George Trent was about the house less than usual in the next few days, and Captain Wilton called seldom and seemed distracted when he did visit. They were easily found, however, in the Pump Room, or the concert rooms, or on a street corner, huddled with other military gentlemen discussing the progress of Wellington’s and Blucher’s joint effort in Belgium. As May passed, the excitement grew almost palpable among this circle. The mere idea of talking of anything else was ridiculous, and, when Amanda or Diana tried a different subject, the gentlemen grew abstracted and took refuge in random nods and grunts. But if they were asked about the coming confrontation, their eyes lit and the conversation became almost overanimated.
“I wish it were over,” sighed Amanda one day as she and Diana sat alone in the drawing room. “Of course, I have wished that many times these eight years, and that George could think of something besides fighting.” She sighed again. “That is unfair of me to say. He often does—did—think of other matters. Only just now…”
Diana nodded, fully in accord with her.
“Ah, well, they say it can’t be much longer. I should be grateful we are awaiting it here instead of in the field.”
“Amanda!” Diana feigned deep shock.
She put a hand over her mouth. “If George heard me! All he wants is to take ship for Brussels. Do not tell him I said that.”
“As if I should. Don’t be a goose.”
“I know it seems cowardly, but we were with the army so long, you see, and it is so hard to wait and wonder whether one’s husband—”
“Amanda! I was roasting you. I am completely on your side. George has fought long and well. He should leave it to others now, and be thankful he got through it with only…” She hesitated.
“Only losing his eye, yes,” Amanda agreed. “I have thought a great deal about that, and I do think it is better than losing a leg or an arm. George does not always believe it, but look at Colonel Peterson. He will always use a crutch, and…” She frowned and shook her head. “How did we begin such a dismal subject? You are right. George has done enough. So has Captain Wilton—nearly eight years at war. I wish they could see it so.”
“It is unlikely to matter how they see it,” replied Diana. “They are settled in Bath.”
“Yes.” Amanda sounded unconvinced. “But does it not seem to you that they are plotting something lately?”
“Plotting?”
“Since Captain Wilton received those letters from Belgium, whenever I come upon the two of them suddenly, George starts and looks guilty.”
“I haven’t noticed anything.”
“Perhaps it is only my fancy. I hope so.” But her expression remained concerned.
The sounds of hooves in the street and the front door opening heralded the arrival of the major. He nearly ran up the stairs and strode into the drawing room with shining eyes. Diana was abruptly struck with the improvement of his appearance during these last weeks. She had somehow overlooked it until now, perhaps because he had lacked the present air of eager elation. George Trent’s color was normal again, and his great frame had filled out. Now the black patch over his eye was indeed rakish rather than merely pitiful, and he might have sat for a portrait of the pirate hero of romance.
“Amanda, I must speak to you,” he said.
Diana rose to go.
“No, no, Diana. Stay. This concerns you as well.”
Surprised, she sank down again.
But, having gained their full attention, the major seemed reluctant. “Well, the thing is, Amanda,” he began at last, then stopped again, shifting from foot to foot.
“George! Is it bad news?” his wife exclaimed.
“No, no. That is, I don’t think so.” He seemed to gather courage. “Wilton and I, and a few others, are going up to London tomorrow to see about returning to duty.”
Amanda went very still, dismay plain in her face.
Seeing it, the major hurried on. “It’s intolerable sitting here while the war is finished, Amanda. Most of us have devoted our lives to this fight. We thought we had seen it through. We deserve to be in at the end.”
Diana saw that Amanda could not speak. “Do you not rather deserve a rest?” she asked, trying to give her friend time to regain control.
“Rest?” George seemed astounded.
“You have done so much,” she added, less confident in the face of his obvious incomprehension.
“Do you abandon an important task when you decide you have done ‘enough’? Whether or not your job is completed? No.” He shook his head and turned back to Amanda. “Can you understand?”
“You mustered out,” she murmured.
“When I thought it was over. And with this eye.” He grimaced, then recovered. “But that is changed now. And Wellington needs men. Wilton thinks there’s a chance.”
“Does he?” Amanda sounded forlorn.
“Yes. He is slated for duty in London, you know. But he is applying to Wellington himself. Friend of his family.”
“But, George, I cannot go abroad,” she answered with a catch in her voice. “You know I must be careful just now. Before, when I rode or…” She paused and cleared her throat.
“Of course you cannot,” he said. “You will stay home this time, Amanda, and take care of yourself.” Seeing her chagrin, he added, “I know it is said to be very gay in Brussels, but the army could move at any time. And I consider the balls and parties quite out of place, anyway. I daresay I shan’t be away long. And when I come back, the war will be over, and we can truly plan what we shall do and where we shall settle for good.”
“You will leave me alone, in my situation?” Amanda could not help but say.
“No, no,” he responded eagerly. “That’s the beauty of it, you see. Diana is with you now. You needn’t go back to Yorkshire. I know you get lonely there. And it won’t be as it was when you stayed in London. You are settled here. You have friends. You might even have your parents for a visit. You will scarcely know I am gone.”
“Oh, George!”
He had the grace to look ashamed, like a small boy who knows he has gone too far in arguing for a special treat. “Well, no, of course we shall miss each other. But they say the war cannot last the summer, Amanda. I’ll be back long before you are brought to bed.” He glanced at Diana, flushed a bit, and hurried on. “I must do this, love.”
Amanda had risen and moved toward him. Now she scanned his face. “Must you?” she asked wistfully.
George nodded, a little guilty, but determined.
“Very well.”
He strode forward and swept her into his arms. “Darling! I knew you would understand.”
“You won’t leave from London, though? You will come back and say goodbye?”
“Of course.”
Diana left them then, to discuss the matter more intimately, and went up to her bedchamber. Only now did she have leisure to consider that Captain Wilton was also leaving Bath, perhaps forever. Surely he would come to her first, she thought. But what would he say? The various alternatives that occurred to her were all unsettling.
Perhaps, fortunately for her peace of mind, Diana did not have long to ponder the possibilities. Wilton called about an hour later, and asked for her. She received him alone in the drawing room.
“I wanted to be certain George had broken the news,” he said. “I came as soon after him as I dared.”
“Letting him absorb the heavy fire?” asked Diana with a smile. She had picked up a number of military terms in the last few weeks.
“From Mrs. Trent, yes. You may let fly at me when ready.”
His smile was so engaging that Diana felt her throat tighten. She didn’t want him to go. Yet she dreaded the approaching exchange.
Her face seemed to encourage the captain, and he moved closer. “I wanted to say goodbye, of course. But, even more, there is something to be settled between us.”
“Settled?” She did not even recognize the high squeak as her own voice.
Wilton hesitated, a bit puzzled. He had often found Diana puzzling recently. Though he was certain she cared for him, she seemed to draw back whenever he made a move to deepen or confirm their relationship. He had not touched her, though he had wanted to, because of this, trying to give her time and room to adjust. But now, circumstances forbade waiting. “You must know what I mean,” he went on. “Indeed, I am sure you do. We have understood one another since the picnic, though we have said nothing. Have we not?”
Diana looked at the floor, biting her lower lip.
“I love you,” he finished simply. “And I hope you will consent to become my wife.”
This was the moment she had dreaded. It was the proper time to tell him her secret and allow him to withdraw if he chose. Diana wanted nothing more than to say yes, but she felt it unfair to do so without revealing the truth. She could not so deceive him. Yet to be honest was very likely to lose all chance of happiness. The conflict made her tremble with anxiety.
“What is it?” said Wilton, seeing her distress but unable to guess its source. He tried a lighter tone. “You must say something, you know. It is extremely impolite to ignore a proposal of marriage.”
Diana gazed up at him, the love she felt mingled with pain in her dark eyes. Her throat seemed frozen. She could not speak.
Still not understanding, but responding to the appeal in her gaze, Wilton stepped forward and slid his arms around her, pulling her close so that she might rest her head against his shoulder. His hand rose automatically to stroke her deep-gold hair, and the embrace seemed exquisitely right to him. “It’s all right,” he murmured, though he did not know what “it” might be.
Gradually Diana’s trembling stopped. She felt a vast sense of safety and comfort descend upon her, and the question of her past receded slightly. What if she never told him? It might not matter. His caresses lulled her into optimism, and she raised her head to meet his eyes. Her mouth shaped the word “yes,” though no sound emerged.
Wilton gave no sign of hearing, but he bent and kissed her very gently, his lips merely brushing hers. Diana curved her arms around his neck, and he pulled her closer, molding her body against his and kissing her more urgently—once, then again.
Diana felt a passionate response rising within her, and she wanted nothing more than to hold Wilton tightly to her forever. Yet this new and charged sensation was confused by her dilemma, and, she was disgusted to find, by memories of the only other occasion in her life when she had been similarly embraced. Unbidden, the image of Gerald Carshin formed in her mind, enacting scenes of the foolish, illusory love she had felt for him. Her tepid, uneasy reaction to Carshin’s touch interfered with this very different feeling. She strove to push the memory down, but the mocking recollection would not be banished, and, finally pulling herself away from Robert Wilton, she began to tremble once again.
“Yes,” said the captain in a shaken voice. “I beg your pardon. I…I rather forgot myself.” He was breathing rapidly.
Diana made a dismissive gesture.
He straightened his shoulders and smiled. “I can take that as my answer, with pleasure, but I should like to hear you say it as well.”
“I…” She still could not speak.
“Isn’t it odd how an offer of marriage ties one’s tongue?” he said. “I thought I should never get it out. And yet we talk together easily about all sorts of other things.” He took her hand and bent a little to look in her face. “Diana?”
“Couldn’t we…just leave it until you come back?” she choked out.
He stared at her for a long moment, then murmured, “I am the most selfish beast in nature.”
Diana was startled. “What?”
“To ask you to make this decision when I am about to go off to battle, where anything may happen. I suppose I didn’t think of it because I have been so lucky in the past. But there is no telling whether I shall come out of it as I am, or…” He paused. “You are right, of course. We will not speak of this again until I return.”
“That is not what I meant!” she cried, appalled that he should think this.
“There is nothing wrong—”
“It isn’t!”
He met her eyes, and nodded. “Well, I’m glad I thought of it, then, for the idea is sound.” He grinned. “I warn you I mean to return unscathed, however, and soon. So you must be ready to give me your answer then.” He raised his free hand and very lightly stroked her hair again. “I was just so eager, you see.”
“Oh, don’t!” Diana threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his coat. She had been so absorbed in her own worries that she had not even thought of his being hurt, perhaps even killed, in Belgium. The possibility tore at her heart, and she held him fiercely, as if to prevent his going.
He returned the embrace gently, then put a hand under her chin and raised it to kiss her lightly before stepping back. “You really needn’t worry. My friends insist I lead a charmed life. And now I should go, for I have several things to do before leaving Bath.”
“You will come back before you go abroad?” asked Diana, hearing herself echo Amanda.
“Yes.”
She reached out to him again, and he took both hands. “I’ve handled this badly, and I’m sorry…”
“You haven’t! It is I who—”
He laughed, putting two fingers over her mouth. “In any case, we will settle everything properly when I return. And I shall see you again soon, after London.”
“I didn’t…”
But Robert Wilton shook his head and turned to go, and Diana could not bring herself to voice her one wish: that she would marry him today, if he liked, and follow him to Brussels or to the ends of the earth. Her desires were not in question, but Wilton’s possible revulsion upon finding out her secret sealed her lips.