"A glass of port, my lord?"
"Yes, thank you, Didier. Now, my dear Diana, what is all this about my being impossible? Am I not here to instruct you as I promised? Does not that prove that I can tolerate you and your feet well enough?"
Didier personally handed Lyonel a crystal goblet filled with Lucia's finest port.
"I don't really want your wretched instruction."
"In that case, it appears I was misinformed. Shall I leave, Lucia?"
"You move, dear boy, and I shall have Didier plant you a facer."
"Lucia, I am shocked! Such language, particularly in front of our innocent here."
"I will plant that facer if you do not at least pretend to gentlemanly behavior. And I am not an innocent."
"Are you not?" Lyonel toyed with the stem of the goblet, and Diana's eyes, despite herself, were drawn to his long, graceful fingers. "I shall have to keep that in mind."
"Why?"
"One never knows when such insights might prove advantageous."
"I believe, Aunt, that my feet hurt."
"You cannot find slippers large enough for her, Lucia?" He sighed. "I shall instruct you in your stocking feet then. At least when you tread on my toes, the agony shouldn't be quite as bad."
Diana struggled valiantly for a retort to put him in his wretched place. Unconsciously, her fingers tightened about the stem of her wineglass.
"Don't do it, Diana."
She blinked up at him.
"No wine on my clean linen, if you please. Kenworthy --- my valet, you know --- he would be most distraught. You wouldn't wish for him to take you into dislike. No indeed."
"Dandy."
"Thank you. Shall we drink to that?"
"Fop."
"Diana, my dear, I do believe it best to desist now. Lyonel, let us go to the music room. Didier!"
An hour later, Diana had mastered the cotillion and two country dances, and she was laughing.
Jamison knocked on the music-room door, then slithered in, his eyes darting toward Didier.
"Yes?" Lucia asked.
"'Tis one of my Lord Chandos' men, my lady. He claims he must speak to Lord Saint Leven."
"The marquess's man?" Lyonel asked, releasing Diana.
"Yes, my lord."
"Excuse me, Lucia, Diana." He strode out of the music room, leaving the women and Didier to stare at one another.
"Who is this marquess, Aunt?"
"The Marquess of Chandos, my dear. A very old friend and the father of Lyonel's dearest friend, Hawk, the Earl of Rothermere."