The Aim of a Lady (21 page)

Fanny laughed. “Who knows, Ellis? I am not a properly brought up young woman.”

“You are a woman. Can you respond to someone you don’t like?”

“No, and thank heaven I no longer have to. But even proper ladies are fascinated sometimes by a man’s obvious desire.”

“Yes, I can see that, but if the young woman had several passionate suitors and rejected them, only to allow this man some privileges, what then?”

“Then it could he that she liked the man, or that the situation was especially provocative.”

“Oh,” Alma replied, disappointed. The situation had been provocative for him, certainly, but he had not fully considered that it might have been for Diana. Frightening her, wounding her where he had, yes, it might have emotionally charged the situation for her. Alma climbed out of bed and began to dress.

Fanny regarded him with astonishment. “Are you leaving, Ellis?” she asked incredulously.

“Yes,” he said, preoccupied. “I have a call to make this afternoon.”

She glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantelshelf. “But it is only eleven, Ellis.”

“Is it? No matter, I have some errands to run as well.”

Casting her eyes heavenward, Fanny asked lightly, “Will I see you later?”

He smiled at her then and said, "Of course, if you are willing.”

“Come when you wish, Ellis,” she replied resignedly. Under her breath she murmured, “But I hope you will be here the next time.”

Alma blew her a kiss and strolled out. He stopped at a tobacconist’s for snuff, at a goldsmith’s for a locket for a cousin’s birthday, at a printseller’s to survey the latest cartoons, and at White’s to see who was there. He then went round to Grosvenor Square and diffidently asked if Miss Savile was at home.

Diana received hint in the yellow drawing room where she was alone and playing the song she had taught him. “Now you have made me receive a scold from George, Alma,” she teased him as she offered her hand.

He shook it and retorted, “He did not seem the least bit interested. I wonder he bothered.”

Her face creased with concern. “Are you angry with George?”

“No, of course not. He must protect you as he sees fit."

“George is a perfect brother,” she championed him hotly. “He does not interfere in my life except when necessary, and he treats me just as I would wish.”

“He leaves you alone at the Park a great deal of the time.”

“I don’t care! He has offered me a companion and I will not have one!”

“Let us not argue about it, Diana. If you are satisfied, there is no more to be said.”

“Very well,” she allowed, the anger dying gradually.

“I trust you are no worse for this morning’s adventure?”

A gleam appeared in her eyes. “I have written a new verse, Alma. Would you like to read it?”

“Certainly.”

Diana went to the delicate mahogany sheveret and pulled open a drawer. She extracted a sheet of paper, grinned at it in amusement and returned to him. “I call it London Ways.” Her eyes were dancing.

Alma took it from her suspiciously and glanced at the neat copperplate:

Is Virtue here

A single tear

When reputations soil?

A chaperone;

No hour alone

Will save her from this coil.

Throughout the day

She cannot stray

From guardians fierce and loyal.

But every night

A horrid plight

Persistent swains to foil.

“That’s the worst poetry I ever read!” he exclaimed.

“Well, you have not yet finished it, Alma. You must turn it over for the completion.” She was laughing now.

Address they use

(More like abuse)

To bring passion to the roil.

Is it to wed

Or merely bed

This gallantry so royal?

She a store

Of sweetness pure

He a drudge to toil.

‘Tis his mistake if her he’d take:

She’d boil him well in oil!

“It is wretched, and highly improper,” he accused her, a smile lurking at the corners of his mouth.

“It is not so easy to find words that end in oil,” she defended herself. “I was rather pleased with it myself.”

“Then you must lack all taste in poetry.”

“Yes, another area in which I am sadly remiss. I shall have to study it. Have you some books to recommend to me?”

“Several,” he replied dampeningly. “I take it this means you are not overset and may reconsider your decision to return to the Park.”

“No, I am ready to go home. I will have to return here several weeks before the wedding in any case, and that will be sufficient time in London for me.”

“You won’t mind being alone at the Park when all your friends are here?”

“No, how should I? There is the Dower House to work on...and my Christmas play,” she said, grinning.

“I hope you do not intend to write it in verse.”

She laughed. “Oh, Alma, I shall miss you. There is no one like you for dampening my pretensions.”

He was strongly tempted to hug her, but he had no intention of attempting another explanation to her brother. “I shall see you on your return, Diana,” he said gruffly. “Does George send you in his carriage?”

“He says he will go with me, though I told him there was no need. He thought to take a few days setting everything to rights for bringing Alonna home.”

“Tell George I have Crusader matched against Chanticleer Wednesday week if he should care to come over to Newmarket from the Park. I shall be staying there for a few days.”

“Could not I come as well?”

Alma flushed slightly. “Certainly, if it would interest you. Barrymore intends to ride his own horse, but I would rather have a jockey on Crusader.”

“Is it a costly match?”

“Four hundred guineas.” Alma smoothed out a wrinkle in his coat sleeve.

Diana’s eyes widened in surprise. “Is that customary?”

“With Barrymore it is minimum, I assure you. He had rather it had been five hundred, but I would not go so high in spite of my confidence in Crusader.” Alma unconsciously slipped her verse into his pocket, and she did not notice. “When do you leave for the Park?”

“In the morning.”

“I will take leave of you now then. Have a pleasant journey.” He took her hand and kissed it lightly.

When Alma left, Diana sat down at the harpsichord once more and played for an hour. Before leaving the room she looked about for the poem but was not disturbed when she did not find it. After all, it had been a joke for Alma and he had read it, so there was no further use for it.

Alma came upon it when he was at Fanny’s and left it in his pocket since he was far too occupied at the time to think of returning it. Later he reread it with a grin and placed it in his desk, at the same time hoping that Diana would not accompany her brother if he came to Newmarket, as Alma intended to take Fanny with him when he went.

* * * *

Diana and George arrived at the Park the next evening and discussed the refurbishing of Alonna’s suite of rooms. He tried once again to convince Diana to stay in the house rather than move into the Dower House but was unsuccessful. For a few days he occupied himself with matters at the Park, spending a good deal of time riding and fencing with Diana. Although Diana had told him of Alma’s projected race, George was eager to return to London and did not stay long enough at the Park to attend.

Work on the Dower House was proceeding well and Diana took time from supervising it to enjoy herself, but she felt an unusual lack of interest in her customary activities. Several days after George’s departure she was on her archery range when she heard hoofbeats. She unnocked her arrow, since she had no desire for a repeat of her prior performance. The rider approaching her had his back to the late afternoon sun and she could not see his face, but she felt a certain excitement mount in her when she thought that perhaps Alma had decided to stop by the Park on his return from Newmarket.

The rider called her name as he came closer and she could begin to see him better. “H—Harry?” she stuttered.

“Yes,” he replied as he dismounted and strode to where she stood frozen. “I hope I see you well?”

“Very, thank you. And you?”

He made no attempt to take her hand, which she hesitantly offered. “No, I must speak with you first, Diana.”

“Let me put away my equipment and we can sit in the garden,” she suggested nervously. He took the bow and arrows from her and put them in the shed before following her to the stables. He was dressed in the uniform of the 10th Light Dragoons, a captain.

When he had left his horse with Josh, and Rogue had been freed, they seated themselves on a stone bench in the garden and he studied her carefully. “You look very little older than you did five years ago.”

“It is because I am small,” she replied inanely.

“Diana, I have no right to ask your forgiveness for what happened that day. For a long time afterwards I was so caught up in my hatred for your brother, the way he treated me, that I was not able to see what I had done. My father bought me a commission in the army shortly thereafter and, well, I have grown up a lot since then, I hope. I can never express to you how deeply sorry I am for my behavior.”

The embarrassment that Diana had felt on seeing him again had begun to diminish. “It is long forgotten, Harry. You must not continue to chastise yourself.”

He moved restlessly on the bench, his hands brought up to run through his straight blond hair. “I have read my aunt’s letters these five years with more than ordinary interest. When time went by and you did not marry, a beautiful young woman such as yourself, I began to fear that I had damaged your reputation beyond repair.”

“No such thing! No one but George ever knew of that day, I assure you..” She spoke firmly in an effort to erase the torment from his intent gray eyes.

“You relieve my mind,” he sighed. “I would like to speak with your brother, if I might, to offer him the apology that is due him.”

“George is not at home right now. He is in London with his fiancée, but there is no need to speak with him. Even at the time he took your age into account, as I recall,” she said softly. “Are you staying with Mrs. Lewis?”

“Yes, for a short time. She told me she had stayed with you at the Park recently for several weeks.”

“Yes, a friend of George’s was here, and I had to have a chaperone. Now that is one thing I do hold against you, Harry,” she laughed. “I had to have a chaperone for three years after that incident.”

He regarded her gravely and retorted, “You would have had one in any case, I believe. If memory serves, your brother had gone to London to scout one out for you."

“Your memory is too faithful,” she admitted. “Will you have tea with me?”

“I do not think I should.”

Her eyes danced with amusement. “Can you still not be trusted?”

Harry responded with a crooked grin. “Certainly I can, Miss Savile, but your brother might not approve.”

“I am three-and-twenty now, and in charge of my own life. George is to be married shortly, and I shall live in the Dower House.”

“Have you no wish to marry?” he asked gently.

Diana’s face clouded momentarily, and she replied after a while, “I really cannot say.”

“Surely you have suitors,” he prodded.

“Oh, yes, several of them, but I cannot seem to like any one of them well enough to marry him,” she remarked sadly.

Harry followed her into the small parlor where she rang for tea. It occurred to him that perhaps she felt that she had given him her heart those many years ago, as she had very nearly given him her body, and that she was unable to do so again.

Diana broke into his reverie. “Have you wed, Harry?"

“No, a soldier’s life is not much to offer a woman. I am being considered for a post in the Foreign Office now, however, and may begin to lead a more settled life if I am offered it.”

“Would you like such a post?” she asked curiously.

“Very much. My older brother is there and he enjoys his work.”

They discussed the events in their lives since last they met, and Diana found him grown into a serious, level-headed man with easy address and polished manners. When he suggested that they might ride together the next day, she easily accepted with no fear of ungentlemanly conduct.

Diana thought it wisest to write to her brother and inform him of Harry’s arrival in the neighborhood, and to assure him of the rectitude of her former would-be lover. At the same time she wrote Alma, thanking him for the poetry books he had sent and confiding that she was not, after all, without companionship in the country.

Then she shrugged off the feeling of loneliness which had begun to creep over her of late, much to her confusion, and devoted herself to her work on the Dower House and her daily rides and drives with Harry. She introduced him to the chariot and he found it a challenge. He was more than a little amused by her explanation of its coming into being, for she grew to feel comfortable enough with him to explain the archery accident, if not the surgery.

It did not escape Harry’s notice that she spoke of Alma frequently, what they had done together, how she had tried to amuse him. He sensed the ambivalence of her feelings; and, as he came to know her again, he wondered if he were wise to remain in Linton. Harry was finding that the enchanting girl of eighteen had become a woman of uncommon beauty and delightful fascination.

Chapter Eighteen

“I cannot like it, Alonna,” George confessed to his fiancée when he arrived at her father’s home after receiving the letter from Diana. “I do not doubt that Harry Lewis is become a respectable young man in the years since I met him, if Diana says he has. She is not often faulty in her judgment of people.”

Alonna looked up from the letter he had given her to read. “Then what troubles you, George?”

“When Diana met this fellow some five years ago she fell in love with him and very nearly damaged her reputation irretrievably.” He did not wish to go into the details of the scene he had come upon, even with the woman he loved, but he wanted her to see the situation as he did. “I was very rough on the young man and ordered him away from her. Lord, Alonna, she was young, but old enough to know better.”