That drew her up. "How do you know that?"
Lyon waved a letter at her. "I meant to tell you earlier, then you sidetracked me. In any case, she will be coming to us, in London, for the Little Season."
"How is Grainger?"
"According to your father, he is just fine. He and Patricia have gotten quite close. He very much regrets, of course, the fact that he sent her to his wife's sister, Mary Foster, but says that at the time he didn't see any other option. But at least he did send her money and provided her dowry. He is pleased she is coming to us. Your father also writes at great length of our project. Surprisingly enough, it is our project that has drawn Deborah out of her depression."
Daniel, she thought, and she felt the familiar pain. Poor Deborah.
Their project, she thought as she rubbed the lavender-scented soap over her shoulders. "Does Father really believe it will work?"
"Yes, I believe he does. He expected, you know, that I would simply free the slaves and toss them out on their own, to make their own way. He writes that the slave village is now operating quite efficiently again, much expanded now, of course. Deborah herself is directing the school and all the slaves, not just our Mendenhall people, are benefiting."
"And missionaries?"
"Not as yet. Your father is adamant on that score. Since none of the slaves will be freed until his death, he wants no trouble or unrest in the meanwhile. He writes that five years should prove ample time to prepare all our people to the practical side of being free men and women."
Lyon paused a moment, looking over at his wife. She was climbing out of the tub. He sucked in his breath. He wondered if the mere sight of her would always move him. Her beautiful hair was pinned up, with a few strands escaping to frame her face. She had no tan now. Her shoulders were as white as her breasts and her soft belly. He forced himself to look away or they wouldn't be downstairs to greet Frances and Hawk.
He said after a moment, "Diana, you are certain this is what you want?"
"As you said, Lyon, it is our project. Yes, I am quite certain."
"You will have no inheritance. Even Savarol Island will be bequeathed to the slaves."
"But I will be the executor. And Deborah also. Besides," she added on a grin, "you are provokingly wealthy. I don't think we will have to worry about our next meal." She shivered suddenly. "My father will live for many more years, Lyon. It bothers me to speak of life after he is gone."
"True." He grinned suddenly. "Your father also writes that Grainger has made him swear not to tell anyone of his plans, else he might find himself dispatched sooner than he would like by a disgruntled slave."
"I devoutly pray that Grainger was jes
ting!"
"Since your father has written it in an amusing way, I suppose he was jesting. Now, my dear, when do you plan to tell me your very interesting condition?"
Her eyes met his from across the bedchamber. "How did you know? I just come to realize it this morning."
"I am a man of the world."
"Ha! Does that mean a wretched rake?"
"Very well, a faithful hound of the world. You've had no monthly flow, my dear. A husband tends to notice things like that, you know. No interrupted bedding with my wife."
She flushed just a bit and wrapped her towel more firmly about her.
"And neither of us will worry. I will ensure that Lucia is well ensconced with us long before the child is due."
Diana walked over to her husband and sat down on his lap. She wrapped her arms about his neck. "I will keep you, my lord. Yes, I shall."
There was another knock on the door.
"Go away, Kenworthy! Tell the earl and countess to dine alone. We will join them for tea."
Diana thought she heard a giggle from the other side of the door. Lyon did too. He groaned. "Go away, Hawk! Frances, please, remove that fool!"
They heard Hawk say very clearly, "Ah, these newlyweds. Shall we spare their sensibilities, Frances?"
"Go away!"