Chapter Seventeen
Diana returned to Cavendish Square that afternoon feeling much more cheerful than when she’d left, swinging a hatbox by its silk ribbon. “Good afternoon, Barlow.” She greeted the butler with a smile. “Is the colonel in?”
“Yes, the colonel is in.” It was Rupert who answered her as he came down the staircase, the dogs at his heels.
To Diana’s relief, he too looked to be in a better mood now. The dogs greeted her as if she had been gone for a year, pressing wet noses against her gored linen skirt. “You’re slobbering all over me.” She pushed them away fondly, and they sat gazing up at her in adoration.
“What have you got there?” Rupert inquired, indicating the hatbox.
“Oh, well, while you’ve been keeping your nose to the grindstone, I’ve been having a very frivolous time shopping,” Diana said, immediately wishing she had not made this oblique reference to their earlier acrimony.
Rupert didn’t rise to the bait, however, merely crossing the hall to open the library door, holding it for her.
Diana accepted the invitation, walking past him into the room, saying lightly, “I bought the most delicious hat, with a big floppy brim and silk roses in the band. It will be perfect for the October meeting at Newmarket. Cameron said he was thinking to give Kimberley Diamond a tryout then, just to see how she performs on the flat in an actual race. Depending, of course, on how she does in training.”
“I’m not sure I’d agree with that.” Rupert perched on the arm of the sofa, regarding her closely.
“Oh?” Diana looked askance. “Why not?”
“I think it would be prudent to keep her hidden and spring her on the racing world next summer. I don’t think we should expose her too soon. Let her take the punters by surprise.”
Diana considered this, idly swinging the hatbox. “You may have a point,” she conceded after a moment. “But I’d like to discuss it with Cameron. He is the expert, after all.”
“Certainly,” he agreed.
Diana nodded. At least that had been a civil exchange of differing opinions. She turned back to the door.
“Are you dining in?”
Diana paused, one hand on the doorknob. She didn’t turn to face him as she said carelessly, “No, a party of us are going to Le Dome for dinner before the Grangers’ soiree. You did say you didn’t wish to go to the soiree.” She gave an expressive shrug but still didn’t turn to look at him and so didn’t see his frown and the way his face closed abruptly. When he said nothing, she continued on her way upstairs.
Rupert got to his feet, going over to the window. He stood there, hands clasped at his back as he stared out at the windswept garden. He didn’t want to go to the Grangers’ soiree—he’d lost all taste for such social diversions—and he realized he didn’t want Diana to go either. But he had no justification for playing dog in the manger. They had agreed to act as if their marriage was one of convenience, which, of course, it was, he acknowledged caustically. A sham of convenience. But for the life of him, at present he couldn’t see how to change that. He had woven them both into an impossible situation, and like a fool, he hadn’t foreseen this consequence of his decision to manipulate Diana into accepting his reappearance in her life.
He was still in the library when the doorbell rang an hour later. He heard Barlow answer it, and the cheerful tones of Jack Marsden brought back his frown. The man seemed to be making Cavendish Square his home from home. He heard Diana call out as she came swiftly downstairs.
“Hello, Jack. You’re very punctual.”
“How could I be late with such a pot of gold at the end of my rainbow?” Jack responded. “You look wonderful, Diana.”
Rupert, listening behind the library door, felt a renewed surge of irritation. Such facile flimflam from an overprivileged idler. He opened the door and stepped into the hall. “Marsden.” He accorded the visitor an indifferent nod, forced to acknowledge as he did so that Jack Marsden was a very good-looking man. Evening dress suited his lean, athletic physique, and Diana, descending the staircase with a swift step, was inevitably aware of it.
She did look wonderful, though, in a low-cut gown of lavender taffeta with purple velvet banding at the neck, wrists and hem, a perfect complement to her eyes. Her pale complexion was delicately tinged with pink and she wore a sapphire choker encircling her long white throat. For a moment, he fought with himself, fought the primitive need to claim her in front of Marsden as his own. Instead, he had to watch as she gave Jack Marsden her hand, had to watch as he brushed his lips across her fingers, had to watch as she leaned in and lightly touched his cheek with her lips.
Her easy manner, her swift repartee, her ready laugh, so light and melodious, had always distinguished her. It made her seem flirtatious, but Rupert knew it was simply the way Diana was. She never paid attention to the formality of social convention, and it was one of the reasons he had first loved her.
She turned her radiant countenance toward him as she drew on her white silk gloves. “Are you sure you won’t come to the Grangers’, Rupert? We’re going to dinner first, but we should be there soon after nine o’clock.”
Was it a genuine invitation, or merely part of the pretense of an agreeable marriage?
It was impossible to tell. Rupert forced a smile to his lips. “Not tonight, my dear. I have work to do. But you go and enjoy yourself. Look after my wife, Marsden.”
He turned and went back into the library as Jack said to his back, “Of course I will, Colonel.”
Rupert’s smile had come nowhere near his eyes, Diana thought as she adjusted the fur wrap around her shoulders. But her movements were no business of his. She straightened her shoulders and accepted Jack’s arm to the waiting hackney.
Strangely, though, she found that her natural ebullience had to be manufactured as the evening progressed. Jack was an agreeable escort, and the other members of their party at dinner were all people she had known since her debutante season. Fenella and her escort, Lord Singleton, were seated across from her, and she was aware of Fenella’s occasionally puzzled glances in her direction. Her friend was as closely attuned to Diana’s moods as she was to hers and clearly realized Diana was preoccupied, her conversation somewhat forced.
Fortunately, Jack didn’t seem to be aware of anything out of the ordinary and seemed happy enough just to have Diana at his side. As they left the restaurant after dinner, he draped her fur stole over her shoulders solicitously, tucked her arm into his as they walked to the waiting carriage and handed her up with a distinctly proprietorial air.
And it didn’t feel right. Diana struggled to keep a polite smile on her lips as she accepted these courtesies, but she didn’t want them. At least not from Jack. Not that Rupert would bother particularly with such careful attentions. He had known her for too long and had never treated her like a porcelain doll that might break at the slightest knock. He respected her independence. He’d expect her to know when she was cold and to do something about it herself.
Of course, the other side of this coin was that he was just as likely to assume control of any situation he felt wasn’t going the way he wanted it to. She couldn’t imagine Jack presuming so far; he was too much the gentleman.
Chiding herself for being unfair, Diana made an effort to smile and thank Jack, resisting the urge to brush his protective arm aside, to ignore his helping hand.
* * *
Rupert ate a solitary dinner at Cavendish Square, wishing he’d gone to his club instead. At least he’d have friendly company there. But he guessed most of his army friends would be attending the Grangers’ soiree. The Honorable Tim Granger had fought with them against the Boers but had given up his commission at the end of the war and settled into comfortable married life. Like most of the privileged young men who had bought commissions in the dragoons to fight in South Africa, he had family interests in the gold and diamond mines of the Transvaal. Once the threat to those financial interests was defeated, there was no need to remain in the army.
It was different for Rupert. He had joined the army with Jem, at that time with no interests himself in the disputed territory, but he had felt then that he had nothing better to do and, since the Sommervilles had been so good to him over the years, by fighting for their interests, he would be paying them back in some measure.
After Jem’s death at Mafeking, Rupert had fought with a passionate fervor that had brought him to the attention of the high command. He had been twice mentioned in dispatches and, without any active decision on his own part, had found himself appointed to headquarters. After the debacle with Diana and then Jem’s death, Rupert had no reason to leave the army, and because the army seemed to like him, he had let himself drift into the position in which he now was. At the beck and call of the commander in chief. And in an unholy tangle with Diana Sommerville. The image of Diana and Jack Marsden on the stairs rose vividly in his mind’s eye.
He twisted his wineglass by the stem, frowning, then abruptly pushed back his chair from the table and stood up. He would go to the soiree, play cards with his friends and keep an eye on Diana. Anything was better than imagining what she was up to with Marsden.
Did he really think she was up to something with Marsden ?
It wasn’t a question Rupert wanted to answer. He went to change into evening dress.
* * *
Diana looked around the crowded salon. A small orchestra played on a raised dais at one end of the long room and a few couples were dancing. Voices rose and fell from groups of guests around the room. Beyond an archway in an adjoining salon, others were gathered at card tables. Servants moved among the guests with trays of glasses and silver platters of delicacies.
Jack weaved his way toward her with a plate. “I found caviar,” he declared triumphantly. “I liberated it from a lieutenant colonel, who was not best pleased. But he’d put it down, so it was up for grabs. Have one.” He held out the plate.
Diana laughed. “Well done, Jack.” She took a square of dark bread liberally spread with the shiny black eggs of the sturgeon. She popped it whole into her mouth and savored the briny slipperiness. “Delicious.”
“Excuse me, Marsden, but I believe that belongs to me.” The loud voice came from a large man, whose ruddy cheeks and the slight paunch pushing against his white waistcoat indicated the beginnings of an overly indulgent lifestyle.
“Two more each and I’ll happily give it back, Cartwright,” Jack said with his disarming smile. “You did take your eyes off it, though.” He held out the plate to Diana. “Take two, Diana.”
She glanced at the newcomer, seeing his disgruntled expression. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” she said, holding out her hand. “Diana Sommervi . . . I beg your pardon.” She corrected herself. “Diana Lacey.”
Something appeared in his eyes, a quick, calculating look that disappeared so quickly, Diana thought she was mistaken. He bowed over her hand, but his disagreeable expression didn’t change as he said, “Mrs. Lacey. Lieutenant Colonel David Cartwright, at your service. Lacey is twice blessed, it seems. A charming wife and her brother’s inheritance. Some men have all the luck.”
He laughed as if he’d made a joke, but Diana found nothing amusing in the comment. She merely looked at him, her eyebrows quirked in silent question.
“My congratulations, ma’am.” He bowed again before relinquishing her hand.
He didn’t sound particularly congratulatory, Diana thought, but perhaps the loss of his caviar had affected his manners. “Thank you,” she said. “Jack, do give the colonel back his caviar and go and see if you can find a plate of our own.”
Jack, always obliging, did as she asked. “Here you are, Cartwright. Although I do consider it fair spoils, I always obey a lady’s request.” He offered a mock bow and went off in search.
“Shall we sit down, Mrs. Lacey, and enjoy the rest of these?” Cartwright suggested, indicating a pair of empty chairs set apart in a niche.
Diana conceded with some reluctance. She didn’t like the man. He made her uneasy. However, she sat down, her taffeta skirts settling around her. “I was well acquainted with your brother, ma’am,” her companion commented as he sat beside her, setting the platter on a small gilt table between them. “Please accept my condolences.”
“Thank you. You knew Jem well, then?” Despite her unease, Diana couldn’t resist the opportunity to discuss her brother.
“We were in the same regiment, but also in the same corps. Together with our host . . . and Colonel Lacey,” he added after a moment’s hesitation, so brief it was hardly noticeable. But Diana noticed it.
“Indeed,” she said. “Were you at Mafeking?”
“Yes, I was.” His expression darkened. “I was close to your brother when he was killed in the first charge.”
Diana’s heart seemed to pause its regular rhythm. “You saw him die?” she asked with difficulty. “My husband was beside him, but I have never asked him exactly what happened.” She closed her eyes for a second, remembering Rupert’s exact words in the letter he had sent her, telling her of her brother’s death. “He explained that Jem died of a bayonet thrust, but in the darkness and chaos of the attack, he couldn’t be certain of the details . . . of how it happened.”
“Really?” Cartwright’s eyebrows lifted a fraction. “I wasn’t aware your husband was in the line of defense at the time of the attack. But, of course, I could have missed seeing him.” A thin smile touched his mouth and his tone held a note of incredulity. “It was certainly chaotic, but the sun had just risen, so there was light. I witnessed every moment of the charge. And I saw clearly the bayonet thrust that killed your brother.”
Diana was aware of a coldness on the back of her neck, a slight shiver down her spine. Why were people telling her that Rupert wasn’t there beside Jem, supporting him against the enemy’s charge? Rupert had said unequivocally that he had been there. Why would he lie?
But she had promised to trust him. To accept his word on the understanding that he would tell her anything that concerned her.
“I expect Colonel Lacey’s attention was diverted in the attack,” she said with a vaguely dismissive gesture. “It must have been almost impossible to keep track of events in such a violent furor.” She looked around, desperate for a diversion, and saw with relief Jack weaving his way through the throng toward them, holding a platter aloft. “Jack, did you have any luck?” she greeted him with a welcoming smile, relief clear in her eyes and voice.
“I’ll take my leave.” Lieutenant Colonel Cartwright got to his feet, bowed to Diana with a cold smile. “A pleasure, Mrs. Lacey. If you’ll excuse me . . . Marsden.” He accorded Jack a cool nod and disappeared into the crowded salon.
“I really can’t warm to that man,” Jack stated, taking the now-vacant seat, setting the platter on top of the now-empty one. “See what delicacies I have brought you, ma’am?” He looked inordinately pleased with himself as he indicated the little salmon tartlets and caviar toast points. “And a footman is bringing us more champagne . . . ah, there he is.” He waved at the man with a tray of glasses coming toward them.
Diana let Jack chatter, smiled her thanks for the fresh glass and absently took a tartlet, mainly to keep her escort happy.
“There you are, Diana, I’ve been looking all over for you.” Fenella came up to her, her gown of bronze silk glimmering in the lamplight. “Oh, you found caviar.” She took a toast point from the platter.
“Let me fetch you a chair, Fenella.” Jack jumped to his feet and headed into the melee.
Fenella took his seat. “What’s the matter, dearest? You’ve gone rather pale.”
“Oh, it’s nothing. It’s hot in here, don’t you find?” Diana unfurled the delicate silk and ivory fan hanging from her wrist. “Too many people.”
“It is quite a squeeze,” Fenella agreed. “But it’s unlike you to swoon from the heat.”
Diana managed to laugh. “Of course I’m not swooning, goose. But I just had an encounter with a most disagreeable man. Do you know Lieutenant Colonel Cartwright?”
Fenella wrinkled her nose. “Only slightly, but he’s such a cold fish. And so superior. He struts around as if he knows everything you don’t.”
“Exactly,” Diana agreed. “He was at Mafeking, apparently.”
“Oh.” Fenella nodded her comprehension. “That explains it . . . why you’re looking so out of sorts. What was he saying?”
That Rupert had not been there to stand by Jem.
Diana shook her head. “Nothing of any consequence. I’d just rather not be reminded of it, that’s all.” She took a sip of champagne. “How’s Mark Singleton?”
Fenella shrugged. “He’s always good company. In fact, he told me a fascinating story about—”
“I have another chair, but you ladies look so engrossed in conversation, perhaps I should take it and myself away.” Jack’s easy voice interrupted Fenella, who instantly stopped her tale.
“No, don’t do that, Jack.” She got to her feet. “I need to go to the cloakroom and make a few repairs. Please . . .” She gestured to her vacated chair. “I’ll leave you and Diana to your delicacies.” She picked up a tartlet, waved it cheerily at them, popped it in her mouth and moved away, her silk skirts moving fluidly with each step.
“So, Jack, tell me some gossip,” Diana demanded, trying to recapture her ordinary light and easy manner.
Jack laughed. “Well, let me think . . .”
* * *
Rupert stood in the wide entrance to the salon, surveying the scene. He saw Diana with Jack Marsden cozily ensconced in a niche on the far side of the room. Diana was laughing at something Jack had said, and she tapped his hand with her fan in an intimately chiding gesture.
Rupert’s expression darkened. There was nothing inappropriate in the way they were behaving, but Diana’s smile, her lightly graceful gestures redolent of easy familiarity and comfort in her escort’s company, twisted his gut. He could remember all too vividly the time when she had eyes only for him, when that easy, flirtatious intimacy was directed only at him. In a crowded room, she would see no one but him, and he would see only Diana, radiant, her sloe eyes running over him, seeming to gather him in to their own private orbit.
In the old days, she would have felt his arrival, however far away he was, however many people stood between them. Her eyes would have turned instantly to him, her smile would have illuminated her face and she would have left whoever she was with and hurried to him, her hand outstretched, careless of what anyone else might think about the open, brazen delight she took in his presence. And now she wasn’t aware of him. She was engrossed in conversation with Marsden, her gaze intent on his face, her head slightly tilted to one side in a way Rupert watched with aching familiarity.
“Lacey, so glad you could come.” His host pushed his way through the throng toward him. “Your charming wife said you were engaged with Roberts. Positive slave driver, I’ve heard. You should have sold out with the rest of us . . . well, most of us, at least. Cartwright and several others are furloughed, of course. Makes them difficult company.” He clapped Rupert on the shoulder. “Come into the cardroom. There’s a vicious game of whist going on, and I know for a fact that Dickie Edwards wants to yield his hand. You’d be welcome to take his place.”
“In a minute, perhaps, Tim. I must first greet my wife.”
“Yes, of course, dear fellow. Of course, one mustn’t neglect the ladies.” With another shoulder clap, Timothy Granger wandered away across the room toward the cardroom.
Rupert made his way to the niche where Diana sat, still engrossed in conversation with Jack. Her laughter greeted Rupert as he approached, a merry trill of genuine amusement he realized he hadn’t heard in far too long.
“Something is amusing you, my dear,” he observed lightly as he reached them. “Care to share it?” He nodded a greeting to Jack Marsden.
Diana looked up at him in surprise. “What are you doing here, Rupert? You said you weren’t coming.”
“I changed my mind. I trust my presence doesn’t discommode you in any way.” He raised an eyebrow just a fraction.
Diana flushed a little. “No, no, of course not. How could it? Won’t you sit down?” She gestured to the third chair.
“Alas, no, I am expected at the whist table,” he said smoothly. “But whenever you’re ready to leave, let me know.”
“There’s no need for that. Jack will take me home,” she said, frowning.
“I’m sure he would be more than happy to do so. Nevertheless, as I’m here, when you’re ready to go home, let me know. I’ll be more than ready to accompany you.” He offered a benign smile to both of them and walked away to the cardroom.