even know what it was, for he was as complimentary as ever. Perhaps it was the way she some times noticed his conversation never included questions to her, only tales of his life, his career hopes. His compliments were all about her hair, her gowns, her way with the piano—which she knew was mediocre at best, despite the best efforts of Miss Grantley’s fine music teachers. He sat closer, his touches lingered. He had even sent her a bouquet before the ball, which she ‘accidentally’ forgot.
She had no time for such things, not with a man who made her feel so strangely—itchy. As if she wanted to jump up and run away.
Just like now. He hadn’t yet seen her. She tried to pull Chris deeper into the crowd of the dancers as she noticed Lord Thursby was scanning the crowd over the Marchioness’s head.
‘Oh, no,’ Diana whispered.
‘What is it?’ Chris asked.
‘Just someone I would rather not talk to at the moment.’
‘An unwanted suitor? That sounds interesting,’ he said, infuriatingly contrary. ‘Which one is it? Should I call him out for pestering you? I will, if he’s not too large and intimidating.’
Diana laughed. ‘It’s that man over there, the one talking to your aunt’s friend, the Marchioness. And no duelling yet. All he’s really done is send flowers and compliment my non-existent musical skills. I just—can’t like him, somehow.’
Chris frowned as he studied the man. ‘Thursby? Really? He has some kind of investment scheme in India he says he can let some of us in on later.’
An Indian investment scheme? Was that why Thursby had started coming to her father’s house so often? That sounded strange to her. Surely such ideas always ended in calamity? ‘Oh, no, Chris. You aren’t thinking of doing that, are you?’
‘It sounds simple enough and Thursby says we’re sure to double our money very quickly.’
‘I don’t think...’
The dance ended and as they swirled to a stop at the edge of the dance floor, they found themselves next to Emily and her partner.
Emily looked quite pretty, with her cheeks pink with enjoyment and laughter, her amber-brown eyes glowing. Diana quite envied her gown, too, for with only a father, Em had far more control over her own wardrobe. Her mint-green gown, trimmed with black-velvet rosettes, with black and green plumes in her hair, made her look far more elegant and sophisticated than other ladies their age.
‘Oh, Di! Isn’t it splendid?’ Emily said. ‘Such a wonderful orchestra.’
‘Only because you’re the best dancer here and could find rhythm in any old tune,’ Christopher said.
Emily laughed. ‘As can you. Shall we, then, Chris? Show them how a schottische is done?’
‘We shall,’ Christopher said and took her arm to swirl her away.
As they disappeared back into the sparkling melee of the dance, Diana looked around. Her mother sat along the row of gilded chaperons’ chairs by the silk-papered wall, gossiping with two of her friends. At the other end of the room, glimpsed between flower arrangements and groups of laughing people, she saw Lord Thursby. She felt suddenly trapped, caught between two forces she didn’t want to face yet.
On impulse, she spun around and dashed out of the ballroom via the nearest side door. She found herself in a small, domed hall, also draped in carpets of flowers but blessedly quiet. There were only a few people there, whispering together, sipping champagne, the music muffled beyond the door.
She hurried down a flight of stairs to the next floor down, where there was the card room, the billiards room, and a large sitting room that had been turned into the ladies’ withdrawing room. She heard a burst of giggles from that chamber and she knew she could easily join them, but she suddenly only wanted to be alone. To hear her own thoughts for a minute.
Unlike most London houses, including her own parents’ narrow dwelling on Cavendish Square, Waverton House was vast, four storeys of chambers like a series of jewel boxes, sparkling with treasures. She went down one more set of stairs and peeked through a half-open doorway to find a library. Perfect.
The silence was heavy, deep and echoing after the hum of the ballroom. She could almost hear herself think again. She wandered along the rows of books, studying the gilt titles on the leather spines, the paintings on the panelled walls between the shelves.
Next to the curtained window nook was a table laid out with the day’s newspapers. She studied the headlines. They were all about the Paris Exposition, of course, swooning praise for the delicious cafés, the wonders of the pavilions for the arts, the exotic mock-souks, the fashionable ladies arriving to parade along the Champ de Mars.
A loud voice suddenly burst the silence, making Diana jump.
‘Oh, please, just listen to me this one last time! Don’t you owe me that at least? For all we were to each other?’
It was a woman’s voice, low and urgent, filled with choking tears, and it was coming from the corridor outside. Moving closer to the library with every word. Diana held her breath, hoping whoever it was would just keep moving past.
‘Laura, what we had was over long ago,’ a man answered, weariness barely hidden in his soft, kind tone. ‘We can’t revive it now. You know that.’
‘Why not?’ the woman demanded. ‘Everything has changed this time. It could be even better! I have missed you so much...’
To Diana’s horror, the quarrel wasn’t moving away. The door swung open and she instinctively dived behind the heavy velvet window curtains before they could see her and they all faced a most embarrassing scene. It seemed to be a night for hiding out.
‘We should return to the party,’ the man said, still so calm and steady, so horribly quiet. Diana couldn’t help but wince for the woman. ‘Neither of us wants a scandal.’
‘Of course that’s not what I want! Some horrid, shabby court case like Bertie Wales and the Aylesfords. That won’t happen now. We’re both free!’ the woman said sweetly. ‘Oh, my darling Will, don’t you remember what those heavenly days at Beresford Hall were like? It could be that way all the time now.’
Quite against her will, Diana found herself rather curious. It sounded like one of those delicious French novels they had once passed around at Miss Grantley’s! She cautiously peeked around the edge of the curtain.
The couple stood near the carved onyx fireplace, the lamplight throwing them into silhouette. The woman was Lady Smythe-Tomas, Diana could tell that from her luminous champagne gown, the golden swirl of jewel-bedecked hair. She reached out with her elegant gloved hands to grasp the man by his lapels, her fingers curling against him sinuously. Diana was quite surprised she would have to beg any man for his attentions; they all seemed to fall right at her feet.
Who was this man? He surely had to be vastly attractive. Her curiosity growing, she pushed the curtain back just a bit more so she could see his face.
She gasped and quickly stifled the sound with her satin-covered fingers. It was Sir William Blakely.
Sir William was handsome, of course, arrestingly so. The perfect counterpoint to Lady Smythe-Tomas’s golden, sunny beauty, with
