4
Diana’s mother had educated her at home, at a rickety table in their small, dilapidated cottage, as there was no money to spare for schools or governesses (though she had scraped together enough money when Diana was fourteen to send her to a day school for a few months). French was one of the subjects Susannah Boyle had taught her daughter, even though she had to have known it was inconceivable that Diana would ever have the money for jaunts to Paris, and Susannah’s own French was merely passable. Still, she had wanted Diana educated as she had been, in that long ago time when she hadn’t had to launder her own clothes, clean her own house, and have bone broth for dinner five nights out of seven. And one possession Susannah had kept from her former life, as it wouldn’t have profited her to sell it, was a book of French fairy tales.
It had been a long time since Diana had thought about those stories her mother had read to her, but her current situation reminded her of one: that of the sleeping beauty in the woods. Diana hadn’t been cursed to sleep for a hundred years as the princess had, but she did feel as though the last seven years of her life she’d been merely existing, and that she’d finally been awoken from her metaphorical slumber. It was no longer a matter of merely enduring the long days, weeks, months, and years, but instead she now greeted each new day with excitement and anticipation.
She didn’t like to think too much, however, about the fact that if she were the sleeping princess, that meant Mr. Dean was filling the prince’s role, and his method of awakening her was far from chivalrous. When she reached that point in her meditations, she would dismiss the entire notion. It was just a fairy tale, after all, and it was ridiculous to try to find parallels in it to her own situation.
Especially since she hadn’t even seen Mr. Dean since she’d visited him in his rooms, and it was an entirely different relationship that was enlivening her days. Because, for the first time since her mother’s death, she had a sympathetic companion, a true friend. And it was someone she would never have imagined would befriend her: the aristocratic Lady Regina Townsend. Though after a few days Diana had been invited to dispense with her title, and they were now both calling each other by their first names.
Regina had visited Diana again at the Clarendon the day after they’d met, to discuss the arrangements for their ball. That led to a shopping expedition together, and an invitation for Diana to have tea with Regina at her townhome. Over the next week they’d seen each other every day, and Diana was very sorry when the time came for her to say goodbye. She asked Regina to call on her at Whitley House, even inviting her to make an extended stay.
“I would enjoy that, Diana,” Regina replied, “but must you really leave town? I know your home is no more than an hour away, but that is so inconvenient when you and I have so much to talk about and plan together. Why don’t you stay here, with me? At least until after the ball. Please say that you will! I could show you the London attractions you haven’t had time to see, and we could visit the theatre together. You’ve never been to the theatre, have you?”
“Never,” Diana said, touched by Regina’s eagerness for her company. Diana had decided to return to Whitley House because she could not justify staying at an expensive hotel indefinitely when her own home was so near, but there was really nothing that made it necessary for her to return home immediately. She certainly didn’t miss Mildred’s so-called company. She could go to Twickenham tomorrow, pack a few more things, and give instructions to the housekeeper before returning to stay with Regina. And staying with a friend was a much more pleasant prospect than staying with a maid at a hotel, even if it was the Clarendon. But just when she was about to accept the invitation, Regina’s happy, eager expression faded and she grew serious.
“Before you decide whether or not you’ll stay—and I would like nothing better, I assure you—I must first warn you of the consequences.”
Diana waited in fraught silence as Regina nervously clasped and unclasped her hands before raising her chin defiantly and saying, “You see, Diana, I am no longer accepted in polite society. They consider me . . . unvirtuous.” Regina’s haughty tone had faltered by the end of her statement, and she was no longer able to meet Diana’s eyes. She continued in a tone of voice that was barely audible, and Diana had to lean in closer to hear her. “I probably should have warned you at the start of our acquaintance, an association with me will most likely prevent your being accepted by the haut ton, as well. I suppose I was too excited to have a friend who knew nothing of my past and did not look at me with contempt. I beg your pardon for saying nothing before now.”
Diana grasped one of Regina’s fluttering hands. “There is nothing to apologize for. While I appreciate the warning, I’ve never aspired to be part of London society, and I am perfectly content with yours.”
Regina squeezed the hand that held hers before releasing it. She seemed more at ease now that she’d confided her secret, and smiled a little mischievously at Diana as she refilled both their teacups. “Perhaps that is why I wasn’t as offended by my inclusion on this list as you were. I’m sure I should have reacted as angrily as you did at Mr. Dean’s presumption, but frankly, I was just so surprised—and pleased—that he didn’t consider me unworthy of making a respectable marriage, that it was difficult for me to take offense.”
“Perhaps I overreacted. I’m sure if my first marriage had been different, I would not have been so affronted.”
Regina shook her head. “No, it was certainly wrong of Mr. Dean to do such a thing, and if you hadn’t gotten wind of it and warned the rest of us, we could have been deceived by some unscrupulous young men. But ‘knowledge itself is power’ as the saying goes, and thanks to you, we ladies now have the upper hand.”
They were silent for a moment, and Diana wondered if Regina would confide more fully in her. Diana was still unused to exchanging confidences; she had kept her own counsel for so many years, and so had not told Regina about her own unhappy marriage, other than to imply that she’d been less than content. And she didn’t require any explanation from her friend; she’d learned enough about Regina to believe she was virtuous, in every sense that mattered, and assumed that Regina had been the victim of gossip or even slander. Surely, Diana reasoned, if Regina weren’t a trustworthy, principled person, she wouldn’t have issued any warning at all.
Regina’s thoughts must have been following a similar pattern because she abruptly said, “I suppose you’d appreciate an explanation of why I’m a social pariah.”
Diana shook her head vigorously. “No, Regina, you need explain nothing to me. Even though we have known each other only a short time, I’ve learned enough about you to know such rumors must be false, or at least exaggerated.”
Regina sighed. “I wish I could claim there was absolutely no truth in the accusation, but I must admit that I was guilty of some misbehavior.”
“All of us have said or done things we later regret. That does not mean they should be held against us for the rest of our lives.”
Regina nodded in agreement, but to Diana’s horror, a tear coursed its way down her cheek. “Now I’ve upset you! I’m so sorry,” Diana said, setting her cup down and awkwardly holding out her hand.
“No, not at all. Quite the opposite,” Regina assured her, wiping the tear away. “You said nothing I have not been telling myself for the last eleven years. It happened so long ago, when I was barely more than seventeen, and it does seem unfair that I must continue to pay the price for my youthful folly, especially when a man can do far worse with impunity.”
Diana made a gesture of agreement but did not speak, and Regina left her seat to go stand by the window before continuing her story.
“My father had arranged a marriage for me with the son of a family friend when I was fifteen. And while I had no particular complaint about the groom—to be perfectly honest, I was more than a little enamored of him—I did resent the fact that I was to miss out entirely on a courtship. My fiancé treated me as if I were his younger sister, and there was not a hint of romance in our relationship. So when another gentleman appeared—though I flatter him by calling him such—and gave me all the compliments my silly, immature heart desired, I was easily persuaded to meet him clandestinely, and eventually to run away with him to Gretna Green.”
Regina turned to look directly at Diana, a rueful smile on her face. “As I am still a spinster, you cannot fail to realize that both marriages came to naught.”
Though Diana was surprised that Regina had eloped with a man and hadn’t married him, she attempted to hide it. “Undoubtedly that was for the best,” she responded to her friend’s disclosure.
Regina shrugged. “Perhaps. I am not at all sorry I was prevented from marrying my erstwhile suitor, at any rate, as I came to my senses very early in our journey, and was never so relieved in my life as when my father found us at the inn we’d stopped at that first night. But it was too late. Oh, nothing untoward happened,” Regina assured Diana, as Diana could not completely hide her fearful expression at the thought of what her friend might have suffered. “He was not quite unscrupulous enough to force himself upon me, and was probably not at all eager to, in any event, as I doubt he was as stricken with my charms as he had implied,” Regina said, with a self-deprecating smile. “However, I was still ruined, in rumor if not in fact, as it was the middle of the night by the time my father arrived, and we’d been alone together since the previous day. Plenty of time for something to have happened, and there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that something did. And we were so unfortunate as to stay at an inn that was also housing a voracious gossip who had seen me there, unchaperoned, so there was no hope of hushing the thing up. Indeed, at that point my father tried to convince me to marry the man, but I staunchly refused and begged to be returned home. Father did pay him off in an attempt to keep the affair quiet, but I doubt whether it would have mattered if he had done so or not, as there was no amount of money he could offer that would silence the others who had witnessed my disgrace.”
“But what about the man to whom you’d been affianced? Surely he wasn’t such a cad as to jilt you after you’d explained your innocence?” Diana asked.
“I don’t know whether he would have stood by me or not, as I had already sent him a letter breaking the engagement the day before my elopement. How could I then tell him that I had mistaken my feelings, and now that I was considered ‘damaged goods’ and a social outcast that I would be pleased to marry him, after all?” Regina shook her head. “Perhaps there was a way we could have been reconciled, but I was too humiliated to even attempt it, and knew not how to do so. And my father and brother were so enraged by my actions that they refused to intervene on my behalf. I only saw my former fiancé again almost a year later, after I’d come to London, and it was clear he did not intend to acknowledge our relationship. And even if I had not jilted him, when I saw how I was treated when I attempted to enter society, I would not have expected him to approach me. Only the most flagrant of fortune hunters and rakes did so, and I could have happily done without their attentions. I only stayed a few weeks before calling it quits and returning to the country.”
“Oh, Regina, I’m so sorry.”
“So am I. When I think of how one stupid decision altered the entire course of my life . . .” Her voice trailed off, but then she seemed to make an effort to lighten the mood, straightening her shoulders and walking back to sit near Diana with her head held high. “But then, there’s no point in regrets,” she said, smiling determinedly.
“No point at all,” Diana agreed.
Rather than putting a damper on the two women’s growing friendship as she had apparently feared it might, Regina’s confession only served to strengthen it. Though she and Diana were considered “rich” and were the possessors of sizable fortunes, they had felt themselves anything but fortunate, as empty and lonely as their lives had been. But they both couldn’t help feeling they were on the brink of a new, exciting chapter.
Diana wished she could rid herself of her other companion, Mildred, who had proved to be no companion at all and made life at Whitley House so disagreeable. However, Diana could put her out of her mind for a while at least. The morning after Regina’s invitation, Diana left the Clarendon and returned to Whitley House to let the household know she had decided to make a longer stay in town and give them her new direction. Mildred had asked all kinds of probing questions, obviously eaten up with curiosity as to how Diana had made the acquaintance of the daughter of a marquess and been invited to stay with her.
“No doubt you planned this flit to London before my poor brother was even cold in his grave and you intend to find some here-and-therian to install in his place,” Mildred said with a disparaging sniff, her arms folded across her bosom.
Association with Lady Regina had given Diana more confidence, so rather than cowering before this attack, Diana merely looked at Mildred in simulated shock and exclaimed: “Such language! I am surprised at you, Mildred.”
This admonition startled Mildred so much that she was silenced for a good twenty seconds, during which time Diana bid her goodbye and got back in the carriage to return to London. A little more than an hour later Regina joyfully welcomed her to her home and showed her to a very charming guest room, where Sally unpacked Diana’s things. That evening, over dinner, Diana told Regina about her conversation with Mildred.
“I must be a better actress than I thought, to be able to convince her that I was shocked by her use of the term ‘here-and-therian.’ My father was a sailor, after all, and they’re not known for their polite speech,” Diana said, chuckling a little at the memory of Mildred’s expression.
“Well, while not a particularly shocking one, it is a slang term. And she sounds like a very proper lady, so she must have been annoyed with you to have used it. My mother always cautioned me never to use the expressions I picked up from my brother and his friends. It’s another of those things that infuriates me that men are allowed to do that we ladies are not,” Regina said.
“But you seem not to let such rules bother you in the least. I have noticed that you live alone, with no older female. Surely you defy convention by doing so,” Diana said, as this had been a matter of much curiosity to her.
“I am not as courageous as I seem, Diana. It is only recently that I set up an establishment in town. I lived hidden in the country for most of the past ten years, and only came when I thought I was old enough to dispense with a chaperone. Also, I reasoned that I was unlikely to gain society’s approval no matter what I did, so I decided to suit my own convenience. However, my outings have been simple ones thus far, where I felt I was unlikely to draw any notice to myself. Even the few times I went to the theatre or opera, I dressed modestly and took a footman for protection. If I had found an older woman who might have proved to be a true companion, I would have had no objection to having her live with me. But now I have you. At least for a few weeks, though you’re welcome to stay indefinitely,” she said, with a warm smile at her friend.
The next day the two ladies met again with the other Ladies of the Registry and wrote out invitations to the ball, which would be held at Lady Gordon’s townhome a fortnight hence. Diana, whose knowledge of society gentlemen was virtually nil, allowed the other ladies to determine the guest list, although she willingly helped in the addressing of the invitations. The ladies had not confined those invited to younger sons; Lady Gordon was quite knowledgeable about London society and included other gentlemen, and ladies, whom she thought were good company.
Diana had been startled to see that her name was listed alongside Lady Regina’s and Lady Gordon’s as a hostess and would have begged to be left off if the others hadn’t insisted, thinking they were doing her a great honor and stating, quite truthfully, that without her the ball would not even be taking place.
Diana decided to enter into the spirit of the occasion and resolved to set aside all her doubts and worries. She had never attended a ball, nor danced with a gentleman, though she had learned the steps during those few months she’d attended school. She, who had been married, had never been properly kissed. She was only five-and-twenty, not five-and-eighty, and it was surely past time for her cloistered life to come to an end, and for her to awake from her long slumber.