The next day dawned warm and clear, a perfect early summer day, and Diana went through her usual routine with almost her old cheerfulness. At breakfast with the Trents, she teased Amanda gently about her expanding girth. She took a long walk, as she had not done for some time. And, over luncheon, she joined the discussion of war news, encouraging George to repeat the small store of known facts yet again, his substitute for real information about the course of the campaign.
Amanda, noticing the change, was delighted, and, when the two women had a moment alone together and Diana explained the cause of her renewed spirits, she clapped her hands with glee. “You have forced him to a stalemate! He will do nothing now.”
“Unless I do,” answered Diana, thinking of Wilton.
“Well, yes, but…still, it is a step.”
She could not help feeling the same herself, and Diana nodded, smiling. Major Trent was heard in the hall, calling his wife.
“Oh, the carriage is ready. I must go. But we will sit down for a real talk after our drive.” And with a flutter of gloves, she went out.
Still smiling, Diana sat on the drawing-room sofa and considered what to do with her afternoon. She wished that Captain Wilton might call, but he had said nothing to indicate he would. Indeed, he seemed wrapped up in his own schemes and had not visited them as frequently as before. Diana felt a passing uneasiness, but pushed it down. It was so wonderful to feel herself again; she refused to worry.
The bell rang, and she stood, thinking that her thought had brought Wilton to her. But the maid came in with a card bearing Lord Faring’s name. For a moment Diana gazed at it with astonishment. Why should Wilton’s brother call on her?
“Shall I show him up, miss?”
“What? Oh, yes, I suppose so.”
The girl went out, leaving Diana staring at the card, and soon Lord Faring was standing in the doorway making his bow. It was disconcerting, Diana thought as she greeted him, how little like Captain Wilton he was. The same frame, though without the musculature of a soldier; the same coloring, though washed out by indoor living and excess; the same thin face, though never lit by that entrancing smile.
“You will be surprised by my call,” drawled Lord Faring, moving languidly to the chair she offered.
Diana acknowledged this by her silence.
“We are not very well acquainted, but we do have mutual friends. And I come on a mission from one of those. Perhaps two, actually.” He leaned back in the armchair, looking quite bored.
Had his brother sent him? Diana wondered why.
“I speak chiefly of Gerald Carshin, of course,” added the visitor, and she understood. “He has told me of your situation and asked for my help.”
Diana froze. Had Carshin spoken after all? And to Wilton’s brother?
“It is unconventional, of course,” Lord Faring went on, showing no signs of emotion. “But I do have some connection with the case. Carshin feels that you are rejecting his suit because of my brother, and I am best fitted to speak to you about Robert.”
This did not seem like exposure. Diana found her voice. “Really?”
Lord Faring nodded, not seeming to hear the sarcasm. “Had you a father or guardian, I should apply to him, naturally. But Major Trent does not seem to fall in that category, so I am forced to speak directly. Most awkward.”
He did not act as if he felt awkward, Diana thought. Indeed, he seemed scarcely interested in the matter. She thought of dismissing him, but she was curious as to what he had to say.
“Carshin’s a good fellow, you know. Amusing. Up to every rig and row in town. And he’s taken with you. Never seen him like this. Be a good husband.”
“I really don’t think…” began Diana.
“That it’s any of my affair. Perhaps not. But, if you’re on the catch for Robert, perhaps it is, you know.”
Diana gasped. “On the—”
“Beg pardon. Wrong way to put it. Not as if you’re after a fortune, is it?” He smiled what Diana supposed he imagined was an ingratiating smile. Again she felt the urge to throw him out, but his next words stopped her. “Robert’s nothing to boast about, you know. No address, no style, not a particle of town bronze. And his expectations ain’t great, mind. He has a little money, but barely enough to set up his household.”
Diana stood. She would not listen to this contemptible man criticizing his own brother. “I think you should go.”
Lord Faring did not move. “In a moment. Main thing I wanted to say was this: if you’re hanging out for a title, you’re sadly mistaken.”
“A title?” Diana was mystified.
“I shan’t stick my spoon in the wall like Richard, not by a long chalk. Catch me near a battlefield! And, in time, I shall set up my own nursery, so you’re fair and far out if you expect Robert to succeed.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” replied Diana. “Who is Richard?”
Lord Faring examined her with narrow eyes, and evidently decided that she was serious. “Brother. Robert is the youngest.”
“You have other brothers?”
“Had. Richard was killed in the Peninsula in 1809.”
She stared at him, unbelieving. Captain Wilton had never mentioned this to her.
“That’s why they tried to keep Robert home in the beginning and then had him assigned to headquarters staff,” added Lord Faring. “And why they won’t let him go back.”
“It wasn’t his knee?”
He made a derisive noise. “There’s nothing wrong with Robert’s knee. Not now. Wellington merely hopes I’ll break my neck and Robert will step into my shoes. Old ‘friend’ of our family, you know. He’s always coddled Robert. My father didn’t want another Wilton in the thick of it.”
Diana was speechless, trying to take in this information.
“So, you see, you shan’t be Lady Faring. You may as well take Carshin; he’s by far the better man.”
“You are contemptible!” Diana blurted, and immediately regretted it.
Lord Faring blinked. “Beg pardon?”
She could not keep silent. “How can you speak of your own brothers that way? And one of them killed!” She turned half away, overcome by the thought of this sorrow that Captain Wilton had not shared with her.
Lord Faring stood, his face even more studiously bland. “My brothers never gave a rap for me. Nor did my father. If one didn’t care to risk one’s neck at every turn, he lost interest. I owe none of them a farthing.” He took a breath. “Good day, Miss Gresham. I hope you will consider what I have said.” And with a nod, he went out.
Diana sank down again, bemused. How little she really knew of Robert Wilton, she thought. And yet this new knowledge brought no doubt of her love. Indeed, if anything, it increased it. How dreadful it must have been, to lose his brother in the war. She was extremely glad they had refused to send him back, she thought with a shiver.
Leaning her head on the sofa back and gazing at the ceiling, Diana thought of Wilton with a fond smile. He was so thoroughly admirable, such a stark contrast to Gerald Carshin. Her choice this time was wise.
This brought back her problem, and made her realize that Carshin must be feeling quite desperate to have sent Lord Faring to talk to her. Did he really expect to change her mind? It seemed he did, though she could not imagine why. But, if he was uneasy, perhaps there was a chance of beating him after all.
Diana sat up and stretched her arms over her head, more optimistic than she had been in weeks. She would find a way!
Suddenly there was a great crash below as the front door was flung back on its hinges. Booted feet hammered on the stairs, and Captain Wilton ran into the room, closely followed by George Trent. The captain wore his uniform. “Diana, he’s done it!” cried Wilton. “He’s actually done it!”
“Wilton met us on the road with the news,” added George. “It’s only just come. I must get to town and find Simmons. Amanda’s coming. See to her, Diana.” And he ran out again.
“Who’s done what?” asked Diana, bewildered. “Is Amanda all right?”
“Splendid!” Without warning, the captain pulled her close and swung her round and round until she was dizzy. “Everything is splendid!”
“Stop, stop! What do you mean? Why are you wearing your uniform?” Was he going to Belgium after all? Diana felt a sudden coldness gripping her heart.
Wilton stopped spinning, and looked a bit sheepish. “I couldn’t resist putting it on. Foolish, I know.”
“But what has—?”
“Wellington’s done it! He’s beaten Boney for good and all. There was a great battle near Brussels, I think, on the eighteenth. The news is sketchy yet. But he has definitely beaten him.”
“Oh, Robert!” She flung her arms around his neck and hugged him.
He responded enthusiastically, then laughed. “I said you should call me ‘Robert’ someday soon, but I didn’t know it would take an end to the war.”
Diana drew back and smiled up at him. “It is really true?”
“You think it a ruse to get you in my arms? Trent my accomplice?”
“Idiot!”
“It is really true.” He kissed her.
“Is it not wonderful news?” said Amanda from the doorway, and the lovers moved apart, startled. “Oh, do not mind me.” But they were self-conscious, and Amanda laughed. “We must have a celebration tonight,” she added. “With champagne and…oh, everything. You will stay, won’t you, Captain Wilton?”
“Indeed I shall.” He smiled at Diana again.
It was the happiest evening Diana could remember. The men went first to the Pump Room, where all the former soldiers had gathered. Diana and Amanda gave orders for a sumptuous dinner and then retired to change into properly festive gowns. When they met again in the drawing room, George, too, had donned his uniform, and, though they teased him and Wilton, both women found this impulse endearing.
They ate sturgeon and roast beef and ices from the confectioner’s, and toasted Wellington and an endless list of his officers in pale champagne. By the end of the meal, all four were elevated by the wine—Diana and Amanda, who were not used to it, more so than the men. Indeed, in the drawing room afterward, Amanda insisted upon standing on a footstool and singing George’s regimental anthem in a very loud voice. George laughed, but went to lift her down and, still carrying her, said, “Amanda had best go to bed. She must take care of herself. I will say good night.”
“I, too,” said Captain Wilton. George nodded and went out, Amanda waving over his shoulder.
But Wilton did not go at once. He stood looking at Diana and smiling. He was far from befuddled by the champagne. It had only lent a golden sheen to everything around him, most particularly this woman he loved. She seemed the most beautiful he had ever beheld.
Diana was exhilarated by the unaccustomed indulgence. She laughed and took a step toward him.
He gathered her into his arms, and they kissed, long and passionately. Diana gave herself up wholly to it, every part of her responding to his touch. And when at last they drew a little apart, she said, “It seems as if everything were all right now, doesn’t it?”
He nodded, and kissed her lightly again. But her words had reminded him that one task remained. “I must go,” he replied softly.
“Must you?” Lifting her hand from his shoulder, she very lightly touched his cheek.
“Yes. But I will call tomorrow with news.”
“I suppose there will be more details from Belgium in the newspapers.”
“No doubt.”
She had a puzzling sense that war news was not what he had meant, but it was lost in regret as he took his leave.
“Tomorrow,” repeated the captain.
“Yes. Will you come to dinner again? George and Amanda would be glad, I’m sure.”
He hesitated. He had thought to come early. But the advantages of a whole evening together occurred to him, and he nodded.
“Till then.” Diana looked wistful.
He bent and kissed her lightly again, then stepped back. With a final smile and a small salute, he went out.
Alone, Diana held her arms out at her sides and whirled, making the skirt of her evening dress bell out. But she found that her balance was imperfect and, after tripping and sinking down on the sofa to avoid falling, giggled at her own foolishness and went slowly upstairs to bed. It was not until she was beneath the covers that she remembered that she had not asked Wilton about his brother.
* * *
The captain strode jauntily down the street, hands in the pockets of his uniform breeches, buoyant and elated. Diana, the news of victory, and the champagne all combined to make him feel that this was one of the best moments of his life. And he realized then that it was also the moment to act. The hour was not so very late, and all of Bath was celebrating. He could find his adversary without trouble. His smile fading to determination, Wilton turned toward the center of the town.
He knew the inn where Gerald Carshin was staying, one of the less expensive near the river, but he did not expect to discover him there so early. He went instead to the hotel where Faring had put up. His brother’s group was there, drinking champagne and brandy and toasting Wellington and his army along with the crowd. Captain Wilton settled himself in a corner, waving aside the offer of a glass from revelers who noticed his uniform. He did not intend to draw attention to his mission by dragging Carshin from among his friends. He would wait and go out with him.
It was a long vigil. Lord Faring’s set rarely ended a carouse before the early hours of the morning, and this occasion had the novelty of purpose. With an actual event to commemorate, they went on and on, ordering fresh bottles until the waiters grew surly.
At last, however, with dawn only a few hours away, they broke up, Boynton and Lord Faring heading for their rooms in the hotel and the others scattering to various other lodgings. Wilton rose and followed Gerald Carshin. The hours of waiting had dissipated the effects of the champagne, and anticipation had kept the captain alert. He now felt as he most often did just before going into battle: intent and aware of everything around him.
Carshin was thinking only of his bed. He was certain that Faring had put his case persuasively to Diana, and tonight’s indulgences had driven his worries from his mind. He was not befuddled—countless nights of far greater dissipation in London had given him a very hard head indeed—but he was unprepared for anything more taxing than removing his clothes and sleep. When Wilton spoke his name just outside the inn door, he started violently and whirled as if to face footpads. “Wha… Who is it?”
“Robert Wilton.”
He peered at him in the dim street. “Wilton? What are you doing here?”
“I want to talk to you.”
“Now? It’s after three.”
“Now. Shall we go in?”
Automatically Carshin rang, and, after a few minutes, the landlord came to let them in, growling about the lateness of the hour. Carshin waved him off, and he returned gratefully to bed.
“A private parlor?” suggested Wilton.
By now both curious and intrigued, Carshin indicated a door, and they went inside, Wilton shutting it behind them. The last embers of a fire remained, yielding enough light for Carshin to see to kindle a lamp. Then he turned and surveyed his visitor. “Put on your uniform for the great day, did you?” He sneered. “Touching.” Now that he had had time to gather his wits, Carshin found this development very interesting. Wilton’s visit must have to do with Diana. Could Lord Faring have caused such an immediate effect? Was this her response?
Carshin moved to the fireplace and stirred the coals, adding fresh wood to create a blaze. He felt only interest and anticipation, for, in his eyes, Wilton was a poor opponent. He had encountered him occasionally in town when the captain had been persuaded by his mother to join in the festivities of the season, and Carshin judged his address and manner hopeless. He had also absorbed Lord Faring’s contempt for his socially inept younger brother, which did not acknowledge, of course, his accomplishments in other fields. Altogether, Carshin felt an amused superiority as he sat in an armchair before the hearth and crossed one leg over the other. “Did you want something?” he asked.
Wilton remained standing. “Yes. I came to speak to you about Miss Diana Gresham.”
How ham-handedly direct he was, thought Carshin, a supercilious smile spreading across his face. This would be almost too easy. “Indeed?”
“It is clear to me that you have been annoying her. This must cease.”
For a moment what he saw as Wilton’s effrontery kept Carshin silent and staring. The idiot actually spoke as if he had some advantage. He was apparently too stupid to realize that he was helpless in Carshin’s practiced hands. He must be even less knowing than Faring had said. Carshin hardly knew how to reply to such clumsiness. “Does Diana say that I have annoyed her?” he replied finally, using Diana’s first name as a calculated barb.
It struck home, but Wilton ignored it. “She has no need to do so. It is obvious.”
“I see. And did Diana send you here to me?”
“No.”
“Then what, my dear captain, is your interest in this matter? Though I do not admit that I have ‘annoyed’ anyone.”
“Miss Gresham and I am going to be married, and I forbid you to speak to her or of her ever again.”
Carshin laughed. “Such high flights. You should go on the stage, Captain Wilton. Do you claim that Diana has accepted you?” He reached inside his coat and drew out a silver snuffbox, flicking it open with his thumb.
“She has,” answered Wilton. And he felt this to be no more than the truth, if, perhaps, stretched a little.
Carshin was still for a moment; then he proceeded to take the snuff, making of it a prolonged and careful ritual. Finally, when he had brushed the crumbs from his waistcoat with a handkerchief and replaced the box, he said, “Impossible. Diana will marry me, or no one.”
“You!” Wilton found the idea revolting.
The other merely nodded. “She is mine, Wilton. You may as well go back to your marching and maneuvers. You have no chance here.”
“On the contrary, it is you who will go.”
Carshin was becoming bored. He was tired and ready for sleep, and this bumpkin was too dull to provide the least amusement. Toying with him was fruitless. He did not even understand the process. Carshin must be as blunt as he. He had decided at an early moment to tell Captain Wilton the whole story—it would be so amusing to see his reaction, and would remove a rival from the field once and for all—but he had thought to prolong the enjoyment, dropping hints and letting him work it out for himself. This was clearly impossible. The man could not work out a betting sheet. “Diana belongs to me,” he replied. “She eloped with me at seventeen, and spent the night in my arms before returning to her home.” Seeing the shock in Wilton’s face, he maliciously added, “What a beauty she is, eh? You should see that hair all down over naked shoulders and—”
“You lie!” The thought of this worm touching Diana turned Captain Wilton’s stomach. He had not devoted much thought to the reasons behind her predicament, once he had satisfied himself that it existed. But, whatever thoughts he had had, none had approached this.
Enjoying his horror, Carshin shook his head. “Ask her yourself. She cannot deny it. She has no more forgotten that night than I.”
“Why are you not married now, then?” Wilton forced out.
“Ah.” For the first time a bit uneasy, Carshin looked away. “A small contretemps concerning the lady’s fortune.”
“You ruined her, then abandoned her over money?” Wilton ruthlessly suppressed his shock and concentrated on his feelings about this man. Fury and contempt battled in his breast.
“An unfortunate necessity. But I am prepared to make amends now. We shall be wed as soon as possible.”
“No.” Of the few certainties left Wilton, this one was most clear. Diana did not wish to marry this blackguard.
“My dear sir, there is nothing you can do—”
“She doesn’t like you. A child can see that. You will leave her alone.”
Carshin began to get angry. “Her preferences are not at issue. She will have me or the world will know of our elopement.” He smiled triumphantly.
This was it, then, thought Captain Wilton. This was the threat that had changed Diana from a carefree, laughing girl to a melancholy recluse. Gazing at Carshin’s fat complacent face, the captain almost laughed. Did the man really believe it was so easy?
He shook his head. “If you ever come near Diana Gresham again,” he said, “or so much as mention her name, I will kill you.”
Carshin pulled back in his chair, aghast.
“I will discover some pretext,” continued Wilton, “and I will challenge you. I am rather good with sword and pistol, and I shan’t stop until you are dead. You will not escape me. I will follow you wherever you go and call you out.”
“Are you mad? Dueling is forbidden. You would have to flee the country. You—”
“I have lived abroad for many years. I rather like it. And I should have the satisfaction of knowing that you were dead.”
Carshin stood and backed around the chair. Why had he not noticed the terrifying implacability of Wilton’s expression before? “I could speak before you reached me,” he said in a quavering voice. “The girl would be ruined in any case.”
Wilton smiled without humor. “True. But you would be dead. I cannot agree with those who argue the former is the worse fate.”
“I… This is merely a bluff. You would not—”
“I assure you I would.”
Meeting Wilton’s blue eyes, hard as cold steel, Carshin was convinced. The man must be mad. His only wish now was to escape. “Very well,” he said, his dreams of riches once more falling about his ears. “I shan’t speak of it. But I can hardly promise never to come near the chit again. In Bath, one often encounters—”
“Yes. That is why I suggest you leave this morning, as soon as may be.”
“But that is scarcely three hours…”
Captain Wilton shrugged and turned away, his purpose accomplished. He now wanted only to obliterate all memory of this man from his mind. His personality sickened him.
“How am I to explain to my friends, your brother?”
If he had thought by this to gain some measure of sympathy, he was sadly mistaken. “I don’t care a damn what you say,” replied Wilton, moving toward the door. “Or what you do, so long as I need never see you again.” And with a sharp jerk of the oak door, he was gone.
Carshin heard the outer door of the inn bang, and sank into the armchair, running shaking hands through his hair. Never in his life had he faced the threat of physical violence, and he decided he was quite unsuited for it. He felt dizzy and sick. “Barbarian,” he muttered, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Wilton had to be bluffing. But, when he remembered his look, his calm threats, he didn’t believe it. And he could think of no way to evade the captain’s promised attack. He was convinced the man would carry out his promise.
And so this lout would get the heiress, he thought, grinding his teeth, and he was back where he had started. They could come to London and gloat over his failure, and he could do nothing. His revelation had not seemed to discourage Wilton, though Carshin was not surprised, for he would not have thrown away a fortune for such a reason. But at least he had given the man something to think of when he held his bride in his arms. The picture he had painted had shaken Wilton. He had seen that. And it would rise again and again through their marriage. That was something.
Suddenly Carshin had another thought, one which made him smile despite his disappointment. Diana had been most upset at the idea that Wilton might be told the truth. She should not be allowed to escape scot-free.
His smile widening, Carshin moved to the writing desk in the corner of the room, carrying the lamp with him. He had promised never to see Diana again, he thought as he found paper and pen. He had not sworn he would not write. That pair should have much to talk over when next they met. Laughing a little, he wrote, “My dear Miss Gresham,” at the top of the sheet.