Eliza let go of the handle, then turned to Verity. “She’s already cursing like him.”
“Perhaps that’s why he likes her so much,” Verity said. “Or perhaps it’s her rather large bos—”
“Enough!” Diana said as she opened the door. “I am not going to sit here while you start cataloging my attributes. I’m going to bed.”
“She gets so fussy after a ball,” Eliza said. “Have you noticed that?”
“I haven’t,” Verity said. “But I’m noticing it now.”
Diana didn’t grace them with a reply. Instead, she made for the steps as quickly as possible. Unlike her, the two of them were always energized after any ball they organized that turned out well. Afterward, they loved to dissect the entire evening and figure out whether it had been a success.
But with the sun peeking above the horizon, she had no desire to do anything but go to bed. Not only was she too tired for any sensible conversation, she’d been unavailable for at least half the ball—either with Geoffrey or watching him deal with the Fieldhavens. So she couldn’t exactly chime in on certain aspects of the evening.
As soon as they’d entered and divested themselves of bonnets and shawls, she said, “Good night to you both. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Thankfully, they let her go. They didn’t always.
Once she was undressed and in bed, she lay there a while replaying everything he’d said and everything she’d said, and she got angry at him all over again. So she finally stopped thinking of that.
Instead, she worried she’d never get to be with him alone again. Elegant Occasions hadn’t contracted with him for anything beyond Rosy’s ball. Granted, he would have to pay them for what they’d done so far, but that wouldn’t necessarily be something he must do in person. He could send his man of affairs over.
Wait, did he have a man of affairs? She’d never seen one if he did.
She had to stop thinking of all those things—they were making her daft. Instead, perhaps she would think of Geoffrey and his kisses and how amazing it had felt to have him inside her. As she did so, she began to touch herself. Unfortunately, it was unsatisfying compared to doing the real thing with him.
A pox on the man! He’d both convinced her she wasn’t too cold for passion . . . and made it impossible for her to be passionate with him.
If she ever had the chance to be with him intimately again, she would enjoy that part first and then get into an argument. Or perhaps skip the argument. Because if they couldn’t find a way to compromise, they would never find a way to make a marriage work. And she began to think that marriage to Geoffrey was precisely what she wanted.
Now if only she could figure out a solution to the issue of his late father’s situation. Clearly the gossip in Newcastle was a problem. But how much of a problem was it? Was it as bad as the Fieldhavens said? Given that Lady Fieldhaven had a vested interest in presenting it that way, Diana doubted it. She fell asleep contemplating the suicide of Geoffrey’s father.
Well into the afternoon, she woke up to discover her courses had come. She burst into tears. Now she couldn’t even hope for a child with which to force Geoffrey into marrying her. Not that she wanted him that way. But now she would have to wait on him, and she didn’t want that either, because she might be waiting for years.
So if she ever disentangled her heart from Geoffrey, who now held it hostage, she was not going to fall in love ever again.
Being in love was utter misery if you couldn’t be with the one you loved.