Diana breakfasted alone the next morning, as was now usual. Thus it was not until she finished eating and went to inquire if Amanda wanted anything from town, where Diana intended to walk, that she received Carshin’s missive. The letters were always taken to Amanda with her breakfast tray. Diana’s correspondence was limited to the bankers in Yorkshire and an occasional bill.
She was surprised, therefore, when Amanda held out the envelope, saying, “There is a letter for you. I would have had it taken downstairs, but I knew you would be up.”
“For me?” She shook it and looked at the direction. The handwriting was unfamiliar. “What can it be?”
“I know how to find out,” answered Amanda.
Smiling, Diana tore it open. But her pleased expression soon faded to apprehension as she glanced at the signature, then horror as she read, “This is to inform you that I had an extremely interesting conversation with Captain Robert Wilton last night. I am leaving Bath, and you may think you have won. But the captain now knows all about you, and you may find his feelings quite altered.”
“Diana, what is it?” exclaimed Amanda, sitting bolt upright in her bed. “You have gone white as chalk. Is it bad news?”
Wordlessly Diana handed her the note. Amanda read it quickly, then let the paper drop on the counterpane. “Oh, no.”
Diana felt as if she had been encased in ice. Even her heart seemed to have ceased beating.
Her friend searched for comforting words, and found none. She picked up the letter again. “He says he is leaving Bath, and that you have won. Do you suppose he means to let you be? He must. He says nothing about meeting you again. But why? I wonder what Robert Wilton—?”
“What does it matter?” blurted Diana. “He has told the story. I suppose everyone in Bath is talking of it by now. And sneering behind their hands.”
“He says only that he has told Robert. You do not think Captain Wilton would repeat…”
“Of course not. But Carshin would not stop there. Why should he?” Diana paused to swallow a lump in her throat. “Besides, if Captain Wilton knows…”
The two women were silent for a long moment, contemplating this disaster. Amanda longed to say that it would make no difference, but she did not believe it. No man could help but be affected by such a revelation, she thought, and the ones she knew best—George, her father—would have been outraged and repelled. She imagined herself in such a situation, before her marriage. George would have rushed from her directly to the battlefield, she thought, and played the reckless care-for-nobody hero. She would probably have pined away at home, thinking of him. There would have been no match. Tears filled her eyes at the vision. Then she shook her head at her own idiocy. This was no way to aid Diana. “You can’t be certain the story is spread,” she offered. “Something has happened.” She concentrated. “Indeed, I think Captain Wilton has driven Carshin off. Why else would he go so suddenly?”
Thinking over the events of the last few days, Diana was forced to agree. “He has been planning something.”
“Robert?”
She nodded.
“There! He has saved you. Just like a knight in a fairy tale.” Diana looked at her, and she faltered. “That is…”
“And Carshin has retaliated by telling him the truth. Like a malign dragon breathing fire. And so I am ruined, though I may continue to live in society as long as I please.”
“Diana…”
“I care more for Robert Wilton’s good opinion than any other’s! Indeed, had I that, I should not mind what…” She choked, unable to go on. Amanda got out of bed and came to put her arm around her shoulders. “Oh, Amanda, what am I to do?”
“You…you can talk with him. Perhaps…” But she could not finish.
Diana imagined facing Wilton under these new circumstances. The thought made her wince. If his eyes now held contempt and revulsion instead of love—and how could it be otherwise once she had been linked with a man such as Carshin? She would not be able to bear it. And yet a small flame of hope also flickered. Amanda had understood her plight. Might he not as well? Tonight, when he came to dinner, she could judge the chances.
But at that moment there was a knock at the door and one of the maids came in. “A note, ma’am,” she said, holding out a sealed missive. “It is for you and Miss Diana, the man said.”
“Man?” said Diana, more sharply than she meant.
The maid gazed at her. “The man what delivered it. He didn’t wait.”
“Thank you, Annie,” said Amanda, and she unfolded the sheet as the girl went out. A silence followed.
“What is it?” asked Diana apprehensively.
Amanda looked up, distressed.
“Amanda. What?”
“It…it is from Robert. He begs us to excuse him from dinner tonight as…as he has pressing business. He says he will call soon.”
Diana did not move. She felt that, if she stirred or spoke, she would shatter in a thousand pieces on the carpet. She had hoped, she realized. She had not really given up till now.
“Perhaps he does have business,” stammered Amanda. “His brother, or…”
Carefully Diana shook her head. Then she turned and moved slowly toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To my room.” Her voice sounded alien in her own ears.
“Are you all right?” As soon as she asked it, Amanda knew the question was ridiculous.
“No.”
“What can I do? Will you not stay here? I…”
“I will be better alone for a while, Amanda. But thank you.” Diana went out, closing the door very quietly behind her. Amanda gazed at it with tears in her eyes, Captain Wilton’s note still clutched in her hand.
* * *
Robert Wilton would have been astonished and horrified had he witnessed this exchange. But having no knowledge of Carshin’s letter, he sat in his lodgings secure in the thought that he had ample time to adjust.
For Carshin’s story had indeed shaken him. There could be no denying that. As the Londoner had hoped, the picture he had painted—of Diana in his embrace—haunted Wilton, making him at once furious and sick. Like most men of his class and generation, Robert Wilton had been taught to value innocence in a woman above many other qualities. He had, he saw now, a certain vision of his wife, though he had not been conscious of forming it. Diana had matched all his desires, until this revelation.
Wilton understood far more than Carshin had said. He had no doubt that the blackguard had deceived and misused a naive girl. Even knowing little of Diana’s history, he was certain that none of it was her fault. A man such as Carshin was heedless of propriety. Diana had done nothing. But, even as he assured himself of this, the vision rose again. He could see it damnably clearly: her golden hair streaming down, her innocent acceptance of Carshin’s lying endearments.
With a wordless exclamation, Wilton leapt up and hurled his shaving mug into the grate, where it shattered against the bars. He could not bear it! How could he ever look at Diana again without seeing that picture?
Catching up his riding crop, he strode from the room and down to the stables. If he stayed inside a moment longer, he thought, he would begin to beat on the walls with his fists. A long, hard ride was the thing. If he could settle nothing in his mind, at least he would be tired out.
The conventional course of action in his situation—breaking off with Diana while keeping forever silent as to the reason—satisfied him no more than its alternative. He loved her, or had loved her, dearly. He could name her sterling qualities and enumerate her beauties. Never to see her again—the thought made him clench his teeth.
Mounting up, he headed away from the town, pushing his horse hard. The motion eased the turmoil of his brain a little, and he attempted an objective analysis. Nothing had changed in the Diana he loved, he told himself. The incident with Carshin had occurred years ago, and no doubt she had regretted it bitterly. The way she treated Carshin showed her dislike for the man and the memory. She was not even the same person, really, who had been taken in by him.
Yet his anger remained. He could not seem to ease it.
Wilton wished for a confidant. If only there were someone he could turn to for advice. If his father were alive… But no. He could not share this story and expose Diana to the chance of ruin. And his father’s counsel would have been harsh, he suspected.
Spurring his horse, he galloped down a green lane, oblivious of the lush summer vegetation and the scent of roses. It almost seemed as if he could outrun his dilemma, if he went fast enough.
But when he at last pulled his mount to a shivering, blowing halt, his problem was as pressing as ever, and he was no closer to deciding what to do. Remorseful, he walked the animal for a while, and then rode on as the morning turned to afternoon, still wrestling with his desires and prejudices.
* * *
At three, Diana came downstairs wearing a bonnet and shawl. She found Amanda alone in the drawing room. The latter rose at once. “Diana, how are you? You missed luncheon. Do you want something?”
“No.” Diana hesitated, looking at her. “I’m leaving, Amanda. I’m going home.”
“What?”
“I know it is a cowardly thing to do, but I cannot bear to stay. My house is still there. I can hire one or two servants. I will be quite—”
“But you can’t go without seeing Robert! Diana, you must talk with him. You do not know how he feels. Perhaps—”
“He has let me know. Do you not see that, Amanda? His message today was designed to tell me in a way that hurt less than meeting. He is gone. It was, I suppose, kind.” Tears threatened, and she turned her face away briefly.
Amanda tried to think of objections, but her friend’s reasoning seemed depressingly plausible. “You cannot be sure,” she answered weakly.
Diana gazed at her. “I am sure.”
“But…but…you needn’t return to Yorkshire, to that cold bleak house.” She shivered slightly. “No one else knows your story, and I do not think they will. I feel it, somehow. So you can stay with us. We could go to London if you do not like to remain in Bath. Or, since it is so late, Brighton or…”
“No,” replied Diana softly.
“You would forget him after a time, with the diversion of society.”
“Would you have forgotten George so?”
Amanda was silent, looking unhappy.
“Truly I care nothing for society. It has not matched my expectations. I shall be better off alone.”
“You won’t! How can you say so? I can’t bear to think of you living solitary in that house. You have been so much happier since you left it and came to us.”
Diana could not dispute this. She did not try. She knew she was reacting in her old constricted pattern, and, perhaps, wrongheadedly. To hide from the consequences of her actions might be unwise, but she did not feel able to face the alternative. She had always chosen to avoid censure and contention rather than endure the unhappiness they engendered.
“But I will miss you so!” wailed Amanda, giving up reasoned argument. “I thought you would be with me for weeks yet. Months, perhaps. You cannot go.”
This was difficult to take. Diana knew she had been a great help to her friend in her current delicate state of health, and their companionship had warmed them both. But Amanda had her family, and she would before long be engrossed by an addition to it. “I’m sorry, Amanda. George will be here.”
“Yes, but…” She pressed her lips together, and tears spilled over her lashes.
“I am sorry!” cried Diana. “But I cannot help it, I swear. I could not go on as usual after this. I would be of no use to you.”
“Perhaps I could be useful to you.”
“Oh, Amanda.” She stepped forward and took both her hands. “You are truly my dearest friend, and, if you will, sometimes come to visit me at home;I will be grateful. But even you cannot make up for what I have lost.”
Amanda held her hands as a lifeline. “You are not allowing enough time!”
Diana gave one last squeeze, shook her head, and moved away. “I am taking Fanny. She has no objection to returning to Yorkshire. I must go and arrange for a post chaise.”
“George will be home in a moment. Let him go.”
“It isn’t necessary.”
“Let me do something!”
“Amanda, I can’t bear sitting still—and thinking. I beg your pardon, but I will go myself. I will say goodbye before setting out.” She turned away.
“You can come back anytime you like,” blurted Amanda. “Perhaps a stay at home will help, and then you can return to us.”
Diana hesitated, hating to disappoint her, though she was certain she would not return. “Perhaps,” she replied finally, and went out.
All the arrangements were complete within two hours. The post chaise waited outside the front door of the Trents’ lodgings as Diana’s things were brought down and loaded. The two women stood together in the drawing room, Amanda watching her friend’s face and Diana gazing sadly at the floor. George, who had come home in the meantime, alternated between supervising the servants and joining his wife and guest. “Are you certain you will not wait until morning?” he said for the fourth time when he had seen the last valise carried down. “You have scarcely a few hours until dark, and there is no moon.”
“I want to get started,” answered Diana.
The major shook his head. He was utterly mystified by this sudden start, but clear signals from his wife had kept him more or less silent. “Well, the baggage is loaded.”
“Thank you.” Diana stepped closer and offered her hand. “I must also thank you for all your kindness to me. You have been the best of hosts, and a good friend.”
He clasped her hand awkwardly, seeming even more puzzled. “Why go, then?” he could not restrain himself from saying. It was obvious to George that this parting grieved Amanda, and he would prevent it if he could. “If you hadn’t been happy with us, or if there had been a quarrel…” He paused, fishing.
“How could there be?” Diana assured him warmly.
He looked from his now tearful wife to Diana, whose smile was patently forced. “I don’t understand any of this.”
“I’m sorry. I must go,” was Diana’s only reply. She did not think she could bear further goodbyes. “Fanny is waiting for me in the carriage.”
“Oh, Diana!” Amanda ran forward and flung her arms about her friend. “I shall miss you so.” She was crying openly.
“And I you.”
They clung together briefly; then Diana gently disentangled herself, tears showing on her cheeks as well. “You will visit me.”
“Of course.”
With an attempt at a smile, and a nod to George, she hurried from the room. Amanda ran to the stairs to watch her go out, and, in a few moments, they heard the chaise pulling away. “For God’s sake, what is going on?” said the major.
His wife shook her head and walked into his arms to be comforted.
He enfolded her. “You’re not going to explain, are you?” Silence answered him, and he sighed. “Well, it is a great pity. You were so pleased to have her here.” This, not unnaturally, caused Amanda to cry again, and Major Trent cursed his clumsiness and devoted himself to restoring her spirits.
* * *
The Trents’ dinner that evening was not festive, and, when George suggested that they go to a concert, Amanda merely shook her head. The room seemed echoing and overlarge, and the rattle of cutlery intrusive, without Diana’s additions to the conversation.
Afterward, they sat in the drawing room, and George exerted himself mightily to be amusing. But Amanda would not be jollied. Finally, in the midst of an anecdote the major thought uproarious, she said, “The world is really so unfair, George.”
“Eh?”
“Nothing happens as it should, and the nicest people are made to suffer for the actions of bad ones.”
“Who do you mean?” he responded, puzzled.
“Um?” She looked up as if surprised. “Oh, nothing. Go on with your story. It is very funny.”
The major eyed her. “Well, Rollins had bought the chicken, but he had nowhere to cook it. Sergeant Hooker had a fine pot, but nothing to put in it. Yet they were so much at odds that…” He paused, aware that Amanda had ceased listening. “That Rollins deserted to the French rather than cook his bird in Hooker’s pot,” he suggested. Amanda merely nodded. “And so, of course, Hooker led his troop in an assault on the enemy position and recaptured the chicken. He carried it back across the lines in triumph. It made the most frightful row, squawking and flapping its wings. He held its feet and waved it about like a banner.”
“Urn,” said Amanda again.
“And so Wellington gave him a medal and put him in charge of foraging for the entire army. Amanda, what is the matter?”
She started. “What?”
“I have been talking the veriest nonsense for five minutes, and you have not heard a word.”
“Yes, I have. It was about…”
The major took her hand. “Won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”
She hung her head. “I can’t, George. It is not my secret.”
“Secret?” He raised his blond brows.
They were interrupted by the sound of the bell and, just after, footsteps on the stairs. In the next instant, Captain Wilton appeared. “I told the servant you would see me,” he said. “I am sorry to call so late, but I must speak to Miss Gresham. It is very important.”
Amanda leapt to her feet. “Oh, no!” She put both hands to her lips.
Wilton stared at her, and George looked from one to the other. “Miss Gresham left for Yorkshire four hours ago,” he said finally.
“Left…?” The captain seemed stunned.
But the major had been diverted. “Amanda, are you all right? You look ill.” He went to her and put an arm around her waist. “Come and sit down. You are pale.”
“I’m all right.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You must take care.” He led her back to the sofa and seated her. “Wilton, perhaps—”
“I must talk to Captain Wilton,” declared Amanda decisively. “Would you leave us alone, please, George?”
“What?”
“It is about Diana, and I must talk with him.”
The major appeared torn between hurt and outrage.
“George, please!”
Meeting her pleading eyes, and glancing at Wilton’s tense white face, the major gave in. But he was clearly offended at his exclusion.
“I will explain all I can later,” offered his wife. With a curt nod, he left the room.
Amanda and Captain Wilton gazed at each another, each trying to gauge the other’s knowledge and state. Amanda spoke first. “She did not think you would call again. And so she went home.”
“But why should she think that? In my note I said—”
“She decided it was a hint you would come no more. Because of Carshin’s story.”
Wilton stared. “How…do you…?”
“She told me the whole. And Carshin wrote to her about your…meeting.”
“Damn him!” he exploded. “I’ll pay him back for—”
“Captain Wilton. Why have you come?” Amanda leaned forward and searched his face.
“To…to see Miss Gresham.”
“And?”
“What do you mean?” He avoided her eyes.
“What did you plan to say to her?”
He turned half away, frowning.
“Please. I am her friend. I know the circumstances. This is not prying.”
Wilton turned back and looked at her. Here, unexpectedly, he had perhaps found the confidante he had sought. “I’m…not sure. I have spent this whole day thinking—and getting nowhere. It is…difficult. But as I was riding home, I realized I had to stop here. I could not stay away. And she has gone!” He looked toward the windows, curtained now against the dark.
“Yes.” Amanda still watched him, trying to understand what he felt. “Will you sit down for a moment, please? There is something I should like to tell you.”
“I don’t know. Perhaps I should…”
“It is very important.”
Something in her voice brought him to the sofa and made him sit beside her.
There was hope as well as hurt and confusion in his eyes, Amanda saw exultantly. “I don’t believe Diana ever spoke to you about her childhood,” she began. Wilton shook his head. “Well, I want to do so now.”
He looked puzzled but not unreceptive. “Very well.”
Amanda took a deep breath, relieved that he meant to listen. She thought for a moment, then began.
She talked for nearly half an hour, without interruption from her visitor. His expression altered with her words, but he did not speak. At last, hoping that she had proved a good advocate, she finished, “It was years ago, and Diana is much changed. I can testify to that.”
There was a silence. Amanda bit her lower lip.
“I never imagined it was her fault,” said Wilton quietly then. “I do not blame her, precisely. Particularly after what you have told me.”
“No one could.”
He raised his head and met her eyes. “But it is still very difficult to…accept. I don’t know if you can understand.”
She nodded, sad.
“I feel as if I were being torn in five different directions, and, frankly, I do not know where I shall end up.”
“But you intend to talk to Diana,” she urged, leaning forward again.
“I did. But if she does not wish to see me…”
“She went away because she believed you would not see her, and she could not bear that. You must go after her.”
“You think so?” He rubbed his hands over his face. “I am tired and confused. I do not know what is right anymore.”
“I’m certain of it,” insisted Amanda.
He hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. Yes, you’re right. I must see her.”
“She meant to stop at a posting house on the road north. She can’t have gone too far.”
Wilton stood, suddenly determined. “I’ll go at once.” He glanced at the mantel clock. “It is scarcely ten, and I can travel faster than a laden chaise. I will speak to her before she sets out again tomorrow.”
Amanda hadn’t quite expected this. “You will ride in the darkness?”
This elicited Wilton’s first smile. “I have often done so in Spain. And I shall not even have to worry about bandits here.”
She rose to face him. “I wish you the best of luck, then.”
“Thank you. I wonder what that may be?” With a wry salute, he turned to go.
“Oh, I wish I could go with you!”
He glanced back over his shoulder. “You have been a good friend. But the rest…” He shrugged. “Go to George. He is probably near bursting with curiosity by this time.”
Amanda smiled slightly, then bit her lip again as he went out.