haunts us later. You must know we only care for your
happiness.”
“The only one who seems to truly care for
my happiness is my godfather!” Vesta sniffed, tears beginning to
mist her eyes. “Are you in
love with him? Is that it?”
Diana paled. “How can you even ask such a thing?
He is a vile man, nothing more than a licentious libertine!”
“How can you dare say such things, when you know
Hew is all that is honorable and decent! You did want him, didn’t
you?” Vesta accused and tore herself away from Diana. “And now you
hate him for choosing me instead! Well, you shan’t have him, Aunt
Di!”
“Hew?” Diana shook her head in bewilderment. “I
thought we were talking of Lord DeVere.”
“Lord DeVere? ”
Vesta froze, her hazel eyes turning into saucers. “You are in love with Uncle Vic? I surely
cannot imagine a more unlikely pair!” She clutched her stomach and
broke into a paroxysm of giggles.
“I am not in love with anyone,” Diana protested,
“least of all that...that...reprobate!”
“He does have lovely blue eyes,” Vesta said.
“And I daresay he’s quite handsome for one so old. But I suppose he
is the right age for you. You could be a viscountess, you know. But
what a conundrum that would be! What should I call you then?” She
gave Diana a puzzled look. “Would you be godmother, cousin, or
sister?” Vesta clapped a hand to her mouth with another burst of
mirth.
“Ludicrous!” Diana stood with a scowl. “I
would never have such a
man!”
“But why not, Aunt Di? Surely you could convince
him. It only takes a bit of laudanum...” Vesta grinned and then
suddenly grew serious. “Don’t you ever get lonely?”
“Of course not! I have you and Sir Edward—”
“and now Phoebe?”
Diana grimaced. “I doubt she and I shall ever
become bosom beaus.”
“But what shall you do when Hew and I wed and I
move away? What then, Aunt Di?”
It was a question Diana had not yet considered.
Her life had been intertwined with Vesta and Edward’s for so long
that it was hard for her to fathom a future alone. “I don’t
honestly know, Vesta,” she replied. “Perhaps, I should come and
live in town.” But that option would also mean she would inevitably
encounter Lord DeVere. He had made his renewed interest clear.
Wisdom and experience told her the sooner she put distance between
them, the better.
“Have you never considered remarriage?” Vesta
asked. “Don’t you miss”—she gave Diana a sly
smile—”you-know-what?”
“I am sure I don’t know what! ”
“Come now, Aunt Di,” Vesta cajoled. “Won’t you
tell me? I found it positively lovely. In truth, I don’t know how I
will endure it until Hew and I can be together that way again.”
“Vesta! A young lady should never confess such
things!” Diana scolded.
“What? That we did it? Or that I liked it?” Vesta grinned.
“Neither! Both! Botheration! It’s never a proper
topic of conversation for a young lady.”
“Did you not like it too, Aunt Di? Being one
with a man? Please, tell me the truth,” she begged. “I have no
mother to discuss these things with.”
Retrieving one of the miscellaneous fans
that littered the room, Diana attempted to cool her heated face.
“Yes,” she confessed with a great sigh, knowing that with Vesta,
the sooner answered, the less need be said. “There was, indeed, a
time, very briefly , in my
life that I thought the joining of a man and woman was the most
wondrous thing in all creation. But a relationship between a man
and a woman must rise above the physical realm to endure, Vesta. A
marriage should be based on more than passion and animal
lust.”
Four years ago, in the depths of desolation,
Diana had abandoned all caution and good sense by seeking comfort
in the devil’s own arms. Giving herself up to a frenzy of passion,
DeVere had taken her to unimaginable heights. She had experienced
an intimacy of body and soul she had never known with another and
had thought
Learning to Kill: Stories