Chapter Twelve − To Risk It All
“Do not run, Ben,” Diana called after her son as he stumbled around the nursery on fast, but still shaky legs. “You’ll fall and hurt yourself.”
As though she hadn’t spoken, her son continued onward, pulling his little horse after him, its wooden wheels spinning faster and faster. “Neigh! Neigh!” he sang, a large smile on his little face as his eyes glowed with excitement.
Watching him, Diana smiled, her heart dancing with joy, and still, a part of her was convinced that she had strayed into a dream. After all the sadness and regret that had dominated her life for so long, she could hardly believe that such happiness could be real, could be true and lasting, and she feared that she would wake up and realise that it had never been.
A knock sounded on the door, and Diana turned to see her late husband’s butler standing in its frame. “Lady Norwood is downstairs.”
“Thank you, Denton,” Diana said, then turned back to her son, calling him over. “Ben, you go ahead and play with your horse. I’ll be downstairs, talking to Aunt Rose.”
Nodding his little head vigorously, he immediately set off on yet another race around the room, his nursemaid watching him carefully as Diana stepped into the hall and proceeded downstairs.
“How are you?” she asked her cousin, beckoning her to take a seat. “Would you care for some tea?”
“Certainly,” Rose replied, her large emerald eyes watching Diana with a sense of surprise.
“Is something wrong?” Diana asked, wondering what had inspired the rather unusual expression on her cousin’s face.
Smiling, Rose shook her head. “You seem different,” she mumbled as though trying to make sense of something. “Happy.”
Diana smiled, then sighed as she realised that−as unlikely as it was−it was true.
“What happened?” Rose shook her head once again, her eyes still as round as plates. “What brought on this change?”
Diana’s head swam at the question. “I do not know where to begin,” she mumbled and then simply started at the very beginning, the night at the theatre.
With each word she spoke, her cousin’s stare grew wider and occasionally even her mouth dropped open in amazement. And yet, honest delight danced in her eyes, and she clasped her hands together happily when Diana spoke of how she had spent the morning playing with her son. “Oh, Diana, I’ve always wished you would find such happiness.”
“I never thought it was possible,” Diana admitted, still stunned by the abrupt changes that had come to her life. “I suppose at some point, I simply accepted that my life would never be any different. But then…”
“Then you met Lord Stanhope,” Rose finished, shaking her head laughing. “I never would have suspected anything like this when you asked me about him a few weeks ago. Maybe I should have, after all, you’ve never shown any interest in a man since−”
Clasping a hand over her mouth, Rose stopped, her eyes wide…and apologetic.
“Since your husband?” Diana finished this time. Drawing in a deep breath, she tried to remember how she had felt four years ago before the night that had ruined her life. However, try as she might, everything seemed dull and detached as though it hadn’t been her emotions, her feelings. “A lot has happened since then,” she finally said. “I do believe I have changed.” She smiled as another thought occurred to her. “Maybe everything that happened−all the regret and heartache of the past few years−helped me become the person I needed to be in order to…” Diana sighed, not knowing how to finish the sentence she had started. A part of her was still afraid to voice the hope that lived in her heart, lest it be shattered as it had been before.
“Has he given any indication of his intentions?” Rose asked, seeing the hesitation on Diana’s face.
Diana shook her head. “I do believe he feels something for me. However, you yourself know better than anyone that our two lives do not suit.”
Leaning forward, Rose grasped her hand. “If he truly cares for you, then circumstances do not matter. It might be difficult, but not impossible.”
“Not impossible,” Diana mumbled, and a slow smile came to her face. Meeting her cousin’s encouraging gaze, Diana nodded. “Tomorrow is Lord Barrett’s ball. Would you assist me in attending?”
A frown drew down Rose’s brows. “Are you certain that that is a good idea? After what happened there four years ago, I would have thought you wouldn’t want to−”
“Me, too,” Diana whispered, remembering that it had been four years−almost to the day−when her life had taken a turn for the worse at Lord Barrett’s ball. “Maybe it is the perfect place to begin again,” she finally said, nodding her head vigorously as excitement began to dance through her body. “Will you help me?”
***
Annoyed with his mother’s insistence that they attend Lord Barrett’s ball, Arthur found himself standing by his sister’s side, discouraging potential suitors as best as he could. While his behaviour earned him a grateful smile from Eleanor, his mother’s eyes seemed to be shooting daggers in his direction.
“Pray tell what is it you hope to accomplish tonight?” she hissed after drawing him to the side. “Why would you want to ruin your sister’s chances?”
Arthur drew in a deep breath, wondering at what point exactly he had decided to oppose his mother and further his sister’s hopes to be united with Henry Waltham. “I do believe this topic needs to be discussed further,” he finally said, knowing that Lord Barrett’s ball was neither the time nor the place. “I suggest we talk about this later.”
Clamping her mouth shut, his mother glared at him through narrowed eyes, a sense of shock resting in them at his sudden and rather strange behaviour. Never had be spoken out against his mother’s wishes, but now Arthur realised that that might have been a mistake.
After all, right and wrong could not be separated from one another as easily as black and white. Was it truly wrong of Eleanor to have fallen in love with Henry Waltham? Was it right of his mother to forbid the relationship?
Everyone involved had their own motivations, their own intentions, which−based on his own experience−were rarely meant to inflict harm. However, right and wrong always rested in the eye of the observer.
“As long as you insist on thwarting Eleanor’s prospects,” his mother finally said, a calculated gleam in her eyes, “would you at least further your own?” Nodding her head in the direction of the refreshment table, Arthur caught sight of Lady Abigail, Lord Hunston’s daughter, who−according to his mother−was currently the most eligible lady in London and, therefore, at the very top of the list of suitable brides she had presented to him.
Arthur sighed. “I have no intention of proposing to Lady Abigail,” he stated, surprised by the vehemence in his voice.
His mother’s eyes narrowed. “Be that as it may,” she grumbled. “The lady still expects you to ask her to dance.”
Arthur’s gaze narrowed, matching his mother’s. “And why would she think so?” he asked, wondering what else his mother had orchestrated behind his back.
“Do not speak to me so disrespectfully,” his mother chided, shaking her head as though she didn’t recognise the son she’d raised. “How was I to know that you would change your mind?”
“Change my mind?” Arthur demanded. “At what point exactly did I agree to this?”
“I presented you with your options, and you did not refuse,” his mother stated, the look in her eyes daring him to contradict her.
Arthur sighed as a cold shiver went down his spine. “Mother, what did you do?”
Rolling her eyes at him, his mother turned to look at Lady Abigail. “Nothing worth mentioning.”
“Mother!”
She sighed as though he were a headstrong child, demanding more biscuits. “I merely indicated to Lord Hunston that you seek to get better acquainted with his daughter tonight. Therefore, she has already saved you a dance.”
“My name is on her dance card?” Arthur asked, staring at his mother.
Lady Stanhope nodded. “I suggest you follow through, or our reputation will suffer. It is not the way of a gentleman to thwart a lady.”
Gritting his teeth, Arthur found Lady Abigail had turned her gaze in his direction, and a gentle smile came to her face as their eyes met. She was indeed beautiful and had all the graces and good breeding of an earl’s daughter. However, as their eyes met, his heart beat on in a steady, rather unaffected rhythm that made him realise that not a single name on his mother’s list of suitable brides would be suitable for him.
“Fine,” Arthur gritted out through clenched teeth. “I will ask her to dance, but that is the extent of it. I ask you to refrain from interfering in my affairs in the future.” Striding toward Lady Abigail, Arthur barely noticed the open-mouthed shock hanging on his mother’s face as she stared after him.
***
Taking a deep breath, Diana followed her cousin, who walked on her husband’s arm, into the foyer of Lord Barrett’s townhouse. Instantly, memories from four years ago rushed to the forefront of her mind, and Diana cringed under the pain that so abruptly assaulted her heart.
Inhaling deeply yet again, she forced a polite smile on her face, greeting their hosts with as much sincerity in her voice as she could manage while they stared at her as though she were dead, risen from her grave only to torment them.
“Are you all right?” Rose whispered to her as they proceeded into the ballroom. “Or would you rather return home?”
A part of Diana wholeheartedly agreed that attending Lord Barrett’s ball had been a mistake after all. However, a spark of hope still burnt in her chest, forbidding her from giving in to her fears. After all, had she not already lived through her darkest nightmare? Could tonight truly be any worse?
“No,” she croaked out, then cleared her throat. “I am fine, and I wish to stay.” Smoothing down her dress, Diana glanced down at the midnight blue ball gown she had chosen for tonight’s occasion. While she could not−and would not−wear black to a ball, Diana had decided to take a step back from her little rebellion against society for deep down, she knew that she wanted to live among them as one of them and not as a curiosity to be stared at. And besides, it had been Lord Stanhope’s−Arthur’s−advice, had it not?
Despite the fact that her heart still cringed at the thought being hurt yet again, Diana could admit to herself that his opinion mattered to her…even more than society’s. If she were truly honest, she had chosen the midnight blue ball gown as a compromise to him, hoping that he would understand it as her attempt to be the woman he thought she was.
As they stopped beside the dance floor, Lord Norwood turned to his wife, his eyes glowing with love. “May I ask for this dance, my lady?”
A deep smile came to Rose’s features, and Diana could see her desire to accept. However, she turned back and looked at Diana, a question in her eyes…as well as concern.
However, before Rose could open her mouth to speak, Diana shook her head. “Do not worry about me, dear cousin. Go and dance with your husband,” she commanded, surprised how unaffected her heart was at the prospect of seeing her cousin in her husband’s arms. “Believe me, before long you won’t feel like dancing.” A teasing smile came to her face as she glanced at Rose’s slightly thickened mid-section.
“Thank you,” Rose whispered, then took her husband’s hand and allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor.
For a moment, Diana watched them, and her heart ached. Not because she was jealous and wished herself in her cousin’s place, but because she yearned to be looked at with such devotion. Only now the man she wanted to look at her like that was no longer Lord Norwood.
Craning her neck, Diana prayed that he had come tonight. Apart from the symbolic significance of Lord Barrett’s ball with regard to time and place, Diana simply felt as though she could not wait any longer to learn how he felt about her. Was he merely trying to protect her out of a sense of duty? Or did he truly care for her?
Diana nodded her head. Of course, he cared for her. There had been evidence more than once. And yet, she couldn’t help but wonder if it would be enough. Could a man like him ever truly love a woman like her? Whenever Diana thought about all their many differences, she felt despair encroaching on her heart.
However, she would be forever left wondering if she did not seek him out in order to receive the answer she needed. Whatever tonight would bring, it would be another turning point in her life.
Only a moment later, Diana realised how right she was as her mouth dropped open and tears filled her eyes for right there on the dance floor holding a stunningly beautiful lady in his arms was Lord Stanhope.
Blinking her eyes, Diana couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Never had she seen him dance. He was not the type to dance…at least not much. Rose had said so as well. If he danced now, it had to mean something. Perhaps he…
Unable to watch them any longer, Diana pushed through the crowd, stumbling almost blindly toward the terrace doors.
As though she had travelled back in time, she rushed outside, her feet carrying her down the path and into the green labyrinth of Lord Barrett’s garden. On and on, she walked as tears streamed down her face until she came upon the small pavilion that had been the sight of her greatest misery.
Stopping in her tracks, Diana moaned as she realised how wrong she had been. This was far worse than it had been four years ago. Then, she had been a young girl, who had fancied herself in love. Now, she was a grown woman, who…
Diana shook her head, then slowly began to climb the few steps into the pavilion, inhaling the night scents around her. Instantly, her heart clenched in her chest, she almost sank down, resting her hands on the rail before her. “I’m such a fool,” she whispered into the dark as the tear in her heart slowly opened up again. “How could he love me?”
***
Although Lady Abigail was perfectly polite−her conversational skills impeccable−Arthur found himself yearning for the end of the dance. Somehow it felt wrong to hold her in his arms.
Swallowing, he turned his head, unable to look at her, when something caught his attention.
For a bare second, he thought to have seen a set of familiar blue eyes looking back at him before they had widened in shock and filled with tears.
Had he imagined it?
Craning his neck as he twirled Lady Abigail around the dance floor, Arthur felt his heart begin to race, and fear sent his pulse into a rapid spin.
Then he caught sight of her as she spun around and pushed her way through the crowd, displeased murmurs following her as she rushed for the terrace doors.
“What is she doing?” Arthur mumbled under his breath, trying to see if anyone was following her. Was she meeting someone out in the gardens? Had she still not learnt her lesson?
“Pardon me?” Lady Abigail asked, a puzzled frown on her face as she looked at him, trying to understand his distraction. “Is something wrong?”
Very wrong indeed, Arthur thought. “Not at all, my lady,” he replied, sighing in relief when the music finally came to an end. Without another thought, he bowed to her and immediately took his leave, his feet carrying him in the direction of the terrace.
As his pulse thudded in his veins, Arthur hurried down the dark path, his gaze sweeping his surroundings, ears alert. Had someone followed her? He wondered yet again, aware that in the moment when he had turned away to respond to Lady Abigail’s question, someone could have slipped out unnoticed by him.
Was it Oakridge? Arthur wondered, his hands clenching at his sides as he strode down the path toward the centre of the green labyrinth.
When the pavilion came into view, Arthur stopped short as his eyes immediately found the Diana standing with her back to him, her hands resting on the rail, her head sunken forward as though she could no longer hold herself upright.
Although Arthur’s heart softened at the sight of her, he could not soothe the burning anger that had sent him out into the night after her. “What are you doing out here?” he demanded as he climbed the few steps of the pavilion. “Alone and unchaperoned? Have you still not learnt your lesson?”
At the sound of his voice, she flinched, then turned to face him, and he was shocked speechless as he saw her tear-stained face and the misery clouding her lovely eyes.
Holding his gaze, she swallowed and her hands came up to brush the wetness of her cheeks. “I am not yours to teach,” she spat, her lips pressed into a hard line as she regarded him with such disappointment that Arthur felt himself cringe.
And yet, he had to know. “Who are you meeting here?”
A slight frown came to her face before she shook her head. “I’m not meeting anyone,” she whispered as though the question alone was ludicrous, “and even if I were, it would be none of your concern.” Then she turned her back on him. “Leave me alone.”
Standing stock-still, Arthur stared at her, feeling the fear that had held his heart in its clutches slowly subside. As it left, he could sense his rational mind reawaken, and he realised that he had overreacted.
There was no one here. No one but her, and from the looks of it, she had not come out here to meet anyone. Then why? He wondered.
“I asked you to leave me alone,” she spoke into the dark, keeping her back turned on him.
As though by reflex, Arthur took a step backward before he stopped once more, his resolve strengthening. If he left now…
Squaring his shoulders, he raised his chin, determined not to yield. “No.”
At his response, she spun around, anger edged into her eyes.