Vincent sighed and bowed his dark head. She had always been there when Wynmond Corby needed her. No matter what he had done, Lady Diana had been there for her husband. No matter how little Wyn had provided, she had always been a gracious hostess for him, quietly welcoming his friends into their home, even as Corby finally descended into these cramped, grubby quarters. She had been there for him.
No matter how little he deserved her.
But who was Vincent to say who deserved love? He had not much experience with that thorny subject.
He glanced at the two other men quietly conversing against the adjoining wall. Men like Wyn seemed always to have friends, even though he hadn’t two coins at a time to rub together in his pocket. And why not? He constantly had a quip on his tongue, a laugh in his eyes, the heart to put his horse at any fence in the country. Perhaps that was why Corby was, in fact, the only one of his old friends with whom Vincent still associated, very nearly the only friend he had.
The only one of them who had never sponged off him.
But having friends had not stopped someone from slipping a blade between Corby’s ribs.
The softest of sighs brought his gaze back to Diana. In spite of the fatigue, she looked as she always did, calm and serene, the small pool of candlelight in the dark room setting her smooth, pale chignon aglow. Even in a worn, dull-gray gown, she was beautiful. Truth be told, Vincent knew the reason he spent so much time at the Corby home had as much to do with Lady Diana’s company as it did that of her husband.
But of course, there was the other, more important, reason.
A barrage of coughing from the bed caused him to straighten and step closer. Blood spattered the sheets, and the doctor and Diana both moved quickly to lift Corby higher on the pillows. He gurgled and coughed again. Vincent and the two other men converged on the bed and gathered around the foot.
“Friends…dear…” Corby’s whisper made them all lean closer. He coughed again. “Please…” Another cough. More blood. “Care… Diana…my…my chil…” His eyes closed, and Vincent thought it was over, but Wyn rallied for one more breath. “I’ve…not…done…well.”
The next cough brought forth such a quantity of blood that the watchers knew no living man could have given it up. Wyn’s blond head rolled to one side and the doctor let it fall back against the pillows. “May God rest his soul.”
The stocky, sandy-haired man some years Vincent’s senior bowed his head. “Amen.”
“Amen.” The lanky younger gentleman standing next echoed.
The widow covered her eyes with one hand.
Vincent closed his eyes, clenched his teeth together and said nothing.
“Well…” The larger man took a long breath and a step away from the bed. “That’s that…” He walked to Diana and placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Of course, my dear, you must not worry about the future for a moment. It will be my pleasure to see that you are provided for, just as Wyn asked. I will make arrangements and send a carriage for you as soon as the funeral is done.”
Something in the man’s voice pulled Vincent’s attention away from his moment of grief. He looked up sharply, his gaze focused on Diana’s face. This time he had no trouble at all identifying her expression.
Fear.
He moved around the bed in her direction. “Perhaps we should discuss this further, St. Edmunds. You might find it a bit awkward to explain those…er, arrangements to your wife.”
St. Edmunds turned a glare on him. “I can deal with my wife.”
“I’m sure you can, but it might also be awkward for Lady Diana.”
The tall man hesitantly opened his mouth to speak, running his fingers through his straight, light brown hair.
Vincent glanced at him. “Sudbury?”
The Honorable Justinian Sudbury studied his shining boots thoughtfully. “Going to be dashed awkward for all of us.”
“Gentlemen.” Diana stood and stepped away from St. Edmunds’s hand, her mien dignified. “I appreciate your concern more than I can say, but it is quite unnecessary. I will care for myself and my children. None of us need be embarrassed.”
At that moment the door opened and a snaggle-toothed, slatternly old woman shoved into the room and peered at the body on the bed. “So the cove’s finally stuck his spoon in the wall, has he? So who’s going to pay me the rent what’s due?”
Diana opened her mouth to answer, but the woman was looking at the gentlemen. Vincent shifted his gaze from Diana to the landlady. “What’s the damage?”
She named a figure and Vincent’s eyebrows shot up. “Don’t try to gull me, old woman. These rooms are not worth a quarter of that.”
“Ha! They are when I ain’t been paid for four months—and another month due. Hadn’t been for the little ones, I’d have put ’em out last month.”
So much for no one’s being embarrassed. Vincent glanced at Diana. She lifted her hands in a helpless gesture. He pulled his purse out of his coat pocket and counted the amount into the old woman’s hand and added an extra coin. “There. That will cover the next month.” He took a step toward her. “Now get out.”
Suiting the action to the threat, she made for the door. “Aye, ye black-haired devil. I’m going.”
Vincent returned to the discussion at hand. St. Edmunds and Sudbury were looking at Diana who was looking down at her clasped hands. Even in the dim light, Vincent could see that her cheeks were crimson.
“Thank you, my lord. Your kindness will give me the opportunity to make plans.” She still did not look at them.
“Nonsense!” St. Edmunds frowned. “We all know in what case you stand.”
Sudbury nodded. “Wyn was a very good fellow, but… No sense about money. Always under the hatches. Can you go to your family?”
“I’m sure that I can.” An expression of uncertainty flickered across Diana’s face. “I will write to my cousin immediately.”
Vincent gave that notion some thought. Not bloody likely. When her father had died, the title and estate had gone to a distant cousin—one who had not spoken to her family in years. And Wyn’s older brother was no less profligate than Wyn had been. No, someone was going to have to see to her welfare. Damn Wyn and his charm and his prodigal ways and his horses and his women! Damn him for putting her in this humiliating position.
Damn him for getting himself killed.
With an effort Vincent pushed the ache out of his heart. He would deal with it later. Now he must think. St. Edmunds could not be allowed to take control of Diana and her life. The man might be Corby’s friend, but he was not Vincent’s.
And Diana was wise to be afraid of him. Not only were his intentions highly questionable, St. Edmunds had a certain reputation amongst the libertines of London. Women did not fare well at his hands. Why Corby had let him dangle after Diana…
But that was neither here nor there. He needed to get her out of the room. They could hardly continue to discuss this delicate question before her as though she were a child who did not understand. “Lady Diana, are your children still sleeping? I thought I heard a cry.”
“Surely they are—it is well after midnight—but I should make certain. Meanwhile, you gentlemen will be more comfortable in the parlor. I shall just be a moment.” She left the room in a soft swish of skirts and Vincent turned to the doctor, reaching once more for his purse.
“Sir, I appreciate your assistance this evening. Can you further oblige me by having Mr. Corby made ready for burial?”
“Certainly.