He smiled, he couldn't help himself. He toyed with the idea of teaching Diana all about lust. "I am not yet completely lost," he said to himself.
Lyonel spent the next several days getting his affairs in order. His stay in the West Indies would probably keep him from England for a good three or four months. He wanted nothing to go wrong in his absence. Perhaps he would be gone longer; better to plan for all contingencies.
As for Diana, after three days she was allowed to receive visitors in the drawing room with Lucia her watchdog. To each gentleman who came to see her, she sweetly informed him that she was returning home. Not another posie came from Brackenridge upon that announcement.
When the ladies visited, they seemed most interested in her symptoms and subsequent diagnosis. Unlike Lucia, she wondered why they should be so downcast that she should have suffered such a nasty illness.
"I tell you, Mabel," said Lady Doncaster as they took their leave, "there is something between the girl and Lord Saint Leven. One has but to look at them when they are together. Did you not hear that he will accompany her back to the West Indies?"
"She'll be in the family way soon enough, I wager," said Mabel. "I would also wager that when she and Lord Saint Leven return to England, doubtless as husband and wife, she will be carrying a child on her shoulder."
Meanwhile at White's, the Earl of March was saying gently to a furious Lyon, "You see, Lyon, the tabbies really would rather believe Charlotte, her rendition is far more titillating than the truth. Surely you know this, old fellow. Why am I wasting my valuable insights?"
"It is most unfair to Miss Savarol," said Lyon, mouthing the sentiment, but deep down thinking it was more unfair to him.
"Look at the caliber of gentlemen pursuing her. Unfortunately, many gentlemen are also tabbies."
"I told her in no uncertain terms that none of them would do. She is not stupid, you know, Julian. Indeed, she felt not a whit of anything for any of them."
"Why are you returning with her?"
"I don't know. I opened my mouth and said the words. I really don't know."
Julian could have ventured a fairly accurate guess, but he held his peace, saying only, "When do you intend to depart?"
"If Diana continues her recovery at such an impressive clip, I should say we can leave next week. Lucia is busily lining up a family to chaperone on the voyage." He grinned at Julian. "Perhaps upon my return I shall find you no longer a bachelor."
"I doubt that most sincerely," said the Earl of March. He rather thought Miss Diana Savarol a most delightful female. He guessed his friend's bachelor days were numbered. As for himself, there was no shining star on his horizon.
Diana looked through the carriage window at the bustle of Plymouth. She had landed at Southampton at her arrival in England. Plymouth, on the other hand, was more exciting, more alive, more earthy, she supposed, like Road Town harbor. There was constant noise and movement. Sweaty, vigorous human smells, and the salty air filled her nostrils.
"We are to meet Lord and Lady Tomlinson here at the Drake," said Lyon, opening the carriage door when they halted.
"Yes, I know."
He helped her down, thinking she still looked just a bit peaked. "You need to gain flesh," he said, his eyes roving over her. Unfortunately they stopped their brief journey at her bosom.
"Not there," she said, her voice acid. "I never lose flesh there."
He grinned. "Thank heaven for something." Her eyes lost their greenness and became a stark gray. He raised his hand in surrender, forestalling a comment undoubtedly destined to burn his ears.
"Come along, let's see if your chaperones have arrived."
Odd, Diana thought as she trailed him into the century-old inn, but she was already missing Lucia. Even the dour Grumber she missed. She pictured Didier, looking so very leonine as he sat at the piano pounding out a waltz, his long, narrow foot tapping to the beat. The old monk --- he was a rock.
"I beg your pardon?"
She came closer when she heard Lyon's incredulous words to the innkeeper.
"I said, milord, that Milord Tomlinson sent a message that they would be late."
"How late?"
"Hopeful the message said, milord, to be here late Wednesday night."
"The boat sails on Thursday," said Lyon. "First tide in the morning."
The innkeeper spread his hands.