, swinging his head from side to side in a valiant attempt to deliver it a death blow.
"Wellington it is then," Justin agreed solemnly. "And I leave him in your care knowing that he will lead the best possible life a dog could lead. However, I confess to having another motive in coming here, which is to invite you and Lady Walden for the second time to join me in viewing the pictures from Lucien Bonaparte's collection that Mr. Stanley has for sale. You were rather too busy when I asked before, but perhaps now that you have had some time at Buckland to oversee your affairs, you are more at liberty than you were previously."
Damn the man, Diana muttered to herself. There was no mistaking the gleam in his gray eyes or the quizzically lifted eyebrow. He had known that the first time she had refused him out of a churlish desire to give him a set-down. And now, having wormed his way into her good graces, he was determined to press his advantage. Well, she would not allow him to get the best of her. "Yes, I have sorted everything out. It was rather in a muddle, but now I have dealt with it and 228
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can do things with a clear conscience," Diana lied badly. And who was worse? He knew she was lying—a quick glance up at him was enough to assure her of that.
He smiled back at her, and the provocative look was replaced with one of friendly sympathy. How easily the man read her thoughts—a state of affairs that was both alarming and comforting at the same time. "I'm glad. Thank you. I do look forward to having you join me and hearing your opinion of the pictures." The teasing note was entirely gone now. And there was no doubt of the genuine eagerness in his tone. "But now I had best leave you two alone to make friends." Justin bowed and was gone before Diana even had a chance to thank him again for his extraordinary kindness. What a strange combination he was, by turns cynical and teasing, and yet full of understanding and sympathy. For a moment there, she could even have sworn she detected tenderness in his expression as he had watched her with Wellington.
Wellington! Diana looked hastily around, fearful that her momentary distraction would have contributed to the destruction of her drawing room, or at least to the curtains. However, her present was sitting quietly by the window, head cocked, eyes bright with inquiry as he studied Boney, who continued to stare fixedly out at the scene below.
"Come along Wellington," Diana called. "We shall introduce you to the rest of the household." The little dog's ears pricked up, and he bounced happily over to his new mistress, ready for the next exciting discovery his suddenly eventful life had to offer.
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And somehow, with the arrival of Wellington, Diana's life seemed more eventful, too. A less cantankerous companion than Boney, he was always overjoyed to see her and endlessly interested in everything and anything she did, whether it was consulting with Cook on the menu, listening to Finchley's weekly report on the household, walking in the park, or doing errands in Bond Street. Every time she caught him looking at her, his eyes bright with curiosity and expectation, Diana thought of Justin and was warmed again by his thoughtfulness.
The felicitousness of these reflections was evidenced in the pleasure with which she greeted him a few days later when he came to escort the ladies to Mr. Stanley's rooms in St. James, and Justin was surprised at the effect her welcoming smile had on him. Hitherto, Diana had received him with wariness, if not downright hostility, but now there was a lilt in her voice and an eagerness in her look that made him feel as though she were glad to see him and was looking forward to being with him.
It was such a simple thing, but somehow Justin found it more appealing than all the seductive glances that had ever been cast his way. With something of a start, he realized that for the first time he could remember a woman was happy to see him because she enjoyed his company and not because he was a skilled lover, a wealthy protector, or a conquest to flaunt before the
ton.
It was wonderful to feel that someone 231