Left with a vague feeling of emptiness, she did a slow turnabout, expelling a long sigh of frustration as she realized she was no better off now than she’d been an hour ago. Miles was still nowhere to be found, which meant she was still stranded without any conceivable means of getting back home.
“Harper! Harper, do you know who that was?”
Spinning around at the sound of her name, Harper found herself face to face with Lady Edna Vaine, a pretty, albeit plump wallflower her own age she’d thought left hours ago. “No, and I do not care to. Edna, what are you still doing here?”
The brunette waved her hand dismissively. “I spilled a bit of sauce down the front of my gown and had to go home and chance into another. I’ve only just returned, and thank goodness! I wouldn’t have wanted to miss this for the world. Honestly, you don’t know who that was?” Her brown eyes flitted in the direction Doyle had gone before she refocused on Harper. “You’re jesting.”
“I know his name is Doyle Flynn. Beyond that, I really don’t care. Edna, do you think you might be able to take me home? I seem to have lost my brother and-”
“Yes, yes,” Edna said impatiently. “Certainly. I cannot believe you do not know who you were dancing with!”
“Whoever he was all I know is I never want to see him again.” Bringing the back of her hand up to her mouth, Harper muffled a yawn. “These things are so exhausting. I have no idea why you would ever willingly come back to one, although I have to say I am glad you did. Do you think we would be able to leave soon?”
The tightly wound curls on either side of Edna’s ears bounced up and down as she nodded her head. “I will go find Mother. I am glad we will be sharing a carriage! That way you can tell me everything about him.”
“Everything about who?” Harper said absently, her thoughts once again on Miles and his mysterious disappearance. She hoped he’d had nothing to do with the commotion earlier in the evening. She didn’t know precisely what had happened, only that someone had been shot and subsequently arrested while attempting to rob one of the guests. Only one thing was certain: wherever Miles was, it wasn’t here. The ballroom was but empty, and the swell of voices on the outside terrace had dulled to a low murmur as guests began to depart by the dozens.
“Why, Doyle Flynn of course!” Eyes bright with excitement, Edna took Harper’s hand and squeezed tight. “The Duke of Greenwood and the most eligible bachelor in all of England!”
Chapter Nineteen
Thomas Readington came to call the day after the Farcott Ball at precisely half past two in the afternoon. Dianna received him in the front sitting parlor and they began a stilted conversation over tea and scones that danced ever so delicately around the events of last night.
“Is your family well?” she asked after self-consciously tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Having slept in well past her normal hour of rising, lulled to sleep by the soothing patter of rain against the windows, Dianna had only just gotten dressed after her mother burst into her bedroom waving Readington’s calling card in the air as though it were a banner. Her first instinct had been to burrow beneath the covers and accept Readington’s card tomorrow, but her mother had been too insistent and she too groggy to put up much of an argument.
Two maids, both with soot smeared across their faces after having lit every fire in the townhouse to ward off the chill brought on by the rain, pulled Dianna out of bed, stripped off her underclothes, and dressed her in a gown of pale yellow embroidered with white lace while she stood shivering with her arms held obediently above her head. One brushed her hair while the other, under the watchful eye of Dianna’s mother, selected a pair of earrings.
“No, not those,” Martha had said, rolling her eyes. “Those! Yes. The pearls.”
She went on to ask her daughter a flurry of questions about Readington, none of which Dianna could answer. Looking rather perturbed, Martha had pinned a hand to her hip and said, “Well, his calling card is written on heavy stock, which is a good sign. Pity he is only landed gentry rather than nobility, but I suppose beggars cannot be choosers, can they?”
“I suppose not,” Dianna had said dryly while inwardly she wondered if her mother even realized she’d delivered an insult.
By the time she had made her way downstairs Readington had already arrived and been ushered into the front sitting parlor. He had introduced himself to Dianna’s mother and the two exchanged pleasantries before Martha excused herself and slipped from the room, leaving a rather awkward silence in her wake which Readington and Dianna did their best to fill.
“My family is quite well,” he replied. “Your mother seems quite delightful.”
“She’s certainly something,” Dianna muttered under breath.
“I am sorry,” he said politely, “but I fear I did not quite catch that.”
“I said she absolutely is.”
Another silence followed while they both added more sugar to their tea, even though neither one of them had yet to take a single sip.
Readington looked properly handsome, Dianna noted as she did a quick study beneath her lashes. His brown hair was a bit pressed down from the hat he’d worn to protect himself from the rain, but his chin was freshly shaven and he smelled pleasantly of bergamot, the same scent her father wore. If his jaw was a bit weak and his eyes a bit small, well, no one was perfect, were they? Any physical attributes Readington lacked he more than made up for with his gentlemanly manners and kind nature. And if their conversation was uncomfortably formal, at least he’d had the good grace to come and see how she was faring.
Unlike someone else she knew.
What had happened in the carriage still felt like a dream. Were it not for the tiny red mark on her throat - thankfully which both maids and her mother had missed - Dianna would have thought it to be exactly that. Nothing more than a dream, one not unlike several others she’d had since Miles returned. Dreams filled with dark, dangerous pleasures best left unspoken in the light of day. Dreams that had no place in her mind while she was sitting across from another man.
Drumming her fingers on her lap, Dianna lifted her head and smiled at Readington. He returned the smile and they both looked away, feigning interest in the paintings hung on the wall depicting various flowers.
“It appears as though it will rain all day,” she said, keeping her gaze trained on a bouquet of pink roses hanging above Readington’s right shoulder.
“Indeed it does.” He cleared his throat. “Do you, ah, like the rain?”
Recalling her night spent huddled beneath a willow tree, Dianna frowned. “Not particularly.”
“Neither do I. Although I suppose it is a necessary evil for without the rain we would not have grass or leaves or trees. Or,” he added, nodding to a painting of blue bells that hung over the fireplace, “beautiful flowers.”
“Yes.” Another smile bent her lips, this one just as feigned as the last. “I suppose.”
Looking rather sheepish, Readington set his cup of tea aside and said, “Dianna I do hope you will accept my sincerest apologies. I never should have left you. It was an act of cowardice on my part and-”
“No, Thomas.” Touched by his apology, Dianna set her cup of tea aside as well and leaned forward. A proper amount of distance (and a mahogany sofa table) separated them but she reached forward nevertheless, gloved fingertips stretching until they touched his knee. “You did the right thing going for help,” she said earnestly. “I am very grateful that you were there.”
Cheeks flushing a dull red, Readington shifted his weight further back into the chaise lounge he was sitting on and tugged at the lapels of his puce colored waistcoat. “Yes, well, I… I was happy to offer my assistance although I must admit I am rather confused.”
“Confused?” she said carefully. “How so?”
“I do not mean to pry or be too forward in my questioning, but I must know. What happened to you?” Readington asked, his brow creasing in bewilderment. “After I heard the gunshot I feared the absolute worst, b
ut when I returned with help you were… well, you were gone.”
“After the robber was shot, I fear I became distraught. A friend who had been walking in the gardens came over to see what had happened and was kind enough to accompany me home in her carriage.” It was the same story Dianna had told her mother when Martha came rushing into the house late last night, shrilly demanding to know where Dianna had gone and whom she had gone with. “I am sorry for not waiting, but as I said I was quite distraught and did not want to be seen in such a state.”
“Of course,” Readington agreed at once. “Of course. But I must ask…”
“Yes?” Dianna said, fighting to keep a smile in place when he hesitated. Her mother had accepted the fabricated story at once, even though she suspected Martha knew there was far more to it than what she’d been told.
“You seemed as though you knew the other man. The one who shot the robber. Did you? Know him, that is.”
As a hysterical laugh threatened, Dianna bit her lip and turned her face to the side. Did she know the other man? Yes. Yes she did. She knew the taste of his lips. The sound of his whisper. The touch of his arousal. She knew everything about him… and nothing at all. Grasping her skirt, she crushed a handful of the yellow fabric into a tiny ball and gave a small, nearly imperceptible shake of her head. “No,” she whispered. “No, I did not know him.”
Oblivious to the tension vibrating through her body, Readington sighed in relief. “I did not think you did. He seemed a rather nefarious sort, didn’t he? Especially considering how he fled the scene of the crime. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if he and the robber knew one another.”
Dianna gave a quietly evasive hum before she asked, “Was the robber… killed?”
“No, only wounded. A runner from Bow Street came and arrested him. He will be hauled off to Newgate to stand trial, I imagine. Horrific set of events. Simply horrific.” Readington rubbed a hand across his temple. “Once again, I am so very sorry you had to witness all of that. I suppose the only silver lining is that neither one of us were hurt, and all of my belongings were retrieved.”
Relief that Miles had not committed murder - however valid his reason would have been - swept through Dianna. “Indeed.”
“I say, you are looking rather pale,” Readington observed suddenly. “I should have waited until tomorrow to call.” He shot to his feet, hands diving into the pockets of his trousers. “Please forgive me.”
“Thomas you have done nothing wrong,” Dianna protested as she, too, stood up. It wasn’t Readington’s fault her thoughts were elsewhere, and she refused to let him blame himself for her absent mindedness. Automatically smoothing out the wrinkles she’d made in her skirt, she summoned a gentle smile and said, “It was very thoughtful of you to come see me. I appreciate your attentions.”
Readington blinked. “You - you do?”
“I do,” she said sincerely. “If it seems otherwise it is because, well, I am still overwrought.” Just not about the robbery, but what was one tiny white lie when she’d already told him so many others?
Dianna was not accustomed to telling untruths, but where Miles was concerned it seemed that was all she had been doing. Lying to herself. Lying to him. Lying about him. When would it all end? She felt as though she was stacking cards on top of cards, and one tremble of her hand would send the entire deck crashing down.
“In that case,” Readington said, “I hope you will not think me too forward if I invite you to attend a play with me tomorrow evening at the Garden Theatre. A comedy of errors with Miss Jane Buxton playing the lead role alongside Mr. Grant O’Hennessy. I hear it is receiving quite good reviews.”
While the names sounded vaguely familiar to Dianna, she automatically balked at the idea of another public outing so soon after the Farcott Ball. She still needed time to recover from the last one, and before she considered beginning an open courtship with Readington she needed to decide - once and for all - what she wanted to do about Miles.
No matter what he had said in the carriage, the last thing they could ever be was friends.
A friend did not keep you up at night with thoughts of them.
A friend did not make you want to laugh one moment and burst into tears the next.
A friend did not kiss you as though their very life depended on it.
No, they could not be friends. For them there could never be half measures, nor a relationship of in-betweens. She had to decide whether she wanted to exclude him from her life completely… or take a chance on love and risk losing her heart all over again.
The very idea caused Dianna’s throat to tighten and her stomach to twist.
Could she actually do it? Could she give Miles a second chance?
Heaven help her, but she thought she could. First, however, she needed to deal with the matter at hand. It would not be fair to Readington to raise up his hopes, only to dash them in a few days’ time. He was a good man and did not deserve to begin a courtship with a woman whose heart was not completely free. A lady of more questionable morals may have very well kept him on the line, but knowing full well what the sting of rejection felt like Dianna did not want to deliver the same wound to another.
“The play sounds absolutely delightful, but perhaps another-”
“Your mother would be welcome as well,” Readington said hurriedly. “I would not presume to accompany you somewhere without a proper chaperone, and I am quite certain Mrs. Foxcroft would be well entertained.”
“It is very kind of you to think of her, although-”
“Did someone say my name? My ears are burning.” Without invitation Martha sailed into the room and stopped beside Readington. Sliding her arm through his, she patted his hand with vigorous enthusiasm and beamed up at him. “A play sounds positively delightful, my dear boy. Why, I have not been to one in ages!”
“You went just last month,” Dianna began, but her mother brushed off the reminder with an airy flick of her wrist.
“I could do with a good comedy. We both could,” she said, her meaningful enunciation not going unnoticed. Gritting her teeth in silent frustration, Dianna attempted to interrupt her mother as she’d been interrupted, but Martha was far too wily and experienced in the art of social manipulation to succumb to such tactics. “What time should we anticipate your arrival tomorrow, Mr. Readington?”
Flustered, Readington looked at Martha, then Dianna, and back again, as though he couldn’t quite choose who he should listen to. “If Miss Dianna would rather go another day-”
“Do not be silly,” Martha said with a tittering laugh. “Dianna loves the theater, don’t you darling?”
No.
The word hovered on the tip of her tongue, and it took all the self-control Dianna possessed not to speak it aloud. Young ladies, she reminded herself, do not disagree with their mother’s, especially in front of company.
“Dianna?” Martha’s voice may have been sweet, but the warning in her narrowed eyes was unmistakably clear: do not fight with me on this. Mind your manners and do as I tell you. “Did you hear me?”
“I…” Chafing against the restraints that had been set upon her for as long as she could remember, Dianna struggled to give her mother the answer she wanted. No, she coaxed herself. Simply tell her no! But there was nothing simple about doing the one thing she’d always been unable to do: stand up for herself. “Yes,” she said finally, shoulders hunching beneath the weight of her own self-loathing. “I love the theater and I look forward to attending it tomorrow.”
“Excellent!” Martha declared. “Now we need only a time, Mr. Readington.”
Though his brow creased as though he could sense something was not quite right, Readington said, “Would six o’clock be too early? The play will not start until half past seven, but I like to get ahead of the crowd.”
“Six is perfect. Absolutely perfect. Don’t you agree, Dianna?”
Dianna looked at her mother and not for the first time wished she had Charlotte’s backbone. Her friend nev
er would have said something she did not mean merely to placate someone else, even if that someone else was her own mother (which most likely explained why Charlotte and her mother were not on speaking terms). But different upbringings yielded different results, and having been raised to respect and honor her parents above all else Dianna was loathe to do anything that would upset either one of them.
In her own convoluted way Martha wanted only the best for her daughter. Dianna knew that. The problem was what her mother thought was best and what was actually best were two very different things. Once Martha had thought that something best was Miles, and now apparently she thought it was Readington.
As if Dianna did not have enough to worry about.
Still, she was nothing if not polite. Forcing the corners of her mouth to stretch into a smile, she turned to Readington and said, “Six o’clock sounds perfectly reasonable. I, too, like to arrive well before the crowds.”
They engaged in a few more minutes of idle chit chat before Readington left. Citing a luncheon with her sewing circle Martha was quick to follow him out the door, leaving Dianna by herself.
Left without a mode of transportation until her mother returned with their carriage and not wanting to go walking out in the rain, Dianna contented herself with reading a book in front of the crackling fire. As she methodically turned the pages, gaze skimming across the neatly typed words, she found her thoughts wandering back to Miles time and time again. Left to dwell with only her own mind for company, she could not help but wonder if, at this very moment, he was thinking of her as she was thinking of him.
Chapter Twenty
“What the devil do you mean you are leaving?” Tumbling out of the chair she’d used as a bed after returning to their townhouse at dawn from the Farcott Ball, Harper landed with a grunt in a tangled pool of silk and muslin. Yanking at her skirts until they fell into place, she sprang to her feet with surprising dexterity given the crick in her neck and pointed an accusing finger at her brother’s chest. “You cannot leave. You bloody well promised!”
London Ladies (The Complete Series) Page 52
