Chapter Eight − A Desperate Attempt at Happiness
About a fortnight after Diana had returned from the theatre and gone into the nursery to comfort her son, she still did not know what to do. More than once−actually whenever she laid eyes on her little boy these days−did she feel a strange yearning to wrap her arms around him and feel the warmth of his little body hugging hers. And yet, something stopped her.
Standing in the downstairs parlour, Diana spent many hours staring out the window at the busy street below, wondering what she ought to do. Torn between Lord Stanhope’s advice as well as her own desire to change her life, Diana knew very well that she had not the slightest idea what it was she truly wanted.
Yes, she wanted to be happy, to feel something, to feel alive, and here and there, she had actually experienced moments that had made her skin tingle and placed a deep, heart-felt smile on her face.
And yet, these moments had been fleeting. They had vanished as quickly as they had seized her, and she did not know how to bring them about…even though she wished for nothing else more desperately.
Despite Lord Stanhope’s counsel, Diana still went out wearing colourful accessories. However, she refrained from exchanging her black gown for a more scandalous variation. Strangely enough, there was a part of her that could not bear the thought of disappointing him.
Except for Rose, he had been the only one in a long time who had spoken to her without distaste, without condescension. He had seemed truly concerned for her, trying to understand why she would desire to provoke a scandal.
If only Diana could explain it beyond the almost desperate urge to rebel against those who had never even given her a chance when she had tried her best to act as expected. Deep down, Diana knew that she was acting out of spite. She wanted to show the whole world that no matter what she would not bow her head and simply accept their rejection.
No, she did not need their approval. She would find her place without it.
And still, Diana did not feel better. Her life did not truly change. She was still trapped in the same old life she had hated from the first day.
“Maybe I need to try harder,” she mumbled to herself, wondering what would have happened if she had not run into Lord Stanhope that night at the theatre. What if she had made it to her cousin’s box? What if all of the ton had seen her out of mourning barely two months after her husband’s passing?
Would something have changed? Would she have felt liberated somehow?
Diana sighed, remembering the night at the theatre. At first, she had not seen the concern in Lord Stanhope’s eyes. All she had been aware of had been his censure of her behaviour. However, then he had risked his own reputation in order to protect hers.
The day after the performance Rose had called on her, and Diana had taken that opportunity to enquire after Lord Stanhope, mentioning that she had met the man’s sister at a ball not too long ago.
And although Rose did not know Lord Stanhope personally, she had shared what little she did know about him.
Now, Diana knew that the man who had acted so gallantly had in fact been London’s most notorious stickler for etiquette. Still she could not believe it! In retrospect, she would have expected him to leave the moment she had shown up unchaperoned. She would have expected him to be appalled by her lack of decorum.
Only he hadn’t been.
Instead, he had been kind.
And in return, she had kissed him!
A deep smile came to Diana’s face. Yes, he had made her feel. The moment he had pulled her behind the column, her heart had thudded in her chest in a way she hadn’t expected it ever would again. If she were to meet him again, would his presence have the same effect on her?
For two days, Diana mulled over what to do. Yes, she wanted to feel, and although she did not dare risk opening her heart to her son, she could not help but yearn for the feeling Lord Stanhope had evoked in her. After all, it was a mere flirtation. Nothing to endanger her heart for it had already learnt its lesson long ago.
And so with her mind firmly made up, Diana awaited her cousin’s carriage two nights later, after having spent the entire afternoon persuading her to be allowed to attend Lord Timbell’s ball alongside Rose and her husband.
Strangely enough, the presence of Lord Norwood did not affect her as it usually did when she climbed into their carriage that night, her thoughts focused on the ball and the question whether or not Lord Stanhope would attend.
“Are you certain this is a good idea?” Rose asked, her forehead in a frown as her gaze swept over Diana’s midnight blue gown.
“I cannot attend a ball wearing black, now can I?” Diana retorted, still exhausted from their to and fro that afternoon. “What choice did I have?”
Apparently, Rose knew when a battle was lost, and so she leaned back in her seat, exchanged a knowing look with her husband and said not another word on the matter.
When they finally reached Lord Timbell’s townhouse, Diana had to admit that she felt sick to the stomach. Following her cousin out of the carriage, Diana took a deep breath, steeling herself for the hateful stares and appalled whispers that awaited her inside, and for a moment, she could not recall why she was even here.
Surely, she was mad to subject herself to such censure!
Upon entering, Diana forced a sweet smile on her face, which barely faltered as Lord and Lady Tinwell’s jaws dropped open when they caught sight of her. “You have a lovely home,” she said in greeting, pushing her shoulders back and raising her chin to meet their eyes unflinchingly.
In that moment, Diana couldn’t help but be proud of herself.
The rest of the night continued as expected. Wherever Diana went, whispers and stares followed her. While some guests at least attempted to hide their interest in London’s latest scandal, others made no effort to appear unobtrusive.
However, Diana couldn’t have cared less. With each moment that her eyes failed to detect Lord Stanhope’s presence, her heart sank.
“Where is he?” she mumbled venturing through the many rooms, eyeing her cousin with a familiar touch of envy as her husband twirled her across the dance floor.
“Mrs. Reignold?”
Turning around, Diana felt her heart thudding in her chest as her eyes fell on Lady Eleanor. Hearing her name called, Diana thought she had strayed into a dream as the general consensus of the assembled guests was to not interact with her at all.
Whisper behind her back: yes.
Speak to her directly: no.
“Lady Eleanor,” Diana beamed, trying to glance behind the young woman in the hopes of spotting her brother. “How lovely to see you.”
“Are you enjoying yourself?” Lady Eleanor asked, a twinkle in her eyes as they shifted down and came to rest on Diana’s midnight blue dress.
For a moment, Diana tensed, but then she noticed the touch of envy in Lady Eleanor’s eyes and her heart warmed to the young woman. From what she knew, Lady Eleanor had every reason to feel disappointed with her lot in life as well.
Diana drew in a deep breath and met Lady Eleanor’s gaze openly. “I came here in the hopes of enjoying myself, yes,” she spoke freely, sensing that the young woman did not and would not fault her for it. Why was it that only the two Stanhope siblings seemed to have any compassion these days?
“I admit I am awed by your courage,” the young woman said unexpectedly as she glanced at the many intruding glances around them. “I often wish I were more daring.”
Diana smiled. “But you are. After all, you’re speaking to me.” Eleanor chuckled. “Apparently, people are of one mind not to address me tonight. I am glad you have a mind of your own and are not afraid to use it.”
“Thank you.” Sighing, Lady Eleanor held her gaze, and Diana wondered if there was any chance of befriending the young woman. After all, it would be wonderful to have someone like Lady Eleanor with whom she could spend her time.
However, the moment that thought entered Diana’s mind, an elderly matron appeared behind Lady Eleanor’s shoulder, her eyes narrowed and a rather familiar frown of disapproval on her face. “My dear,” the woman stated in a cold voice, her gaze settling on Lady Eleanor, who seemed to deflate at her mere presence, “Lord Ebbington is asking for you.”
With a last apologetic look, Lady Eleanor followed the older woman−whom Diana presumed to be her mother, Lady Stanhope−to the other side of the ballroom. From what Diana could see there was no Lord Ebbington there, eagerly awaiting the pleasure of Lady Eleanor’s company.
The only one who stood there waiting for them was Lord Stanhope.
At the sight of him, Diana’s heart leapt into her throat, and for a moment, she thought she would faint as her pulse began to hammer in her veins. Smiling at him, she tried to catch his gaze, but although he occasionally looked in her direction, his eyes never locked with hers.
Was he avoiding her?
Instantly, Diana’s spirits crashed to the ground, the excited tingle that had danced over her skin all night turning into cold shivers that raised goose bumps up and down her arms. Swallowing, she stepped back until her back came to rest against a wall, her legs barely able to support herself.
How foolish she had been! Diana cursed herself. Thinking him different from everyone else! Apparently, her heart had not learnt its lesson after all for she had once more rushed after a man who did not care about her, making a fool of herself.
Maybe she was destined not to be loved, Diana thought. Maybe it was her punishment for her reckless behaviour. Could she truly not redeem herself? Was one error of judgement enough to ruin an entire life? Was there no way back?
Diana sighed, the muscles in her jaw tightening as determination once more settled over her. Well, if that was indeed the case, then nothing she did truly mattered. Her life, her reputation were forfeit. All she could do now was make the best of an awful situation.
If not Lord Stanhope, then maybe she could find someone else who would make her forget the life she so desperately tried to escape…at least for a few moments.
Glancing around the ballroom, Diana smiled as her eyes came to rest on Lord Oakridge, a known rake without morals or conscience.
Perfect!
***
The moment he caught sight of her, Arthur froze. What was she doing here? And in that dress? Had she not heard a word he had said to her the other night at the theatre?
Dragging his gaze away before his mother would notice, Arthur did his utmost to ignore her until it was in fact Lady Stanhope who became aware of her daughter’s intimate conversation with a woman she deemed undeserving of their mere presence.
“Unbelievable!” she huffed and immediately set off to save her daughter−or rather her reputation−from Mrs. Reignold’s toxic influence.
Arthur sighed as he saw his sister’s smile vanish the moment their mother interrupted them, and he felt guilty for not interfering on Eleanor’s behalf…if only he knew how. At the moment, short of defying her mother and marrying Mr. Waltham without familial consent, there was no possible way for Eleanor to be with the man she considered her other half. Had Mrs. Reignold’s company truly presented a temporary distraction? Was she a potential friend Eleanor would be able to confide in?
As his mother and sister returned to his side, Arthur once more averted his gaze, pretending he had not even noticed Mrs. Reignold’s presence…and it made him feel as cowardly as he never had before.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her beautiful face light up as she caught sight of him, and he drew in a sharp breath, feeling the sudden urge to approach her, to look into her eyes and ask why she had come that night. Had it been for him? Had she truly desired to see him? That couldn’t possibly be.
Reminding himself that any connection between them was impossible, Arthur forced himself not to acknowledge her, but instead stared right through her as though she wasn’t even there.
Instantly, he felt even smaller.
Turning back to his family, Arthur stepped forward as his mother lectured Eleanor on her misstep. “I do believe Eleanor was merely being kind to her,” he interfered. “After all, all people do is whisper behind her back. She must feel rather lonely.”
Lifting her head to stare at him, his mother shook her head, her eyes narrowed in confusion. “Are you suggesting that society ought to welcome a woman who displays not even the smallest bit of decency and manners?”
Arthur drew in a careful breath as his muscles tensed. “I merely meant to point out that everyone condemns her without knowing her reasons.”
“It does not matter what her reasons are,” his mother huffed. “There is no excuse for such an open portrayal of impropriety.”
Arthur swallowed, and his heart sank as he realised he could not rationally refute his mother’s argument. Stepping back, he looked at his sister apologetically, for the first time in his life feeling utterly incapable of resolving a situation to his liking.
The remainder of the night, Arthur spent almost rooted to the spot, only moving in order to keep his eyes firmly fixed on Mrs. Reignold. Every once in a while, he would curse himself, berate himself for his inability to simply enjoy the evening and ignore her latest escapade.
But he couldn’t.
As though they were two magnets drawn to one another, he followed her, watched her, and the pulse in his neck became more erratic with each minute that passed.
At first, she appeared somewhat dejected, and Arthur wondered if it had something with the way he had looked through her, not seen her. However, she had quickly recovered−too quickly for Arthur’s liking−and had soon−to his great dismay−asked Lord Oakridge to dance. Although the man had seemed somewhat surprised, he had accepted and then led Mrs. Reignold onto the dance floor.
After spending some time chatting after procuring themselves a drink from the refreshment table, they had once again stood up together. This time for a waltz!
Gritting his teeth, Arthur watched as she smiled up at Lord Oakridge, wondering why she would insist on ruining her reputation further. After all, there was no rational reason for her actions, and yet, a part of him thought she might be acting out of spite. Was that it?
Arthur shook his head. No matter what had happened, he could not help but believe that her motivations spoke of a deeper emotion than mere spitefulness. That night at the theatre, she had seemed truly disheartened, disappointed by the world and on the brink of abandoning hope. He had feared for her then.
He feared for her now.
When the dance ended, Mrs. Reignold and Lord Oakridge slipped through the crowd toward the back of the townhouse, just when Lord Timbell stood up to address his guests, drawing their attention.
Retreating to the back, Arthur weaved his way past the throng of guests as they listened with almost rapt attention. Lord Timbell truly did his reputation justice as the most entertaining man in London!
Spotting Mrs. Reignold and Lord Oakridge by the terrace doors, Arthur quickened his steps, his heart pounding in his chest as he saw the doors close behind them. What was she doing? Was she intent on having an affair? And with Lord Oakridge no less? Or was she not aware of his reputation? If not, then she would be soon…unless Arthur could reach her in time! After all, was it not the responsibility of the strong to protect the weak? Was it not his duty to ensure her safety?
Although his firm believe in right and wrong told him that his argument was sound, he still knew that Mrs. Reignold’s affairs were none of his business. After all, she was a grown woman, capable of making her own decisions. Had she not already ignored his advice? Did that not mean that she had made her choice?
Nevertheless, Arthur found himself crossing the terrace and hastening down the few steps into the gardens as they lay before him, dark and threatening. Hesitating, he waited until his eyes had grown accustomed to the lack of light before he strode down the path. Mumbled voices drifted to his ears then, and he took a sharp turn to the right, like a bloodhound following a scent.
The moment he saw them, standing under the large maple tree, Lord Oakridge’s hand cupping Mrs. Reignold’s cheek, Arthur almost toppled over. It felt like a blow to his stomach, knocking the air from his lungs.
Fighting to stay upright, he strode toward them, a part of him wondering what on earth he was doing! For quite obviously, both parties wanted to be there, had chosen to be there freely. Who was he to interrupt?
And yet, he did. Rational reasons be damned!
“Get your hands off her, Oakridge,” he growled, now only a few steps away. “This is not how you treat a young widow.”
At the sound of his voice, their heads snapped sideways, eyes wide, startled. However, neither showed the proper amount of shock he would have expected considering the nature of their meeting and the severity of the consequences should it become public knowledge. What was the world coming to? He couldn’t help but wonder.
“Stanhope?” Lord Oakridge asked, his brows rising in question as he looked from Arthur back to Mrs. Reignold.
“What are you doing here?” the lady in question asked, the look in her eyes strangely contradicting. For although she appeared to be annoyed with his appearance, there was something in the way she looked at him, the way the corners of her mouth twitched as though wishing to be allowed to smile, that made him think−hope−that she was glad to see him.
Arthur drew in a deep breath as he came to stand before them, relieved to see that Lord Oakridge had already taken a step back, his hands no longer touching Mrs. Reignold’s skin. “I came because it is quite obvious that you are in no state of mind to make decisions tonight that affect the rest of your life.”
At the harsh tone in his voice, her eyes narrowed and her lips pressed into a thin line. Then her mouth opened in protest.
However, before she could speak, Lord Oakridge interfered. “Since it is quite obvious that I’m not needed here,” he said, a touch of humour and calculation in his voice as he glanced from Mrs. Reignold to Arthur, “I shall take my leave.”
Arthur merely nodded, his eyes fixed on the woman before him, who seemed to be ready to tear his head off. Had he truly expected her to be grateful? After all, she quite obviously did not care for her reputation, then why would she appreciate that he was trying to save what was left of it?
With a last chuckle, Lord Oakridge left, walking back the path they’d come, whistling a merry tune as though it had been a truly entertaining spectacle.
Holding out his hand, Arthur glanced around, well aware of the precariousness of their situation. How was he going to return her to the ballroom without anyone noticing?
“How dare you?” Mrs. Reignold snarled, disgust on her face as she glared at him, ignoring the hand he offered her. “How dare you interfere? This is none of your concern!”
Inhaling deeply, Arthur dropped his hand.