Chapter Four - Widows & Brides
After a fortnight of sitting at home and mourning a husband she never wanted to marry in the first place, Diana was no closer to an answer than on the day of the funeral. What was she to do?
The mere thought of continuing her life in the same manner turned her stomach upside down, and yet, she could not see an alternative.
Possibly after the end of her mourning period−which was a year away−she could return to society and look for another husband. But would anyone even want her? Would she want to subject herself to the same degrading treatment she had suffered at her late husband’s hands?
Maybe she simply ought to remain a widow. It certainly was the easier, the saver option, and yet, Diana knew that she wanted more.
A part of her felt as though it had been awakened from a long slumber as though prince charming had ridden up on his white steed and broken the spell with his kiss. Only there had been no prince and no kiss.
Her husband had died…and set her free…if only in the sense that her desire to taste life beyond the dullness of her home had reawakened.
In a word, what Diana wanted was to feel. Something. Anything.
“Maybe we should take a stroll through the park,” Rose suggested, setting down her teacup, as her eyes shifted over Diana with the same concerned expression that had been there constantly in the past fortnight. “The sun is shining, and there is a gentle breeze.”
Sighing, Diana nodded. “Maybe you’re right.”
Encouraged, Rose almost jumped to her feet and immediately drew Diana to the foyer lest she change her mind. There, they reached for their jackets and hats held at the ready by attentive footmen and turned to the door without delay.
However, the moment Diana stepped forward to follow her cousin, she caught the soft shimmer of light blue out of the corner of her eye. Turning back, her gaze narrowed as it slid over the armchair in the corner, all the way down to its leg. There, she saw one of her scarfs, half-hidden in the shadows, its radiant blue shining even more brightly after a fortnight of gloomy black.
Diana drew in a deep breath, and an involuntary smile curled up her lips.
Without thinking, she stepped forward and pulled it out from behind the chair’s leg. Running it through her fingers, Diana did not see the occasional speck of dust that had settled onto the fabric here and there. All she saw was the shimmering colour, and in that moment, Diana could not have parted with it for anything.
“Is something wrong?” Rose said as she walked up and came to stand beside Diana. “Did you change your mind?” Then her eyes shifted down to the blue scarf clutched tightly in Diana’s hands as though it was a priceless treasure before they returned to her cousin’s face, a hint of suspicion in Rose’s emerald eyes. “You’re not…?”
The corners of Diana’s mouth rose into a wide smile that she simply could not suppress even if she had wanted to. And she didn’t. “Yes, I am,” she declared triumphantly, winding the scarf around her arms so that they ends hung down in the front, gently swaying as she walked.
“But you’re in mourning!” Rose objected as she followed Diana toward the mirror. “You simply cannot! You’re husband’s funeral was barely a fortnight ago. Diana, be reasonable!”
Taking a deep breath, Diana stared at her reflection in the mirror, delighted with the way the brilliant blue seemed to sparkle in contrast to the black of her dress, like stars shining in the night sky.
“Diana, please!”
Turning to face her cousin, Diana met her eyes. “No,” she simply said, the expression on her face calm, her eyes steady as they held Rose’s gaze. “I need this. These past few years, I’ve barely been myself, always worried about what people would think, and no matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, they always thought the worst of me.” Suddenly feeling liberated, Diana drew in a deep breath and an honest smile came to her lips. “Now, I’m done living by everybody’s rules. Now, I shall only live by my own.”
Staring at her dumbfounded, Rose swallowed. “Are you certain you wish to do this? Think about the consequences.”
At her cousin’s words, an old fear slowly crept up Diana’s spine, sending chills up and down her body. “No!” she said vehemently, her eyes hardening. “The last few years have knocked out my legs from under me, if I don’t stand up now, I know I shall never rise again.”
Holding her gaze for a moment, her emerald eyes searching Diana’s, Rose nodded. “All right. Then let’s go.” A soft smile, encouraging and devoted, came to her face. “Before the sun changes its mind.”
“Thank you,” Diana whispered, her heart hammering in her chest as she followed her cousin outside, leaving behind the safety of her home and facing the world.
***
“Lord Grafton’s daughter would be suitable,” Lady Stanhope stated, her sharp eyes shifting over the list of potential brides in her hand. “This is her second season. She is from a well-respected family and behaves with all the graces and manners befitting a young lady.”
“I agree,” Arthur mumbled, slightly annoyed with his mother’s insistence to ignore anything he had said on the subject of his sister’s potential spouses. “However, as I informed you before, I am determined to see Eleanor married first. Despite the age difference between us, she seems already far more suited to marriage than I shall ever be.”
Inhaling deeply, his mother slowly lifted her eyes off the sheet of paper in her hands. “But not to Henry Waltham,” she hissed, her pale eyes drilling into his as though her stare had the power to force him to submit to her wishes.
“Why are you so insistent?” Arthur enquired, remembering the way his sister and Henry Waltham had looked at one another from across the dance floor. “Eleanor seems fairly taken with him.”
“Nonsense!” Lady Stanhope snapped, the list of potential brides crushed into a little ball when anger seized her, painting her face a darker shade of red. “It’s merely an infatuation. It’ll pass.” She shook her head vehemently, tossing the crumpled list onto the floor. “And besides, there are far more important aspects to a marriage than love, believe me.” Gritting her teeth, she inhaled deeply. “He is not worthy of her, and it is our duty to prevent Eleanor from doing something rash. I want her married to a suitable gentleman before the end of the Season.”
Arthur’s eyes widened. “Something rash?” he asked, stepping closer, his eyes trained on his mother. “What on earth do you speak of? Do you truly believe she would run off to Gretna Green if we do not give our consent?”
Holding his gaze, his mother shrugged. “I do not know, and that frightens me.”
“Eleanor is far too reasonable to agree to such a shameful wedding,” Arthur objected, unable to imagine that his little sister would ever go against the sense of decency that had been instilled in her from the moment she had been born. “No, she would never do that.”
“I certainly hope not,” his mother said, a touch of fear in her voice as she spoke. “However, we cannot be certain. Even morally impeccable women have succumbed to bad influences before. It is not unheard of.”
“Bad influences?” Arthur asked, wondering about the slightly distant look that had come to his mother’s face. “Who do you speak of? Henry Waltham?”
“Among others.”
“Among others? Who else?”
Blinking, his mother swallowed, then met his eyes once more, her own once more sharp and determined. “Mrs. Reignold.”
Arthur frowned. “Mrs. Reignold? Who…? What? You’re speaking of that woman Eleanor spoke to at the ball a month ago?”
“Have you already forgotten what I told you about her?” his mother chided, clearly displeased that he wasn’t taking this issue as seriously as she did herself. “She is of questionable character and not a good influence on my daughter.” His mother drew in a deep breath, and her eyes shifted from side to side as though ensuring that no one was within earshot. Then she leaned closer, and Arthur knew that another titbit of gossip was imminent. “From what I’ve heard, she’s been seen walking around in public,” here, she paused for dramatic effect, and Arthur could barely keep himself from rolling his eyes, “wearing a blue scarf.” His mother’s eyes widened, looking at him expectantly, as she drew back and shook her head. “Outrageous!”
Arthur frowned, honestly confused. “Was she not recently widowed?”
Now, it was his mother who rolled her eyes. “Of course, she was. Otherwise, what I just told you would be of no importance! Do you never listen?”
Arthur drew in a deep breath, fighting down the urge to lash out at his mother. “I apologise,” he forced himself to say, annoyed with himself for allowing his mother to influence his own sense of proper attitude to such a degree. Maybe she was right after all to worry about Eleanor. “Do you truly believe Mrs. Reignold would urge Eleanor to run off to Gretna Green? Have they even see each other since that ball a month ago?”
“Not as far as I know,” his mother admitted, her voice a little feeble. “However, we cannot be certain. Eleanor might simply meet her in secret.”
Why would she? Arthur wondered, but refrained from expressing his sentiments out loud. “If it makes you feel any better, I shall keep an eye on Eleanor.”
“Thank you,” his mother breathed, relief palpable on her face. “However, I fear I shall not find a moment of peace until my daughter is suitably married.”
Arthur sighed, hoping that such an event would take place sooner rather than later for he wasn’t certain how many more of these conversations he could have with his mother before he would be unable to hold himself in check.
All his life, he had hated it that his mother knew very well how to enrage him. It was a side of himself that he disliked, feared even, for it was far from reasonable.
As long as it merely resulted in a conversational outburst, which he could easily enough apologise for, it was barely noteworthy. However, Arthur wondered if one day he might break a far more important rule, one that was by far more difficult to apologise for, and that thought frightened him even more.