“Just look at her! She looks straight from a woodland fairy-tale,” Grace said, her smile growing long and mad. “All that mud on her ankles. And her torn dress! Did a wolf attack you in those woods, Diana? Or did something else attack you?” Grace pressed her fists against her chin and blinked enormous eyes at her.
It was clear, now, that Diana had everyone’s attention. Over 20 pairs of eyes peered at her, anticipating her response. Again, Rose attempted to clean up her messy hair. How foolish Diana had been, allowing Ernest to press her into the grass! And yet, how natural it had felt—drawing her legs apart and watching him enter her.
“I’m terribly sorry. I went for a walk and… I lost track of time,” Diana tried, hoping to sound almost idiotic, so that everyone at the party would dismiss her. That was a tried and true female tactic.
And truly, even as she spoke, several other conversations began, shifting attention away from the messy Diana.
“My goodness, Diana,” Grace continued, her eyelashes fluttering. She perhaps sensed she’d completely lost the floor. “I hate to imagine what might happen to you, out in the world alone. What sort of suitor would allow himself with such a loose woman—a woman so willing to wander through the natural world all by herself?”
Loose woman? The choice of words was stark and bizarre, perhaps proof that Grace knew precisely what Diana had been doing in those woods.
Luckily, it seemed that one of Grace’s uncles had struck up a conversation with Lord Harrington, as well—ensuring that he wasn’t privy to Grace’s opinion. Diana cut across the room and perched alongside Grace, feeling a wave of bravery pass through her. As she approached, Grace’s smile faltered. It was clear she was happy to poke the beast, as long as the beast remained in the cage.
But Diana was no longer afraid of anything. She’d lost it all.
“What was it you were saying about loose women, Grace?” Diana asked. She reached forward and grabbed a biscuit from a tray, cutting her teeth into the edge and making it crumble.
Grace stuttered a bit. “It’s not that I think you’re loose, Diana—just that you look like you could be.” She smoothed her hands across her lap, blinking toward the window. Beside her, her cousin Penelope’s cheeks burned red. It was clear they’d spent the entire evening gossiping about Diana. And Diana wouldn’t allow this to continue.
Rose followed in Diana’s footsteps. As there wasn’t a chair available for her, she crossed her legs on the floor in front of Penelope, Grace, and Diana, and blinked up at them like a pupil in school. She, too, grabbed a biscuit, and said, “Grace, I’m sure you must have so many stories about what your life was like before becoming engaged to my brother. Perhaps you could tell us one?”
This seemed a topic that Penelope had yearned for. She clapped her palms together, chirping, “Oh, what fun! You really should have seen her. She ruled each and every ball, you know. Men couldn’t keep their hands off of her. You remember that time you had to smack Lord Baldwin across the cheek?”
Grace lent her cousin a look that was lined with evil. But Penelope hadn’t the intellect to recognize it. Rather, she continued, “I felt sure that Grace would never settle, really. She was lost in the dream of endless courting. When she told me she was matching with Lord Ernest Bannerman, my first thought was—why! After all, she’d never exhibited any interest in him, even after so many years of knowing him. You know, one would have suspected a childhood crush. But Ernest and Grace were always like oil and water, you know. Even I saw that as a child, myself.”
“Shut up, Penelope,” Grace muttered.
Diana’s stomach stirred. She glanced across the parlour to find Ernest staring at her, even in the midst of his conversation with another of Grace’s cousins. The cousin pounded him on the shoulder, seemingly complimenting him on something, or else telling the boring story of his own belief systems. But it was clear to Diana that Ernest’s mind was elsewhere, as was hers. They were thinking only of their time together in the woods.
How could they possibly think of anything else?
“That’s a remarkable story, Penelope,” Rose was saying, pretending to be captivated. “I had my own thoughts about what Grace was like prior to her engagement with Ernest, of course, but it’s good to see it painted so clearly.”
Grace glowered at her soon to be sister-in-law. “People change, Rose. You’ll learn that as you grow older.”
“Do they? It’s been my understanding that nobody ever really changes,” Rose countered, her voice bright and shiny. “In fact, I reckon I’ll be precisely this way—just as wild and free as I am now—into my own courting season and womanhood. I certainly would never find myself marrying someone I wasn’t in love with. So it’s marvellous that you find this love for my brother within yourself, even after apparently having no interest in him whatsoever for years and years…”
“It was such a surprise!” Penelope chirped again. Her cheeks were even brighter red than before, indicating that, perhaps, she’d had too much to drink.
“Yes, well. I suppose it’s getting late in the evening,” Grace declared. She pressed her palms together, her eyes searching for her mother and father. “A woman like me needs plenty of beauty sleep. And Diana, you must be entirely worn out after your adventures out of doors. And you’ll never really recover from that fire, will you? Your lungs must look like a chimney.”
“I think I’m back to my fighting health,” Diana affirmed, her eyes still upon Ernest’s.
Grace followed the line of her sight and coughed. She cut her lips toward Diana’s, muttering just loud enough for only Diana to hear. “If you think for a moment I don’t know what you were doing out there, then you must be a bigger idiot than I initially thought.”
Diana ticked her head slightly to the right to meet Grace’s eyes. She gave a chipper smile. “I cannot imagine what you mean, Lady Bragg. But I do hope you know just how thrilled I am to have spent the evening in your beautiful home.”
***
Before long, the party did disband, just as Grace had hoped. Diana and Rose linked arms and cantered toward the awaiting carriage, with Ernest, Aunt Renata, and Lord Harrington bringing up the rear. Rose and Diana took a carriage for themselves, while the three others boarded the other. Diana dropped her head against the headrest, letting out an enormous, exhausted sigh. Rose cackled with the pleasure of the drama—something Diana so wished she could do.
“Did you see her face when Penelope was giving her away?” Rose asked, wiping away tears. “I thought she was going to go absolutely mad. She’s kept up her story quite well to those who don’t see through her, like you and I.”
“But she knows what Ernest and I did in the woods,” Diana murmured, surprising herself with her honesty. “She told me.”
Rose flapped her hand to and fro dismissively. “It doesn’t matter, Diana. Listen to me. Regardless of their marriage—regardless of how much Grace thinks she’s won—you have my brother’s heart.”
“Yes, but how much does that matter?” Diana’s heart dipped low in her chest. “I want so much more than Ernest can ever give me. And now, I will be alone for the rest of my life, bemoaning a decision that was made when I wasn’t yet around. It’s the worst of timing. It could kill me.”
Rose sidled up beside her in the carriage. The wheels spun heavily beneath them, slurping through the mud. She gripped Diana’s hand. Although her skin was warm, her sentiment pure, Diana couldn’t yank herself from this sudden desolation. Picking on Grace had been pleasurable, certainly, and yet it was hollow, without a proper answer. The conclusion remained the same.
Once back at home, Lord Harrington cornered his daughter in the hallway. Ernest, Aunt Renata, and Rose had returned to their rooms, leaving Lord Harrington and Diana alone in the shadows. His eyes echoed his fear.
“Were you really in the woods tonight alone, Diana?” he demanded, his voice raspy.
“No, Father,” Diana assured him, choosing to lie, as nothing else seemed to matter much. “I took th
e opportunity to walk with Rose in the gardens, and I stumbled, is all. I can be incredibly clumsy when I’m not fully aware of myself. Perhaps it was too much berry wine.”
Lord Harrington’s neck craned forward. He teetered back and forth and stabbed his cane on the ground, steadying himself. “It will be good to remove ourselves from this house, Diana,” he whispered. “I know it’s been a struggle for you, being here. Perhaps I can never fully digest what it is that’s going on in your head. But I think I suspect…”
Diana couldn’t bear to hear her father cite the truth. The truth was a far too powerful force these days. She cleared her throat and said, “We’re all going to be all right. I promise you. And I’ll ensure that I never frighten you again, Father.”
There was so much lacking in their conversation. Diana felt the aching hollowness of it, even after they’d said their final good night and parted ways. Once inside her bedroom, she collapsed, fully clothed, and stared at the ceiling. There was nothing left to do but close her eyes, to dream and dream until she was forced to return to the land of the living.
How wretched it all was.
***
The following day, Diana joined her father and Aunt Renata on a trek back to their old mansion. According to reports from the construction team, they’d cleared up the burnt debris and planned to begin rebuilding in the coming weeks. None of them could speak as they made their way toward their home, knowing that whatever echoed back would remind them of both beautiful and wretched memories.
Mostly, it would remind them that once they returned home, it would never feel the same again.
The carriage stopped outside the blackened mansion. Lord Harrington’s breath caught in his throat. Aunt Renata dropped her face to her hands, unable to move. Only Diana forced herself from the belly of the carriage, lowering her feet onto the mud below.
The entire skeleton of the mansion remained intact, showing the once-great home’s outline. The third and second floors had largely been burnt away, the bricks crumbling away. Diana squinted, making out the wooden outlines that had once held up her bedroom. The ones next door had outlined her sister’s bedroom. In the wake of Margery’s death, Diana hadn’t allowed anyone to touch the room, wanting to keep it precisely the same as before. This had made it into a kind of cemetery, one that had persevered Margery precisely as she’d been.
Now, of course, that preservation had burned away.
Diana walked around the house, feeling as though she was in the midst of a daydream—or a nightmare. Out back, the gardens had miraculously been preserved. With the beginning of summer, the roses and orchids had flung themselves wide open, with the kind of hope Diana wished she could bottle. She sat in the garden and crossed her legs, closing her eyes and attempting to meditate, to halt her wildly anxious thoughts.
Out there, she and Margery had whispered their dreams to one another. They’d upheld the beauty of the unknown above all things.
Now, there was so much Diana did know, and so much she wished she didn’t know.
Her father found her in the garden and perched alongside her, leaning heavily against his cane. He blinked up at the burnt house, his shoulders shaking. Diana thought he would cry, yet he seemed to hold himself back. Perhaps that was the strength of a man.
“We had wonderful times here. And we will again,” her father murmured. “If I squint, I can still see you and your sister racing around out here, screaming at the top of your lungs. How I told your mother over and over again to make you quiet! But she said you had to live wild and free. That you had to learn heavily into your childhood. Otherwise, you’d never become proper women.”
He chuckled at this. “Of course, you’ve turned into quite the proper woman. I couldn’t have wished for a better person in my life.”
“Yet really, you’re stuck with me,” Diana told him. “I’m all you have left.”
“Don’t say it that way,” her father returned. He squeezed her hand atop her lap. “I wouldn’t want to be stuck with anyone else. When your mother was weak and falling ill—when she couldn’t eat anymore—I pleaded with her to live for you. I said, ‘Look at our beautiful daughter, Diana. Look at the way she cares for you, makes you dinner, stays up and prays for you.’ But it was like she no longer had eyes to see what was right in front of her. For that reason, I’ve forced myself to wake up every single day and feel immensely grateful for what I still have.”
Diana turned her head. Before she could stop herself, she said, “And you’re never angry about the things that you cannot have? All the things you’ve lost?”
Diana knew she was no longer speaking specifically of her sister and her mother—that her brain had switched over to the topic of Ernest. Perhaps she knew her father guessed this, as well. She was laying it all open.
“Of course, I am,” her father continued. “I have to shove the anger down continually, if only to remain in the light.”
After a pause, he whispered, “Perhaps you’ll have to do the same throughout your life. Perhaps it’s just a part of growing up. Telling yourself the story you need to hear, if only to keep going.”
***
Diana and Lord Harrington returned to the carriage twenty minutes later to find Aunt Renata still inside. She sniffed, showing red-tinged eyes.
“I just couldn’t go up to it,” she confided. “I hope you don’t think me weak.”
This admittance felt so genuine, Diana nearly burst into tears herself. She piled into the carriage and wrapped her arms around her aunt—a woman who’d given up so much of her life to ensure Diana and her father were cared for. There was nothing else Diana could do but feel endlessly appreciative. She dropped her nose against Aunt Renata’s arm, inhaling the perfume Rose had lent her.
How messy everything had become.
That night, Renata, Diana, and Lord Harrington packed the few belongings that Ernest and Rose had given them and prepared to move into Grace Bragg’s uncle’s home. Since their lovemaking in the forest, Diana and Ernest had successfully avoided one another. Diana had wanted this only because she felt it too painful to see him.
Although they were “spiritually” married, the days still ticked along toward that incomprehensible future, when Ernest and Grace would be joined forever.
Rose sat on Diana’s bed and bemoaned this fact. “I can’t believe it didn’t work. I tried as hard as I could.”
Diana laughed, although it was hollow. “Darling, there really wasn’t anything either of us could do. Your brother honours your father above everything.”
Rose snapped her foot against the floor. “Yes, but Father isn’t here anymore. We all must go forward with the tools we have. I don’t believe in—in ghosts—or Father cursing us for not honouring his wishes. I should think, if he was somewhere around, he would see how miserable Ernest is just now and honour his decision not to marry Grace. Doesn’t that sound more angelic to you?”
Diana gave Rose her most genuine smile. “I’m really going to miss you.”
Rose flung toward Diana, her motions almost violent. When Rose hugged Diana, she smashed her cheek against Diana’s shoulder. She shivered with sadness. “I always wanted a sister like you.”
***
The following morning, Ernest and Rose met the Harringtons at the breakfast table for a final goodbye meal. Ernest and Lord Harrington busied themselves with the kind of humdrum conversation men liked to fall into—stuff about how many rooms Grace’s uncle estate had, how many gardens, what the upkeep would be like.
“Of course, I know you’ll be able to take over his study as your own, Lord Harrington,” Ernest said.
“It will be marvellous to have my own space again,” Lord Harrington returned.
Beneath the table, Rose reached for Diana’s knee and squeezed, perhaps as a show of her allegiance to her, an acknowledgment of her sadness.
“And Diana, I told you about the library?” Ernest said now, addressing her for the first time. “It rivals my own. I know you haven’t had much
time to do as much reading as you’d like here at my estate, what with Rose and I bothering you…”
A Seductive Lady Rescued From Flames (Historical Regency Romance) Page 17
