Amanda was fully recovered the next day. Indeed, she seemed in better frame than before. Captain Wilton’s expedition was duly agreed upon for the following Wednesday, and that day dawned clear and unusually warm, to the host’s great relief. Wilton fetched his party in a rented open barouche at midmorning.
Diana wore a new gown of white muslin sprigged with tiny dark-blue flowers and trimmed with ribbons of the same hue. Ruffles at neck, wrist, and hem adorned the rather plain cut. She had threaded her straw hat with a matching length of ribbon, and rejoiced that she might leave off a pelisse in the mild spring weather, though George insisted that Amanda don one over her rose-pink gown. As they climbed into the carriage, the ladies gallantly awarded the forward-facing seats, Diana saw admiration in Wilton’s eyes. A warm glow suffused her; she looked forward to spending an entire afternoon in Captain Wilton’s company.
They drove down into the center of Bath, across the Avon, and up again on the opposite bank. The road soon became steep, and the horses strained in their harness. “Shall we walk, Wilton?” asked George Trent.
“We’re nearly there.”
And, indeed, in a short time they turned sharply and came out onto Beechen Cliff, a parklike area above the town. “Oh my,” said Amanda. “You can see all of Bath spread out like a map. Look, there is the Abbey Church tower.”
“And there is Royal Crescent,” responded Diana, pointing. “I believe I can see our very windows. What a splendid place!”
Captain Wilton looked gratified. He climbed from the barouche and offered a hand to Amanda. “Shall we walk about a little?”
The four of them strolled together for a while, exclaiming over various landmarks and praising Wilton’s ingenuity in finding such a pleasant spot. But, gradually, the Trents dropped behind, Amanda leaning a little on her husband’s arm. Diana did not even notice her friend’s absence until they were a good distance off. Then she hesitated, suddenly very aware of her companion’s muscular arm under her hand and his shoulder occasionally brushing hers.
“Aren’t these fine old trees?” said Wilton, apparently feeling no constraint. “The prospect is particularly striking when framed by two branches, isn’t it? Look there.” He indicated a vista between two of the great oaks.
Diana agreed, at the same time telling herself that she was being silly. George and Amanda were still in sight. The proprieties were fully satisfied. Yet she had not been alone with Wilton since their first encounter, when her feelings had been far different.
“Ah, it is good to stroll again,” continued Wilton. “There was a time when I feared I never would.”
Diana’s preoccupation with herself evaporated. “You are not using your cane! I did not notice until just now.”
He smiled down at her. “No. I left it behind for the first time today. My knee is improving rapidly now.” He stopped and flexed it slightly to demonstrate. The movement was stiff, and his face showed some discomfort, but it was mixed with elation.
“So this outing marks an epoch,” laughed Diana. “We should celebrate it somehow.”
“It does indeed.” His blue eyes were serious as they met hers, and Diana had the feeling that he was speaking of something other than his leg. She drew a slightly shaky breath at the message he seemed to convey. “For the first time, I am nearly reconciled to my wound. I cannot help but regret being absent from the army, yet, if I had not been hit, I would never have come to Bath. That would have been a tragedy indeed.”
“It is a lovely place,” agreed Diana, feeling the response banal but unable to think of a better one under his intense gaze. Her heart was beating very fast.
“Far more so than I had ever imagined,” he replied.
He seemed to wait for some sign from her, and Diana was anxious to give it. But her tongue was suddenly clumsy. Once again she felt her inexperience, and the unfortunate effects of years of solitude. A young woman of five-and-twenty should not be so awkward, she told herself miserably. Captain Wilton would certainly expect more assurance than her blush. She made a great effort. “I had high hopes for this visit when we left Yorkshire. But they have been far surpassed.”
“Ah.” His face shifted slightly, the intensity a little eased by relief. “It appears we feel the same, then.”
Diana raised her chin and met his gaze squarely. “Yes.”
Their steps had slowed, and now they stopped altogether as the two of them looked at one another. A current of understanding passed between them, establishing many things without words. Diana knew at that moment that she loved, and was loved in return, and she felt that a wonderful future was opening up before her, requiring only a little more time to blossom.
Wilton seemed to feel the same, for he said nothing more just then. He merely tucked her hand a bit more securely into his elbow and walked on, his expression content.
“You were wounded at Bordeaux?” asked Diana after a while, eager to learn everything about him.
“Yes.” He laughed a little. “I survived the whole of the Peninsular War without a scratch, only to be hit at the fag end of the thing, when we had crossed into France. A ricochet, too, they tell me. Bounced off one of the big guns.”
“I wonder what it’s like,” mused Diana, almost to herself.
“Stopping a musket ball?” He was surprised.
She smiled at her own foolishness. “I mean the whole thing, really. The battle, and afterward. How idiotic I must sound to you.”
“No. But it is not a pleasant memory.”
“I beg your pardon. I should not have—”
“What I mean is, I don’t think you would thank me for recounting my ‘adventures,’” he interrupted.
Diana shook her head. “On the contrary. I should like to know, if you do not mind talking about it.”
He shrugged, as if uncertain about this himself, and paused. “The actual battle,” he said slowly then, “is all right. Mine is a cavalry regiment, you know, and, when with Wellington, I also fought with the cavalry. It goes so fast one’s memory is a blur, with vivid flashes, like tableaux. I remember a mount rearing and falling, an infantryman lunging with his bayonet, a friend standing in his stirrups and brandishing his saber for a charge. The rest of the time, you simply labor. It becomes automatic; your arm moves, you direct your horse to the thick of it.” He shook his head. “The waiting beforehand is far worse to me because you have time then to imagine all the horrors that might befall you and your men, you see. And of course, after, being wounded…” He shuddered.
“Was it very dreadful?” asked Diana softly, though she knew the answer from his face.
“It was the worst thing I have ever endured,” he replied, seeming hardly aware of his listener any longer. “My sergeant picked me up and got me away from the fighting to a wagon. From there it was as I imagine hell must be. We rode for hours in that infernal, jolting cart, the sun burning us up and the motion making wounds gape for the flies. We thought ourselves saved when we reached the hospital, but that was the worst of all. It was rank with fevers, and the room where the surgeon examined my knee was ankle-deep in blood; a pile of severed limbs higher than my head stood in the corner. I thought he would take my leg. The stench and the sights were so vile that I fainted as I tried to plead with him to leave it.” He drew a long, shaky breath. Diana pressed his arm, her gold-flecked eyes wide with horror and sympathy.
He looked down at her for a long moment, his expression quite blank. Then, suddenly, he came to himself and realized what he had said. “Good God! I…I beg your pardon. I forgot myself. I have never repeated these things to anyone, not even Trent, who no doubt saw worse. I don’t know what possessed me to say them to you. I haven’t the brains of a—”
“I’m honored that you did so,” Diana broke in. “It is flattering to receive such confidences.”
“Such confidences,” he echoed bitterly. “You should not be subjected to scenes so terrible.”
“You were,” she pointed out.
“Yes, but I am a soldier, trained to hardship and bitter necessities. When it is necessary to fight for one’s country—”
“You are always saying that no one should ignore the war,” Diana interrupted. “If more people heard such stories, they could not.”
“You are right.” But he looked uneasy. “Yet, despite my arguments, I cannot wish it. It is enough that soldiers bear these things. Those who can should remain…” He hesitated, looking down at her. “…unburdened.”
“Yet burdens are often lighter when shared.”
Wilton shook his head as if to dismiss her statement, yet he silently admired her compassionate heart.
“And if one is cut off from great chunks of a person’s history, one can never really know him, or…” Diana broke off. She had been about to add “love him.”
Captain Wilton smiled a little. “So each must tell his direst experiences? I am not convinced. But, since I have inadvertently done so, is it not your turn now?” His smile widened, as if this were a good joke and a welcome change of topic.
Diana froze. For an endless moment it felt as if her heart had stopped. Though he thought he was jesting, she did have a history, one that might shock him more than his had her. She had pushed the past from her thoughts, blithely plunging into love with this man and looking forward to an idyllic future without considering its implications. What if he found out? Gerald Carshin was presumably still alive. There was no reason to think otherwise. He lived in London, or had lived there. Her secret was not safe here, as it had been in the wilds of Yorkshire. She was, perhaps, even obliged to reveal it. What would he do if she told him? Diana looked up. His feelings would change, she thought. He might understand, sympathize, but she knew the world’s reaction to those women who had made such a mistake.
“What is it?” asked Captain Wilton. “You’re white as a sheet. Are you ill?”
“I…I fear I am, a little,” she murmured, feeling herself a coward.
“It is my fault! Why did I not mind my wretched tongue? Come, we will find the Trents, and go home, if you like.”
Diana protested, but feebly, allowing him to believe that his stories of the war had made her faint. Under any other circumstances she would have scorned such an accusation, but now she was only too grateful for the diversion from questions about her past. What was she to do? Visions of a rosy future were crumbling in her mind.
They found George and Amanda under a great oak tree not too far from where they had left their carriage. But another vehicle now stood behind it, and two young men were adding the finishing touches to a linen-covered table beneath the branches. “Captain Wilton, this is magical,” exclaimed Amanda. “What have you done?”
“Simply engaged the kitchen of one of the hotels to provide our picnic,” he replied with a brief smile. “My landlady did not feel her staff up to it. But I fear Miss Gresham is not feeling well.”
Amanda stepped forward. “Really? Diana, what is it? Headache?” One of the waiters so far forgot himself as to look openly dismayed as he set a platter bearing an entire cold roast chicken on the table.
“No, no. It is nothing,” she protested. “I merely felt a little tired for a moment. I am quite all right now.”
“It is my doing,” added Wilton ruefully. “I have been telling Miss Gresham stories about the war.” Seeing George Trent’s surprised look, he said, “You cannot think me any more foolish than I do myself, George. I don’t know what possessed me.”
Amanda looked from one to the other of her companions as if uncertain what she should do.
“I tell you it is nothing,” repeated Diana, anxious to dismiss this subject. She moved forward. “The table is lovely. It is like magic.”
And certainly the scene Wilton’s servitors had created was entrancing. Shaded by the oak tree was a square table covered with a snowy cloth that dropped almost to the grass. Four chairs were pulled up to it, and it was set with cutlery and china adorned with varicolored spring flowers. Flanking the roast chicken, which made a splendid show, were a round of yellow cheese, a brown loaf with a dish of butter, half a sliced ham, pickles and relishes, and, the crowning touch, a carefully arranged pyramid of glowing fresh peaches, their delicate hues seeming sunlit even under the tree.
“Where did you procure peaches?” wondered Amanda as they all gathered around the feast. “It is so early in the year.”
Wilton looked at the other waiter, who answered, “From southern Spain, madam,” causing Amanda to let out an ecstatic sigh.
“If you are sure you are all right,” said Wilton to Diana.
“Of course.”
“Then?” He held a chair for her.
Diana sat down, as did Amanda opposite her. The gentlemen took the remaining seats. Wilton signaled, and the younger waiter came forward with a bottle wrapped in a white cloth and four crystal goblets. Deftly he set the latter before them and poured.
“Champagne!” cried Amanda, clapping her hands with delight. “Captain Wilton!”
“I thought we might dare a little,” he answered, then held his glass aloft, its facets and pale effervescent contents sparkling. “A toast to the future,” he added, “to victory in Belgium and to our happiness when the war is at last definitively won.”
They all raised their goblets, George cordially approving, Amanda almost tremulous with happiness, and Diana smiling but sick at heart. This was all so beautiful, she thought—the exquisite prospect of Bath spread out at her left, the perfect nearer scene, and the spring air so soft and mellow. But she no longer felt she belonged. The moment with Wilton had called up a host of old feelings and memories, those she had resolutely suppressed when she left home. And she saw now that she was here on false pretenses. Even Amanda thought her one thing when she was really another. It had been wrong of her to hide her past. She ought to have given her friend some hint at least before accepting her generous hospitality. Now it seemed too late, and the issue was further complicated by Robert Wilton, whom she had not foreseen. Had she imagined she would fall in love, she might have considered the implications, but she had unthinkingly grasped at escape without considering the effect on others. Selfish, she accused herself, but this did no good now. She must think how to undo the tangle she had made in the way least hurtful to those she loved.
“Diana?” said Amanda softly.
Diana started. She was still holding her goblet high, while the others had drunk and set theirs down. She made a dismissive gesture and followed suit, turning to watch Captain Wilton and George, who were conferring over the chicken.
“No, no,” Major Trent was declaring. “You’re the host, Robert. It’s your job. I shan’t lift a finger.”
“But I’m no hand at carving,” the other replied, holding the long knife as if it were some alien instrument. “I’ve mangled a bird or two in Spain, but no more.”
George crossed his arms on his chest and shook his head, adamant.
“Well, you’ll advise me, at least?” asked Wilton.
Major Trent allowed that he would do that much, and the captain bent to his task. “I suppose I can start here.” He inserted the blade between the chicken leg and body.
Trent gave a tiny cough.
“No?” Wilton looked up.
“I’d, er, start at the…er, front,” murmured George.
“The front?” He turned the platter, trying to remain unaware of the amused scrutiny of the waiters, who had withdrawn somewhat until they should be needed again, but were well within hearing. He angled the knife against the breast.
The major nodded. “Slices, you know. The ladies will like those.”
“Ah.” Captain Wilton attempted to thinly slice the chicken. The result was rather more chunk-like, and he contemplated the bits ruefully.
Amanda burst out laughing, throwing her dark head back, then guiltily bowing it and covering her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she said with a gurgle. “I truly am. It is just so…”
“Ridiculous,” finished Wilton, torn between complete agreement, a desire to join her laughter, and a wish to appear poised and knowledgeable before Diana. “The last time I carved a chicken, I used a saber,” he added pensively.
“If I’d only thought, I might have brought George’s,” Amanda replied unsteadily. “It is sitting in plain sight in the dressing room.”
The four exchanged a glance, the vision of Wilton attacking the chicken with his sword clearly in all their minds, and then they began to laugh. Even Diana could not resist the picture, and she found that the shared levity lightened her mood as well. She would find some solution, she decided, and, until she did, she would not brood.
“Come, George,” said Wilton, holding out the knife. “You must do it after mocking me in this callous way.”
“Nonsense. You are going on splendidly,” retorted the major with a grin.
Shaking his head, Wilton began again, and, eventually, the bird was acceptably dismembered, and they ate their meal.
“Have you ever known anything so pleasant?” sighed Amanda after a while. “It is like the best of Portugal and England rolled into one. We are al fresco, and the food is wonderful, and there is not the least chance a troop of bandits or ruffians will appear over the crest of the hill and send us running.”
“Not unless the starched-up dowagers of Bath discover what we are up to and charge en masse to disperse us,” agreed Wilton.
“You think they would not approve of dining outdoors?” inquired Diana with a smile.
“I’m certain of it. When I was arranging this party, one elderly woman stepped over to assure me that we would all take our deaths of cold, if not worse. Never saw her before in my life.” He tucked his chin back and spoke in a fruity but stern voice. “‘Nothing is more deleterious to one’s health than sitting still out-of-doors, young man. I thought everyone knew that.’”
They all laughed again.
“She was wide as a house and looked sick as a dog herself,” finished Wilton. “I nearly asked her if she had personal experience with the dangers, but it seemed too unkind.”
“She sounds like Lady Overton,” said Amanda to Diana.
“Someone remarkably like her,” Wilton replied.
“Who is that?” asked George.
“She is Mr. Boynton’s invalid aunt,” Diana added.
George looked surprised and slightly displeased at the mention of Boynton. “Not how I pictured her, really.”
“She is not at all!” said Amanda, and told them the story of their encounter with Lady Overton. Before she was half-finished, they were laughing, and both men seemed very gratified by the end.
“Serves him right,” said Wilton. “Puppy!”
“I just wish she kept him on a tighter leash,” agreed Major Trent. The ladies groaned at his pun.
The captain turned to Diana. “When you next see—”
“If you call him my friend again, I shall throw this peach at you,” she threatened, brandishing the fruit she had been peeling. Wilton drew up an arm in mock fear. “I know him no better than the rest of you.”
The captain found this so gratifying that he forgot what he had been about to say, and even George Trent seemed pleased.
“I am going to put my peach in my champagne,” declared Amanda. “Have them fill my glass, George.” She held it out imperiously.
He instead took it from her. “No more for you. You’re rowing with half an oar as it is.”
“I am not!” Amanda was indignant. “I am only happy.” She threw out her arms and leaned back in her chair.
“Umm. Time to be packing up, I think, Wilton.”
Amanda straightened and frowned, making it apparent that her high spirits were not due to overindulgence. “George!”
He gave her a significant glance. “I’m merely being cautious, my dear.”
Amanda seemed to recall something, hesitated, then agreed. “I suppose you’re right. But surely we can finish our peaches.”
They did so, then lingered a little while as the sun moved down the western sky. It was nearly four before they rose and reluctantly moved toward the barouche again. “What luxury,” said Amanda, watching the waiters move forward. “We needn’t even think of what to do with the three peaches remaining. It will all be whisked out of sight for someone else to worry over. I think we should always dine so.”
“It might be less pleasant in the rain,” suggested her husband. “Or in the winter months.”
“Fustian!” she retorted, but she pulled him down beside her in the forward seat when they had climbed up and rode homeward with her hand tucked into his arm and her head on his shoulder.
Diana, sitting beside Captain Wilton and very conscious of his proximity, watched the Trents with wistful indulgence. How lucky they were, she thought, despite their misfortunes. If she could be half so happy… She glanced sidelong and found Wilton smiling down at her. A warm glow enveloped her, and she promised herself that she would find a way to secure such happiness for both herself and Captain Wilton.