Diana passed a dreadful night. Perhaps she had known, somewhere deep down, that Gerald Carshin could turn up. But she had never really believed he would. That episode of her life was so remote it seemed to Diana as if Gerald must have faded away as well.
Faced with his indisputable presence, and his threats of exposure, she was, at first, devastated. She saw no way to fight him, and the precarious happiness she had begun to embrace crumbled silently into nothing. Diana was not even certain that flight would save her, for Carshin knew her home, and he might follow her there should she retreat to Yorkshire for a while. He was determined to have her fortune this time. She had seen that in his eyes. Nothing else she could offer him would slake that greed.
For a wild moment, as she tossed and turned in her bed, Diana considered trying to sign her money over to Carshin, on the condition that he never come near her again. But the idea died almost at once. The scandal would be nearly as great, and she did not really wish to lose all her wealth to such a cause. Carshin would probably not consent, in any case.
When the maid came in with early tea, Diana was awake; indeed, she had scarcely slept at all. Yet no plan of escape had come to her. She washed and dressed in a cloud of despair and went down to sit at the breakfast table alone and drink two more cups of strong tea. Amanda would not be down for some time, but Diana had no desire to take her usual walk. In fact, she had no desires whatever. She sat gazing blankly at the wall until the servants silently signaled that they must clear up.
She removed to the drawing room and resumed her pose, her mind utterly empty. Only the sound of carriage wheels below at midmorning roused her, and then not quickly enough to allow her to escape. As she reached the drawing-room doorway, she heard footsteps on the stairs and knew that she would be seen leaving. Diana stood very still, trying to tell from the sound if it was Gerald Carshin. But would not the maid have announced him? On this reassuring thought, George Trent and Robert Wilton strode in.
“You’re back!” she cried, her relief making her almost exuberant.
They nodded, unsmiling.
Diana gazed from one glum face to the other.
“It was no good,” responded Wilton. “They turned us all down flat. Said there wasn’t time to get us to Brussels even if we were completely fit, which we weren’t.”
“Damned paper-pushers!” exploded George. “What do they know about it? Where’s Amanda?”
“In her room,” said Diana.
Trent turned on his heel and went out without another word.
“I’m sorry,” added Diana. “I know how much you wanted to go.”
Captain Wilton nodded again, then shrugged. “I considered simply getting on a ship, but Wellington would more than likely send me back.”
Diana couldn’t think of anything really comforting to say. And her own new dilemma dwarfed Wilton’s problems in her mind.
“At least…I shan’t be leaving Bath after all,” he said after a while, with a valiant smile. “I hope you are glad of that.”
“Yes. Yes, of course.” But Diana’s voice lacked conviction. How much better it would have been if he had been posted abroad, she thought. Perhaps, somehow, in his absence, she might have found a solution to her problem and freed herself to accept his proposal when he returned.
“You don’t sound so,” he countered, half-amused, half-concerned. “Is something wrong?”
“No.” Her tone was too vehement, she thought. Why could she not control her voice?
“Mrs. Trent is not ill?”
“No. She is quite stout. We went to a concert last night. Amanda enjoyed the music very much.”
Wilton eyed her. Diana searched her brain for some remark that was both sensible and safe. But before she could think of one the recurring sound of carriage wheels froze her tongue.
“We returned as soon as we heard the army’s judgment,” said the captain, trying to put her more at ease. “There was no reason to stay, and we were both eager to be back. The journey went quickly.”
Diana heard only the bell, the front door opening, and more footsteps. The maid knew that Captain Wilton was here. She would see no reason to turn away other callers. And Diana could hardly rush out and give those instructions now.
“Mr. Gerald Carshin, miss,” said the servant, and Carshin strolled into the room, resplendent in yellow pantaloons and a pale blue coat.
“How d’you do.” The newcomer was blandly cordial. “Miss Gresham. And Captain Wilton, is it now? I believe we’ve met at your brother’s.”
Wilton was clearly annoyed at the interruption, and by one whose posing he despised. But his emotions were nothing to Diana’s. She thought, at first, that she might actually faint, though she would have scorned such a suggestion only days before. As she gathered her scattered sensibilities, and the two men surveyed one another, the contrast between them was graphic. Robert Wilton stood so tall and slender, his face cleanly etched and open, while Carshin was battling corpulence and irredeemably sly. The thought of the one telling the story of her past to the other made Diana feel ill.
“I dropped in to see if you would care to go for a drive, Miss Gresham,” Carshin went on. “Pleasant day.”
“As you see, Miss Gresham is occupied,” answered Wilton.
“Indeed?” The other man looked about the room as if seeking the nature of this occupation.
Diana saw Wilton tense, and she cringed. “Perhaps another day,” she offered, hoping to placate Carshin. The captain stared in amazement.
“But another day it may rain,” insinuated the caller. “I think you would do much better to come now.”
The command, and the threat, were patent. Diana did not dare refuse, especially with Robert Wilton standing by. Conscious of his outraged, incredulous gaze, she stammered, “Well, perhaps…I have not been out today, and…we will be meeting again soon, Captain Wilton.”
“Do you mean to say you are going?” he demanded.
“That seems to be the gist of it,” replied Carshin, an amused sneer on his face.
Wilton continued to look at Diana.
“I…I… It is a pleasant day.”
Stiff with astonished anger, the captain merely bowed and turned away. He could not imagine what Diana was about. To put him aside for this coxcomb! It was beyond bearing, particularly after his defeat in London.
Diana, desperate, opened her mouth to recall him, but she did not know what to say. She was trapped, she thought, and she could no more loose herself than could the rabbit or the quail. The worst unhappiness she had left in Yorkshire was nothing compared to this.
Wilton was gone. Gerald Carshin smiled complacently and gestured toward the door. “Shouldn’t you fetch your hat?”
Whirling abruptly, Diana almost ran to her bedchamber.
It was some time before she returned to the drawing room, but, when she did, she was once again in control of her feelings. Something must be done, she had decided, and at once. She could not endure more scenes like this morning.
Carshin was chatting with George Trent when she came in. The major looked thunderous. “Not a very pleasant fellow,” said Carshin as they climbed into his hired carriage. “Deuced surly, in fact. You’d have thought I was a dunning tradesman or one of his wife’s family putting the squeeze on.” He laughed. “The eyepatch is a bit thick.”
“Major Trent was wounded in the war,” answered Diana coldly. “And he is not fond of dandies.”
“Well, if he thinks me one, he’s sadly out.” Carshin seemed genuinely offended. “Even a soldier should be able to see that I don’t indulge in their freaks.”
It was true, she conceded to herself. His dress was not as exaggerated as, for example, Mr. Boynton’s. But George would not see any difference.
“But we shouldn’t be talking of him.” He turned the carriage in the direction of the Sydney Gardens. “We have much to settle between us.” He looked over at her, then turned back to the road. “You really are more beautiful than ever, you know.”
“I don’t want your compliments. Indeed—”
“Don’t take that line.” His tone was conciliatory. “Why be angry? I have apologized for my mistakes. Can we not be friends again? I really am sorry, you know.” And he realized that he was indeed sorry. It had been foolish of him to abandon this lucky find—a beauty and an heiress. He must repair his slip and get her for his own.
“I’m not angry,” responded Diana. “What passed between us was over long ago. That is the end of the matter.”
They had entered the gardens, and now he pulled up. “Shall we stroll a little?”
“No.”
“Come, come. It is a beautiful day. What harm is there in a walk?”
Frustrated, Diana tried to think of some objection, but she had more important concerns. “Oh, very well!” She jumped down without waiting for him to help her and refused to take the arm he offered.
Carshin left his groom to walk the horses and followed her. “Would it really be so bad?” he asked as they walked along one of the paths. “To be married to me? I would be an exemplary husband, you know. I swear I should never give you cause for complaint. We would have our town house as we planned, remember?” He leaned a little toward her.
“I remember that you planned to set yourself up in town with my money.”
“To set both of us up,” he corrected. “I wasn’t going to rob you.”
“Were you not?”
“I can understand your annoyance. It is true, I was young and stupid. But I have learned better since then.” He stopped and faced her. “Money is important. It is far easier to be happy in comfortable circumstances. You cannot deny that. But other things are equally important. That is what I did not see seven years ago.” Before she realized what he meant to do, he had stepped forward and slipped his arms around her waist. “Seeing you again, all my old feelings have returned. There is no one else I wish to spend my life with. Dare you claim it is not the same for you?” And pulling her close, he kissed her passionately.
Diana’s few wisps of golden memory dissolved. Her calf love for Gerald Carshin had been wholly fantasy and foolishness, she saw now. Not only the elopement but even the first meetings had been empty and vain, the intensity of feeling purely a product of her own loneliness and longing. Had she had the usual opportunities to meet young men, she would never have idealized Carshin. She didn’t even like him, nor had she really then. She had been swept away, not by a man, but by her own airy dream. His kiss left her unmoved, except for distaste, and she realized that it had always been so. At seventeen she had had no standard of comparison. Having met and loved Robert Wilton, she could judge the true value of Carshin’s vows and caresses. With all her strength she pushed him away.
Startled, Carshin staggered back. He had been certain he was about to win her over. He was rather vain of his success with women, though it had been mostly among those for whom money was a prime motive, and he did not put much stock in Diana’s protestations. She had believed his avowals once. Why should she not again? And, when he held her, his intellect was overwhelmed by a rush of desire. She was so lovely!
Diana turned back toward the carriage. “I don’t want to see you again,” she said. “If you call at the Trents’, you will be refused. And if you dare to touch me again—”
“Just a moment.” He strode after her, enraged by thwarted desire, and grasped her upper arm, pulling her around. “You are forgetting one small matter, are you not?”
“Your threat to expose me?” In her anger, she nearly had. And she had determined to argue with him so coolly. “You would not tell a story so detrimental to yourself. The ruin and abandonment of a girl of seventeen would make you look despicable.”
“You think so? There are many ways of telling a tale. And in any case, I should not come out the worse. You would be far more affected.”
Diana pulled her arm free, but she did not turn again. “You could not be so…” Biting her lower lip, she tried to think of arguments to sway him.
“Alas, one is forced to distasteful actions sometimes.” He eyed her. “I daresay Captain Wilton would find the story interesting, at the least. I have the impression you would not care for him to hear it.”
She could not help but wince.
“I thought so. Perhaps he is the reason you will not listen to me, as you once did. A pity. But there it is. Can’t say I think much of your new tastes.”
“Stop it!” Diana clenched her fists. “I will give you money, if you will just leave me alone.”
Carshin laughed. “It is not only your money I want, my dear Diana. I think you know that very well. Besides…” His smile broadened. “I shall get it all when we are married.”
“I shall never marry you!”
He gazed admiringly at her blazing eyes and rigid figure. She really was a beauty. Even that outmoded way of dressing her hair seemed to contribute to her appeal. He was filled with greedy desire. “You shall marry no one else. I’ll see to that. What other man would take you? Shopworn goods are not much in demand, m’love.”
Burning with rage, Diana slapped him as hard as she could, then drew back, her palm stinging from the impact.
Carshin, an angry red mark rising on his cheek, grasped her shoulders and shook her a little. “Spitfire! You have changed, haven’t you? But I know how to deal with such as you.” Crushing her against him so that her arms were pinned between them, Carshin kissed her savagely again.
Diana kicked at his legs and tried to jerk her head from side to side, but he was too strong, and she was trapped until he released her.
“There!” Carshin at last allowed her to move away. He was breathing quickly, and his blue eyes burned with determination and desire. “We shall not be bored, lovely Diana. What a life it will be.”
Diana could not speak. She was awash with conflicting emotions: revulsion, rage, a desperate calculation.
“I see no reason why we should not announce our engagement at once. We can put it about that we are old friends meeting again after a time and confirming our long-standing attachment.”
“I shall do no such thing!” Diana started toward the carriage again, walking swiftly.
In three strides he caught up with her. “I don’t see that you have a choice.”
Diana’s hands itched to strike him again. If she had had a weapon, she realized, she could have killed him easily. This certainty further unsettled her. “Do your worst,” she answered through gritted teeth. “I would rather be ruined than married to you. I lived alone in Yorkshire for seven years. I can do so again!”
Carshin, who would not have contemplated living in the wilds of Yorkshire for even seven days, had not counted on this, for he judged others’ reactions by his own. “Here, now, no need to be so violent. Perhaps I have gone too fast. I see that I have. We will talk of this again.”
“If you come near me again, I shall leave Bath and go home,” she declared, though her heart sank at the prospect.
“You are overwrought. When you have had time to consider, you will see…” Carshin’s voice trailed off as they reached the carriage. Diana quickly climbed up, pushing aside his assistance.
When they sat side by side in the vehicle, she replied, “Understand that I shall never marry you, whatever you do. If you choose to spread stories in spite of this, you will. But it will gain you nothing except my deeper contempt.”
“And the satisfaction of seeing you prevented from marrying any other,” he snapped, his temper overriding his common sense.
Diana merely turned her head away from him, her face like stone.
Regretting his words immediately, Carshin sought to make amends. “I beg your pardon. I did not mean that, of course. It is just that you have provoked me to—”
“There is nothing more to be said between us. Ever.” Gazing at her exquisite profile, Carshin experienced a deep pang of regret and anger. He refused to lose this prize when he held such a strong hand. She was angry now, and ready to say anything, but when she was cooler, the prospect of ruin would seem less bearable, and then he would try again. Pondering his next approach, he urged the horses forward.