Read Miss Carlyle's Curricle: Signet Regency Romance (InterMix) for Free Online Page B

suppose this was the closest he could come to do just that.”
    “But Mr. Sinclair, a stranger . . .”
    The corners of her mother’s lips turned upward for a moment. “Nothing says he must remain a stranger, and for all we know he might not be averse to the idea.”
    “Oh, Mama, do be serious! You
must
see how utterly impossible this is!”
    “Your uncle did not think so.”
    “With all due respect to Uncle Charles, I have recently determined he was either not in his right mind, or he was surely far more fallible than either of us gave him credit for.”
    “Diana!” Mrs. Carlyle said reprovingly.
    “Very well, he was in his right mind, but
very
fallible in that he did not foresee my justifiable consternation at finding he had arranged a marriage for me without even consulting me.”
    Her mother glanced at her and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I did tell him that you might object—”
    “Ha! So he
did
tell you!” Diana leaned forward in her chair. “Why did you not—”
    Mrs. Carlyle held up her hand. “I wanted to tell you, but he pledged me to silence. I felt I had to keep his confidence, my dear. You know your uncle always had his reasons—very good ones—for his decisions. I trusted he had a good reason this time, as well.”
    “Perhaps he did, but would it have been too much for him to reveal it to either of us?” Diana said bitterly. “I tell you, I shall not marry Mr. Sinclair—he is nothing but a fribble!”
    “You say that as if it were some grave sin, Diana,” her mother said reprovingly. “It is not. You do not know the man at all, so you cannot know what virtues he has—”
    “Or has not,” Diana said swiftly.
    “Pshaw!” Mrs. Carlyle said, her voice impatient. “You have only just met the man; you judge too quickly.”
    Diana gazed at her mother for a long moment, while the older woman bent her head over her lacework. “Why do you wish me to marry this man, Mama?”
    Mrs. Carlyle raised her eyes to her daughter’s, gazing at her earnestly. “You will be safe, my love.”
    “Safe? What do I have to fear?”
    “Poverty. The chance that you will no longer be welcome at Brisbane House at some time, should the next Earl of Brisbane marry another. The chance that you will marry an irresponsible man, a wastrel.”
    Diana stared at her mother. It had briefly occurred to her they might have their own place to stay, but now the idea had been spoken, it shook her to her bones to think she might no longer live in this house. “But . . . but how do I know this Mr. Sinclair is not a wastrel as well?”
    “Your uncle would not have put him in his will if he thought he was,” Mrs. Carlyle said confidently. “He thought it best you marry the next earl, which is why the stipend he bequeathed you is so small, and the dowry such a fortune.”
    Diana swallowed down the tight feeling in her throat, but it did no good: she felt as if her life were slowly being squeezed from her, or at least the freedom to which she was so accustomed. She did not wish to wed a stranger. But there was one hope, however, and she smiled grimly.
    “What my uncle did not foresee was Mr. Sinclair could easily refuse to marry me. He seems to be well off and may not need my dowry to run the estate, despite the pittance bequeathed to him.”
    Mrs. Carlyle’s expression was for a moment uncertain, but she shook her head. “I am sure your uncle has accounted for it.”
    ***
    Diana gazed at her mother, wondering how she could be so certain . . . perhaps her mother had always relied this heavily on Uncle Charles’s opinions and decisions, and Diana had not, until now, seen it. Certainly, she had had absolute trust in her uncle’s decisions—until now, now that it was so contrary to her wishes. She watched her mother set yet another loop in her tatting, a quick and sure movement, her head bent over her work. She could not see her mother’s face or the expression on it. Diana felt suddenly that perhaps her