Page 30 of A Lady's Wicked Revenge
Ridiculous, I’m sure,Diana thought ruefully.Whatever it is she thinks she’s hit upon, there’s no doubt that she’s imagining the whole thing. The girl’s always been prone to such fantasies, ever since we were young.She glanced over to Colin and found herself missing the solitude of their usual morning conversations. Then Leah and Adam broke into laughter once more, and Diana looked back to her sherry instead.
* * *
Though perhaps not as dramatic as the previous social engagement in which Diana had taken part, tonight’s dinner party was not nearly as diverting as she had hoped. Throughout the soup and most of the main course, Diana had alternated between feelings of fatigue and distraction. She had caught Mister Arnold’s eye at the other end of the table but could not speak to him without every other attendee—including Uncle James, most critically—listening in. Speaking with him would have to wait until later, she decided.
And even though she was seated by Leah and Colin, as she had been at her triumphant fracas at the previous dinner party, somehow tonight she was unable to engage with Colin in the same kind of verbal altercation. Oh, he had certainly tried to instigate another sparring match; hardly a minute went by without a cutting remark in her direction.
But each time Diana found herself beginning to banter back and forth with the man, she found her cheeks growing red hot, her voice dimming in embarrassment. Where before there had been the elegant swordplay of perfectly matched duellists, tonight Diana was laying down her blade and accepting each of his slashes without defending herself.
The most puzzling thing about it was that she could not for the life of her figure outwhyit all felt so different this time. It might have something to do with Uncle James, she reasoned, or perhaps the damnable knowing smiles Leah had been showering over her all evening.
None of that matters now, woman, clear your foolish head,Diana thought, rubbing her eyes and trying to regain some semblance of focus. She was standing alone beside an ornate clock in the entryway of the Leeson house. She had already bid her goodbyes to Leah, and Colin and Mister Radcliffe were off smoking cigars with Uncle James in his study.
Shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other on her uncomfortable shoes, Diana eyed the nearby sofas but decided she had better not lest she risk falling asleep before she could catch Mister Arnold for a word on his way out the door. Her earlier surge of happy liveliness had faded in the wake of theapéritifsin the library, leaving Diana beastly tired. The yawn won its struggle for dominance, and she helplessly covered her mouth with a gloved hand.
Over the last few days she had undergone a change in her sleep: so far as she could tell, she was no longer awoken throughout the night by the same horrible dreams that had haunted her these long months. But she could not say this change was necessarily for the better, either; in the place of her usual nightmares, she had strange, dark dreams that she could not remember on waking.
She could not recall much of these dreams, though she had the sense they were on the same subject each night. They seemed important, somehow, and dark, coming from some part of her that was deeper than thought, deeper than memory.
When she did wake up in the morning, she found she had been perspiring, and the muscles in her legs and fingers ached terribly. More than anything, though, she found she was twice as sleepy in the morning as when she had gone to bed the night previous. Even recalling these details at this late hour prompted another cantankerous yawn to wrack Diana’s frame.
“Dear Diana, I do hope you’re not having to go without sleep in this awful place,” said Missus Arnold with a gentle laugh. Diana started, her face easing into a smile as she saw the old Arnold couple approach her with their raincoats over their shoulders.
“Lord knows I wouldn’t be able to rest here—all those strange corridors and hallways running every which way. To say nothing of the way that man’s voice booms and echoes from the ceilings.” Missus Arnold shuddered, and Mister Arnold patted her arm and shushed her with an embarrassed clearing of his throat.
“Victoria, please,” he said, casting a glassy eye about.Is he looking for someone who might report such rudeness to Uncle James?Diana wondered, recalling her own weeks of anxiety.
“Jerome, please,” Missus Arnold returned in a cross tone of voice. She took in a deep breath through her nose as if calming herself. “I’m sorry, I just don’t know if I can hold it in any longer. After that dinner … well, I’ll leave you two to speak a moment. If I don’t see myself out to the carriage, I may explode. Or worse: tell Sir James what I really think of him, as well as his moustache and his—”
“Victoria.” He shook his wizened head even as Diana laughed cheerily at his wife’s vituperative comments. “I’m sorry, Diana. I wouldn’t want either of us to make anything harder for you here.”
“That’s all right, Mister Arnold. I’m only happy to see the two of you here.”
“I can’t say I’d ever been here until the previous dinner party.” Mister Arnold craned his head around, squinting his grey eyes at the ornaments and decorations that peered down from every corner. He clucked his tongue in an incomprehensible gesture. “I don’t know what I expected. But certainly I hadn’t thought it would be so grand as this.”
Diana nodded. “I would not call it a happy home by any means, but the dramatic architecture does seem fitting, somehow. If I do have to be a maiden kept prisoner in a tower, it may as well be a suitably Gothic place.” Mister Arnold gave a thin smile at her words as he continued looking around, distracted.
“No, I’d always heard that Sir James was in rather grim financial straits. That was why your mother and father had always been so happy to send him money from time to time.” He tutted again, shrugging his shoulders helplessly. “I suppose a house as large as this must be a burden in its own right. The costs of upkeep for such an ostentatious home must be—”
Her vision narrowed, the world around them melting away into a faint blur. “What … what do you mean?” Diana’s heart was pounding so volubly that she could barely hear the words she had just spoken. “Mother and Father … they would give Uncle James money? But why?”
Mister Arnold shook his head with a glum expression, his thin steel-coloured hair shifting delicately on his pate. “I’m afraid I was never privy to the particulars. Even as your father’s friend, I was given the figures to add up and little else. I can only trust that Sir James would not stoop to asking for assistance unless he genuinely needed it to prevent financial ruin. And William Hann, being a generous soul, did not hesitate to help his brother-in-law with any such difficulties, even if—”
“No, that’s not right,” Diana protested hoarsely. “I don’t understand. With a house like this … Uncle James has more money than he could ever spend, surely. What could …?”
She rested a hand against a nearby bookshelf, feeling her legs quake beneath her. Her imagination, usually quick to invent a thousand possible scenarios, good or ill, now could only conjure dumb questions.
How could Uncle James live in such an extravagant fashion if he were lacking money?
Is there a reason he has been so eager to rob from my inheritance?
How much did he take of my parents’ fortune even before they …
Diana winced before recognising the touch of Jerome Arnold on her shoulder. She looked around hurriedly, afraid they might be watched, but saw they were alone in the cavernous entryway save for a distant footman by the open door. She swallowed, trying to put on a brave smile as she looked back to Mister Arnold, but his face was deathly serious and greyer than usual.
“As I say, I do not wish to make anything difficult for you,” he said softly through dry, cracked lips. “Your uncle has a … complex reputation, Diana, but he is your family and your guardian. Barring any change in the law, he will remain such for the foreseeable future.”
Diana’s eyes dipped to the floor. She struggled to keep from loosing a flood of tears. “Yes, Mister Arnold. I understand.”
