Diana and Amanda were alone at the breakfast table the following morning. George had gone out for an early ride, as the day was unusually fine, and the two women took advantage of their solitude to indulge in a thorough discussion of the assembly. When they had reviewed the recent history of all the Trents’ old friends, the particularly striking toilettes each had noticed, and the pleasure each had felt in dancing, Amanda fixed her friend with twinkling eyes. “Now, Diana, you must say which of your partners you liked best. That is the obligation of an unmarried girl, and the prerogative of a married woman is to interrogate.”
“You are scarcely two years older than I,” she laughed.
“Do not try to divert me. Which?”
The gold flecks in Diana’s eyes sparkled. “Mr. Boynton asked me to stand up with him. Did you see?”
“Boynton! You cannot mean that ridiculous man who accosted you in the street! Did he actually force himself upon you? Diana, you should have—”
“No, no. I was properly introduced. Captain Wilton presented me.”
Amanda’s mouth dropped open, and her dark eyes grew round.
Diana could not help but laugh again. “It seems Mr. Boynton is a friend of his brother’s.”
“Ah. That explains it. I daresay Captain Wilton was not overpleased to meet him here.”
“No, I don’t think he was.”
“I was so mortified when I realized that I had placed Robert in an awkward position. I should have realized that he cannot dance yet. I hope he was not offended.”
Diana shook her head.
“And you are not telling me that Mr. Boynton was your favorite partner, Diana.”
“Why not?” But she smiled.
Amanda did not even acknowledge this. “No. But perhaps…Robert Wilton?” She raised her eyebrows.
“I like him,” admitted Diana, never having been schooled in dissimulation.
“He is a fine fellow. Yet not so handsome as Major Beresford. Or so polished as Colonel Ellmann. If it weren’t for George, I should develop a tendre for him myself.” She watched Diana closely as she spoke these names, and gathered more information than Diana dreamed from her expression.
“They are charming,” she agreed. “But what of you, Amanda? You enjoyed the ball?”
“You are trying to turn the subject!”
“I?” Diana was all mock astonishment.
Her friend laughed and let it go. She had found out what she wanted to know in any case. “I had a splendid time.”
“George seemed to enjoy himself, too.”
“Yes.” This word was spoken softly and gratefully. “Oh, Diana, I truly believe he is getting over his melancholy, and his weakness. This visit was an inspiration. Things are so much better between us.”
“I am glad,” Diana replied, sincerely, but with some reticence. She did not know how to treat confidences about marital difficulties. She wished to lend her aid without prying, and this line seemed appropriate.
Amanda appeared to understand. “What shall we do today?” she asked with a warm smile. “More shopping?”
“Not yet. I have had enough of dressmakers and milliners for a while. I have begun to feel like some sort of doll, pinned and prodded and spoken of as if I were not present, or perhaps merely half-witted.”
“What then?” laughed her friend.
“A walk? Or perhaps a drive in the countryside?” Diana had been feeling the need for space and air. She was accustomed to daily tramps on the moors in all weathers. “You needn’t come if you don’t wish to.”
“I should like a drive. I have never seen the country about here. Shall we go this afternoon? George may come with us.”
Diana nodded. “Perhaps you would prefer to go together. You needn’t feel that I—”
“You are the soul of discretion,” interrupted Amanda, and they exchanged a look which said all that was necessary on this subject. Diana was relieved to see that she had not been a burden. “I shall write some letters this morning, then,” she went on.
“I will begin my new novel.”
The two ladies thus settled happily in the drawing room after breakfast, and for some time the comfortable silence was broken only by the scratching of Amanda’s pen and the rustle of pages as Diana turned them. Occasionally, looking up from her novel, the latter felt a marvelous contentment. She had never imagined, living in isolation these past years, that she would come to this.
Around midmorning the bell rang, and the maid came up to announce a caller. Amanda gave her friend a speaking glance as Captain Robert Wilton was announced and gave orders that he should be admitted at once. Diana closed her book, started to rise, then simply sat straighter in her chair.
Wilton appeared, leaning slightly on his cane, and greeted them both.
“George should be back at any moment,” said Amanda. “Do sit down.” She moved from the writing desk to the sofa.
He hesitated, then joined her, taking the end nearest Diana’s chair. There was a short silence.
“A fine day,” said Amanda. The others agreed. “I hope you enjoyed the assembly last night, Captain Wilton?”
“As much as a sensible person can, in these days. I am not one of those who enjoy fripperies while important events are afoot abroad.” He had meant this to open the way to a discreet warning about Boynton. All night, he had been absorbed with the necessity to guard Diana, and he had called with this single desire. But, as soon as he spoke and took in their response, he saw that he had blundered. “I did not mean that you…” he began. “That is, I was referring to those who never consider serious matters. An evening’s entertainment is certainly harmless, but there are those…” He ran down, miserably aware of his lack of finesse.
“Of course,” agreed Amanda, wondering a little what her friend so admired in this man. He was well enough, but she herself was drawn to rather a different type. With a smile, she remembered a younger George and the way he had swept into her life.
“I understood that the regimental officers grasped every opportunity to arrange amusements during the pauses in the fighting,” said Diana, both to end the constrained silence and to make a point. It was all very well to complain that those at home ignored the war, and she understood his feelings, but it was not universally true, and she thought Captain Wilton a little single-minded. Diana had heard a great deal about soldiers’ lighter moments last night. “Not only dancing, but racing and all manner of other things.”
“Oh, yes,” said Amanda. “Wellington loves balls. And I remember once a young lieutenant in George’s regiment organized a donkey race. The riders had to sit backward. It was the funniest thing I ever saw.” She grinned impishly. “George won. You must ask him about it.”
Diana had seen Captain Wilton’s lips twitch. “But you did nothing so frivolous, I suppose,” she said.
“Compensation for hardship is somewhat different,” he responded, a reminiscent gleam in his blue eyes.
“Indeed, I have suddenly remembered,” put in Amanda. “Were you not one of those responsible for the ‘fox’ hunt before Vitoria?” She turned to Diana, her eyes dancing again. “They flushed a weasel, and pursued it six miles.”
Wilton burst out laughing. “Pluck up to the backbone, that weasel. Led us a merry dance, and got away in the end. Of course, our pack wasn’t quite up to snuff.”
“Three young hounds, a poodle, and a cocker spaniel,” giggled Amanda. Diana laughed with them, happy for the turn the conversation had taken.
“The poodle had some natural talent,” the captain informed her seriously, “but the cocker kept losing her nerve and turning for home. Our master of the hounds had a dev…deuced time keeping them to the scent.”
“Of the weasel,” added Amanda.
“Exactly.”
His smile made his eyes crinkle at the outer corners, Diana thought, and they held an entrancing mixture of warm humor, mischievousness, and generosity.
Meeting Diana’s interested gaze, he added, “I do not mean that everyone should be gloomy and think of nothing but the progress of the fighting. Far from it. But those who pretend that Napoleon does not exist, or that the war is simply a great spectacle put on for their entertainment, rouse my fury. Like your friend Boynton. He has a dubious reputation, you know.”
Amanda’s dark eyes lit with amusement, seeing why the captain had come. Diana was merely surprised. She opened her mouth to say that he was no friend of hers, just as the maid announced, “Mr. Ronald Boynton, ma’am.”
Amanda had to bite her lower lip as she rose to greet the new arrival. It was too ridiculous, she thought, that the man should come in at just the instant to cause such chagrin, of different sorts, in her two companions. It was almost like a play.
Mr. Boynton rose from bowing over her hand and turned to favor Diana with the same attention. “Miss Gresham,” he murmured. “Lovelier than ever.”
Captain Wilton returned his cordial nod with a glower, but this did not seem to strike Boynton as unusual. “I called to see how you did after the fatigues of the assembly,” he added as he sat down.
“It ended at eleven,” Diana pointed out. Bath hours were not London’s.
Boynton acknowledged the difference with a grimace. “Indeed. I was speakin’ of the fatigue engendered by tedium. I have never in my life encountered such a set of dowds and bores. I declare, some old poker face bent my ear for more than an hour about some rubbishin’ sea battle. Can you credit it?”
“Admiral Riley, perhaps,” answered Wilton, his voice filled with contempt.
“I shouldn’t be surprised. I don’t know why I come to Bath. It’s always so.”
“Well, why not go home, then,” said Amanda, polite but hardly warm.
Boynton grinned, leaning back in his chair and twirling his quizzing glass in one negligent hand. “Must dance attendance on my aunt, actually. Holds the purse strings. Been dippin’ a trifle deep at White’s, too.” He looked around as if to gather their admiration for this fashionable admission. “A spell of rustication was called for.”
With a small smile, Diana wondered what he would think of her home if he called Bath rustication. She imagined Mr. Boynton forced to spend even a month in her lonely house, and her smile widened.
Captain Wilton saw her expression with annoyance. How could she be amused by this lisping coxcomb? No sensible woman would endure him for a moment. Oddly, it did not occur to the captain that he and his mother and sisters had often found his brother Faring and his friends hilarious, and that they often rallied him unmercifully about his dandified dress and mannerisms. Diana’s response seemed something quite different, and ominous.
“Are you drinking the waters?” asked Amanda, angling for further amusement.
Boynton looked horrified. “I? No, no. Leave that to my aunt.”
“She is ill?”
“So she says. For my part, I think she enjoys playin’ the invalid and keepin’ her family dancin’ attendance round her bedside. Not a bad life, lyin’ about, eatin’ chocolates and readin’ novels, and gettin’ up whenever there is anything interestin’ on.”
“You are speaking of Lady Overton?” asked Wilton. Diana was struck by the change in his voice. Before, he had sounded so accessible and charming. Now his tone might have frozen the most impervious intruder.
Boynton did not seem to notice. He nodded. “That’s it.”
“I understood that she has been seriously ill all year. My mother mentioned that she nearly died recently.”
The other man shrugged “So she says. Myself, I think it’s just another excuse to change her will.” He turned to Diana. “She alters the deuced thing every month. One never knows where one stands.”
Wilton threw Diana a speaking look, as if to say: You see how callous and selfish this man is? Diana, who had reached a similar conclusion long ago, merely smiled slightly at him and lowered her eyes.
“So how is the knee?” Boynton added. “Faring mentioned you’d been hit. How long will your leave last? Perhaps you can muster out at last?”
“I shall return to my regiment as soon as the stiffness goes.” Wilton’s face was like stone.
Boynton shook his head. “You military fellows. Fire-breathers, eh? Can’t see it myself.” He turned to Diana. “I mean, the regimentals are all very well. Dashin’, some of them. But you’re bound to be posted abroad, and then where are you?”
“Just now, Belgium,” snapped Wilton, goaded.
“Exactly.” Boynton beamed on them all as if he had scored a hit.
Captain Wilton started to rise. He had had enough. “I must go,” he began, only to be interrupted by the entrance of George Trent.
“Some damn fool has left a high-perch phaeton in our stable yard he said without preamble. “I could hardly get Thunderer past to the door.” He surveyed the unwelcome crowd in his drawing room, looking quite daunting with his black eyepatch and impatient expression.
“Oh, dear,” answered Amanda. “I wonder whose…?”
“It’s mine,” said Boynton. “Bought it only three weeks ago, and couldn’t resist bringin’ it along to Bath. Slap up to the echo, what?” Belatedly, under George’s furious gaze, he added, “Sorry if it was blockin’ you. Stupid groom ought to have moved it.”
“Who,” growled Trent, “are you?”
At once Boynton was on his feet and bowing. “Beg your pardon. Forgot we hadn’t been introduced. Ronald Boynton. Friend of Miss Gresham’s, you know.”
This shifted George’s outraged attention to Diana, who nearly gasped at the unfairness of it. Friend, indeed!
Amanda made a gurgling noise, and Robert Wilton could not restrain a smile. Diana’s face had been so transparently readable.
“A new acquaintance, rather,” Diana said.
Boynton bowed again. “Alas. But with great hopes.”
“Fribble!” exploded George.
Everyone was still for a moment. Wilton was obviously struggling with a strong urge to laugh. Amanda looked amused but concerned at her husband’s rudeness. Diana was merely taken aback, and Boynton did not believe his ears. “Beg pardon?” he replied finally.
“Idiotic sort of carriage anyway,” added George. “Impractical, and deuced dangerous. Wouldn’t have one on a wager.”
Boynton’s shock deepened. “But my dear sir. Phaeton. Absolutely all the crack, y’know. Why, Prinny himself—”
“Bonehead,” muttered George, much more quietly than before. He was recovering his manners, slowly.
“Prinny!” exclaimed Boynton, aghast. “You really mustn’t say such things. Not aloud, at least. No, really, he’s dashed sensitive. Why, ever since Brummell remarked on his girth—”
“I’ll say what I like in my own house!” roared Major Trent. “And I was speaking of you, you jingling fop.”
Ronald Boynton was for a rare instant struck completely dumb. He did not entirely object to the epithet “fop,” but the tone of the major’s voice had made his contempt obvious, and Boynton was so accustomed to thinking of himself as the height of fashion—absolutely top of the trees—that it took him a moment to assimilate. When he had, he first gaped at the man, then shook his head. Clearly his host was as crude and ignorant as he looked. Years in benighted outposts far from London had blighted his taste beyond rescue. Boynton felt sincere pity for the ladies forced to live with such a barbarian. He threw them a commiserating glance. “Perhaps I should take my leave,” he suggested gently.
“Splendid idea,” replied Trent.
Boynton made a moue at Diana, shrugged slightly to show Amanda that he fully understood her plight, and made his way out of the room.
“Coxcomb,” said George, dropping into a chair. “Why did you let him in, Amanda?”
“Susan brought him up without asking. We did have another caller, after all.” She indicated Wilton with a nod.
“Yes. Hallo, Wilton. Well, you must tell the girl not to admit him after this. I can’t stand the creature. Diana, you should not be making such friends.”
This was too much. Diana hadn’t a particle of interest in Boynton, beyond mild amusement, but to be continually taxed with his friendship and blamed for his faults, and then forbidden something she had never desired, annoyed her into answering, “He is perfectly harmless, after all. I do not see what all the fuss is about.”
“I shouldn’t be too sure of that,” said Captain Wilton.
“Oh, you are all just as bad as the Londoners!” Diana stood. “They close their minds to the war, but you think of nothing else. Must everyone be so earnest and solemn that he cannot even laugh at the affectations of a man like Boynton? I shall not become so!” And with this, she gathered her skirts and swept out of the room. Robert Wilton’s censorious looks were simply beyond bearing. Why could he not be as before? Why must their growing understanding be spoiled by this idiocy?
In the drawing room, the three remaining exchanged an uneasy glance.
“I didn’t mean…” began George.
“I was only trying…” said Wilton at the same time.
“Never mind,” replied Amanda. “She will be all right in a bit.”