Chapter 20
Diana would have liked to change out of her awkward costume herself, but she was virtually a servant now and followed meekly upstairs to the queen’s suite of rooms. Charlotte’s two German keepers of the robes fussed and clucked her out of her stiff garments, and indeed, she looked tired.
“I am glad you are not averse to a husband, Lady Arradale,” the queen said. “It will please His Majesty. And you are sensible to want to marry a man with whom you can live in accord. A bad marriage can be a miserable thing. You think a suitable man hard to find?”
“Yorkshire does not present a great selection of my age and station, Your Majesty.”
The queen nodded. “London has many such men. The king and I live quietly, but we hold small parties now and then. We will invite suitable men, and soon you will find one to your taste.”
It sounded ominously like a command, but Diana dropped a curtsy. “It would be a blessing, Your Majesty.” It was the truth, for there was only one man to her taste.
“And if not,” the queen said, sliding her arms into the sleeves of a light robe, “we will choose for you. His Majesty and I did not meet before our wedding, but the choice was carefully made by others, and is to our delight.”
Diana swallowed alarm, but she drew on Bey’s grueling practice and merely said, “You are very kind, Your Majesty.”
The queen nodded approval, and walked into another room, lively with crimson hangings, paintings, and bowls of flowers. She sat with a weary sigh, resting swollen ankles on a velvet footstool.
Diana followed, trying to assess this arrogant purpose about her marriage, and decide how to deal with it. But then she was hit by the heavy scent of a large arrangement of sweet peas.
“You like flowers, Lady Arradale?” the queen asked.
“Very much, ma’am,” said Diana, wondering if she was blushing. Last night. Only last night …
“Good, good. We have pleasant gardens here, and you are free to enjoy them. You will not find your duties difficult, I think. You will read to me sometimes, and let me practice my English with you. Do you play an instrument?”
“The harpsichord, ma’am, and the flute.”
“There is a harpsichord in the next room. Play for us.”
As the queen began to chatter to her attendants in German, Diana obeyed the command, even managing the tricky business of backing out of the royal presence without tripping over her skirts.
She seethed with resentment at being ordered to entertain, but she reminded herself that she must be the perfect, conventional lady.
It wasn’t as if this was a burden of her sex.
If she’d been the Earl of Arradale ordered to amuse the queen, she would be bound by duty to oblige, as the Marquess of Rothgar obeyed the king’s commands.
Where was he now?
When would she see him again?
She pushed such thoughts aside. She’d end up mad herself if she sank into that kind of thing.
Grateful to at least be out of sight, she sat to play a piece by memory. This was an excellent opportunity to assess the new twists in her situation.
The queen sounded a great deal more determined on marriage than she’d expected, and she was clearly spokeswoman for the king.
Diana could end up fighting two challenges rather than one.
A battle with the king and queen to avoid their choice, and a battle with Bey to convince him that marriage was a risk worth taking despite uncertainty.
Lud! She still couldn’t believe she’d thrown that gauntlet down. She meant it, however. It was her whole life and his. She would not let it slip away. Life was uncertain. Not to accept that was to freeze like a stone statue.
She let her fingers wander by themselves through the simple piece, and wondered again when next they’d meet. After all, it was central to her purpose. She could hardly change his mind if he avoided her completely.
He’d promised to see her frequently, however, and she knew he would keep that promise, through duty if nothing else.
Again today, though?
Or would she have to wait until tomorrow?
When tomorrow?
She suppressed a rueful laugh. This was insanity, but it was the common insanity called love. She didn’t mind if they fought or kissed, so long as they met.
Well, she did mind, but she’d take any meeting over none. Even simply being in the same room would be some solace.
She realized her fingers had stopped. She pulled out of her wistful thoughts and changed to a lively and demanding tune.
She would somehow find a way to change Bey’s mind.
In the meantime, she must also charm the queen and avoid attempts to force her into marriage.
She’d heard that the queen was very fond of music and an excellent performer herself. This might be one way to mellow her.
In a little while one of the German attendants came to inform her she could leave to change out of court dress.
She found her room small but adequate, and at least it was private.
Clara was just finishing putting things away, bubbling with excitement to be in a royal household and greatly impressed by the servants she had already met.
Diana was pleased someone was happy here. She stripped out of court dress, and changed into a more comfortable gown. When she checked her appearance in the mirror, she realized it was the pale yellow and cream which she’d worn to welcome the Dark Marquess to Arradale.
A different world. A world where she had, as he’d pointed out, been playing games.
How could the world change so utterly in a few short days?
With a sigh, she sat at the elegant desk to write to her mother and Rosa. She had to give some account of the attack on the road before word reached them, and assure them she was well.
The letter to her mother was easy, but the second troubled her.
Rosa had been her confidante for most of her life, her dearest friend, her companion in mischief, and guardian of secrets.
Rosa had a different personality, too, and her practical opinions had often been useful.
She longed to relate everything and hope for wisdom in return, but she wouldn’t put it past the king and queen to read her letters.
She imagined what she would say if Rosa was here. “I’m determined to marry Bey, to make it possible for him to marry me.”
“How?”
Trust Rosa to move straight to the point. “I don’t know. That’s for later. For now, I have to prevent the king and queen trying to arrange my marriage. What should I do if they pick a husband for me?”
“Refuse?”
“It’s not that easy, Rosa. It would give great offense. And there is the threat of the madhouse. I’d have to accept Bey’s rescue, then.”
“Marry him? In name only? I don’t think you can do that, Diana.”
“I know, I know. But if it came to that point, what else could I do? Marry some oaf picked out by the king? I think not, and Bey would never allow it. Anyway, would it be so terrible? We’d at least have each other’s company.”
“You’d live the rest of your life like a starving woman at a forbidden feast!”
“There would be many dishes I could taste. His company, his conversation, our shared interests. Oh, Rosa. I know what you meant about Brand, now. I thought you demented to put such weight on the fact that you could talk about farming with him, but it is wonderful to have shared interests. To really talk. The time in the coach was magical and we hardly touched.”
“But the forbidden would be always there, desperately desirable but never to be tasted. It would drive you mad.”
“You say that because you have the feast in full. Without him I will starve. Starve to death.”
“Too extreme, Diana.”
“I feel extreme. I rage against the barriers that stand between us!”
“And what are those barriers?”
Diana sighed. “His will. His purpose,” she admitted.
“You want to break his will? Turn him from his well-considered purpose?”
Yes, thought Diana, unable to put that confession into even imaginary words. It was a terrible thing to contemplate.
To the imaginary Rosa, she argued, “It is the only way.”
“It could destroy you both.”
Diana looked down and realized that while running that imaginary conversation through her head, she’d dipped her pen and written “Bey,” a half dozen times, then ornamented the cluster of words with ruffled sweet peas.
Love. She’d always thought of love as hearts and flowers, as spring blossoms and blushing smiles. Not this spiny, starving hunger, this feeling of being stranded in rags on a bleak winter moor, and being willing to do anything, anything, to return to the sun.
She dipped the pen and scribbled all over her betraying marks. She was clear in her purpose now at least—to shatter the iron will of the man she loved.
May God have mercy on them both.
Rothgar accompanied the king to his rooms, almost stunned by Diana’s last comments.
He had faced seemingly impossible tasks before and proved his motto correct.
He’d even taken the notorious Chastity Ware and restored her virtue so she could be received at court and marry Cyn without problem. There was always a way.
But here he faced no external barrier, only his own resolve.
To alter that with honor was as impossible as flight, ancient Daedalus be damned.
Such flight was impossible, anyway. He’d witnessed an attempt to recreate Daedalus’s achievement, and it had been clear that no man had the strength to flap wings large enough to carry him.
Some things were impossible despite all human effort.
As the king was disrobed by his attendants, Rothgar tried to find his familiar cool mind, but awareness of Diana’s needs and pain rocked him. He could starve himself, but he had not prepared for the agony of starving her—
“My lord.”
Rothgar found the king staring at him. “So lost in thought, my lord?” George said as a valet assisted him into a loose robe. “Thoughts of mortality, what?”
“Your pardon, sire?”
“The bloodthirsty attack.”