Chapter Two - A Chance Encounter
Praying that the mild pain that began to throb under his temples would subside, Arthur took a deep breath, trying to concentrate on the harmonious melody of the orchestra in the corner of the ballroom. Maybe the gentle notes could soothe his frayed nerves.
“There!” His mother snapped, leaning closer to catch his attention. “Do you see him? He is looking at her.”
Taking another deep breath, Arthur turned in the direction his mother indicated. “He is merely glancing in her direction.” From what Arthur could see, young Henry Waltham stood almost all the way across the room from Eleanor, his eyes watching her as a shy smile played on his features. Eleanor, too, seemed rather bashful as she glanced at the man she had kissed under the mistletoe not three months ago, biting her lower lip before averting her gaze.
Never had Arthur seen a more innocent love then theirs. If only he could understand his mother’s objections!
“You must go and stop him!” His mother insisted, her voice slightly hysterical as she attempted to push him in the general direction of Henry Waltham. “Go at once!”
Planting his feet firmly on the ground, Arthur turned and met his mother’s gaze. “He is merely looking at her, Mother,” he said, trying to reason with a woman who barely knew such a sentiment existed, “the same way she is looking at him. There is nothing untoward going on here.”
Pressing her lips into a thin line, his mother glared at him as though he had just refused to protect his sister from a highwayman lying in wait. “She is your sister and−”
“−and she is perfectly safe,” Arthur interrupted, immediately annoyed with himself for stooping so low as to break decorum. It was inexcusable! Gritting his teeth, he forced air into his lungs, ignoring the growing pain behind his template. “I apologise, Mother. It was wrong of me to interrupt you.”
Her features relaxed, and she nodded her head, accepting his apology.
Relieved, Arthur stepped back, his gaze once more turned to the dance floor, hoping that this would be the end of it.
However, luck was not on his side.
“That is Mrs. Reignold,” his mother observed, and her eyes narrowed as she watched her daughter speak to a young woman, whose expression was a far cry from the warm glow on Eleanor’s face.
“I’ve never met her,” Arthur replied, slightly concern at the new pitch that had come to his mother’s voice. “Are you acquainted with her?”
At his words, his mother’s head snapped around and she stared at him with wide eyes. “Good God, of course not. Why would you assume such a thing?”
As his headache pounded against the insides of his skull, Arthur resigned himself to losing the war. “I meant no offence, Mother. I have never met the woman, and I am not familiar with her name.”
“That is almost unfathomable!” his mother exclaimed, eyeing him with suspicion. “After all, her fall from grace has been on everyone’s lips. How can you not know?”
“I do not care for gossip,” Arthur said. “Often it distorts the truth into a grotesque mask that has no resemblance to reality. I am certain that at least half of what you have heard of this woman−or anyone else for that matter−is pure fiction.”
“How can it be fiction if there were witnesses?” his mother objected, her eyes fixed on the young woman, who in that moment received a glass of−presumably−lemonade from Eleanor.
Although he knew his mother was anxiously waiting for him to ask for details, Arthur remained quiet, equally well-aware that his failure to enquire for more information would not stop his mother from sharing it with him.
“It was maybe four years ago when she chased after a known rake, making a fool of herself,” she continued as expected. “Unfortunately, everyone was aware of what was on her mind but her own parents. Otherwise, I would have thought they would have prevented any untoward behaviour on her part.” A disapproving frown came to her face. “Nonetheless, Mrs. Reignold−or Miss Lawson as she was still called then−left Lord Barrett’s ballroom to follow Lord Norwood out into the gardens where she allowed him to compromise her.”
“Allowed him?” Arthur asked, remembering the many atrocious tales he had heard about that man before he reminded himself not to lend an ear to gossip. Most of those were probably false or at least wildly exaggerated. After all, had he not been married a year ago? Was the eternal bachelor not off the market now?
“When he refused to marry her−as was to be expected considering his reputation,” his mother continued, her voice eager as she related the information she had obtained, “her father arranged for her to marry Mr. Reignold. However, Miss Lawson seemed rather dissatisfied with the arrangement. I suppose she had her sights set on marrying a viscount and finds that she is displeased with being the wife of the younger son of a baron.” His mother snorted in disgust. “After risking his own reputation and standing in society, Mr. Reignold truly deserves better than an ungrateful wife. After all, no one thought she would ever be married after the way she allowed herself to be ruined. It is quite a shame.”
“Even if what you say is true,” Arthur interjected, unable to overlook the deep sadness that seemed to radiate from the young Mrs. Reignold, “it has been four years. Should we not allow her to move past her earlier mistakes? I am certain she has learnt her lesson.” The miserable look on her face suggested that her lessons were still ongoing.
His mother chuckled as though he had been jesting. “A reputation once ruined is lost forever−I expected that you of all people knew that−which is why it is of the utmost importance that we keep Eleanor away from Henry Waltham. Who knows what might happen? She might end up like Mrs. Reignold.” A shudder shook his mother’s frame.
Arthur couldn't help but think that no one deserved to end up like Mrs. Reignold.
Not even Mrs. Reignold herself.
***
Long ago, the idea of a ball had filled Diana’s heart with excitement. Now, all it did was cringe under the hostile stares of society. And yet, it noticed that those stares were only meant for her alone. Her husband, however, was received with politeness and respect as they made their rounds, greeting friends and acquaintances−her husband’s friends and acquaintances. For apart from her immediate family, Diana had lost all favour in society the moment she had been considered ruined. Now, only very few people remained who would speak to her directly.
One such person was her cousin Rose.
As soon as she caught sight of Diana, her cousin leaned closer to her husband and whispered something in his ear. He looked up then, and the moment, his eyes caught Diana’s−be it only for a split second−her heartbeat sped up and her palms became moist. How was he still doing this after all those years? Diana marvelled, wondering what pained her more: society’s unwillingness to forget her one mistake in judgement or the sight of undying love between Rose and her husband.
“Oh, I’m so glad you could come,” Rose beamed after walking over on her husband’s arm and greeting them warmly. “It is truly a marvellous night.”
“It is indeed,” Lord Norwood agreed, nodding his head in greeting, his eyes aglow with love as he gazed down at his wife. “I believe we shall spend the entire night on the dance floor.”
Rose laughed, then leaned over to Diana and whispered conspiratorially, “Although I wish I could, at present I do not believe that I have the strength to do so…considering my condition.”
At her cousin’s words, Diana cringed inwardly, but managed to maintain a polite smile. Caught up in the excitement of the night−as well as her life in general−Rose did not see the wistful expression that came to Diana’s eyes as she carefully glanced at Lord Norwood, a new ache coming to her heart as he continued to act as though they barely knew each other.
Whenever Diana looked at him these days and their eyes happened to meet, she never saw a spark of recognition, of remembrance of the night that had so shaped her life. It was as though he had forgotten her.
Soon, Rose and her husband rejoined the many couples occupying the dance floor while Diana’s husband excused himself and ventured toward the gambling room.
Left alone, Diana once again wondered how to fill her evening. Years ago, she would have danced the night away. Now, that was not an option. No one ever asked her to dance any longer. Not even her husband.
As she walked around the room, doing her best to ignore the hushed whispers that followed her, Diana came to stand in front of the garden doors. Beyond them, a green oasis lay in darkness, calling her forth, promising peace and tranquillity.
However, the moment her hand came to rest on the door handle, Diana shrank back as though it had been seared by fire. Again, the night four years ago flashed before her eyes, and she knew she would only be fuelling gossip if she ventured out into the night alone. Who knew what would happen? Her husband would be most displeased.
And yet, for a split second, Diana was tempted to go nonetheless. Could her life truly become any worse? Didn’t people already gossip, already shun her, already ignore her? What else could they do to her that they weren’t already?
Resisting the lure of the gardens, Diana stepped away from the doors and instead headed in a safer direction: toward the refreshment table. With her heart still hammering in her chest, she felt parched as though it was sheer exercise to merely be in the same room with London Society. As she reached for a glass of refreshing lemonade, her hand collided with someone else’s and she shrank back. Her head snapped up, and she stared wide-eyed at the young woman before her. How come she hadn’t noticed her before?
“I’m sorry,” the young woman assured her, a large smile on her face as she gestured for Diana to take the glass. “I guess I was lost in thought.”
“As was I,” Diana mumbled, wondering why this woman would address her so kindly. Did she not know how she was? Had she not heard the whispers? Had no one warned her not to socialise with Diana?
An expectant look in her eyes, the young woman then reached for the glass and handed it to Diana. “Here, you seem in need of a refreshment.” As though in trance, Diana accepted the drink. “Have you been dancing a lot? I suppose it must be wonderful to…” Her voice trailed off as her eyes drifted to the side, looking at something or someone beyond the twirling couples.
Unable to ignore the sadness that had suddenly come to the young woman’s eyes, Diana sighed. She, too, had been young once. And although only a few years had passed since her first Season, Diana felt as though she had lived a lifetime in those years. In fact, she felt like an old woman who looked back upon her youth with wistful melancholy, regretting the turn her life had taken.
“Are you all right?” Diana asked, wondering if she had sunken too deep into her own misery to not have noticed the pain others suffered.
The young woman turned back to face her, a reluctant smile drawing up the corners of her mouth. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.” Then she drew in a deep breath, and a touch of determination came to her features. “My name is Eleanor Abbott. I’m Lord Stanhope’s sister.”
Diana drew in a sharp breath. Clearly, Lady Eleanor did not know who she was, and once she did, her kind smile would surely die faster than Diana could mumble an apology. “I’m Mrs. Reynold, Diana Reignold,” she finally said, watching Lady Eleanor’s face with rapt attention.
Strangely enough, the smile on the young woman’s face stayed where it was. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Reignold. Is your husband here with you?”
“He is,” Diana answered still as though in trance. “However, he prefers the gambling table to the dance floor.”
“But surely he has danced with you at least once, has he not?” Lady Eleanor asked, a jesting tone to her voice as she reached for another glass of lemonade and took a sip.
“He has not,” Diana admitted, feeling a sudden but desperate desire to keep their conversation going…by any means necessary if need be. “To be frank, I do not mind. He is an awful dancer.”
Lady Eleanor laughed, and once more her eyes shifted to the other side of the room.
“Is there someone special you wished would dance with you?” Diana asked, wondering if everybody was in love but her…or at least happily in love.
Lady Eleanor sighed, and a slight blush came to her cheeks. “Is it that obvious?”
Diana nodded, feeling her heart go out to the young woman who seemed saddened despite the obvious fact that her hear almost overflowed with love. “Does he not return your feelings?”
Again, Lady Eleanor’s mouth curved upward and the blush on her cheeks deepened. “I do believe he does.” Then she nodded her head as though needing to convince herself. “No, I know he does.”
Diana frowned. “If that is indeed the case, I am surprised to see you so miserable.”
Lady Eleanor sighed, and for a moment, her eyes came to rest on Diana’s face, studying her, determining how much to say. “My mother does not approve,” she finally explained, her shoulders suddenly slumped in resignation.
“Is he not of your station?” Diana asked, feeling a touch of guilt for the delight their conversation brought her. Despite Lady Eleanor’s misery, Diana could not help but savour the rare moment that someone addressed her as though she were worthy of their attention. Years had passed since that had last happened.
“He is the fifth son of a baron,” Lady Eleanor explained. However, her eyes had become distant as she spoke. “Still, I do not believe that to be enough of a reason for my mother’s vehement objections. I do feel as though she knows something I do not.” Then Lady Eleanor blinked, and her gaze returned to meet Diana’s. Instantly, a bashful smile came to her features. “I apologise for ruining your night with my worries. Surely, there are friends and acquaintances you wish to attend to.” Nodding her head in appreciation, Lady Eleanor stepped back. “Thank you for listening though.”
Before Diana could object, urge her to stay, assure her that her worries were not a burden but a blessing instead, Lady Eleanor walked away, and Diana was alone again.
Once more, her heart plummeted into the black void that usually engulfed her upon leaving her home and subjecting herself to the judgement of others. At least for the duration of their conversation, Diana had been able to ignore the occasional stare or frown cast in her direction. Would it ever end? She wondered. Could one error in judgement truly live on forever?
In the beginning, Diana had been certain that she only needed to be patient until another piece of gossip would arise, overshadowing her own mistake and allowing people to forget a little more every day. However, although other rumours and whispers now sounded louder than those directed at her, Diana now knew that society never truly forgot, and she had come to realise that her parents had been right: a reputation once lost was gone forever.
The rest of the evening progressed as expected−as it always did. Keeping to herself, Diana observed the happy lives of those around her while desperately trying to shield her heart from the torturous sights before her eyes: Her cousin in love with the man Diana had once thought her soul mate.
And although she knew that Rose meant well by including her, by seeking her out and asking if she needed anything, for Diana it only increased the sense of loneliness she had felt these past years.
On their carriage ride home, Diana kept her eyes out the window, unable to look at her husband as he sat slumped in his seat, reeking of liquor. As impeccable as he liked to appear to the ton, Diana knew by now that her husband merely wore a well-crafted mask, and she had to admit that he deserved credit for hiding his own sins from the world at large with such skill. If only she had had the foresight to do so as well.
A moment after the carriage drew to a halt in front of their townhouse, the door was opened and the steps lowered. However, her husband remained in his seat, merely nodding his head at her, bidding her a good night.
Taking a deep breath, Diana allowed the coachman to help her out of the carriage before he once more closed the door and climbed back up onto the box. As Diana ascended the few steps to their front door, the carriage drew away from the kerb and was soon lost in the dark.
Shaking her head at the unfairness of life, Diana retired to her chamber, wondering why it was merely frowned upon if a man had a mistress but if a woman spent even one moment in the company of an unrelated gentleman she was ruined? Irredeemable. Forever.
Who had made these rules?
Diana scoffed. Men, of course! Those who benefit from rules were usually the ones you’d set them.
Blowing out the candle, Diana slipped into bed, pulling the soft blanket tightly around herself and decided to count her blessings. If her husband was with his mistress, then at least tonight, he wouldn’t bother her.