Читать книгу Secrets Of A Wallflower - Amanda McCabe, Amanda McCabe - Страница 11

Chapter Two

What a very strange girl, William thought as he stared at the closed door of the library where Diana Martin had stood only a moment before. Her hurried patter of heeled shoes had faded, but he thought he could still smell the trace of her sweet lilac perfume, feel the satin of her glove on his palm.

He stared down at his hand, remembering the warmth of her touch, her slender fingers curled around his for the merest instant. He felt something he hadn’t felt in ages. An urge to laugh. For just a moment he had forgotten Laura, forgotten his work, forgotten everything but Miss Martin’s smile. He remembered her from his visit to Alex at Miss Grantley’s. She had been so sweet, a blush on her face, her words stammered a bit, a slightly gawky, charming schoolgirl. Now she seemed to have blossomed into an autumn goddess with her red hair, her bright eyes, her enthusiasm that seemed to make everything turn new again. At least in looks. When she talked, she became that awkward schoolgirl again and he feared for her in the ballroom jungles of London. The poor, sweet girl.

He only wished she hadn’t seen him at his very worst. His country-house party tryst with Laura seemed so long ago now, after India and all that had happened, a memory shrouded in wine and youthful passion. He had almost forgotten about it, until he saw her in the ballroom. To his surprise, she had begged to talk to him in private.

Much to his shock, she wanted to renew their old liaison. She was still beautiful, of course, maybe even more than she had been at that house party. Yet there was something strange about her, about the over-bright glow in her catlike eyes, her desperate grasp on his arm. He wanted to help her, but he knew very well he couldn’t go back to her. He was a much different man now.

The man he had been back then, younger and wilder, just starting his career, probably would have looked at someone like Diana Martin and seen a pretty but shallow deb. Indeed, he had thought that when he and Chris visited Alex at school.

He found he didn’t want to return to the crowd just yet. Didn’t want to lose the fleeting, bright, silly glow Miss Martin had left behind, as sweet and summery as her lilac perfume. He wandered over to the table where the newspapers were displayed and scanned the headlines about the Exposition.

William did see how an eager, enthusiastic young lady like Diana Martin would be fascinated by it all. The whole world gathered in beautiful Paris, the art and fashion, the food and theatre. He hoped she would get to see it.

Then he glimpsed a grainy photograph in one corner of the Mail. A tall, bearded man in a pale tunic and loose trousers, standing on the deck of a ship with three ladies in elaborate embroidered saris.

The Maharajah Singh Lep with his wives, boarding HMS Princess Augusta to make his way to the Paris Exposition, where he will visit the Indian Pavilion and see the wondrous sapphire, the Eastern Star. On display thanks to the generosity of the Duke of Waverton.

The Star was once worn by the Maharajah’s grandmother...

Singh Lep—who was no doubt trailing trouble in his wake, as he had in Bombay with his investment offers, his proffered and then withdrawn friendship. His grandmother had once ruled for him in his kingdom and had sold the Star to William’s uncle and then sold the kingdom. The man was understandably angry at what had happened. But did he blame his grandmother—or someone else?

And now he was going to be in Paris. The article said it was merely a pleasure trip and listed other dignitaries on their way to climb Eiffel’s tower and eat ices at his cafés—including the Prince and Princess of Wales. But William was sure there was more to it than that.

He stared out the window where Diana had been hidden and for a moment he didn’t see the rain-soaked London street. He saw the baking sun of India, smelled the spices and heady perfumes of a world he had left far behind. A world no one could even begin to fully understand.

The door suddenly opened, and William glanced over his shoulder, ready to send Laura away again if had she returned. Or maybe he was half-hoping it would be Miss Martin?

In any case, it was neither lady, but his brother who stood there. Will laughed at himself and folded the paper away.

‘Hello, Chris,’ he said. ‘Come to hide out here, too?’

Christopher grinned and closed the door behind him. ‘Our parents have arrived,’ he said and that was all that was needed to explain the fact that even Christopher, who rarely cracked a book if he could help it, would hide in a library. William had taken lodgings since returning to London, only taking a few dinners at his parents’ town house as he had done earlier that evening, but Chris still lived there, in that suffocating place that hadn’t changed a bit since they were boys.

‘Sorry about that. Mother must have changed her mind after all,’ William said.

‘She sent me to find you,’ Christopher said, carelessly scanning the paintings hung on the walls, a series of indifferent landscapes and a few really fine French pieces. ‘One of the footmen said you came this way.’

Will wondered if the footman had told Chris who he was in the library with. Perhaps his hope for no scandal was misplaced.

‘You visited Alex at school more than I did,’ he said. ‘Did you come to know Miss Diana Martin very well?’

Christopher looked at him with a surprised expression. ‘Di? She’s a corker. Lots of fun, but sensible. Our aunt thinks she’s been a good friend to Alex.’

Chris knew her well? William frowned as he wondered if his brother was fond of her, had designs on her. ‘You’re friends, then?’

Christopher shrugged and William felt unaccountably relieved to see no spark of passion in his brother’s eyes at the thought of her. Chris was always quite open about his interests and always had a beautiful woman to write poems to. ‘I suppose we are. I see her at these boring old bashes with Alex and their friend Emily Fortescue, and they make it all a little less dull.’ His bored expression suddenly changed, his eyes widening. ‘Why? The footman did say you came this way with a lady. I hope it wasn’t Miss Martin.’

‘No, I didn’t come here with Miss Martin. I saw her in the ballroom. She seems quite charming.’

‘Charming? I guess she is. Pretty, too.’ Chris stepped closer, as if he thought he could read Will’s mind. But Will had too much experience hiding his thoughts; his job depended on it. ‘Are you interested? You could certainly do worse and Mother’s matchmaking fever could go to you for a while.’

His brother’s avid expression was so comical William had to laugh. ‘Does she want you to marry so much, then?’ He had hoped that maybe his parents’ own wreck of a marriage would have cooled their mother’s ardour for matchmaking, but it seemed not. Maybe she wanted company in misery.

‘She begins to say that if I won’t go into law or join the army, an heiress is the only way to set me up in life.’

‘Maybe an American dollar princess?’

‘I don’t have a title or a crumbling ancient castle to offer a lady like that. And the ladies I do like...’ He suddenly turned away. ‘Well, Mother will just have to go on thinking I’m just a terrible wastrel who can’t even marry properly.’

‘She doesn’t know about your work?’

‘Of course not. I wouldn’t be much use if anyone did know, would I? But you and Diana...’

‘I hate to disappoint, but I’m not in a position to marry now, either. We both saw the effect our father’s work had on his marriage. No one needs a repeat of that. I shall have to admire Miss Martin from a distance.’

Christopher spun a globe, watching its oceans and continents blur in front of them. ‘Better for her, I’m sure. I think Thursby is after her, but she doesn’t seem to like him much.’

William frowned. ‘Thursby?’ He certainly hoped not, not with what he had recently learned about the man.

Chris shrugged. ‘Then if it wasn’t Di in here earlier, who was it?’

‘Just a bit of unfinished business.’

‘Really?’ Chris’s golden brow arched. ‘You, Will? Whoever could have guessed there were such skeletons in your wardrobe. I suppose it’s finished now?’

‘Quite,’ William said shortly.

Chris seemed to realise he wouldn’t learn anything more and turned back to the door. ‘We should get back to the party, then, before our aunt sends a search party for both of us.’

William nodded, and started to follow. He noticed a small, pale square on the floor near the window. Curious, he picked it up. It was a leather-bound notebook, stamped with the gilt initials D.F.M. Diana Martin, maybe?

He flipped through the pages, glimpsing pencil sketches, mostly of hats and gowns, and snatches of words.

Champagne...pearls...peacock colours.

From the back, a small newspaper clipping fluttered out.

Writer wanted. Paris assignment. Must be fashionable and have a way with words. Portfolio preferred. Please apply to the Ladies’ Weekly offices.

Well, well. William remembered Diana saying how much she wanted to see Paris. Maybe she was doing something about it. How very modern of her.

He smiled and tucked the notebook inside his evening jacket. He would have to make sure it was returned to its owner. Very soon.

* * *

‘There you are, Di! Where did you go off to?’ Emily called as Diana slipped back into the ballroom.

She hoped she hadn’t been missed by anyone but her friends. She scanned the crowd and was quite relieved to see her mother still in her chair and Lord Thursby nowhere to be seen. Neither was Lady Smythe-Tomas.

She turned to smile at Emily, whose cheeks were pink from all her dancing. ‘Just needed a bit of air.’

‘Well, you didn’t miss much, except the fact that this ballroom has become even more of a crush and someone tore the ribbon on my hem with their clumsy dancing shoes. But no drunken fisticuffs or dramatic broken engagements yet.’

Diana laughed weakly and took an offered glass of liquid. She sipped a bit and winced in disappointment. Lemon squash, not champagne. ‘That sounds rather dull.’

‘Yes, but the dancing is lovely. I’ll say this for the Duchess—she always hires the best orchestras.’ Emily reached out and plucked something from Diana’s hair. She held it up; it was a shred of newsprint. ‘Where did you find this bit of air?’

Diana thought quickly. It was always best to be honest, even if it wasn’t all the way. ‘Oh—in the library. It was nice and quiet, and I was able to read a bit about Paris in the Duke’s newspapers.’

Emily leaned closer, her eyes wide. ‘Any word yet?’ she whispered. ‘From the magazine?’

Diana shook her head, feeling the sick excitement, fear and hope deep in the pit of her stomach that had sat there ever since she mailed off the letter of application. ‘I have an interview tomorrow with the editor. Isn’t it amazing?’

‘An interview?’ Emily clapped her hands in delight. She knew more about running a business than anyone Diana knew, male or female, after years of helping at her father’s offices. She took it all very seriously and had given Diana a great deal of advice ever since Di decided she was the best confidante. ‘Shouldn’t you be at home resting, then? You have to be sharp tomorrow.’

‘Oh, I know. But Mama would never have let me miss the Waverton ball and I’m much too nervous to sleep. I was hoping to get a bit of fashion news to add to my portfolio. I did write a bit, you see...’ She opened her reticule to take out the notebook to show Emily. To her shock, she found only a handkerchief and her discarded dance card. ‘Blast,’ she gasped, remembering dropping the bag.

‘What is it?’

‘I’ve lost the notebook.’

‘What’s amiss?’ Alex asked as she appeared from the crowd and hurried to their side. She always did seem to sense the feelings of the people around her, especially if they were distressed, even from across the room.

‘Di lost her notebook,’ Emily said.

‘No!’ Alex cried. She and Emily knew all the bits and pieces in that book, so carefully gathered and recorded. They had even helped with much of it. ‘Here in the ballroom? But anyone could find it.’

Diana shook her head. ‘I had it in the library. I must have dropped it in there.’ In the library—with William. What if he found it? What would he think?

‘Diana! There you are at last,’ she heard her mother call. This time there was no evading her.

Diana forced a smile on to her lips and turned to see her mother making her way towards them. With her was Lord Thursby.

Diana had to admit he was handsome, with his fair hair pomaded to a shine, his stylish moustache and well-cut clothes. He smiled charmingly and was solicitous as he led her mother through the crowd. But she wished he would just—just go away!

Yet she knew very well there was no chance of that.

‘I will go look for it,’ Alexandra whispered. She and Emily vanished beyond the dance floor.

‘Diana,’ her mother demanded again, ‘where on earth have you been?’

‘I was just—dancing. We’re at a ball, you know, Mama,’ she said, trying to laugh carelessly. She fanned herself vigorously, wishing Lord Thursby was not watching her so closely.

‘Lord Thursby was looking for you. He says you promised him the supper dance,’ her mother said, reaching out to fuss with Diana’s tulle-edged sleeve. She drew away, wondering if she had newsprint caught there, too.

‘The supper dance?’ she said. That meant spending the midnight meal by his side. ‘Oh, Mama. I’m afraid my head rather aches and I was hoping we could go home soon.’

Her mother’s eyes narrowed. ‘Diana...’ she snapped.

But Lord Thursby intervened smoothly, smiling politely. ‘That is a vast disappointment for me, Miss Martin, but I would never wish to cause you a moment’s discomfort. Please, let me send for your carriage. I can also ask our hostess if she has a headache powder.’

‘That is kind of you, Lord Thursby,’ Diana said cautiously.

‘Indeed,’ her mother said. ‘Thank you.’

Lord Thursby bowed and hurried away. As he spoke quietly to the Duchess, Diana saw William and Chris come back into the room. For just an instant, before the crowd closed around them, she saw how much Sir William stood out from everyone around him, an island of watchfulness and dignity, so dark and handsome. Was this really the same man Lady Smythe-Tomas was so ardently chasing? Such intriguing contradictions.

He caught her eyes and gave her a small nod, making her feel suddenly flushed and fluttery. She spun around, waving her fan in front of her face.

Her mother grasped Diana’s arm, her fingers hard through her satin glove. ‘Mama,’ Diana gasped and yanked her arm back.

‘You should make a tiny bit of an effort, Diana,’ her mother said through a gritted-teeth smile. ‘He is quite nice, you know, with a fine future ahead of him.’

Diana rubbed at her arm. She glanced back to see if she could see Sir William again, but he was gone. ‘Mama, perhaps there are things I want to see before I’m married.’

‘What sort of things? You can see whatever you like, go wherever you like, after you’re married! Just as I did. What choice is there?’

Diana thought of men like her father, like William Blakely, travelling, doing their bit for their country, seeing the world. Making a difference. ‘I could be like Miss Bird, or Miss Butler. Travel, write. Do good works.’

Her mother snorted. ‘Such hoydens. That wouldn’t work for you, Diana. You have been well brought up. Did we not send you to the best school? Make sure you had the best friends? Now we only want to see you happily settled before we are old. Is that too much to ask?’

‘I want to be happy, too,’ Diana said, but her mother wasn’t listening. Lord Thursby had returned to tell them their carriage was on its way.

‘Oh, how kind you are,’ her mother said with a laugh. ‘So reassuring to have someone to rely on thus.’

‘It is the least I can do, Mrs Martin, for how kind with his advice your husband has been.’ Lord Thursby offered Diana his arm and she saw no choice but to take it. She held it lightly, trying to smile, as he led them to the staircase hall where a footman waited with their cloaks.

‘I hope you will be recovered enough for me to call on you tomorrow,’ Lord Thursby said.

Diana suddenly remembered her interview the next day. Nothing could be allowed to stop that! ‘Perhaps in the afternoon?’

‘The afternoon?’ he said. ‘Not the usual morning hour?’

‘Yes. I—I shall probably need to rest and recover my strength in the morning.’

He nodded solicitously. ‘Of course. I know how delicate you ladies can be after such a busy evening as this.’

‘How understanding you are, Lord Thursby,’ her mother chirped, practically pushing Diana out the door towards their waiting carriage. ‘We shall look forward to seeing you tomorrow.’

Just as they were leaving, a procession of carriages arrived behind them. From the grandest stepped a man unmistakable in his healthy girth and greying blond beard, a beautiful lady in an ivory satin and ostrich feather cloak on his arm. The Prince and Princess of Wales. Diana just hoped her mother did not see them and make them go back.

* * *

On the journey home, Diana knew her mother was chattering about Lord Thursby and his ‘gentlemanly behaviour’, and the splendours of the ball. But Diana only paid enough attention to nod and smile at the right moments. Her real thoughts were far away—with tomorrow’s interview, with plans to persuade her parents to let her go to Paris if she got the job. It would be a very delicate task.

And, she had to admit, her thoughts wouldn’t seem to leave William Blakely. How wonderful it had been in those few moments alone with him in the dimly lit library, so far away from everyone and everything else. How she wished she could have stayed there longer, listening to him talk! Those dark eyes watching her...

* * *

Once they were home, she managed to plead her headache and escape to her room. There she took out the portfolio she had managed to compile: sample essays about fashion, etiquette and bits of society gossip. Losing her notebook at such a moment was a consternation, but hopefully not a disaster. She could remember enough to reconstruct the evening’s observations and hopefully Alexandra would find the notebook itself.

She found another folder, stuffed full of old drawings and notes, and beneath a stack of flower studies was her old sketch of William Blakely at the lake behind Miss Grantley’s. His smile still glowed from the faded paper, the lines of his face still elegant, classical. He hadn’t changed so much after all, yet so many other things seemed to.

She took out another copy of the job listing and carefully read over the words.

Writer wanted. Paris assignment. Must be fashionable and have a way with words. Portfolio preferred. Please apply to the Ladies’ Weekly offices.

She closed her eyes and whispered, ‘Please let it happen,’ as she envisaged in her mind what it could all be like. Walking by the Seine, sipping wine at a café on the famous new tower, visiting Monsieur Worth’s studio itself.

But now, much to her shock, when she imagined dancing at the Moulin Galette, her partner wasn’t some faceless, dashing Frenchman. It was William Blakely, smiling down at her in the red and gold lights of the lanterns, spinning her through the night.

Which was most strange, for Sir William didn’t seem at all like a spinning sort of gentleman...