Diana the Huntress (16 page)

Sarah put a cape of crushed velvet about Diana’s shoulders and declared her ready to go downstairs to join the squire and her father.

It was a relief to leave the vicarage with all its sadness and silence and go bowling along the frosty, sparkling road from Hopeworth to the county town of
Hopeminster
under a full moon and a starry sky.

The squire was resplendent in antique finery, the lace at his wrists and throat as fine as cobwebs. The vicar was in good spirits, for he had discovered his evening dress fitted his now thinner figure and so he had not had to put on corsets. The squire wore his hair powdered and his wrinkled face was delicately painted. Old habits die hard and the squire never considered himself dressed for a ball without powder and paint.

Diana began to feel tremors of excitement. She
would see Mr Emberton again, see his laughing blue eyes and feel his reassuring presence. Certainly it was strange that he had not managed to send her a letter explaining why he had departed so quickly on the day of their planned elopement. Even though one knew the reason was bound to have been the presence of Lord Dantrey, it would have been a gentlemanly thing to have at least tried to send some sort of explanation, some love letter.

But he had stayed away, surely, because of her mother’s death, Diana reminded herself severely. Lord Dantrey had come to the funeral but he had made no attempt to speak to her.

Her excitement grew as the silhouettes of the towers and spires of Hopeminster rose above the flat fields.

The assembly was being held in the Cock and Feathers. As they drove into the courtyard Diana could hear the music of the fiddles and the beat-beat-beat of the drum. She was relieved that her mourning state stopped her from dancing. Diana had had dancing lessons in London when she was staying with her sisters, but the dancing master, a very excitable Frenchman, had been barely five feet high. He had made her feel so nervous that she had hardly been able to learn any of the steps, and then she was never quite sure which was her left foot and which her right. The dancing master had tied different coloured ribbons on each slipper to help her, but every time she looked down at her feet to tell the left from the right by the colour of the ribbons, she fell over him.

It was when she had returned to Minerva’s from one
of these lessons, demanding, ‘Pray, what is the meaning of “merde”?’ that dancing instruction had mysteriously ended.

She left her cape in an ante room and adjusted a few curls in the mirror, surprised and pleased with her appearance. She could hardly believe the elegant beauty staring back at her was her own reflection.

And then the first person she saw on entering the ballroom was Ann Carter. She was dancing with Mr Emberton, his large size making Ann seem even more diminutive and fragile. She was dressed in a filmy thing of pink and silver gauze. Her hair gleamed in the candlelight like newly minted guineas. Her little feet barely seemed to touch the floor.

Feeling once more like a great lumbering giant, Diana found herself placed on a row of chairs against the wall. Squire Radford sat and talked to her for a few moments and then left to fetch her a glass of lemonade.

Diana played with the sticks of her fan. The music sounded so jolly and everyone seemed to be dancing with such ease. All at once she longed to dance herself, to float like Ann Carter through the mazy steps of the quadrille.

She raised her head at the final chord of the music. Surely he would approach her now. She remembered the gypsy’s words and felt comforted.

Mr Emberton was promenading with
Ann on
his arm. She looked across the room, saw Diana sitting against the wall and said something to Mr Emberton. He glanced at Diana and he
laughed
. Diana flushed. She wondered miserably whether her appearance at a ball
so soon after her mother’s death was considered odd; whether that was what had caused Ann to comment and Mr Emberton to laugh.

Squire Radford returned with her lemonade. ‘If you will excuse me, Miss Diana,’ he said, handing her the glass. ‘There is an old friend here I have not seen this age. I do not wish to leave you alone …’

‘I am enjoying watching the dancers,’ said Diana. ‘I will do very well.’

The squire bowed and left. Diana looked down into her glass of lemonade. The music struck up again and she covertly looked up again.
Now
he would come. Please God. If the log in the fireplace which looked just about ready to fall down into the hot ash and flare up stayed where it was,
then
he would come. She would concentrate on watching the log. The log fell. A cheerful blaze roared up the chimney.

‘Miss Armitage.’

Stars in her eyes and a blush of pleasure on her cheeks, Diana looked up.

Lord Dantrey stood looking down at her.

Her face fell.

He pulled forward a chair and sat next to her. ‘I was extremely sorry to hear of your mother’s death,’ he said, his voice as pleasant and husky as ever. ‘You may have seen me at the funeral. I did not approach you for fear I would upset you further. It is a hard time for you.’

‘Thank you, my lord,’ said Diana primly.

‘May I hope that you will honour me with one dance?’

‘I am afraid I must refuse,’ said Diana. ‘I am in mourning.’

‘As everyone knows. I took the liberty of asking the Master of Ceremonies if it would be very shocking if I were to lead you to the floor and he said “not at all”. Your family is much respected in the neighbourhood and everyone, it seems, would be happy to see you enjoying yourself.’

Diana mumbled something and he inclined his head. ‘I beg your pardon, Miss Armitage.’

Diana felt hot and awkward. She could not bear to look at him. If only he would go
away
. ‘I am perfectly all right, sir,’ she said, her voice sounding unnaturally loud in her own ears.

She raised her head and looked across the ballroom – and straight into the angry eyes of Ann Carter. Mr Emberton was handing her something to drink and he, too, was looking to where Diana sat with Lord Dantrey. Several other young ladies were staring at Diana with jealous, speculative eyes.

Diana looked properly at her companion for the first time that evening.

His white-gold hair was impeccably dressed and the black cloth of his evening coat was stretched across his shoulders without a wrinkle. His silver and white striped waistcoat sported diamond studs and a large diamond pin winked in the snowy folds of his intricately tied cravat. He made every other man in the room look provincial and dowdy.

Diana felt an angry little glow inside. If the company of Lord Dantrey caused such speculation and envy in the eyes of the company, then she could make full use of it.

She smiled blindingly up at Lord Dantrey. ‘I must
apologize for my awkward behaviour,’ she said. ‘I am a little afraid of you – afraid that you might speak about my escapade.’

‘You make it very hard to remember,’ smiled Lord Dantrey, well aware of the reason for Miss Armitage’s sudden good nature. ‘I entertained a callow youth called David Armitage in London. He bears no resemblance to the radiant beauty beside me tonight.’

Diana tried to give an imitation of Ann’s silvery laugh. Then she rapped Lord Dantrey playfully on the knuckles with the sticks of her fan. Unfortunately, she did not know her own strength and the ivory sticks made a thwacking sound as they came down on the back of his hand. He rubbed his hand and wondered why he had felt compelled to talk to her. The pretty Ann was casting languishing looks in his direction. If he paid Diana another compliment, he felt sure she was quite capable of slapping him on the back with enough force to send him flying across the ballroom. But her lips had been delicious. He frowned at that thought. Diana Armitage would not make a suitable wife. Ann Carter would. He was wasting his time.

But he knew that the waltz was to be danced after the present country dance was over, and the urge to take her in his arms again defied all logic.

He talked lightly and easily of his plans to improve the old Osbadiston estates and, as he talked about his concern for his tenants, Diana realized with a pang of conscience that she had not visited any of the
parishioners
. Even Daphne at her most vain had still gone about the duties of the parish.

After the funeral Minerva had gone to see them all, asking particularly after Mrs Jones’s sickly baby. Then she, Diana, had not written to poor little Frederica since the funeral. She would sit down that very night before she went to bed and tell Frederica all about the ball.

‘I asked you if you thought it would be a good idea, Miss Diana, and you scowled. Does that mean you consider my plan frivolous?’

‘I am sorry,’ said Diana, blushing, ‘I was not listening.’

Lord Dantrey looked at her with some amusement. ‘You are most refreshing, Miss Diana, and very good for me. I had become quite puffed up in mine own conceit. It is a wonderful thing to be rich and titled. The ladies of the county hang on my every word.’

‘You were talking about the welfare of your tenants,’ said Diana, feeling too embarrassed to do other than tell the truth, ‘and I began to think of all the parish duties I had neglected. Poor Mr Pettifor. That’s our curate. He works very hard and I am afraid we take him for granted. Minerva, my eldest sister, did such a lot of work before her marriage. She organized the Poor Fund and she never failed to visit the sick.’

‘Perhaps it might enable you to overcome some of the grief of your bereavement if you had more to do,’ said Lord Dantrey, looking at her curiously.

‘Perhaps. You must forgive me, my lord. I had not meant to be so serious.’

‘One should always be serious about things that matter. I was talking of lighter things when you were
not listening. I was wondering whether to hold a ball myself. Can I not persuade you to accompany me in the waltz, Miss Diana? It is the next dance.’

Diana opened her mouth to refuse but, at that moment, she saw Mr Emberton bend his black curls over Ann’s fair ones and say something which made that young lady laugh.

‘Thank you, my lord,’ said Diana. ‘Yes, I have decided to dance.’

‘It is only a dance,’ he teased. ‘Not a walk to the scaffold. You look quite grim. Tell me about Mr Emberton.’

‘What is there to say?’

‘Volumes. Did he flee the square because of my presence?’

‘I do not know. I would rather forget about the whole thing.’

‘But he no doubt called to explain his behaviour.’

‘How could he? He is a gentleman of delicacy and refinement. He is staying away because of my recent bereavement. The gypsy said …’

‘Gypsy! What gypsy?’

‘Nothing,’ mumbled Diana.

‘Aha! You have been talking to the gypsies in the wood and they told you you were to meet a dark and handsome man. They always say that,’ he mocked. ‘What lady was ever told she was about to meet a tall, fair man?’

‘I believe her!” said Diana, goaded into indiscretion. ‘And she knew of you because she warned me that a white-haired villain might try to stop me.’

‘Tell me more. You must, you know. Come! Convert the unbeliever.’

His green and gold eyes under their heavy lids were mocking, teasing.

Diana gritted her teeth. ‘Very well. I shall.’ She told him about the first meeting with the gypsy, and then the second.

‘The first,’ said Lord Dantrey coldly, ‘was simply something that gypsies always say to gullible females. The second? You interest me. I think you will find that Mr Emberton crossed the gypsy’s palm with silver before you even got there. I am amazed that a sensible female such as yourself should believe such rubbish.’

‘How would Mr Emberton know anything about the gypsies at Hopeworth?’

‘Because, I should think, you told him.’

‘I did not!’ said Diana, and then blushed painfully, for all at once she remembered telling Mr Emberton about the gypsy that evening at Lady Godolphin’s.

Lord Dantrey raised his quizzing glass and studied Mr Emberton. A small court of gentlemen had formed about Ann but Mr Emberton was managing to engage most of her attention. He felt, all at once, a deep concern for Diana’s welfare. He did not like this Emberton, nor did he trust him. Had he shown by one flicker of an eyelid that he was deeply in love with Diana, then Lord Dantrey would have been content to let the comedy run its course. But Emberton was an adventurer. The Armitages were not famous for their wealth. Perhaps Mr Emberton was playing that old game of hoping to be bought off by the wealthy
relatives. Lord Dantrey was not worried about Ann Carter’s affections straying from himself. Her
ambitious
mama would see to that.

Therefore, it would be a good deed to put a spoke in Mr Emberton’s wheel. He was sharing the Wentwater mansion with Mr Peter Flanders, a weak young man, the kind of weak young man who always attached himself to a bully or a villain or both.

‘Are you
very
superstitious, Miss Diana?’ he asked.

‘No, my lord,’ said Diana crossly. ‘I simply believe there is a great deal of wisdom in old country sayings.’

‘We will talk about it later,’ said Lord Dantrey. ‘Our dance, Miss Diana.’

He felt a stab of irritation as he sensed, rather than saw, her eyes seeking those of Mr Emberton.

‘Very well, my lord.’ Diana stood up and he took her arm and led her on to the floor.

By the time they had circled one half of the room, Lord Dantrey thought his feet would never be the same again. He could only be thankful that the fashion for thin silk slippers was still in vogue and that the ladies had not reverted to the high red heels of earlier times. Miss Diana Armitage seemed unable to put one foot on the ballroom floor. She seemed to prefer to dance on the top of his feet.

Then he saw Diana glance at Ann who was sailing past in the arms of a red-coated officer. Ann looked at Diana’s clumsy steps and giggled. Diana blushed. She felt she had never blushed so much in her life as she was doing that evening. A tide of scalding red was rising from the soles of her feet to the top of her head.

Lord Dantrey pressed his hand firmly against the small of her back. ‘Look at me, Miss Diana,’ he commanded. ‘Do not think of your steps. Think only that you are a beautiful and graceful woman.’