A half hour later, when Wilton had gone and George was immersed in the newspaper, Amanda went upstairs to find Diana. When her knock had been acknowledged, she put her head around the door of Diana’s bedchamber and said, “Are you all right?”
Diana sat in an armchair next to the window, chin in hand, looking out. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry I lost my temper. I beg your pardon. It was silly.”
Amanda came in. “No, it wasn’t. Why should you think of nothing but the war? You were quite right. One must strike a balance. George and his friends have done nothing but fight for so long—many of them since they were little more than boys, actually—that it is difficult for them to shift their thoughts. And it is particularly hard for them now, since the outcome of their long war is about to be decided all over again, and they are not allowed to be there. And when it is a question of gossip or assemblies, which would not interest George, at least, even in the calmest times…well…” She shrugged.
Diana grimaced. “I know. I was stupid. It was just that they both seemed to hold me responsible for Boynton’s presence, and”—she spread her hands, searching for a phrase strong enough and failing to find one—“I am not.”
“Of course you are not.” Amanda smiled. “They know that. They were simply making pronouncements, as men will do. They are almost always sorry afterward.”
“What do you mean?”
Amanda colored slightly. “Well, it is a thing I have noticed. Men are fond of sweeping declarations, don’t you think? They like to tie everything up in a phrase, which is often quite outrageously untrue, and throw it out like an edict. Later, when they are cooler, they grow more reasonable.” She hesitated, considering. “Actually, they usually forget the matter entirely, and you can quietly do as you like. I remember we had a cook once…” She paused. “But you don’t care for that.”
“On the contrary,” answered Diana. “I am fascinated.” She was also impressed, as she had been several times before, with the changes in Amanda since they had known one another as girls. Diana had had no opportunity to observe the male sex or learn its quirks. Amanda had, and Diana sensed that her friend had made the most of her chance. “Do you not sometimes feel deceitful?” she asked.
“When I do as I please despite George’s…hasty decrees?” Amanda shrugged. “He doesn’t really mean it, you see. That is, sometimes he does, and I can tell. In those cases, I either obey or tell him my opinion, and we discuss the matter.” She smiled. “‘Discuss’ is a mild word for some of those occasions. But mostly he just needs to explode. Often it is about something quite different from our conversation—an orderly’s stupidity perhaps, or poor forage for his men. Afterward he is all right again. He does not really care where I purchase my chickens or”—she smiled again at Diana—“whether I enjoy a ball and forget about the war. He is merely…fulminating.”
Diana laughed. “What a word.”
Her friend’s eyes danced. “I learned it from a lieutenant of artillery.”
“But do you really think that they will forget all about Boynton and all of that”—she made a helpless gesture—“this morning?”
“Oh, George will. He will scarcely remember Mr. Boynton’s existence tomorrow.” She dimpled. “Unless he should happen to leave his phaeton in George’s path again, and I doubt he will.”
Diana frowned, taking this in.
“With Captain Wilton, the case is rather different, I think,” Amanda added slowly, watching her friend’s face.
“Why?”
“Well, I’m not certain, mind, but I believe that he was jealous.”
“Jealous?” Diana was incredulous. “Of Mr. Boynton? But what reason could he possibly have…?”
“Boynton is very elegant. Many women are dazzled by such…ensembles. And he does seem to be taken with you.”
“But do you mean Captain Wilton would be bothered because I danced with Mr. Boynton? Do you think he would care…?” Diana broke off, confused and thrilled by this new idea. The possibility that Robert Wilton resented her acknowledgment of another man, even such a pallid one as she had given Boynton, was not unpleasing. Indeed, the thought made her smile slightly and gaze out the window from under lowered eyelids. Seen in this light, the morning’s events looked quite different. Her resentment toward Wilton dissolved, though she still believed she had been right to speak as she had.
Amanda had no trouble interpreting her look. “Why do you like him so?” she asked. “I mean, he is well enough, but… I don’t mean to offend you.”
Diana shook her head. “It is the way he is. That is a poor explanation, I know, but I am not certain I can better it. He is…oh, aware of one’s hesitations and willing to let them be. He understands that others may feel what he does not, and just as deeply. He is intelligent and amusing.” Diana shrugged. “And, of course, he has the most wonderful smile. I think him handsome.”
“I never said he wasn’t,” began Amanda, then paused as she saw the other’s teasing look. She shook her head. “Incorrigible. Your reasons are very sound. I am impressed. I was not half so sensible when I first met George.”
This made Diana look up quickly, then down. Amanda was not mocking her, but the comparison somehow saddened Diana and dissipated the warm glow she had been feeling. She was being sensible, just as she had been so entirely the opposite seven years ago. Yet “sensible,” when spoken aloud, sounded so drearily practical and dull. In a sudden flash, she remembered her trembling excitement when she had gone to meet Gerald Carshin as a girl. Had that feeling gone forever? Yet it had brought her only disaster. Raising her chin, Diana took herself firmly in hand. She was wiser as well as older now, and she would be guided by her “sensible” mind.
In the afternoon, postponing their drive, Amanda and Diana walked down into the town to visit the Pump Room. It was not the fashionable hour, but Amanda had been feeling a trifle unwell the past few days, and she had decided to try the waters. They kept a leisurely pace, gazing into shop windows and stopping once to speak to an acquaintance. When they reached the rooms, they found them sparsely populated. Amanda went at once to the gleaming pumps and procured a glass, drawn for her by one of the attendants. “It smells nasty,” she said when she returned, sniffing doubtfully at the contents.
“Throw it away,” suggested Diana, who wholeheartedly agreed.
“Oh, no. They were so kind in getting it for me, and they would see.”
“We can walk into another room and find a discreet place to dispose of it.”
Amanda shook her head. “I mean to drink it. I haven’t been feeling the thing at all. It is just…” She eyed the glass.
Diana laughed. “Well, you decide. I would chuck it out the window. But I will support you while you drink. Shall we sit down?”
They did, and Amanda took a small sip. “Ugh.”
Diana couldn’t help but laugh again, though she pressed her lips together when Amanda shot her an indignant look.
“It is all very well for you. You never complain of so much as a headache. I suppose you have no idea how uncomfortable it is to feel your whole insides heaving about like the sea.”
“I fear not.” Diana’s eyes sparkled.
Amanda took another tiny sip. “Well, perhaps I shall slip something into your dinner one night, to show you. It is the most dreadful sensation.”
“I’m sure it must be,” replied her friend, truly sympathetic.
“Oh, look, there is Mr. Boynton. Do you suppose that is his aunt?”
Diana turned to see Ronald Boynton escorting a very large older woman into the Pump Room. They moved slowly, less, it appeared, because of the lady’s vast bulk than due to her health. It was obvious that she had been seriously ill. Diana watched as they made their way to the nearest chair. Boynton settled his companion, then fetched a glass of the waters.
Not until he was seated did he notice the two women. Then, with a hurried word to his aunt, he rose and came across to them. “An unexpected pleasure, to see you so soon again,” he said. He saw Amanda’s glass. “You’re not drinkin’ that awful stuff?”
Amanda nodded without enthusiasm.
“You’ll be sick,” was his blunt reply. “Seen it a hundred times. It only helps if you’re already half-dead.”
Seeing that Amanda did not appreciate this information, Diana said, “Is that your aunt?”
Boynton indicated that it was.
“And have the waters helped her?”
“She’s forever coddling her insides with some nostrum or other. The waters are no worse. And no better, far as I can see.”
His uncaring tone made both women gaze at him with disdain. “She looks as if she has been very ill indeed,” said Amanda, who looked rather green herself.
“She always appears on her last legs, yet never is,” answered Boynton. He seemed unconscious of both his callousness and their contempt. “By the by, I have had some good news from London.” He did not wait for them to ask what it might be, which was lucky, for neither was about to do so. They were directing pitying glances toward his unfortunate relative. “A few of my friends may toddle down here soon,” he told them. “Seems London’s dashed dull.” He paused. “Of course, Bath is worse, but I shan’t tell them that because it won’t be once they arrive. Most sportin’ set of fellows you could meet.” He looked at them as if conferring a particular favor. “Lord Faring, you know. And five or six others. Quite a party.”
But Amanda and Diana had been diverted. Awed, they had watched Lady Overton struggle up from the chair where her nephew had left her and progress slowly but majestically toward them. She looked, thought Diana, like a massive ship under full sail.
“Ronald,” she said now, in a tone that made all three of them straighten and Boynton start visibly.
He turned at once and sprang up. “Oh, Aunt Sybil. Have you finished your dose? Care for another?”
Diana and Amanda exchanged an amazed glance. The change in Boynton’s voice was complete. His air of slightly weary superiority had vanished. He sounded like a schoolboy who abjectly hopes he will not be caned, but expects that, in fact, he will be.
Lady Overton merely surveyed the group. Her eyes were very keen in her broad face, Diana saw, and she began to revise her opinion of the lady’s state.
Apparently the older woman found them acceptable, for her next words were, “Do you intend to present your friends to me, Ronald?”
Boynton actually flushed. “Oh. Of course. Aunt Sybil, Mrs. Trent and Miss Gresham.”
Lady Overton nodded. Amanda and Diana had already risen, and they murmured greetings. “Will you take my chair?” offered Diana.
“No, thank you. We must be going. My doctor says I must walk as much as possible.” Lady Overton’s expression suggested that she found this advice unpalatable. “Come, Ronald.”
“Yes, aunt,” said the dandy in a cowed voice. Diana suppressed a smile.
Lady Overton took his arm, leaning on it rather more heavily than she really needed to, Diana thought, and they started to turn away. At the last moment, her ladyship looked back over her shoulder. “You should lie down, young woman,” she told Amanda. Then, gripping so tightly that Boynton showed a distinct list to the side, she moved away.
“Well.” Diana laughed. “There is some justice after all. She is precisely the sort of aunt Mr. Boynton deserves. How George will enjoy it when we tell him! And I had imagined her as such a despised, neglected creature. We must invite her the next time Boynton wishes to come visit, Amanda.”
“Yes.” But Amanda did not laugh. “Diana, I think, perhaps, I should go home now. I…don’t feel well.”
Diana turned at once. Indeed, her friend was terribly pale and seemed unsteady. “My dear, of course! Here is your shawl. Take my arm.”
Though she would normally have rejected any such suggestion, Amanda did so. She was trembling, Diana found, and her hands were icy cold. Frightfully concerned, Diana led her toward the door.
“It must be the waters,” said Amanda. “Mr. Boynton was right, it seems. They’ve disagreed with me.”
“We will get you a chair,” promised Diana. “You’ll be home in a trice.”
“It is so ridiculous, but I think I would like to ride.”
“There is no question about it.” Arriving at the street, Diana looked around for an empty chair. Seeing one not far away, she signaled to the chairmen, and, in another moment, Amanda was settled inside. Diana walked beside the window, keeping an anxious eye on her friend. Amanda had leaned back, rested her head on the plush, and closed her eyes. She was still alarmingly white. Privately hoping it was nothing serious, Diana said, “Those waters would make anyone sick. You must not take any more, Amanda.”
“I shan’t! How can they call them medicinal?”
“Some people believe anything nasty is medicine. Only think of the dreadful messes we were given when we had the whooping cough.”
Amanda laughed weakly, as Diana had hoped she would. They had been ill together as children, and Amanda had stayed at the Greshams’ house in order to keep her sisters from infection.
“Here is the hill,” she added. “We are nearly there.”
The chairmen labored a bit going up toward the Royal Crescent. Diana slowed her pace to match theirs and wished they were home.
A tall, thin figure emerged from George Street and turned toward them. Diana felt a flood of relief. “Captain Wilton!”
He looked up at once, and smiled, then frowned as he saw Diana’s expression. “Is something wrong?” he asked, approaching.
“Yes, Amanda is ill. I am taking her home, but could you go ahead and warn them? A doctor should be sent for, I think, and… Oh, I don’t know what else.”
“Of course,” he replied, concerned, and turned to go.
Only then did Diana notice his cane and remembered his injury. “Oh, perhaps I should go and you stay with Amanda,” she blurted.
“Nonsense,” was his only reply, and he set off at a rapid pace, swinging his wounded leg a little with each step but clearly quite able to hurry.
Diana breathed a sigh of relief, certain that she had put the problem in good hands.
“’Op it, Jem,” said the leading chairman. “The lady’s sick like.”
The men went faster. Diana wasn’t certain whether they were truly sympathetic or worried about Amanda regurgitating the horrid waters in their chair. A bit of both, she concluded. In ten minutes they reached the house and found its entire population waiting on the pavement for their arrival. George Trent looked nearly as pale as his wife as he hurried forward to help her up. “Amanda! What is it? Are you all right?”
“Only a trifle queasy,” she replied, trying to stand straight without swaying. “I foolishly drank some of the waters, and they have disagreed with me. I shall be fine in a little while, when I have lain down.”
“I’ll take you up.”
“I can walk,” she protested.
“Nonsense.” And he swept her into his arms and carried her inside.
“I’ll pay off the chair,” said Captain Wilton. “You go ahead.”
Diana walked in with the maids. “Has someone gone for a doctor?” she asked.
“Yes, miss. Billy went. He said one of the grooms next door knew a good one, since his mistress is sickly.” The girl wrung her hands. “Will she be all right, miss?”
“Of course! Send the doctor up as soon as he arrives.”
“I will, miss.”
Diana ran up the stairs. She found Amanda lying on her bed and George sitting beside it holding her hand. “The doctor should be here soon,” she told them.
Amanda started up. “Oh, I don’t need a doctor. It is passing already.”
“Nonetheless,” replied George.
His wife sank back. “This is all so silly. It is my own fault for drinking those dreadful waters. They are such a cheat, George.”
“Undoubtedly. Yet you weren’t feeling quite the thing before, either.” He grimaced. “I sometimes fear that living abroad has ruined your constitution, Amanda. And it is all my doing. I—”
“It has not! I never heard anything so ridiculous.” Amanda struggled to a sitting position. “Look, I am much better already.”
George gently pushed her down again. “If you move before the doctor comes, I shall tell him you are a dreadful invalid.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “He would only recommend the waters, and then I should be.”
They heard the bell below, and, in the next moment the maid was ushering a kindly looking older gentleman into the room. “Dr. Clark,” he announced. “Your groom said I was wanted.”
“My wife is ill,” said George. “She took a glass of the waters at the Pump Room, and they have disagreed with her.”
Dr. Clark raised his bushy gray brows. “Indeed?”
“She is delicate,” added George.
“I am not!” Amanda sat up again, defiant. “I feel much better already. I daresay—”
“Perhaps I should be the one to do that,” the doctor interrupted, though so jovially that it could not offend. “I shall just examine you, since I am here, eh? And then we shall see.”
“But—”
“If you will leave me with my patient.” Dr. Clark indicated the door.
Diana went out. She left her shawl in her own bedchamber, then walked downstairs again. She would catch the doctor as he left, she thought, and find out his opinion.
“How is she?” asked Robert Wilton, coming out of the drawing room and into the hall.
“Oh, you startled me! I thought you had gone.”
“With Mrs. Trent so ill? How could I? But I am sorry I surprised you.”
Diana waved this aside. “The doctor is examining her. He doesn’t seem too concerned.”
“I daresay it is nothing.”
“I hope so.”
They fell silent, Diana too worried to chat and Wilton watching her face with compassion and admiration. The minutes passed. After a while, Diana looked up and said, “Oh, I’m sorry. I was thinking.”
“It is not of the least consequence.”
Grateful to him for refraining from meaningless chatter, Diana smiled. He responded, and their eyes held for a long moment, mutually appreciative. The exchange was broken only by footsteps on the stairs.
Turning, Diana saw the doctor. “How is she?”
“Quite all right,” he replied. “A passing queasiness. She must stay away from our waters. They are not for everyone, you know. But there is nothing whatever wrong.” He seemed to emphasize this word unduly, and his eyes were bright under the bushy brows, but Diana was too relieved to notice anything else.
“Oh, I am so glad!”
“Thank you for coming so promptly, doctor,” said George Trent, who had followed him down the stairs. Major Trent was grinning.
“Happy to oblige.” Dr. Clark took his hat from the maid, bowed slightly, and departed.
“I must go back to Amanda.” George disappeared upstairs.
Diana let out a great sigh.
“You were very concerned about your friend,” said Wilton.
“Of course.”
He smiled. “I was about to send this. I may as well leave it.” He held out an envelope addressed to both the Trents and Diana.
“What is it?”
“An invitation. I thought it wrong to call again on the same day, but the idea occurred to me, and I hoped to secure your consent.”
“My…”
“All of you, that is,” he added hastily.
“But for what?”
“An excursion to Beechen Cliff. A picnic, perhaps.” Seeing her inquiring look, he said, “Have you heard of it? It is on the other side of the river, and the views are splendid.”
“Ah.”
“One can see the whole town, and beyond to the hills opposite.”
“It sounds lovely.”
“Will you come, then? Next week?” He leaned a little forward.
“I shall have to ask Amanda. And be certain she is recovered.”
“Yes. Of course.” But his face fell.
“I should like to, very much,” Diana added, and she felt her heart beating faster.
Wilton smiled, blue eyes lighting. “Would you? Good.”
“I’ll speak to Amanda later on.”
“Yes.” There was a pause. “I should be going.”
“Thank you for helping earlier.”
He brushed this aside.
“And for the invitation.” Diana felt elated but weary. The events of the previous hour had taken a toll.
Captain Wilton seemed to sense her fatigue. He simply bowed and said goodbye. When the door shut behind him, Diana moved automatically to the narrow window beside it and watched him walk away, his gait only a touch awkward from his wound. The set of his shoulders and the small curls of brown hair at the back of his neck touched her somehow, and she went back up to Amanda clutching his invitation to her breast.