by Bree Wolf
Taking a deep breath, Diana stared at her reflection in the mirror, delighted with the way the brilliant blue seemed to sparkle in contrast to the black of her dress, like stars shining in the night sky.
“Diana, please!”
Turning to face her cousin, Diana met her eyes. “No,” she simply said, the expression on her face calm, her eyes steady as they held Rose’s gaze. “I need this. These past few years, I’ve barely been myself, always worried about what people would think, and no matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, they always thought the worst of me.” Suddenly feeling liberated, Diana drew in a deep breath and an honest smile came to her lips. “Now, I’m done living by everybody’s rules. Now, I shall only live by my own.”
Staring at her dumbfounded, Rose swallowed. “Are you certain you wish to do this? Think about the consequences.”
At her cousin’s words, an old fear slowly crept up Diana’s spine, sending chills up and down her body. “No!” she said vehemently, her eyes hardening. “The last few years have knocked out my legs from under me, if I don’t stand up now, I know I shall never rise again.”
Holding her gaze for a moment, her emerald eyes searching Diana’s, Rose nodded. “All right. Then let’s go.” A soft smile, encouraging and devoted, came to her face. “Before the sun changes its mind.”
“Thank you,” Diana whispered, her heart hammering in her chest as she followed her cousin outside, leaving behind the safety of her home and facing the world.
***
“Lord Grafton’s daughter would be suitable,” Lady Stanhope stated, her sharp eyes shifting over the list of potential brides in her hand. “This is her second season. She is from a well-respected family and behaves with all the graces and manners befitting a young lady.”
“I agree,” Arthur mumbled, slightly annoyed with his mother’s insistence to ignore anything he had said on the subject of his sister’s potential spouses. “However, as I informed you before, I am determined to see Eleanor married first. Despite the age difference between us, she seems already far more suited to marriage than I shall ever be.”
Inhaling deeply, his mother slowly lifted her eyes off the sheet of paper in her hands. “But not to Henry Waltham,” she hissed, her pale eyes drilling into his as though her stare had the power to force him to submit to her wishes.
“Why are you so insistent?” Arthur enquired, remembering the way his sister and Henry Waltham had looked at one another from across the dance floor. “Eleanor seems fairly taken with him.”
“Nonsense!” Lady Stanhope snapped, the list of potential brides crushed into a little ball when anger seized her, painting her face a darker shade of red. “It’s merely an infatuation. It’ll pass.” She shook her head vehemently, tossing the crumpled list onto the floor. “And besides, there are far more important aspects to a marriage than love, believe me.” Gritting her teeth, she inhaled deeply. “He is not worthy of her, and it is our duty to prevent Eleanor from doing something rash. I want her married to a suitable gentleman before the end of the Season.”
Arthur’s eyes widened. “Something rash?” he asked, stepping closer, his eyes trained on his mother. “What on earth do you speak of? Do you truly believe she would run off to Gretna Green if we do not give our consent?”
Holding his gaze, his mother shrugged. “I do not know, and that frightens me.”
“Eleanor is far too reasonable to agree to such a shameful wedding,” Arthur objected, unable to imagine that his little sister would ever go against the sense of decency that had been instilled in her from the moment she had been born. “No, she would never do that.”
“I certainly hope not,” his mother said, a touch of fear in her voice as she spoke. “However, we cannot be certain. Even morally impeccable women have succumbed to bad influences before. It is not unheard of.”
“Bad influences?” Arthur asked, wondering about the slightly distant look that had come to his mother’s face. “Who do you speak of? Henry Waltham?”
“Among others.”
“Among others? Who else?”
Blinking, his mother swallowed, then met his eyes once more, her own once more sharp and determined. “Mrs. Reignold.”
Arthur frowned. “Mrs. Reignold? Who…? What? You’re speaking of that woman Eleanor spoke to at the ball a month ago?”
“Have you already forgotten what I told you about her?” his mother chided, clearly displeased that he wasn’t taking this issue as seriously as she did herself. “She is of questionable character and not a good influence on my daughter.” His mother drew in a deep breath, and her eyes shifted from side to side as though ensuring that no one was within earshot. Then she leaned closer, and Arthur knew that another titbit of gossip was imminent. “From what I’ve heard, she’s been seen walking around in public,” here, she paused for dramatic effect, and Arthur could barely keep himself from rolling his eyes, “wearing a blue scarf.” His mother’s eyes widened, looking at him expectantly, as she drew back and shook her head. “Outrageous!”
Arthur frowned, honestly confused. “Was she not recently widowed?”
Now, it was his mother who rolled her eyes. “Of course, she was. Otherwise, what I just told you would be of no importance! Do you never listen?”
Arthur drew in a deep breath, fighting down the urge to lash out at his mother. “I apologise,” he forced himself to say, annoyed with himself for allowing his mother to influence his own sense of proper attitude to such a degree. Maybe she was right after all to worry about Eleanor. “Do you truly believe Mrs. Reignold would urge Eleanor to run off to Gretna Green? Have they even see each other since that ball a month ago?”
“Not as far as I know,” his mother admitted, her voice a little feeble. “However, we cannot be certain. Eleanor might simply meet her in secret.”
Why would she? Arthur wondered, but refrained from expressing his sentiments out loud. “If it makes you feel any better, I shall keep an eye on Eleanor.”
“Thank you,” his mother breathed, relief palpable on her face. “However, I fear I shall not find a moment of peace until my daughter is suitably married.”
Arthur sighed, hoping that such an event would take place sooner rather than later for he wasn’t certain how many more of these conversations he could have with his mother before he would be unable to hold himself in check.
All his life, he had hated it that his mother knew very well how to enrage him. It was a side of himself that he disliked, feared even, for it was far from reasonable.
As long as it merely resulted in a conversational outburst, which he could easily enough apologise for, it was barely noteworthy. However, Arthur wondered if one day he might break a far more important rule, one that was by far more difficult to apologise for, and that thought frightened him even more.
Chapter Five − A Fateful Night
“I must take my leave,” Rose stated, rising to her feet, an apologetic smile on her face.
Confused and−admittedly−a bit saddened, Diana asked, “Why so soon?” Ever since her husband had died and Diana had begun to gradually accessorise her black wardrobe with more cheerful colours, Rose had been her tower of strength. Although it was still far from easy to see her cousin in the arms of her husband, Lord Norwood, Diana had come to cherish Rose’s friendship and support.
Now, more than ever, society looked down on Diana, crinkling their noses at her audacity to treat her husband’s memory with such disregard, but despite all reasonable objections, Rose remained by her side, remained loyal and kind.
And for the first time in her life, Diana realised how precious Rose was to her and how lonely she would be without her.
“I’m afraid I must,” Rose insisted, her voice apologetic. “We are going to the theatre tonight, and I do not wish to be late.”
Diana smiled wistfully. “That sounds wonderful,” she mumbled, a touch of disappointment tainting an otherwise delightful day.
“Do not worry,” Rose counselled, looping her
arm through Diana’s as they walked toward the foyer. “Before long you’ll be out of mourning, and then I shall invite you to the theatre. Promise.”
“Thank you,” Diana said, bidding her cousin a good night. As the door closed behind Rose, Diana wished she could go as well instead of once more being left alone in a house that still did not feel like her home.
Would she ever find a place where she could be happy?
Sighing, Diana wandered from room to room, picturing her cousin getting ready for the theatre, her walking down the large staircase and taking her husband’s arm. In her mind’s eye, Diana could see the glowing smiles on their faces, and her own heart yearned to leave her prison and trade it for the entertainment of a night at the theatre.
If only.
Diana’s head snapped up, and her feet stilled.
But why ever not? She wondered, and a wickedly cheerful smile came to her face as she pictured the shocked expressions of society’s matrons if she were to attend the performance tonight.
The first afternoon she had gone out for a walk with Rose, wearing her blue scarf with her black dress, the stares and whispers had reminded Diana of all those years of trying to be accepted, but ultimately of being deemed unworthy.
In answer, she had lowered her head, unable to meet the stares that followed her. She had almost given in and allowed Rose to persuade her to return home.
However, in the last moment, Diana had realised her mistake. It did not matter any longer what people thought of her…simply because it shouldn’t. It only matter how Diana saw herself, and whenever she pictured herself cowering under society’s hateful eyes, Diana was disgusted with herself.
This was not the woman she wanted to be.
The woman she had dreamed of becoming once.
The woman she had never had the chance of becoming though.
But now, here, this was her chance.
And she’d be damned if she let it slip through her fingers.
***
“We are late,” Lady Stanhope mumbled, the edge in her voice unmistakable as they ascended the stairs to Covent Garden.
Offering Eleanor his arm, Arthur did his utmost to ignore his mother’s reproachful tone as their being late had in fact been her doing. Once again, she had lectured her daughter on her behaviour toward Henry Waltham, accusing her of encouraging his attentions.
Although Arthur had to admit that his mother did have a point, that Eleanor did in fact welcome the young man’s affections, he had recently come to realise that nothing he or his mother could say would have any effect on Eleanor’s heart.
His sister’s mind might be persuaded to ignore the young gentleman, however, her heart would be a different matter. Arthur could see it in her eyes.
The conflict.
The dilemma.
The torturous agony.
His own heart twisted in his chest at the sight of her misery, and yet, he did not know what to do. Naturally, as head of the family, it was within his power to grant Eleanor her happily-ever-after. However, he knew the young woman Eleanor had become, and he was certain beyond the shadow of a doubt that no matter what consequences she herself would have to suffer, she would never go against her mother’s wishes.
Why? Arthur could not be certain. Although the relationship between mother and daughter appeared rather strained and void of deep emotions, there was something in the way they sometimes looked at each other that had Arthur convinced that there was something he did not know.
Something that stood between them, and yet, connected them beyond reproach.
As they crossed the large foyer, heading toward the grand staircase, Lady Stanhope drew in a sharp breath. A second later, Arthur felt his sister’s arm tense as she stopped in her tracks. Following their line of vision, Arthur stiffened.
There, at the top of the staircase, dressed in simple elegance, his dark hair neatly brushed back, stood Henry Waltham. Although he seemed tense, his eyes never swayed from Eleanor, and Arthur could see the slight blush that came to his sister’s cheeks.
“What is he doing here?” his mother hissed under her breath, her eyes shooting daggers at the young man, before turning on her daughter. “Did you send him word to meet you here? This is truly unbelievable! I never would have thought you would act in such a selfish way!”
“Mother, but I didn’t−”
“At this point, I cannot believe a word you say.” Crossing her arms over her chest, Lady Stanhope drew in a deep breath, her eyes narrowing even farther as they slid over Henry Waltham’s face.
Clearing his throat, Arthur stepped in his mother’s line of vision. “Escort Eleanor to our box,” he said, his voice calm as he knew that any sign of emotion would only send his mother into another fit. “I shall deal with Mr. Waltham.”
His mother blinked, and then her eyes met his. “Yes, that is a splendid idea,” she agreed, nodding her head vigorously. Then she looped her arm through Eleanor’s, and together, they followed Arthur up the stairs.
While Arthur stopped in front of the young gentleman, his mother dragged Eleanor onward. However, Mr. Waltham stepped forward, his eyes fixed on the woman he loved, and whispered, “Good evening, Lady Eleanor.”
Arthur sighed as he saw how much these few simple words affected his sister. Craning her neck to look at Mr. Waltham, she reluctantly followed their mother down the corridor toward their box.
Once they were lost from sight, Mr. Waltham swallowed, and his gaze turned to Arthur. “I apologise for showing up here tonight,” he said, his shoulders squared and his chin raised. “I assure you I had no intention of causing a problem.”
Arthur snorted. “I’m afraid, Mr. Waltham, you are the problem.”
Instead of being offended, the young man nodded. “I am aware of Lady Stanhope’s dislike of me and my family, and at least, partially, I cannot fault her. My elder brothers have acted against the generally accepted code of conduct more than once, which undoubtedly gives Lady Stanhope good reason to distrust me.”
Surprised at the young man’s view on the situation, Arthur decided to speak openly. “What are your intentions towards my sister, Mr. Waltham?”
Despite the tension that seized his shoulders, a warm smile came to his face. “I intend to marry her.”
“I appreciate your honesty,” Arthur said, his eyes slightly narrowed as he watched the young man, looking for a sign of dishonesty, duplicity, falsity, anything that might prove his mother’s opinion of him justified. “Then tell me equally honestly, if need be, would you run off with my sister to marry her without the consent of her family?”
Mr. Waltham stiffened, and the smile slid off his face. Holding Arthur’s gaze unflinchingly, he stepped forward. “I would, yes. However, Eleanor would never agree. She would never go against her family, and I would never put her in a position to choose.”
Arthur nodded, his face solemn as he considered what he had just heard. Despite Mr. Waltham’s admission, he could not fault the young man for, deep in his heart, Arthur knew that Henry Waltham was a good man, one who did not deserve to be judged for the mistakes of others, one who had a conscience and placed Eleanor’s well-being above his own.
“Once again, I appreciate your honesty, Mr. Waltham,” Arthur said. “Although I doubt that it shall do you any good, I shall speak to my mother on your behalf.”
A sudden smile drew up the corners of Mr. Waltham’s mouth, and he seemed to sag into himself as relief flooded his being. “I thank you, Lord Stanhope,” he stammered, almost breathless. “I truly appreciate your support.”
Arthur nodded, cursing himself for stirring up the young man’s hopes. It had been a moment of weakness, knowing the misery these two young people found themselves in through no fault of their own. If only there was something he truly could do.
After all, changing his mother’s mind was an Herculean task indeed.
Almost impossible.
“I bid you a good night,” Mr. Waltham said, slightly bowing his head, before he
descended the stairs, his arms hanging by his sides, his hands opening and closing as though they had gone numb.
Arthur sighed. What was he to do?
Rubbing his hand over his brows, Arthur turned toward the corridor that led to his family’s box when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. A moment later, the sound of footsteps echoed to his ears as a young lady−unchaperoned−hastily crossed the foyer.
With a frown drawing down his brows, Arthur watched her, then squinted his eyes. Who was she? She did look familiar. If only he could remember where−
The ball!
His mother’s latest gossip.
If Arthur wasn’t completely mistaken, then this woman was Mrs. Reignold, the young widow who in the past month had been spotted all over town, her black mourning wardrobe adorned with colourful accessories.
Arthur swallowed for the woman who now hurried up the staircase in his direction wore not only colourful accessories, but a stunning gown in the deepest violet he had ever seen. Her light blue eyes sparkled with a mixture of mischief and excitement as she brushed a stray curl of her hazel tresses behind her ear.
Stepping back from the landing, Arthur withdrew until he stood slightly hidden behind a large column. What was he to do?
His knowledge of proper etiquette told him that they must not be seen alone together. Not only would it cause disastrous rumours, but it would also ruin every chance she might have of reacquiring society’s favour−although her mere presence at tonight’s performance might be enough to accomplish that on its own.
However, there was something in her eyes, in the way she moved that spoke of a hidden motivation as though she was driven be an unseen force, as though she could not be held accountable for what she was doing, and Arthur felt as though it was his duty to warn her of the disastrous consequences of her actions.
For he believed deep in his heart, that she could not possibly be aware of them. If she was, she would most certainly act differently. After all, no one in their right mind would willingly ruin themselves in such an irredeemable way.
