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as coolly as possible, "I have my clothes here, then?"

Had she been tossed out of the Queen's House in disgrace?

Clara's mouth snapped shut. "Yes, milady. What gown do you want to wear, milady?"

Sackcloth and ashes? "Oh, I don't care." Diana turned toward a mirror, reluctant to see what she looked like.

Lud, thank heavens only Clara had seen her like this. The rumpled shirt hung half off one shoulder, the long sleeves rolled roughly up. Her hair was tousled, her eyes, heavy, and she simply looked like a shameless wanton.

"Choose something sober for me." She tore off the garment, but then held it to herself for a moment, breathing in the blended aromas of sandalwood and sex. Then she tossed it on the bed and called, "Bring my pads, too, Clara. My bleeding's started."

No child, she suddenly thought. She didn't want one from this, but an ache shuddered deep inside because she could not be sure of the future. She ached for the children that might never be, for the father he might never be.

No. She had come close to victory, and would not let it slip away. Even if she did have to seduce him every full moon for the rest of their lives!

She washed herself then put on the things Clara brought her - the long pad of cloth, and the belt and binder that held it in place. At least she didn't suffer at this time as some women did. She needed all her energy and strength to deal with the coming day.

Clara brought a pale blue dress and all that was needed with it. "Will there still be the masquerade, milady, what with all this?"

The masquerade! Tonight.

It seemed an age since she'd tried on her Diana costume. Would the ball still take place? She didn't know what she wanted.

As she took the shift the maid passed to her and put it on, Diana asked, "What's going on in the house? When did you get here?"

"Not long after sunrise, milady," Clara said, putting the stays over Diana's head and beginning to lace them up down the back. Rather tightly. Clearly an attempt to restore propriety. "Don't know if you know, milady, but you're in the marchioness's rooms. Not used for ages, of course."

There was dark meaning in Clara's words.

"Only fair," Diana said lightly. "If you remember, Lord Rothgar slept in the countess's rooms at Arradale."

"But they're not exactly short of rooms here, milady," said Clara with a particularly fierce tug on the stay laces.

Oh heavens. The last thing she needed was Clara deciding to play watchdog.

As she stepped into the petticoat and tied the waist, Diana looked around the bedroom of the Marchioness of Rothgar. Likely, it had last been used by Bey's stepmother, the smiling woman who'd put a broken family together again, but perhaps failed to completely heal a broken child. She'd probably conceived Lord Bryght early in the marriage and been naturally absorbed with her own children. It was, however, a shame.

Numerous pictures hung on the walls, but she went closer to one. A young child still in skirts sat on a chair in the sprawled way of the toddler, while a boy of about five leaned on the back. Both were dark haired, but while the younger one was chubby and dimpled, the older was slender and sober, and could be said to be hovering protectively.

Bey and Bryght, she was sure of it. She'd never thought how it must have been for him when his first half-brother was born. Had he perhaps hovered, guarding? Or had he avoided?

She looked at that serious child, and he looked back at her, very different to the drummer boy which was a representation of herself at a similar age. As she looked, however, the face seemed to come alive for her, and she saw the hint of a smile and the steady, fierce intelligence, already observing, assessing, remembering.

She wondered if he'd intimidated this portrait painter as much as he'd done the later one. She wished she'd known him then, but that was nonsense. She'd not even been born.

She dragged herself away and stood in front of the mirror to put on the open blue skirt, and the striped bodice. "A good choice, Clara. Becoming, but not frivolous."

"Thank you, milady." The maid fastened the hooks down the front, but then looked up anxiously. "Are you ruined, milady?"

Clara was asking a specific question, but Diana said, "I hope not. However, it's probably time to face the music. Do you know