Or perhaps they would. He could not put a stop to that. The ton always hungered for something to gossip about. If he and Diana did not come upon a solution to her problems soon, society would find a great deal about them to discuss.
One more thing to be careful about.
As the carriage pulled up before the stylish house, Diana dragged her gloomy thoughts away from the unprofitable channels they had followed for the last night and day. There was no benefit in going over and over the same ground until she had heard from her cousin. Perhaps he would prove to be more magnanimous than everyone expected, and the anxiety would have been for nothing. In the meantime, she would take advantage of Lady Litton’s hospitality to give her attention to her children’s disrupted lives.
The carriage door opened and Vincent Ingleton stepped out and turned to assist her. As she leaned forward, their gazes met. The intensity in his black eyes suddenly took her breath. Why had she never noticed… Flustered, Diana paused. He was hardly what the world would call a handsome man—too dark, too angular, too… Too what? Too predatory. That was it. Much too much the bird of prey. And he was looking at her…
How?
Before she could decide, his strong hand grasped hers and helped her to the ground. She stepped back and watched him lift the children out, aware all at once of the muscles moving under his black coat and the way the sunlight glistening off his ebony hair set colors dancing amid the shining locks.
Who was this man? This man to whom she had entrusted herself and her little ones? Abruptly, Diana realized how little she knew about Vincent Ingleton. Only that he had been Wyn’s friend. That he treated her courteously.
That he had summarily taken the decisions she should be making from her.
While she was sorting through these disturbing reflections, he had picked up Bytham in one arm and offered her the other. Cautiously she took the arm and Selena’s hand, and he led them up the stairs and into the entry.
“Lady Diana. Welcome.”
Diana turned toward the feminine voice. Good heavens! This was Lord Lonsdale’s stepmother? She could not be but a few years older than he was.
The lady approached and held out her hand. “I am so sorry to hear about Mr. Corby’s death.”
“Thank you. I cannot sufficiently express my gratitude to you for inviting us to stay.” Diana accepted the extended hand and had her own patted gently.
“I only hope I may make this terrible time a bit easier for you. Do you know my husband, Lord Litton?”
Diana smiled at the gentleman who had emerged from a doorway and was presently engaged in tickling Bytham’s ear. Bytham, finding himself surrounded by strangers, was overcome with a fit of shyness and hid his face against Vincent’s shoulder.
Lord Litton left off the tickling and bowed. “Your servant, my lady. Who is this fine fellow and this lovely maiden?”
“My son, Bytham, my lord, and my daughter, Selena.”
Selena managed a bashful curtsey, but Bytham apparently decided that good manners were beyond him at the moment. He clung tighter to Vincent.
“Oh, dear.” Diana smiled ruefully. “I fear he needs a nap.”
“Of course.” Lord Litton patted the boy’s shoulder. “He’ll come about.”
Diana thought she detected something wistful in his expression, and that of Lady Litton, as well, when they smiled at the children. Lady Litton gestured to a young woman standing a few feet away. “Alice will take them upstairs and get them settled.”
The maid stepped forward and offered her hand to Selena, who cast a doubtful look at Diana, but took the hand. Vincent attempted to shift Bytham to the floor, but stopped when the child let out an unhappy shriek.
“It is the strange surroundings.” Diana held out her arms. “Here, give him to me. I’ll go with Alice.”
But Bytham was having none of it. He fastened his arms around Vincent’s neck and hung on for dear life.
“Bytham!” Fatigue and worry made her voice sharp. What was she to do with the little rascal? “Now, Bytham…”
Lord Litton let out a crack of laughter. “You seem to have an admirer, Vincent. One who especially admires your neckcloth.”
Vincent looked down at the chubby fist clutched in the ruined folds of his starched cravat and grinned crookedly. “Obviously a man of good taste. He liked the one I wore last night, too. Never mind, Diana. I shall carry him up for his nap. But what should I do if he does not wish to nap?”
Diana lifted her hands helplessly. For some reason she just could not focus on the problem. “I—I don’t… I’m sorry, my lord. I better come with you.”
“Never mind.” Vincent seemed to sense her exhaustion. “I will rely on my own resources. Bytham and I will settle it between us.”
Diana nodded gratefully and followed Lady Litton to the drawing room.
In the end the resources Vincent relied on were a sugar cake provided by Alice and a promise of a ride in the park on a real horse. He had always found that there was nothing like bribery to achieve one’s ends. Descending the stairs to the drawing room, he tried, with limited success, to straighten his neckcloth. It was coming to his attention that children were a mixed blessing.
At the door of the drawing room he encountered Diana and Helen on their way upstairs. Litton intercepted him. “They are off to discuss mourning clothes—a clear indication that you and I should repair to my club.”
His club? His lordship had never before invited Vincent anywhere, let alone to a public place. Of course, Vincent had never given him much opportunity. What might this portend? “Thank you, my lord, but after my recent engagement with Corby’s heir, I fear I’m not fit to be seen abroad.”
Litton made short work of the objection. “Never mind that. It will only take a few minutes to put you to rights. You may borrow one of my stocks.”
Considerably astonished by this magnanimous offer, Vincent made the necessary restorations and the two of them strolled off in the direction of St. James Street. More than a little wary, Vincent responded politely to the commonplace conversation initiated by his stepfather and wondered about the real purpose of the overture.
As they turned into the busier streets, the crowds thickened, forcing them to slow their steps. A man wearing a shabby brown coat and boots made a misstep as he approached Vincent and lurched into him. “I say! Sorry, guv’nor.”
Vincent regained his balance and the man tipped his hat and continued down the street without looking back. Vincent made a grab for his pocket.
“Purse still with you?” Litton stopped and followed the man with his gaze. “Shall we give chase?”
“No.” Vincent patted all his pockets. “I seem to have everything.”
“Amazing. Of course, had he taken your coin, he would have passed it to a confederate by now.”
“Undoubtedly.”
They walked on in silence for a few more steps before Litton cleared his throat. “I cannot help but wonder, Vincent…”
Ah. The real purpose of this jaunt at last. “Sir?”
“You were close friends with Corby since you came down from Oxford, were you not?”
“Yes, sir.” No need saying more than necessary.
“I have heard some talk about him—talk unbecoming his position at the Foreign Office.” Litton glanced at Vincent, his eyes narrowed.
“Oh?”
“Come now, Vincent. You are bound to have heard it, too. Did Corby support the return of Bonaparte to the throne of France?” Litton