Page 50 of Unmasking the Diamond
“A wife is not a cure-all.”
“Perhaps not,” his father replied, his gaze drifting to the hearth. The firelight etched the lines in his face more deeply. “But the right wife is a helpmate—someone who makes this life worth living. That is what I had with your mother.” His voice caught. “I only wish I’d had more time with her. Had I known…” His words trailed off.
The sight of his father—always so steady, so commanding—cracked by grief, tugged something sharp inside Luca. “I’m sorry, Father.”
His father gave him a weak smile. “Man is not meant to be alone. Yet the thought of remarrying is petrifying. I am not ready for such a step.”
“I only want you to be happy,” Luca said. And he meant it, though he doubted happiness was something easily found again.
“I was happy,” his father murmured, his voice hollow. “But now I feel as though I am barely keeping my head above water. Years have passed since your mother died, and still the memories don’t fade. Some people are more than love, Luca—they arehome.”
Luca’s throat tightened. He wanted to give comfort, but no words seemed adequate. “I’m sorry,” he said again, the phrase feeling woefully insufficient.
His father shook his head faintly. “No, it is I who am sorry. I shouldn’t be burdening you with this. But…” His eyes glistened, though no tears fell. “I wish I had just one more day with her. Now I can only see her when I close my eyes.”
The long clock in the corner struck, alerting him to the time. Luca straightened, reluctant but resigned. “I should go.”
His father closed his eyes, leaning back into his chair as though the weight of memory pressed too heavily upon him. “Go, then. I will remain here… remembering a much more simple time.”
Luca lingered a moment longer, watching the once-indomitable man who had raised him look impossibly mortal. Then with a heaviness he could not shake, he left the study.
9
Charlotte paced the length of her bedchamber, her slippers whispering against the carpet as she tried—without success—to reconcile herself to the fact that she was now engaged. To Lord Luca Dexter, of all people. What madness had overtaken her? She had spent years cultivating the perfect identity—the diamond of the Season, cool, poised, untouchable—yet all her careful work now lay in tatters. And for what? Because she could not stomach the idea of marrying the Duke of Brackenford?
Her hands balled into fists as she thought of him. Many in Society would have called her fortunate for having the opportunity to be a duchess. But Charlotte knew better. Marriage to him would have been nothing more than a gilded cage. She would have withered there, her spirit ground to dust beneath the weight of his expectations. No. She had been right to refuse him. Yet, in doing so, she had allowed Luca to step forward and boldly claim an engagement that did not exist.
Now she was trapped in a different snare. Everything she had built, everything she had worked towards, was ruined. She would never marry Lord Luca. She could not. And when theirfalse engagement was broken, she would be left in shreds. Not even the glittering title of diamond would shield her from the ruin that would follow.
A sharp rap at the door startled her. Before she could answer, it opened and her maid stepped in. “The dinner bell is about to be rung, Miss,” Sally announced.
Charlotte halted mid-stride, spinning towards her. “What am I going to do?” she demanded, throwing her hands up in desperation.
Sally merely grinned. “I suggest you go down and eat dinner.”
Charlotte dropped onto the settee in a decidedly unladylike fashion. “What about my life? It is ruined.”
“Your life is hardly ruined.”
Leaning her head back against the edge of the settee, Charlotte stared at the ceiling’s plasterwork, willing it to offer her some wisdom. “All my efforts were for nothing. Once this sham of an engagement collapses, I shall be utterly disgraced.”
Sally approached, voice gentler now. “Would it be so dreadful to marry Lord Luca?”
“Yes!” Charlotte sat up straight, her voice sharper than intended. “He is infuriating.”
“And handsome.”
Charlotte let out a huff. “Yes, but he is intolerably aware of it, and his arrogance knows no bounds.”
Sally eased down beside her. “Then perhaps take it one day at a time, Miss. Come what may.”
Charlotte pressed her lips together. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It is simple. Compare our lives if you doubt me. I rise before dawn to scrub and polish while you can hardly be coaxed from your bed before noon.”
Charlotte straightened, affronted. “I would be a terrible maid.”
“That you would,” Sally agreed. “But you are not a maid. You are the daughter of a viscount and the envy of theton.”
