The Letter by Sandra Owens Page B

It occurred to him that he was lying to her again. He had not once thought of her since leaving London. A disturbing notion, that.
    A knock sounded at his door and he bade the footman enter.
    “Roger, I need you to deliver this letter to my secretary at my London townhouse.”
    “Yes, my lord. Will I be coming directly back?”
    “Yes, as soon as you put my message in Mr. Johnston’s hands. And, Roger, no other hands than his, you understand?” It wouldn’t do to have his ever curious butler wondering about the earl’s need of a lady’s maid and a child’s tutor.
    After Roger left, Michael went upstairs to dress for dinner. His room was next to Diana’s, and he stared at the connecting door. What she was doing? The picture in his mind was that of a young, laughing girl, not the woman afraid of his touch.
    Frowning, he looked around his room. The night he found Leo in her chamber, he had fled his estate and come here. It was where they were to spend their wedding trip and he had never understood why this was where he came to lick his wounds. Everything had been a reminder of her betrayal.
    He had instructed his cook to have an intimate dinner waiting for them in this room. In a fit of rage, he had swiped his arm over the table, scattering food and broken china across the floor. The bed had been turned down and a red rose lay on what would have been her pillow. The sheets, pillows, and rose had joined the china on the floor.
    The only thing he hadn’t broken or thrown away was the champagne. That he had finished off, drinking it straight from the bottle. From there he had stumbled downstairs in search of the brandy and had continued drinking until he passed out. He stayed foxed for the next three days, blind drunk until Mrs. Bartlett dared to enter his study and, putting her hands on her hips, had scolded him as if he were still in short pants.
    Since then, he had completely redecorated his chamber, not wanting any reminders of what he had lost. The room next door, the room that would have belonged to his countess, he had not touched. The maids kept it clean and dusted, but he had not once set foot inside.
    Staring at the door that separated them, he asked the question he only now realized he wanted an answer to. “How is this going to play out for us this time, Diana?”
    ****
    Diana hadn’t had the extravagance of a full bath for over a year and though the water had cooled, she didn’t want to get out. The array of perfumes she found lined up on the vanity delighted her. It had been hard to choose, so, she decided to start with the first one and then, if she was allowed a bath tomorrow, she would try the next one.
    She splashed the water with her hand and inhaled. This one smelled like roses, and the scent brought the memory of her maid waking her up one morning and hurrying her downstairs.
    Mary’s excitement had been contagious. Something was afoot and Diana had hurriedly dressed. When she arrived in the front hallway, she stopped and stared, unable to believe her eyes. There were roses everywhere. Mary pulled her into the parlor where more roses covered the tops of every table. Even as she stood in amazement, her father’s butler had opened the door for another delivery. Laughter had bubbled up and out of her. Michael.
    Abruptly standing and stepping out of the bath, she forced her mind away from the past and him. She would not allow memories of him to invade her mind. He had failed her in a way she didn’t think she could forgive.
    It was time to dress for dinner. She considered pleading a headache, but wouldn’t put it past Daventry to come to her room and retrieve her. After slipping on her chemise, she picked up one of the new day dresses and wondered how she was going to button it. Jamie had done that chore for her this morning at the inn, but he had been spirited away upon arrival here and she had not seen her son since. She pulled the pale green gown over her head and was trying to reach the buttons