Diana had traveled through the long summer evening and twilight and stopped at a small posting house when darkness fell. Sitting in the hired chaise, Fanny in the opposite corner, she had kept her mind carefully blank. It was no good regretting the past, she told herself, and the future held little to anticipate. It was best not to think. Diana watched the passing scenery with wide, abstracted eyes, seeing it without registering details. She answered Fanny’s occasional remarks, though these grew fewer as they drove and the girl picked up Diana’s mood, and she attended to whatever mundane duties the journey entailed. But Diana felt as if she was only half-alive in the carriage. A large part of her was sealed off, perhaps forever, from the joys and pains of the world.
At the inn, they bespoke a room and a late supper, but Diana could not eat, and when she was in bed, sleep did not come. In the quiet darkness, it was more difficult to ignore her situation, and, as the hours passed, Diana became more and more dejected.
Captain Wilton, riding through the night, his pace necessarily slow, was not much better off. He, too, had given up thinking. It led him round and round the same questions without a glimmer of resolution, and he had taken refuge in action. Fortunately, the way was difficult without light, and keeping to the road and avoiding obstacles required all his faculties. He had a good idea of how far Diana’s chaise could have gone in the time elapsed, but it was hard to judge distances without landmarks, and he had often to pause and calculate where he might be. In this way, the night passed rapidly for him, and, when the first streaks of dawn appeared on the horizon, he was surprised.
A glance at the rising sun told Robert that he had somehow strayed off the main north road and into a lane, but, when he turned his mount and galloped back, concerned in spite of his uncertainties that he would miss Diana, he reached the highway quickly. And another half hour’s ride brought him to the posting house where she was most likely to be. Inquiring, he found he had judged correctly, and he swung down from his horse and went in to order breakfast.
Diana had meant to make a very early start. But her sleeplessness in the first part of the night had given way to exhaustion as morning approached, and she slept heavily until eight, stirring only gradually at Fanny’s urging.
“You said to be sure and wake you,” the maid said defensively when Diana rose on one elbow and blinked to clear her vision.
“Yes.”
“I’m sure I would have let you sleep.”
“It’s all right.” Diana felt as if her head were stuffed with cotton batting. “Is there tea?”
“Yes, indeed, miss.” Fanny indicated a small tray on the side table, then poured out a cup.
Diana drank gratefully, returned the cup, and rubbed her eyes. Feeling a little better, she pushed back the covers. “You needn’t help me dress, Fanny. Would you find the postboys and tell them we will be leaving right after breakfast?”
“They’re ready now, miss.”
“Oh.” Feeling slightly flurried, Diana washed and put on her traveling dress. Fanny picked up her night things and toilet articles. In twenty minutes they were walking downstairs together.
“I’ll put this in the chaise, miss, shall I?” said the maid, holding up the dressing case.
Diana nodded and went on toward the private parlor where her breakfast would be waiting. But, as she opened the door, she heard her name and turned back, to confront Robert Wilton approaching from the taproom.
She gasped, and turned bright red, then ashen, her hand trembling on the doorknob.
For an endless moment they merely stared at one another, each frozen by conflicting impulses. Then Wilton ushered her into the parlor with a light touch on her elbow. He felt her shaking and he wished at the same time both to soothe her and flee from this excess of emotion.
Inside, a small table was set for the morning meal. To Diana it seemed ludicrous—this very ordinary scene in such intensely extraordinary circumstances. She almost laughed, but the sound she felt rising in her throat was distinctly hysterical, and she suppressed it.
Wilton understood that it was up to him to begin. Briefly wishing that he knew what he meant to do, he said, “I called at the Trents’ to speak to you, and they told me you had gone. I…I followed…to speak to you.”
“Yes?” Diana did not dare hope. For an instant, when she had first seen him, a flame of possibility had blazed, but his tone and behavior had dimmed it again.
“I… Shall we sit down? I did not intend to interrupt your breakfast. Please go on.”
Did he actually imagine she could sit calmly and eat as they talked? Diana shook her head and went to the armchair before the fire. Wilton took its mate opposite. Silence fell again. Captain Wilton searched for words. “I did not imagine Gerald Carshin would write to you,” he said at last. “If I had, I would certainly have…” He stopped, with no idea how to end this sentence.
Diana gazed down at her clenched fists. “What passed between you and Mr. Carshin?” she found the voice to ask. “How did you…? I don’t understand it.”
He took up this less emotion-laden topic eagerly. “I saw that he threatened you. So I told him that, if he did not give it up, I would kill him.”
“What?”
Not quite realizing how strange this sounded to Diana, he recounted the story of their confrontation, keeping his eyes focused on the hearth rug. His military life had made him familiar with violence, and he did not think of his threat as outrageous.
“Do you mean you would really have killed him?” Diana said when he had finished.
Wilton shrugged.
“But…” She couldn’t find words.
“I knew it was unlikely to be necessary. The man is a coward. Only a coward would prey on women.” Absorbed in his story, he met her eyes, and the gaze held as each of them learned things from the other. Diana was genuinely shocked, Wilton realized, and, seeing the episode from her perspective, he could not precisely blame her. Diana glimpsed the motives behind the captain’s actions. Generosity of spirit and, yes, love had guided him, she saw, and his threat had been without malice or enjoyment. She felt a thrill at his gallantry.
“It was the only way to be sure of routing him,” blurted Wilton.
“Thank you,” said Diana at the same moment.
They paused, embarrassed, then fell into silence again, left with the question of the future. Neither felt able to broach it.
Finally Wilton squared his shoulders and said, “I spoke with Mrs. Trent before I started out. She told me…something about your father and the…circumstances—”
“I do not place the blame on others,” Diana broke in. “Whatever my difficulties, the fault was mine. Others struggle with youth, ignorance, loneliness, harsh rules, without doing what I did.”
This was brave, thought Wilton. He admired those who did not make excuses. For the first time since they had met in the corridor, he examined her. The morning sun was slanting through the window and lighting her hair to molten bronze. Her face was in shadow, its exquisite contours accentuated. But, more than her beauty, he saw her pain, and her determined control of it. He seemed to see in her expression all the years since Carshin had passed from her life. They had molded her almost as the war had him, he thought. And if she had done something to be regretted—as he had, more than once—the mistake had made her an extraordinary woman. Indeed, without it she might have become like the London misses he so disliked, or a dull, shallow countrywoman. He would not have been drawn to her, or come to love her. So, he told himself, though it was still difficult to think of that long-ago incident, he had, amazingly, reason to be grateful for it. The revolutionary nature of this thought made it slow to assimilate, and the silence in the room lengthened.
Diana, concluding that he must be condemning her, clenched her hands even tighter, until her nails dug into her palms and the skin whitened. Why had he come after her? Why could he not have simply let her go and spared them both this scene? Finally, unable to endure it any longer, she rose. “My chaise is waiting. I must go.”
He stood to face her. “Diana—”
“I thank you again for helping me. It is…good to know that my…story will not be common property. And it was…kind of you to come and say goodbye. I—”
“I don’t say it.”
Something in his voice held Diana motionless, her heart pounding chokingly in her throat.
“Why do you think I followed you? I admit I was not sure myself for a while. But some part of me understood and brought me here.” He stepped forward.
“What?”
“I love you, Diana. I have told you so before, and my feelings have not changed.”
“Even after…”
“No. Or perhaps they have changed, in a way. But only because I now understand more about you and why you are so dear to me.”
Diana took a shaky breath. She could not quite believe him yet. Everything she had been taught, and her limited experience, told her that he could not still love her. Her harsh father, her distant neighbors, the insinuations of Gerald Carshin, all argued the opposite. Among her acquaintances, only Amanda had taken her part, and she had seemed convinced that Captain Wilton would not. “Are…are you saying this out of pity?” she ventured. It seemed an unlikely explanation, but she could think of no other. “You needn’t. I shall be quite all right. I can look after myself.”
“I know. It is one of the things I admire most about you.” He smiled, and Diana waited, puzzled. Was this a withdrawal? “But there is a difference between being capable of managing and being happy, you know. I learned that in Spain.” Seeing her expression, he added, “I could get along very well on my own when I first joined my regiment. Indeed, I prided myself on it. Yet that satisfaction soon gave way to routine and isolation, and I feared I was not suited to military life. I nearly sold out before I discovered the value of helping out my fellows and allowing them to help me.” He paused then. “I should like to look after you…sometimes.”
“I don’t think…”
“Diana.” He stepped forward and took both her hands before she could retreat. “This is not pity. I love you!”
Still incredulous, she met his eyes and searched them for signs of other feelings. She found none. Slowly, tentatively, she began to believe. It felt as if the sealed part of her were gradually opening, relieving a terrible pressure and constraint.
Watching her gold-flecked eyes shift, Wilton smiled again, more naturally. After a time, Diana returned his smile—shakily, then with growing joy. He laughed and pulled her into his arms, holding her close.
They stood thus for a while, reveling in their new understanding. Then Wilton put a finger under Diana’s chin and raised her lips to his. She responded eagerly, all barriers between them gone. The release from the tension each had felt at the beginning of their interview intensified their passion now. Diana clung to him, and his hands moved tenderly over her back as the kiss went on and on.
When at last they drew apart, Diana swayed a little in his embrace. She had endured dreadful anxiety in the last day, and eaten almost nothing. Combined with this new rush of emotion, it was almost too much.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Come and sit down.” With a sudden movement, he picked her up and carried her to the sofa on the other side of the room. There, he sat down with Diana across his knees. “That’s better.” And he bent to kiss her again.
They were wholly engrossed for some time, and each was increasingly elated as loving desire erased their previous moods. When they drew apart again, they grinned at one another delightedly.
“When shall we marry?” said Wilton. “I can get a special license in a week. My mother is very thick with a bishop.”
Diana laughed. “Why not?”
“Do you mean it? I thought females required a month at least to prepare for such an event.”
“Indeed? Well, I am not ‘females.’” She looked haughty.
“No.” His face softened with admiration. “That you are not. But are you serious?”
“If you are, certainly. I have no family and want no grand wedding.”
“Family,” he groaned. “I suppose my mother will have something to say about this.”
Diana stiffened a little. “You think she will disapprove?”
“On the contrary, she will be so excited to have her first son wed that she will probably invite half the realm.” He considered. “You must meet her, Diana.”
This reminded her of something. “You have told me so little about your family. Lord Faring said that your brother…” She hesitated, fearing to wound him.
“Have you talked with Faring? Yes, Richard was killed.” A shadow passed across his face, then cleared. “That was hard, but he died bravely, and we remember him so.”
“By why did you never tell me?” It seemed a slight, not to have mentioned this important fact.
He seemed surprised. “The occasion did not arise.”
“Indeed? Though we are to share our lives?” Diana was rather offended.
Frowning, he considered. “I see. I hadn’t thought of it from your side. I would have told you, of course, eventually. I honestly did not think of it.” He paused. “We avoided thinking or talking of such things, you see, in Spain. Comrades were constantly falling in battle. If one began to dwell on it…” He shrugged.
“Oh.” Diana felt stupid. “I never thought of that. It would be terrible. I’m sorry.”
“Why? You could not know.” He caressed her deep-gold hair. “We have much to tell one another. I expect it will take years.”
This was such a pleasant thought that they merely gazed at each other for a while.
“You will come to London with me, then?” he asked finally.
She nodded. “We must go back to Amanda’s first, however. I cannot leave her wondering what has happened.”
“Perhaps they will accompany us.”
“Oh, I hope so!”
“And, afterward, we can go down to Kent. I have a house there, which I hope you will like.”
“I shall love it.”
He smiled, then kissed her lingeringly again, and Diana gave herself up to the embrace. They were both oblivious of all externals when the door opened and Fanny peeked into the room.
“Miss!” she gasped.
Diana raised her head dreamily, then sat straight. “Oh, Fanny.” She took in the girl’s bulging eyes and dropped jaw and struggled with a smile. A glance at Robert made this more difficult.
But they rose. “I have come to take Miss Gresham back to the Trents’,” said Wilton. “We will be starting soon. You may inform the postboys.”
Fanny goggled at Diana, who nodded, then backed out of the parlor. They heard her run down the hallway toward the inn yard.
“Oh, dear.” Diana was still sensitive at the idea of scandal.
“Forget her,” he replied. “We answer only to each other. And you know my opinion.”
Diana sighed. “I do not know why I have been so lucky.”
“Do you not? Fortunately, you can also rely on my opinion there.” And he pulled her close once again.