Chapter 21
Diana sat in contemplation of the simple letter from Bey.
Idiotic to feel touched almost to tears by it, but it was the first personal letter between them, and it was something tangible of his.
She was only just realizing that though she had given him a ring, he had given her no keepsake, no symbol of connection.
It was doubtless deliberate. A symbol, in fact, of his intent to keep them apart. She smiled therefore at the note, which must be a sign that he was vulnerable after all.
And he had laughed in the coach, laughed in free amusement he must rarely allow himself.
It was tempting to hide the note away as a secret treasure, but it was carefully unrevealing, so she left it, folded, on the small escritoire in her room. There, she could see it at a glance whenever she pleased.
It was precious, but it also contained that guarded remark about the possible. He’d intended it as a warning that their marriage was not possible, but it made a useful reminder of her purpose. With her also, she resolved, all things were possible. She just had to find the way.
One thing she must do was investigate the matter of madness in his family.
If his mother’s family was full of the odd and the lunatic, then she might have to give up her purpose.
She had a duty to her own line, after all, and introducing insanity into it would be wicked.
Her opportunities for investigation were limited at the moment, but there must be libraries here.
Once she understood the ways of court, she would find a way to spend some time in them.
For the moment, however, she must be completely conventional and definitely not clever, so she picked up one of the light books she had brought with her. One of the ones hardly glanced at on the journey because of Bey’s presence beside her.
She sighed at that, thinking back to her state of mind at the beginning of the journey, when she’d merely been attracted and curious. How strange to have been blind to the powerful fire that burned between them.
He, apparently, had recognized it sooner—
Oh, enough! She must not let herself think about him night and day. She settled to reading Pope, trying not to let eyes and mind keep slipping away to the folded paper and all it represented.
The Rape of the Lock was engaging, and did distract her with its sharp commentary on London and courtly ways. She smiled at one passage about life at court, for though it was a description of the court of Queen Anne fifty years ago, she suspected the same was true today.
Hither the heroes and the nymphs resort,
To taste awhile the pleasures of a court;
In various talk th’instructive hours they past,
Who gave the ball, or paid the visit last;
One speaks the glory of the British Queen,
And one describes a charming Indian screen;
A third interprets motions, looks, and eyes;
At every word a reputation dies.
She paused, a finger in the page. That was a warning, if she needed it, that she must pursue her aims under a hundred eyes, many of them willing to harm her—and Bey—for amusement.
She was suddenly assailed by longing for the north. People there were not always kind, and sometimes there were enemies, but at least there was a rough kind of honesty.
And here she was, in love with a southerner. Even if she managed to break his will, how were they to manage their vast responsibilities? What would happen to the inheritance? She did not want her title swallowed up in his.
Her mind bounced fruitlessly around her problems, so she was quite relieved when a page came to tell her she was commanded to the queen’s drawing room. No mention of the purpose, but she sensed that she faced a battle of some sort.
She touched up her pallor with extra powder, and reminded herself of her chief purpose. She must convince the king and queen of her safe, conventional nature, and avoid any attempt to coerce her into marriage.
She entered the drawing room to find that the king was sitting beside the queen. She’d been right. Her inquisition was to begin. She took a steadying breath and went forward to curtsy.
“Are you comfortable here, Lady Arradale?” the king asked.
“Perfectly, Your Majesty,” Diana lied.
“Good, good. Your situation is one of unusual privilege,” he stated, “but it does not alter the fact that you are, and always will be, a woman. What?”
“Yes, sire,” Diana said, perilously tempted to say “no” and see what he made of that.
“A woman’s mind is different,” he continued. “It cannot understand the subjects and subtleties which engage the minds of men.”
After a stunned pause, Diana hastily said, “Indeed, sire.”
She was not to be questioned, but lectured. Then he pulled some papers out of his pocket and consulted them. By the stars, he’d brought notes!
He looked up at her, earnest and young. “It is well known that women cannot learn Latin or Greek, Lady Arradale, and if they try it damages their brains. Those subjects, however, shape the logical mind. Therefore, women cannot decide great matters, for they would act on emotion not logic. For that reason, it is against God’s law for women to speak on matters of importance.
Consider Corinthians: ‘It is a shocking thing that a woman should address the congregation.’ What? ”
Diana fought a temptation to spout excellent Greek and tried to look pious. “I see, sire.”
He nodded. “So you also see, I am sure, that your notion of attending Parliament like a man was folly.”
“Yes, sire,” she said, for indeed it had been. Bey had been correct in seeing it as a childish thing. She couldn’t help thinking that without it, however, she would not have come south, would not have spent that journey with him, would not have been there to protect him, would not—
She hastily pulled her attention back, for the king was continuing. Remember your purpose here, Diana.
“… women are blessed with the natural kindness and gentleness suited to their role as wife and mother,” he said.
“This, however, deprives them of the harshness, resolution, and physical strength necessary for their safety, meaning that they must be under the protection of men. Did not the great doctor Hippocrates write: ‘Women by nature are less courageous and weaker than men’?”
Diana almost fell into the surely unintentional trap of saying that indeed he did—of showing that she knew classical literature.
She impulsively decided that a minor argument might make her meekness more believable.
“If you will permit, Your Majesty,” she said demurely, “women are generally physically weak, but I would argue that they can be courageous when defending their children.”
It worked. He nodded sharply with approval.
“You show a true womanly wisdom, Countess. Care of her offspring must be a woman’s first concern.
But this is part of the whole, what? If a woman is too physically active, if she seeks to develop manly strength, she will die in childbed, or bear monsters. What? What?”
Diana longed to ask: How is it then that peasant women labor in the fields, carry huge loads, and work dawn till dusk, and still bear children as well or perhaps better than languishing ladies?
She kept her eyes down, and the words inside.
At least her meekness was having the desired effect.
From abrasive, the king’s tone became positively mellow as he continued, “If a woman has concerns outside the home, clearly she must neglect her proper duties to her family. Xenophon wrote: ‘The gods created woman for the domestic functions, the man for all others.’ You see, Lady Arradale,” he said, looking at her with well-meaning earnestness, “these truths were established even in ancient times, never to be altered.”
She suddenly burned to make a passionate declaration of women’s rights and abilities—in four languages besides English!
Or to demand a pistol and show just how helpless she was.
She could even point out that these were pagan beliefs, not Christian, but she remembered her lessons and said, “It does seem so, Your Majesty.”
He beamed. “Good, good. Women are happiest in their natural setting—enjoying the gentle and domestic arts, ministering to their husband, and caring for their children. As my dear queen does.” He patted the beaming queen’s hand. “We wish only to see you so blessed, Lady Arradale.”
“I thank you, sire.”
And thank heavens for the rigorous training Bey had given her in the coach. It had not quite covered this, for he too must have expected an inquisition rather than a lecture, but it made it possible for her to mouth the correct inanities.
And had ended with that kiss.
With that night …
“… you will soon be a wife, and happier for it, Lady Arradale, what?”
With a jerk, Diana tried to capture what she’d missed. Still thinking of that night at the White Goose, she said, “I pray for it most earnestly, Your Majesty.”
He stared a little at her fervor, but then nodded. “Excellent, excellent! We are most pleased that you will submit to our choice.”
Her heart thumped, then galloped. She’d just agreed to that?
“Now,” he continued, all smiles, “I understand that you play well. A lady who excels at such a suitable talent is clearly not the unnatural creature we thought. Will you oblige us with more music?”
Diana escaped to the keyboard, close to fainting with panic. Stupid, stupid, stupid, to have slid into distraction! Sentimental mushy-mindedness when she’d needed to be all cool reason.
And now, disaster! She’d failed them both.
She was tempted to pour out her fury at herself on the poor keyboard, but she played instead a very calm, conventional piece, seeking calm and clear thought.
How to get out of this?
Having agreed to accept the king’s choice, it would be even harder to escape without giving grave offense.
Perhaps she could claim to have changed her mind.
No, that would never work.
Perhaps she could appear to be truly seeking a man to love. Delay at least.