A series of days passed quickly but happily for the Trent party. As May unfolded, it became apparent that they would remain in Bath for an unspecified, but substantial, length of time. George was content making the rounds of military friends visiting the town, which was a constantly changing roster, always full of the latest war news, or at least fresh opinions. Amanda was obviously and luminously happy, though less strong than Diana remembered. Often she would not emerge from her bedchamber until noon, and then only to establish herself on the drawing-room sofa to read and write letters until George should come in and suggest a sedate drive in their hired carriage. Diana was thrown more on her own resources as the visit lengthened, and her long walks were usually solitary, with one of the maids trailing behind.
And yet she was not unhappy. Her fears of the picnic day gradually receded, as nothing came of them. She and Captain Wilton seemed to have reached a tacit understanding. Though nothing was officially settled between them, everyone appeared to take it for granted that it soon would be. He would make an offer, and Diana would accept, and all would be well. Wilton seemed content to leave it thus for now, and Diana certainly was. This situation allowed her to reap the benefits of an assured future without facing the responsibilities an actual offer would entail. She needed to decide what to tell him of her past. Indeed, on one occasion Diana turned aside the beginning of a proposal, and Wilton, after a moment’s puzzlement, allowed her to do so. For he, too, had his concerns. His knee was nearly healed, and the war was by no means ended.
But though Diana thought she was the same as ever, in fact she was far quieter and less apt to chatter to Amanda about things seen on her walks or laugh over some eccentric observed in their infrequent visits to the Pump Room. Robert Wilton, absorbed in his own plans and only newly acquainted with Diana, despite his deep feelings, did not see it, but Amanda did. At first, she put it down to love. Diana was no doubt concentrating her liveliness and laughter on the captain, she thought, and it was only natural that she should see less of her friend. Diana should be serious, pondering the approaching change in her state. But as time passed and Amanda watched the two lovers together, her puzzlement returned, redoubled. They were a subdued pair, she could not help but think. She remembered so vividly the culmination of George’s courtship of her. When they had become officially engaged, and even just before, they had been nothing like this. Every moment together was a dazzle of sensation and confidences exchanged. She had felt she lived only in his presence then.
She told herself that their more sedate behavior was a consequence of age. She and George had been only nineteen and twenty, and these two were five or six years older. But this explanation merely made her sad, without convincing her in the least. She had seen love bloom at fifty in precisely the same breathless way. Amanda determined that she must talk with Diana and try to discover what was wrong.
But this was more difficult than she had imagined. Diana was so often out that it was not easy to catch her at a time when they might talk privately. Her walks grew longer and longer, until the maids began to protest and, as Amanda feared, Diana began to leave them at home and slip out alone. Too, Amanda did not always feel up to pursuing her active friend. She had been overtaken by a delicious lassitude in these days, and often a morning would pass without a thought of anything but her own rosy future. At last, however, she forced herself to rise particularly early one morning, and caught Diana at the breakfast table.
Diana seemed amused by her heavy eyes and sleep-puffed face. “You are up betimes,” she said with a smile when Amanda entered. “And you do not look as if the morning pleases you.”
“Is there tea?” was Amanda’s only response. She was finding it impossible to gather her thoughts.
“There is.” Diana poured, and Amanda added a generous dollop of milk and drank, both hands curled around the cup. She finished it quickly and gestured for more.
Laughing, Diana complied. “Why did you leave your bed, if you are so tired still?”
Amanda sipped her second cup more slowly, and even felt able to nibble some buttered toast. “I wished to speak to you,” she answered, “and I never find you home when I rise late.”
“But you should have simply asked me to stay. Is it something important?”
Realizing that she had made a mistake in her half-dazed condition, Amanda pursed her lips and tried to rally. “No, no. I meant only that I wanted some talk with you. We scarcely seem to see one another lately.”
“Oh.” Diana smiled again. “Well, you have grown so lazy, Amanda. I cannot sit about the house all day. I am surprised you can.”
“Perhaps I have a reason.” She saw a way to explain her uncharacteristic appearance. She had meant to tell Diana her news for some time anyway, but had postponed doing so, reveling in her secret happiness.
Diana looked contrite. “I know. You have not been feeling quite the thing. I am the greatest beast in nature to have forgotten. Why do you not have the doctor again? Perhaps he can help.”
“It is not a case of illness, Diana.” Amanda flushed a little and looked down at her hands. “I…I am in an interesting condition.”
“An…?” For a moment Diana was mystified, then light burst upon her. “You mean…?”
“Yes. I am going to present George with an heir. Or, at least, so he insists. I shall be happy with a girl. This time.” She smiled tremulously, awaiting congratulations.
But Diana was remembering an earlier confidence. Amanda had told her of previous tragedies in this area. No wonder her friend was being so careful. This new knowledge explained many things that had puzzled and sometimes irritated Diana. She felt relief mixed with guilt for her incomprehension. “That is wonderful!” she exclaimed, trying to put all her affection for Amanda into the phrase.
“So you see why I must not exert myself.” A shadow passed across Amanda’s pretty face. “I must be more careful than some.”
“Of course you must!” Diana reached out and grasped her hand across the table. “And I shall help you. You must let me.”
Amanda laughed at her vehemence. “How?”
“I can take over some of your household duties, and allow you to rest more.”
“I have hardly any duties as it is, and you would hate talking to the cook, Diana. You needn’t worry. I know what to do, and we are not abroad this time, so I need not ride when I am feeling ill, or eat odd messes.” The shadow appeared again, then vanished. “I feel splendid.” She looked at the piece of toast in her hand, swallowed, and put it down. “Most of the time,” she amended. Her face paled.
“Are you ill?” cried Diana. “What may I get you?”
“It is nothing. It often happens. No need to worry.” Amanda pushed back her chair and rose. “Excuse me.”
Diana jumped up also. “I will help you upstairs!”
“No, no.” She managed a laugh. “If I had known you would be worse than George, I would not have told you.”
“Is there nothing I can do?”
“Wait for me,” replied Amanda, and rushed from the room.
Diana found this a very difficult task. She went to the drawing room and paced back and forth, anxious about her friend’s condition. More than once she started toward the stairs, but Amanda had insisted she wait, so she came back each time. Diana was even less experienced than most girls with such matters. Indeed, if Amanda had not been such a good friend, and if they had not been sharing lodgings, she would probably not have been told until the situation was obvious. She was gratified to be included, but also slightly uneasy. How could Amanda endure this illness, and how did she maintain her spirits with the losses of the past hanging over her? Diana’s admiration for her friend rose another notch. She vowed to do everything she could to help her.
“There,” said Amanda, coming into the drawing room barely three-quarters of an hour later. “That is over. Now I shall have some Madeira and biscuits.” She went to the bell pull and rang.
Diana stared at her. She showed no signs of sickness; indeed, she was positively blooming.
Amanda turned from speaking to the maid and laughed at Diana’s expression. “It passes off quickly. And it only comes in the morning—just at first. There is no need to look like I have risen from my deathbed.”
“You are amazing.”
“Nonsense.” The maid returned with a tray, and Amanda poured out a small glass of Madeira and bit into a biscuit with appetite. “Now, is everything all right with you, Diana?”
“What?” She was still staring.
“We have hardly spoken alone in a week. Tell me what you have been doing.”
Gradually recovering from her surprise, Diana recounted her walks and other activities.
“Captain Wilton has called nearly every day, I believe?”
“Yes. He came walking with me twice. His knee is hardly stiff now.”
“You are glad to see him?” Amanda watched her face from under lowered lashes.
“Yes, of course.”
Her tone was so unforthcoming that Amanda hesitated, but she could not leave the subject yet. “Has he…spoken?”
Diana turned her head away. “Of marriage, you mean? No.”
“But—”
“It is really such a trivial question, is it not?” she burst out, rising and walking toward the front window. “I mean, there is the war, and your news. I don’t see why we must hurry.”
“But do you not want to have your future settled?” asked Amanda gently.
Diana shrugged without turning, gripping her elbows in her hands.
“What is it, Diana? Do you find you do not care for Captain Wilton, after all? There is no need for you to think of him if—”
“No!” It was a heartfelt cry, and silenced Amanda for a full minute.
“What, then?” she said finally.
Diana came very close to telling her. They had shared so much in the past weeks, and now, this morning, the most intimate information of all. But the thought of Amanda’s reaction stopped her. She had no doubt her friend would be sympathetic. She would say all the proper things about youth and naïveté and the impossibility of guarding against plausible villains when one has no family support. But she would still think Diana had been a fool, or worse, and she would regretfully conclude that such a mistake could not be simply erased. Probably she would say that Robert Wilton must be told before they were engaged. And her high opinion of Diana would be forever altered. She would not despise or revile her, of course, as others might have, but she would never admire or respect her quite so wholeheartedly, Diana felt. And this she could not bear to contemplate. “Nothing,” she replied, attempting a light tone. “Except perhaps that I have been used to living alone, and it is sometimes hard to have so many people around me.”
This wounded Amanda a little. “I thought you were happy with us.”
Diana winced, but thought a slight hurt was better than the alternative. “I am. Very happy. But I require more solitude than most people, I suppose. It is all so different here, and with Captain Wilton…” She trailed off, leaving Amanda to draw her own conclusions.
“Of course, it is a great change, though you seemed happier at first. And to think of marriage after being alone so long…” Diana bowed her head as if agreeing, and felt dreadfully guilty. “You do care for him?” added Amanda. “Because you know you are welcome to stay with us as long as you like. You needn’t rush into any…other arrangement.”
Diana swallowed a lump in her throat and blinked back tears. She felt wholly undeserving of such kindness. “I do,” she managed in a choked voice.
“Well, then… I suppose everything is all right.” But Amanda sounded unconvinced.
Diana longed to pour out everything then, but she still held back. The risk was too great. Silence fell and stretched as both women thought over what had passed between them, each wondering if something else did not need to be said.
But their tête-à-tête was over. The bell rang, and the maid came in to announce Captain Wilton. Diana moved from the window back to the sofa, and Amanda sat up straighter. Their smiles were a little stiff.
But Wilton was too excited to notice as he came striding in. “Letters from Belgium,” he cried, waving a packet in the air. “I’ve had a number all at once. They went to London, and my idiot of a brother waited to send them on until there was a pile.” He looked around. “Where is George?”
“Out riding, I think,” said Amanda. “He usually is at this time of day.”
“But he must hear.” The captain gazed about again, as if his wish could summon Trent from thin air.
“He should be back soon,” offered his hostess. Wilton nodded, disappointed. “Will you sit down?”
“No.” He went to the window and looked out.
“Is there some great news?” asked Diana, exchanging a smile with Amanda at his restlessness. “The newspapers had nothing to say this morning.”
The captain turned, and seemed to decide not to wait. “Nothing that we did not know,” he said. “Except that the battle, the decisive battle, must be soon.” He laughed a little, to himself. “It can’t be much longer now. God, what I would give…”
The ladies watched him. He seemed far away, even though they sat not ten feet from him. Wilton’s blue eyes clearly looked on a wholly different scene, and the animated lines of his body were ready for action. Unconscious of their scrutiny, he flexed his bad knee several times. Then, still looking out the window, he cried, “There is George!” and turned to go to him.
In the doorway he paused, a trifle shamefaced at his rude desertion. “My friend Buffer says the Belgian foxes are too stupid to live. Won’t run.” And, with this, he was gone.
Diana and Amanda laughed, but only for a moment. Wilton’s excitement had had an adverse effect on them, somehow, and they sat in silence, straining their ears as he met George in the lower hall and began an eager recitation of his war news.