Ariadne's Diadem by Sandra Heath

“Oh, very well, yes, I will leave within a day or so.” He was mindful of his wish to appear in a good light, so he went on. “Maybe it would be appropriate if I wrote as well? If I use your facilities here, it can be sent with your letter.” And it will cost me nothing, was the unspoken addendum.
    Mr. Critchley was impressed. “Excellent. By the way, perhaps I could presume to recommend a certain hostelry in the neighborhood of Llandower? It’s called the White Boar, and although five miles away, is a clean and comfortable establishment with an excellent table. I know of it because my widowed and somewhat eccentric sister fancies herself a writer of Gothic novels and has become a devoted Wye Valley sightseer in recent years. The area is a magnet for artists, poets, and writers of all description, for it possesses the requisite gorges, mountains, rapids, castles on crags, lush meadows, and woodland, et cetera. She always stays at the White Boar and speaks of it most highly.”
    “Then I will stay there too, sir. Thank you for your advice.”
    “Not at all, sir, not at all.”
    They both rose to shake hands, but as he went to the door Hugh paused, glancing down at his cigar as if searching for the right words to say something exceedingly delicate. “Mr. Critchley, I am curious to know what would happen if...heaven forfend...Miss Willowby should expire? I mean, we now know that the clause applies to whoever becomes heir to the dukedom, but what of the lady? Will her heir—a sister perhaps—have to obey it as well?”
    The lawyer was a little startled. “No, the will is most specific in naming Miss Willowby as the bride concerned, so her demise would negate the clause entirely. Where the bridegroom is concerned, however, it merely refers to the heir to the dukedom. So if you in turn were to pass on, which also heaven forfend, of course, the dukedom will become extinct.”
    Hugh did not hum beneath his breath as he strode bitterly back to Kitty’s house in Knightsbridge. His cane lashed angrily from side to side, and his fashionable spurs rang on the fine pavement as he considered the full implication of his late uncle’s will. At first he contemplated making himself so obnoxious that not even regard for her beloved father would induce the Willowby woman to throw herself onto such an odious marital pyre. But such a course offered an uncertain conclusion, for what if, come what may, she remained determined on the match? Then there was Kitty to consider. The advent of another bride was bound to mean forfeiting the sensuous favors he had lusted after for so long and had only just begun to enjoy! The answer was simple. Anne Willowby had to go.
    When he arrived at the house and told Kitty what had happened, she wasn’t at all pleased; indeed she was so beside herself at having her dream snatched from under her nose again, that it took a great deal of persuading to prevent her from having him thrown out immediately. The chestnut-haired actress was hardly able to believe that once again she was apparently being cast aside because a titled lover needed to marry elsewhere, and in furious silence she swept up to her rose brocade boudoir, intending to slam the door in Hugh’s face should he dare to follow. He pushed his way past, and they faced each other at the foot of the sumptuously draped four-poster in which she had given her all to an unconscionably long list of gentlemen. A rather florid watercolor hung above the headboard, depicting a bacchanalia of naked nymphs and other mythical beings cavorting in a grove, and from behind one of the trees there peered a creature very like the beggar in the grove above Naples. Its eyes seemed to rest mockingly on Hugh as he implored the furious actress not to reject him.
    Still too angry to trust herself to speak, Kitty flounced to the window and twitched the lace curtain aside to look down at some boys playing with hoops in the street below. Her rich red-gold hair spilled smoothly