went fishing in the lake or something like that,’ Alex murmured dreamily. ‘Surely it’s ages before tea. I don’t think I can bear to move just yet. I feel so wonderfully lazy.’
‘I think I had better move about a bit,’ Diana said, ‘or I will never want to leave this spot! Maybe I’ll go draw. I’m supposed to add some landscapes to my portfolio for art class, so it won’t just be filled with drawings of gowns and hats.’
She took her sketchbook and made her way along the winding pathways that led between the groves of trees beyond the picnic grounds. She soon found herself lost in the work, as she always did when sketching, and barely noticed the time passing, the light changing overhead. Until she heard a loud splash, a shout. Startled, she spun around to stare at the lake in the distance.
There were two men on the mossy bank, one was Alex’s cousin Christopher, laughing as he tried to push the other man into the water, to the loud encouragement of the people already splashing in the waves. Chris was laughing, as he usually was, his golden hair damp and standing on end, his expression full of mischief.
The man he tried to push was his brother William, he of the dark eyes and solemn smile. When Diana had first met him, she had been barely able to speak when he looked at her, she had felt so foolish. She was sure he hadn’t even noticed her then, but she had certainly noticed him.
Now, she instinctively ducked down, even though the men weren’t looking in her direction at all. She knew she should leave right away, but she couldn’t seem to stop watching. Stop staring at William Blakely.
He looked very different to the way he had in the school drawing room, his coat gone, his fine linen shirt damp and showing the lines of his muscled shoulders, his dark hair rumpled, his face alight with laughter. Yet he seemed so still within himself, so perfectly in control even in his dishabille against Chris’s silliness. Diana found herself utterly unable to look away.
William gave Chris one light push back and Chris toppled into the water. William laughed and his face, all sharp, elegant angles, like a classical statue when it was still and watchful, glowed.
Diana reached for her sketchbook and quickly drew in the lines of his face. She couldn’t seem to stop herself from trying to capture it; he was so fascinating with his elegant looks, that smile that transformed him into something younger, glowing like the sun. She had never seen anyone quite like him.
She hadn’t got as far as she would have liked on the sketch when the bell rang for tea. The men glanced up and she flattened herself on the grass, afraid to be seen. There was a burst of more laughter, rippling splashes as they climbed out of the water. She knew she had to get back to the school before she was missed. She quickly closed the book and leaped up.
She had to glance back one more time before she left, to take in the sunlit scene. William Blakely seemed to be looking in her direction, a small frown creasing his handsome face, and she gasped and broke into a run, not stopping until she tumbled back on to the lawn behind the school.
The bell rang from the school’s main building again, a deep, brassy gong that signalled the end of the picnics and that precious, golden day. The end of her small fantasy of William Blakely. The tennis players gathered up their rackets and flocked inside, and Diana and her friends stood up to pack away their glasses and plates. Diana shook the bits of grass from her ruffled blue skirts, relishing the last vestiges of the flower-scented spring air. The last dream of school and of a handsome man who seemed like a fantasy.
‘No matter what happens, all will be well,’ she said to her friends, trying to reassure herself. ‘Because we will always have each other.’
Spring 1889—Duchess of Waverton’s ball, London
‘What are your plans now, William, since you have returned from India?’ Harold Blakely, William’s father, asked from the head of the dining room table. ‘They must be glad to have your expertise once more at the London office, but surely they won’t want you to stay behind a desk there for long. I was always eager to be on to the next task myself, when I was at work there.’
William’s mother didn’t even look up from the plate she was listlessly picking at. ‘I’m sure we all well remember those days,’ Beatrice Blakely muttered. ‘William has plenty of time to decide what to do next. At least he has returned from that pestilential India.’
‘Hmmph,’ Harold said with a scowl. He gestured to the footman for more wine. ‘You’ve certainly worked hard enough of late, William. That’s a great deal more than can be said for that useless Christopher. Takes after his mother, does that one. No direction at all.’
Beatrice didn’t even answer, merely sighed and studied the curtained windows across the room as if she was in her own little world. She had been that way for as long as Will could remember and he was appalled to find nothing had changed in the Blakely house while he’d been abroad.
Ever since he and Chris were children, their parents had alternated between quarrels and icy silences. The only respite was in the long periods when their father was gone for his mysterious work and Beatrice would laugh a bit again. But her pale, fragile beauty had faded and her laughter was rare, and some times, as her sons grew older, she would complain to them of her loneliness. Her wasted youth.
She pushed her food from one side of the Wedgwood plate to the other, as Harold drained his wineglass. William longed to take his mother’s hand, to give her a reassuring smile, but he knew from experience it would be like touching a ghost.
‘Where is Christopher?’ Harold demanded of no one in particular.
‘He’s here somewhere,’ Beatrice answered vaguely. ‘Aren’t you meant to go to my sister’s ball with him, William?’
‘Yes,’ Will said. ‘He was meant to meet me for dinner and we would go to the Wavertons’ after.’ He did wonder where Chris had vanished to and meant to scold his brother for leaving him alone with their parents for a whole meal, but he found he couldn’t entirely blame Chris for disappearing again.
‘No use at all,’ Harold grumbled. ‘Can’t even get himself to a duke’s party and he’s related to them. Some people would give their eye teeth for an invitation like that. The boy’s been given everything and he’s throwing it away.’
William ignored him and smiled at Beatrice. ‘Why don’t you come with us, Mother? I’m sure Aunt Waverton would love to see you. Alex was saying you hadn’t called on them since the beginning of the Season.’
Beatrice gave him a startled glance. ‘A ball? Oh, no. It will be so very crowded. I couldn’t. My nerves.’
‘This family,’ Harold snorted. ‘Weak blood. Except for you, I hope, William. What are you going to do now you’re in England again?’
William took a long drink of his own wine, gathering his usual quiet control. He needed it when it came to dealing with his parents. ‘I haven’t decided yet. The office will decide where I’m ultimately needed.’
‘Of course they will. And I’m sure you’ll do us proud. I do miss those days of work.’ Harold sighed. ‘Perhaps you’ll use this time to find a proper wife, set up a house where you can entertain. That’s the best way to make contacts for the long run.’
Beatrice perked
