9
Since neither Diana nor Mr. Dean had any desire to curtail their time together, Diana eagerly agreed to Mr. Dean’s suggestion that they go by Gunter’s before he returned her to Lady Regina’s townhouse. This was not Diana’s first visit to the tea shop and confectionery, as Lady Gordon lived just across from it in Berkeley Square, and Diana and Regina would frequently leave Lady Gordon’s after a visit and walk across to Gunter’s for tea or one of their famous ices. But Diana had yet to sit in a carriage with a gentleman under the plane trees while their refreshments were brought to them by an obliging waiter, as she did this day.
While they waited for their food to arrive, Mr. Dean pointed out a nearby townhome. “One of your former neighbors from Twickenham, Horace Walpole, lived there before his death,” he said.
“Horace Walpole, the author?” Diana took a closer look at the stately townhouse that seemed indistinguishable from those that surrounded it. “It seems rather subdued in comparison with Strawberry Hill House.”
“So, you’ve visited his famous Gothic mansion? What did you think of it?” Mr. Dean asked.
“It’s absolutely magnificent, though a tad overwhelming. I couldn’t imagine living there.”
“I’ve heard that Walpole described the house as being imprinted with the ‘gloomth’ of abbeys and cathedrals, but that he wanted the gardens to laugh with the gaiety of nature.”
“What a lovely thought,” Diana replied. “About the gardens, I mean. I much prefer laughter to gloomth,” she hurried to add, with a little laugh of her own. “That’s a peculiar word. Gloomth,” she repeated slowly, and then smiled at the sound of it, turning to Mr. Dean with a look of shy inquiry. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before. Is it actually a word, or am I just ignorant?”
“You’re not at all ignorant; I believe Mr. Walpole invented it,” Mr. Dean said. He didn’t know which was more tempting: Diana’s smile or the way she had puckered her delectable lips while trying to pronounce that ridiculous word.
“Is Strawberry Hill House near your own?” he asked hurriedly, as he suddenly realized that he had been staring at her mouth, and the silence had begun to grow awkward. She looked relieved at his innocuous question.
“Very near. It’s a pleasant walk, and I do enjoy the gardens there, though at times I arrive at Strawberry Hill and there are such crowds that I immediately return home, happy for the privacy of my own garden.”
“Do you prefer solitude, then?” he asked, pleased to be gaining further insight into her character. He was also pleased that the metaphorical wall she’d erected between them seemed to be coming down. “Or are you enjoying the sociable life you’ve been living since you came to town?”
Diana paused and looked contemplative, as if she wondered at the answer to that question herself. “I was accustomed to solitude, I think,” she said slowly. “I wouldn’t say that I prefer it. I’ve been much happier since coming to town.” She smiled at him in a manner that seemed to imply that he had something to do with her increased enjoyment, though he wondered if he was deceiving himself by believing so.
They were interrupted at that moment by the delivery of their sweets, and afterward the conversation centered primarily on the quality of the food as they happily ate their muffins and biscuits. They had just finished when they heard someone calling and looked over to see Mr. Pryce with Miss Jarmyn on his arm. Maxwell and Diana got down from the curricle and joined the other couple in a walk around the square.
Diana had learned to laugh at Mr. Pryce rather than become exasperated by him, and she was amused to find that he had fulfilled Lady Regina’s prophecy: he had switched from one indecipherable form of speech to another, equally unintelligible to Diana, but which caused Miss Jarmyn to gaze at him with fawning adoration.
“ ’Ey up, ’ow do?” he said to Max, after Diana had exchanged greetings with Miss Jarmyn.
“Very well, indeed,” Mr. Dean replied, with a smile at Diana that acknowledged Mr. Pryce’s ludicrous behavior. Diana, who had never had a man read her thoughts so accurately, suddenly felt something much deeper than the amusement she’d been feeling at Mr. Pryce’s antics. She experienced a surprising sense of discovery, as if she’d found something she hadn’t even known she’d been looking for. She had no idea that a man and a woman could communicate a thought, even share a humorous moment, merely with a meeting of their eyes. But she shook those thoughts away for another time, as she realized the conversation had come to a halt while she was staring at Mr. Dean in amazement, and that she hadn’t contributed to it at all other than a “How do you do?” to Miss Jarmyn. She turned away from Mr. Dean and asked Mr. Pryce: “Did you and Miss Jarmyn have refreshments at Gunter’s as well?”
“We did reet enough, choose how,” Mr. Pryce said, with a glance at Miss Jarmyn, who nodded in confirmation; whether at his statement or his correct use of Yorkshire dialect, Diana did not know. But she was glad to see that Miss Jarmyn and Mr. Pryce understood each other so well. She was beginning to recognize how rare and precious a thing that was.
After returning to Regina’s, Diana was surprised to be met at the door and told by the butler that Lady Regina was entertaining callers in the drawing room, and that she had requested Diana join them immediately upon her return. But when Diana neared the room, her surprise turned to dismay when she heard Mildred’s piercing tones, interspersed by the lower tones of a masculine voice she did not recognize.
Taking a deep, steadying breath outside the door and telling herself Mildred had no power over her, Diana squared her shoulders and entered the drawing room.
The inhabitants of the room rose at her entrance, and Mildred was indeed there with Lady Regina, accompanied by a gentleman whom Diana did not know. He smiled at her very pleasantly and cordially, his expression in stark contrast to the frown that graced Mildred’s face, and Diana told herself that was undoubtedly the reason she felt he looked too happy to see her.
He was dressed in a gentlemanly fashion, although not as stylishly as the men Diana had been associating with since coming to town. It was obvious this man was not a city buck, and also, from the worn gloves she’d seen resting on the entry table, that he was of less fortunate circumstances than even the younger sons who frequented the balls and parlors of the Ladies of the Registry.
His appearance was not unpleasant, most women might even call him handsome, but something about the man caused Diana to feel an instinctive distrust. Perhaps it was merely because he accompanied Mildred, which seemed a suspicious thing in itself. Diana had lived with Mildred for nearly seven years, and any acquaintance of hers Diana had perforce become acquainted with as well. Yet Diana had never seen this man before in her life.
“Diana, there you are. We have been waiting for you for quite some time,” Mildred said, annoyed.
“I am sorry for that, Mildred, but since I did not know you were coming, I cannot be blamed for the length of time you have been waiting,” Diana said, in as pleasant a tone as she could muster. “Won’t you introduce me to your companion?”
Diana had no idea why these words seemed to afford Mildred so much amusement. “Mrs. Boyle,” Mildred said with a titter, “allow me to introduce you to Mr. Boyle.” She paused, seemingly savoring the moment of surprise before adding: “Mr. Lucius Boyle; Mrs. Diana Boyle.”
Mr. Boyle bowed and Diana nodded her head in response. She was proud of herself for her unflustered reaction; she even managed a slight smile. Still, she was enormously relieved when Lady Regina took charge, inviting everyone to sit before turning to offer Diana an explanation. “It appears that Mr. Boyle is the nephew of Miss Boyle and your late husband, and went to America fifteen years ago at the age of sixteen.”
“He was Percival’s favorite relation,” Mildred stated in a challenging tone of voice, as if she expected Diana to contradict her.
“I was disconsolate to hear of my uncle’s death,” Mr. Boyle said, assuming a suitably mournful expression, which seemed as false to Diana as his prior expression of delight. “I am very sorry for your loss,” he told Diana in a quiet aside, leaning toward her and bestowing upon her a look of sympathy that was, in Diana’s opinion, overly intimate for someone she had only just met.
Mildred made a noise deep in her throat that she transformed into a cough, and Diana was grateful Mildred had contented herself with that expression of her distaste and had swallowed whatever insulting remark she had intended to make about Diana being unworthy of sympathy, having been a very poor excuse for a wife and an even worse widow.
“So, you last saw Mr. Boyle fifteen years ago, Mildred? You must be very pleased to meet him again, after all these years,” Diana said, eager to change the subject.
“Call me Cousin Lucius, please. And perhaps I could call you Cousin Diana?” Lucius asked. “It seems odd to refer to you as Mrs. Boyle, which is the name I associate with my mother. And I’m sure you dislike repeatedly hearing the name you associate with your dear departed husband as well.”
While this was undoubtedly true, Diana had no desire to be addressed by her Christian name by this man, whether or not the word “cousin” preceded it. “How long a visit to England do you intend to make?” she asked, hoping what they called each other would prove to be a moot topic as this would be their one—and only—meeting.
“Lucius intends on settling in England again. He’s all alone in the world; we are the only family he has. I’ve invited him to stay at Whitley House,” Mildred said, with a barely concealed look of triumph. “I knew, fond as you were of my brother, you’d never deny one of his dearest relations a place to stay.”
“Your generosity overwhelms me, Aunt,” Lucius said to Mildred, with a bow in her direction. “Of course, if Cousin Diana does not wish for me to stay . . .”
Politeness prevented Diana from agreeing with him, and she spoke before the silence could grow too awkward. “I am sure I can have no objection to you staying at Whitley House while I am in town,” she said, hoping to convey by her statement that she expected him to leave upon her return.
“But Diana, that is why we came to call. To tell you that you must curtail your stay and return to Whitley House at once,” Mildred said. “Percival would have wanted you to show hospitality to his favorite relation. If Lucius had returned to England before Percival’s death, or if Percival had known his direction—well, who knows how matters might have turned out. Lucius might now be master at Whitley House, and we his guests.”
Lucius responded with a humble shake of his head and a murmured, “Now, Aunt, that is kind of you to say, but I had no such expectations. And I am pleased to be the guest of my lovely cousin.” He smiled and bowed to Diana.
“At any rate,” Mildred continued, ignoring Lucius’s interruption, “it would be quite outrageous to have your cousin stay and not be there yourself to ensure his needs were met.”
Diana was once again thankful for Regina’s intervention because, while Diana’s mouth had opened, she felt as if she couldn’t produce any words. Or at least any that could be spoken in polite society. She’d never felt more tempted to borrow from her deceased father’s vocabulary.
“But Miss Boyle, it would be just as outrageous for Diana to leave me before her visit has ended,” Regina said, in a sugary tone that just barely hid the steel underneath. “She’s promised to stay for another month at least, and I don’t intend to allow her to break that promise.”
“Nonsense. That was before she knew her cousin had come. Obviously the situation has changed and she can be released from any so-called promise.” A roll of the eyes punctuated this remark, making it clear that Mildred was all but calling her hostess a liar.
“I would be happy to wait upon my cousin here, and escort her back to her home whenever she is ready to return,” Mr. Boyle remarked, with another of his incessant bows.
“That is very accommodating of you, Mr. Boyle, but I could not deprive Mildred of your company,” Diana said. She then jumped up from her seat, which meant Mr. Boyle had no choice but to stand as well, protesting as he did so that he thought they’d agreed to dispense with titles. Diana ignored this remark and continued: “Thank you so very much for calling, but we cannot keep you any longer. Lady Regina and I have a prior appointment.”
“So we do,” Regina said, moving over to Miss Boyle’s side and putting a hand under her arm to encourage her to rise from her chair, as she still had made no move to do so. “Mr. Boyle, Miss Boyle, so delighted to have made your acquaintance.”
“But—nothing has been decided . . . Diana, you are coming home, are you not? We need not inconvenience Lady Regina; I can send our coachman with the carriage tomorrow,” Mildred said to Diana over her shoulder, as Regina ushered her to the door.
“I will write to you when I am ready, so do not bother sending the carriage until you receive word,” Diana said. Mildred continued to protest the entire way out of the room, with Mr. Boyle punctuating her remarks with unctuous requests to be of assistance to his “Cousin Diana.”
When the door finally closed behind their troublesome guests, Diana and Regina fell with a sigh upon the sofa. Diana took out some of her frustration by pummeling a defenseless pillow, but when a feather escaped a busted seam and floated sadly to the floor, she turned to look at Regina in apology. “I’m so sorry. I’ll buy you another.”
“My mother made that for me,” Regina said.
Diana was appalled. “Oh, no! It can be mended—”
Regina laughed. “I was teasing you, Diana. I’m actually more than a little relieved that you hit the pillow and not your sister-in-law.”
“I’ll never be quit of that woman.” Diana slumped back onto the sofa, forgetting all the deportment lessons of her childhood, and was relieved Mildred wasn’t there to tell her to sit up straight. “She is the one thing that could make me consider marrying again,” Diana said, and was not entirely sure she was joking.
“That might be a case of jumping out of the frying pan into the fire. It appears to me that Miss Boyle wants you to marry again, but to a man of her choosing. I suspect she’s trying her hand at a little matchmaking.”
“You mean Cousin Lucius, I suppose,” Diana said.
“The very same. And he doesn’t appear averse to the idea either,” Regina said.
“Why would he be? He would gain possession of Whitley House and a tidy fortune to go along with it.”
“And he’s probably assured his dear ‘Aunt Mildred’ she can remain there permanently if she helps him succeed in his aim,” Regina said. “If you were to marry again, as Mildred obviously fears you might, someone else may not be as inclined to have her as a permanent guest. Perhaps this is her way of securing her future.”
“I cannot pretend to be any better than either of them. I married a cousin for money and a home; why shouldn’t Lucius Boyle attempt to do the same? It seems that emigrating to America did not improve his fortunes. He looks to be as impoverished as I used to be.”
“Don’t start feeling sorry for him,” Regina warned Diana. “For all you know he lost his money at the gaming tables. It’s not your responsibility to marry him just because you were once forced into a marriage of convenience yourself. You were a young girl of eighteen and he is a hale and hearty man of thirty, at least. Your circumstances are entirely different.”
“I do wonder, though, if Mildred is right, and if my hus—Mr. Boyle had known Lucius was alive, he would have left Whitley House to him. I have no doubt he’d have much preferred to have left it to a male relation,” Diana said.
“If they were so close, why did Lucius not write to Mr. Boyle and provide him with his direction? It’s a convenient fiction that Mildred’s invented to work on your conscience, which she knows to be tender in this regard.”
The women subsided into contemplation, their “appointment” forgotten, until Diana broke the silence with a quiet laugh. Regina looked at her in surprise, one brow raised. “I was just thinking,” Diana explained with a smile, “the other thing that tempts me to marry again is the thought of changing my surname. I was born a Boyle, and then married one, and it is not the most melodious of names. And yet, if your theory is correct, Cousin Lucius wishes to offer me the opportunity to become a Boyle for a third time.”
Regina chuckled. “That settles it, then. We must look for a prospective husband for you with an attractive surname in addition to an attractive appearance. What say you to a shorter name, of fewer syllables?” Regina asked with a grin.
Diana smiled back, having no need to inquire to which name Regina referred. Although Diana was aware that Mr. Dean had proven himself as determined a fortune hunter as Lucius Boyle likely was, she gave in to temptation and repeated “Diana Dean” and “Mrs. Dean” silently to herself and had to acknowledge it was a decided improvement over “Mrs. Boyle.”
The Ladies of the Registry met the next morning at Lady Gordon’s house and, once they’d all settled into chairs and sofas and the chatter had died down, Lady Regina addressed them. “It seems a long time since our first meeting, though it was little more than a month ago that we decided to band together and turn the tables on the gentlemen who sought to marry us for our fortunes,” she said. “How do you all feel matters are progressing?”
There was a brief silence that Mrs. Young broke, her voice tentative. “I am sorry, Lady Regina, but I found myself unable to do all that you suggested.”
“In what respect?” Regina asked.
“I have no desire to trifle with some poor man’s affections, or lead him on with no thought of marriage. It is not in my nature.”
“Mrs. Young, there is no need to apologize! You are not obligated to do anything at all; it was only a suggestion for those who find they do not wish to marry. I merely thought that we should have the same freedom the gentlemen have, to withdraw from a relationship without having to pay a penalty for it. I did not want any lady to feel compelled to wed against her will.”
Mrs. Young nodded her understanding with a relieved smile, and Miss Ballard, who was a bit of a flirt, piped up. “I have no problem trifling with any number of gentlemen’s affections. If they want my fortune, let them earn it. And if any of you ladies have suitors to spare, you’re welcome to send them my way.” She smiled saucily at the rest of the ladies and there was some laughter but also some protests that Miss Ballard had more than enough attention as it was.
After the room had quieted, Regina looked around and asked: “How about the rest of you? How do you feel about what has transpired since our first meeting?”
“I do think that my confidence has improved,” Miss Meadows said. “I’m not as anxious about gaining a gentleman’s approval, but rather, I now expect him to make an effort to win mine.” Miss Meadows had at one time been known by the cruel sobriquet “Mousy Meadows,” and her fortune had been considered her most attractive attribute. However, the past weeks she had indeed grown in confidence, which had the effect of making her other attributes more obvious. She was intelligent and kind, and had a beautiful voice, which was heard far more often now that she had the confidence to speak up and people were actually listening to her.
“It’s been liberating not to have to worry so much about what others think of me,” Miss Cavendish agreed, and when Diana compared the manner and expressions of the ladies around her to how they appeared when she first met them, she realized that they seemed far less nervous and much more comfortable in their own skin. As she was herself.
“I think we’ve accomplished quite a lot. We’ve made good friends,” Diana said, with a warm smile at the ladies who surrounded her, “and we’ve entered society upon our own terms. We’ve made it clear that our opinions, likes, and concerns should be valued as much as any man’s. And I’ve even learned to drive a curricle,” she added, sounding so surprised at her accomplishment that the other ladies smiled in response.
“I’m learning to fence,” Miss Ballard said, and a few other ladies also mentioned a sport or activity they were studying that was typically considered to be open only to gentlemen, and Diana felt a warm rush of pride at what she and her fellow women were accomplishing.
“Thank you, Lady Regina, for turning what could have been a negative experience, our inclusion in that directory, into a positive one,” Mrs. Young said. “And I am also grateful to you, Lady Gordon, for involving us in your charitable activities. I’m happy to use the resources I possess in helping other women who are not as fortunate as we are.”
There were murmurs of agreement and the conversation soon turned to charity work. Later, as the party broke up and the ladies began taking their leave, Diana overheard Miss Cavendish telling Lady Gordon she was taking dancing lessons from Monsieur de la Tour. “He asked how you were doing, Lady Gordon,” Miss Cavendish said. “I think he admires you. You appeared so well matched when you danced together at the ball. I don’t suppose you are interested in taking lessons from him?”
“At my age?” Lady Gordon scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m long past the age for dancing lessons. Or for flirtations with handsome French dancing masters,” she added dryly.
“Perhaps you could ask him to be your escort to Vauxhall Gardens,” Diana suggested.
“I hadn’t planned on attending,” Lady Gordon said, and there was an immediate outcry against that decision from the small group of ladies who were still present. “It is kind of you to ask me, and I am happy to provide support to you ladies in any way I can, but I don’t think you need me to attend Vauxhall with you.”
“Of course we don’t need you to, Lady Gordon, we want you to,” Diana said.
Lady Gordon smiled reminiscently. “I haven’t been to Vauxhall in years. Lord Gordon took me the very first time I went. That’s actually where—” Her voice broke and she couldn’t finish her sentence, and Diana and Regina exchanged sympathetic glances. It was obvious some significant event in Lord and Lady Gordon’s romance had occurred at Vauxhall; perhaps it was where he had proposed or they had embraced for the first time.
“Then it is past time for you to return,” Regina said, but in a tone of voice that robbed her words of any harshness.
“I don’t know if I can,” Lady Gordon whispered, and when she looked at them, her eyes were filled with pain. Diana recognized all too well that particular species of pain; the pain of loss.
“You can do it,” Diana told her. “And you can create new memories there, with us.”
Lady Gordon blinked away a tear, and Diana was awestruck by the beauty of her blue-green eyes; they appeared more jewellike than ever with the light reflecting off her unshed tears. And then she nodded and smiled at them, and Diana found that brave smile even more awe-inspiring. This was a true lady of quality; a woman of strength, courage, and integrity. Diana was proud to call her a friend.