Chapter Six
Rupert read the document Barlow had brought to him in the library with increasing anger. What the devil was Diana playing at? What could she hope to achieve by open hostilities? She was actually suggesting they give each other a schedule of their day-by-day planned activities so they could avoid any awkward meetings in the house. Awkward. Dear God. He crumpled the paper, hurled it into the empty fireplace and strode from the library in search of Barlow.
The butler had just come through the green baize door that separated the kitchen and servants’ quarters from the main house when Rupert accosted him. “Barlow, where is Miss Sommerville at this moment?” Rupert tried to master the simmering fury he could hear in his voice.
“I believe, sir, that Miss Diana is in Lady Sommerville’s parlor. She asked for writing materials to be sent there.”
“Thank you.” The colonel accorded him a curt nod and went up the stairs two at a time, turning at the top into the west wing. Outside the double doors leading to what had been Diana’s mother’s private parlor, he hesitated for a moment, then, with a muttered imprecation, raised his hand and knocked imperatively. When there was no immediate reply, he opened the doors onto a pleasant, intimate apartment that looked out onto the back garden. It had been Lady Sommerville’s personal haven and bore the marks of her serene temperament in the soft rose color of its furnishings, the delicate objets d’art scattered around on carefully chosen pieces of eighteenth-century furniture.
Diana was sitting at a rosewood French escritoire and spun round in her chair, a pen still in her hand. “It’s customary to wait for an invitation,” she commented with icy calm.
“I see no point in wasting my time,” he retorted, pushing the door shut at his back. “Do you really want to live in an armed camp, Diana?”
“Quite the opposite,” she responded. “Because you insist upon staying under this roof I hope to achieve a situation where we don’t ever have to engage with each other in any way at all. That was the point of my letter.”
“Letter,” he exclaimed. “You call that abominable document a letter ?”
“Call it what you like,” she said, her face very pale but her eyes full of fire. “Those are my terms.”
Rupert took a step toward her, and she jumped to her feet, the better able to face him on an equal footing. Her hands were clenched into fists. “Don’t you dare touch me.”
“Touch you?” He looked at her, incredulous. “Why on earth do you think I would want to do that? Although,” he added, “the urge to wring your neck right now is hard to resist.”
Diana drove her clenched fist into his shoulder, where it met hard muscle. He seized her wrist, holding it lightly but firmly. “By God, Diana, you have a temper.”
“I know that,” she snapped, tugging fruitlessly at her wrist. “When you’re not involved, I can govern it. But you make me lose the reins of my self-governing, and I hate you for that.”
Rupert said nothing for a long moment, and his fingers circling her wrist suddenly lost their tension. “No,” he said with an ironic smile. “No, you don’t hate me, dear girl, any more than I hate you for the same fault. We are bound together, you and I, for better or worse. I want to fight you to the brink to break those chains, but I know they are fast and always will be. Our only hope is to find a way to live within those bonds.” He dropped her wrist abruptly and turned away, back to the door.
Diana stood absently, rubbing her wrist where she could still feel his touch. The door clicked shut behind him. What had just happened? Delivered in a different tone of voice, it could almost have been a declaration of love. But it certainly wasn’t that, not after everything that lay between them.
And there had been no love in his green eyes, no softness, rather a reflection of her own angry frustration. But Rupert was responsible for a situation in which she was definitely the innocent party. His frustration was his own fault. He thought he could manipulate her into accepting an appalling living arrangement. He needed to know he couldn’t.
Diana pressed her fingers into her eyes for a second as she took a deep, steadying breath, then, with a dismissive shake of her head, she sat down at the escritoire again and looked blankly at the sheet of paper before her. She had been trying to frame a letter to Lady Callahan and so far had achieved only “Dear Aunt Tabitha.” Her aunt would be incapable of accepting the idea of her niece living under the same roof as an unmarried man, so somehow, she had to convey to her ladyship without saying so in so many words that the expected marriage between Diana and Colonel Lacey had taken place. It infuriated her that she was obliged to accept Rupert’s solution to avoid scandalizing their world, but she could see no alternative.
There was only one thing for it, she decided abruptly. She would visit her aunt before Tabitha could decide to come to Cavendish Square. Her aunt was something of a valetudinarian and, since the death of her sister, Diana’s mother, had become even more so. As a result, preparing herself for a journey outside the house, even as short a distance as between Devonshire Street and Cavendish Square, was a major undertaking. If she went this afternoon, Diana decided, she would easily forestall any sudden appearance by her aunt. If she wondered why her niece’s husband had not accompanied her on this courtesy call, a vague reference to military duties would satisfy her.
That settled, Diana rang for Mrs. Harris and Barlow. They would be wondering what was really going on, and it was only fair to give them some story for public consumption. Newly hired members of the household would also need to be told something that regularized the relationship between the apparent master and mistress of the house. The two old family retainers would know the truth, of course, but Diana knew they would keep their opinions to themselves and unhesitatingly present the world with the fabrication they were given. She assumed Rupert would also have taken Davis into his confidence.
However confident she was about their willingness to accept the story she was about to give them, Diana couldn’t deny her awkwardness when Barlow and Mrs. Harris came in to the parlor. She was standing at the window; sitting down seemed inappropriate when she was about to ask them to lie through their teeth for her.
“Good morning,” she greeted them, her smile somewhat hesitant. Then she cleared her throat and plunged. “Colonel Lacey is going to occupy some part of the house. It was my brother’s wish that he be accommodated when he was in town. He will, of course, manage his own affairs, and anyone in my service will not be expected to wait upon him in any way. I understand his batman, Davis, is already taking care of him.”
“That is so, Miss Diana,” Barlow said without blinking an eye. “And I understand from Mrs. Trimball that he has been preparing the colonel’s meals as well.”
“Good, then there’s nothing to concern us further,” Diana said with a smile. “Colonel Lacey will mostly use the library and the breakfast parlor if he has guests.” She paused, then, drawing a deep breath continued. “I think it will be prudent if it is generally assumed that the colonel and I are married.”
“Of course, Miss Diana,” Mrs. Harris responded, as if it were the most obvious assumption.
“Very well, ma’am.” Barlow’s countenance was inscrutable, no indication of the speculation running riot below the surface calm. He and Mrs. Harris left, and Diana could only imagine the discussion the two old friends would have out of her hearing. But she also knew that no word, gossip or otherwise, about the goings-on under a Sommerville roof would leave the premises.
She stretched a hand to pull Hera’s ears as the dog nudged her thigh for attention. “Shall we go for a walk, girl? Hercules, walk?”
Both dogs stood up, heads cocked, regarding her with intelligent eyes. “I’ve been neglecting you. I’m sorry.” She moved to the door, the hounds ahead of her, waiting impatiently for her to open it. She had put on a light jacket and was crossing the hall with the dogs bounding eagerly around her when the doorbell rang. Her heart jumped. Not Aunt Tabitha surely? Not yet?
She stood still, waiting, as Barlow, in his unhurried fashion, opened the door.
“Fenella, Petra,” she cried as two women stepped into the hall. “Oh, it does my heart good to see you both. I’ve missed you so.”
“And how we’ve missed you, dearest,” Fenella said, her deep, resonant voice carrying as always.
“Oh, darling, we’re so sorry about Jem.” Petra, tears sparking in her eyes, ran to Diana, her arms outstretched. The three women embraced, while the dogs sat by the front door with an air of patient resignation.
The friends broke apart just as Rupert came down the stairs. He paused on the bottom step, drawing on his gloves as he took in the scene. “Good morning, Fenella, Petra.” His voice was calm and even.
They turned as one toward him. “Rupert, you’re here . . . well, of course you are,” Petra said in a rush. She hurried over to him and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. He gave her a quick hug. It was impossible not to hug Petra.
Fenella held out her hand. “Rupert, it’s good to see you.”
He smiled and lightly brushed her fingers with his lips. “And you, Fenella.” His gaze swept the hall, taking in the expectant dogs, the three women. “I am walking to Horse Guards. Lord Roberts requires my presence this morning. I can give the dogs a walk in St. James’s Park, if you like, Diana, while you spend time with your friends?”
The last thing she wanted was for him to do her favors, to insinuate himself into her daily routine, and yet . . . and yet she could not have the kind of conversation she needed, longed, to have with her friends while they were walking in the park.
“Thank you,” she murmured. His satisfied smile made her want to throw his offer in his face, but once again she would be cutting off her nose to spite her own face. She turned her back to him and addressed her friends. “Let’s go up to my parlor. We’ll have some privacy there.”
She caught the quick inquiring glance Fenella cast in Petra’s direction and knew that her rather stilted exchange with Rupert had not gone unnoticed. She gathered up the folds of her skirt and hurried upstairs, her friends on her heels. Once behind the doors of her mother’s parlor, she gave a little sigh of relief. “It’s so good to see you.” She embraced them both again. “I have so much to tell you. Take off your things and I’ll ring for coffee, or would you prefer sherry?”
“Coffee for the moment,” Fenella said, her large gray eyes fixed upon Diana’s countenance with an unnerving intensity. “I have a feeling we may be glad of the sherry later.”
“No fooling you as usual, Fenella,” Diana said with a rueful smile.
Fenella cast her jacket over the back of a chair and Petra shrugged out of her short cape, tossing it on top of the jacket. “I sense intrigue,” she stated.
“It’s not so much intrigue as a wretchedly complicated, totally unbelievable situation, and I could scream with frustration,” Diana responded, pulling the bell rope by the fireplace. “Let’s get coffee and I’ll explain it to you.”
Once Barlow had brought coffee and a plate of almond biscuits and the door had closed behind him, Petra demanded, “I’m dying of impatience, Diana. What is going on? What’s happened?”
“When we last saw you, we were waving you off on a White Star liner with an engagement ring on your finger. I can’t help noticing that your fingers are conspicuously bare,” Fenella observed, taking an almond biscuit between her own long white fingers.
Diana poured coffee into three shallow porcelain cups and glanced at Petra, whose hazel eyes were now filled with disquiet. She was never able to hide or disguise her emotions; they were always written clearly on her face.
“I’ll tell you, but it’s a long and complicated story, so bear with me.”
* * *
“Well, that is a pretty pickle,” Fenella observed when Diana eventually fell silent. “But why would your brother do that to you?”
“And why would Rupert make it so difficult for you?” Petra added. “He’s not behaving very well as far as I can see.”
“No,” Diana agreed. “And neither am I.” It was the first time she had admitted the possibility of being even the tiniest bit in the wrong herself. Or at least the first time she had acknowledged that her main aim so far had been to ensure that whatever the situation between herself and Rupert, she would come out the winner.
“Well, what else could you do?” Petra asked. “It is your house, after all.”
“Yes, and it seemed to me you made him a perfectly reasonable offer to buy him out,” put in Fenella, tapping the side of her cup with an elegant manicured fingernail.
Diana smiled. It was very comforting to have such wholehearted support. “I think if it hadn’t been such a shock—and I still don’t know why Jem would do such a thing—then I might have handled it with a cooler head. Now, I’ve just created a war.”
“Well, I think you had every right,” Petra asserted stoutly. “After what happened. Rupert didn’t even try to deny the story about the girl?”
“Or even try to explain?” Fenella added.
Diana shook her head. “No, he didn’t say a word. He just looked at me, then turned and left me on the riverbank.” She could still see the look he’d given her . . . startled at first, then a flicker of what for a moment she had thought was hurt, and then the pure flame of an almost incredulous anger. She’d waited for two days for him to speak, to explain, to make some kind of approach, and Rupert had maintained only an icy silence. Finally, unable to bear it another minute, she had confronted him, telling him that she had no wish to continue the engagement and had handed him back the ring. Somehow, she had expected him to protest, to offer some kind of explanation or even an apology. Rupert had merely taken the ring, bowed and wished her a good day. And, apart from a glimpse of him at her father’s funeral, that was the last time she had been in his company or even heard from him until the previous day, when this whole ghastly situation had unfolded.
“But the upshot of it all is that if he won’t live somewhere else, somehow we have to maintain a public charade of wedded bliss in order to avoid a scandal,” she said. “And just how I’m to achieve that, I really don’t have a clue.”
“Well, you’d better get a ring of some sort on your finger for a start,” Fenella said practically. “Oh, it’s ridiculous,” she added, shaking her head. “Why would Rupert force such a charade on you? It’s not reasonable.”
“I wish I knew. Vengeance perhaps,” Diana replied. “I broke the engagement unilaterally. Maybe his pride . . . ?” She shrugged. “Whatever the reason, unless I yield and leave, it seems he’s going to insist upon this arrangement.” She got up and went to ring the bell for Barlow. “It’s noon. It’s time for something a little stronger than coffee.”
“Will you be requiring luncheon for you and your guests, Miss Diana?” Barlow inquired when he answered the summons.
Diana glanced interrogatively at her friends. “You’ll stay, won’t you?”
“Of course we will,” Petra said. “Thank you, Barlow.”
“Where would you like it served, ma’am?” He addressed Diana.
She frowned. The dining room was too big, the yellow parlor was not yet ready for use. “Is the small breakfast room set up yet?”
“Mrs. Trimball and Izzy worked on it this morning. I think you will find it satisfactory.”
Diana nodded. “Good then, we’ll take our luncheon there. But sherry first, please, Barlow.”
“So, first things first,” Fenella said. “Petra and I will support this play, of course. We’ll put it about that we’ve seen you and that you’re settling in so not up for callers just yet, which is really true. Then I suggest we have tea at Fortnum’s in a couple of days and you’ll see and be seen there. But first, you need to get a ring.”
Diana shrugged. “That’s no problem. I have plenty of my mother’s to choose from. Something simple . . . she was never one for showy settings. There’ll be a small diamond in her case, I’m sure. I’ll have to find one before I visit Aunt Tabitha. Oh,” she said with a sudden gesture of exasperation, “why would Jem put me through this? What was he thinking?”
No one spoke again while Barlow set down the sherry decanter and filled their glasses. “Mrs. Harris said luncheon will be served in half an hour, Miss Diana. Will that be satisfactory?”
“Yes, perfectly, thank you.” Diana sipped her sherry.
“Perhaps Jem wasn’t thinking.” Petra picked up the conversation as if there’d been no pause. “After all, he wouldn’t be expecting to die so soon,” she continued rather tentatively. “Perhaps it was just a routine piece of business, a formality that all his fellow officers were taking care of.”
That was not a totally unreasonable explanation, Diana thought. Jem was only twenty-six when he was killed at Mafeking, and he was not one to have given much thought to death and dying. Like so many of his fellow soldiers, he didn’t believe they could ever lose a war against the Boers. Youth and a belief in immortality went hand in hand in those crazy days of jingoistic patriotism. He and Rupert were as close as brothers. Perhaps the possible consequences of such a will had not occurred to him. He could have seen it as a generous but obvious settlement that would not come to pass in the near future anyway. He would have assumed his sister would be married long before he faced his own mortality, even though she had disappointed him so bitterly by breaking her engagement to Rupert.
She took a sip of her sherry and felt a tiny bit less anguished at the thought that her brother had probably not intended to hurt her with his generosity. It would have been much better if that explanation had occurred to her at the beginning of this wretched business. Now she felt only remorse that she had instantly jumped to the conclusion that her brother had betrayed her.