Page 11 of A Lady's Wicked Revenge
On and on, Colin talked, giving voice to every stray thought that entered his head. He kept the one-sided conversation carefully away from any subject that might provoke Diana into another rage, speaking instead of light-hearted small talk about the weather, theatre, fashions in Spain, and every other trivial matter he could think of. He loosed his wit from the usual tight leash he kept it on while in his stepfather’s house, making cunning jokes and observations about each subject as they occurred to him.
The young woman opposite him seemed to hear all, her eyes darting to him every so often. Yet still, she gave no reply, keeping her mouth occupied solely with nourishment. The longer Colin spoke, the funnier he found this reaction—it was like conversing with a statue, somehow, or like a beautiful trained bird who was fully capable of speech yet would not deign to converse with him in particular for some reason.
Throughout the meal, he strained to keep a pleasant smile on his face even as he held in his laughter at the preposterousness of the situation lest Diana take real offense and flee; this grew increasingly difficult as the joke dragged on, needless to say, and Colin could feel a trickle of sweat run down his neck at the effort.
By the time Diana had finished her food, it felt to Colin that he had been talking for ages, though as he glanced at the clock in the corner, he saw that it had only been ten minutes. Rising silently from her chair like a ghost, Diana moved to leave the room to pursue whatever activities Sir James allowed to her.
“I trust your food was to your satisfaction?” Colin said in a loud, clear voice. This had the desired effect of halting Diana in her egress, and she turned sharply to glare at him once more. Unable to resist one last tweak that might compel a reaction of some kind, he continued with a smile, “Though obviously it was nothing compared to the quality of the conversation.”
Diana’s smouldering gaze seemed to rise a degree or two in response to these words; other than this, she gave no visible reaction at all. Indeed, after a heartbeat or two of waiting, she turned on her heel and strode from the dining room without looking back. She had not spoken a single word since entering fifteen long minutes before.
Colin dabbed his mouth with his napkin, hoping to hide the sound of the laughter that he was at last unable to hold in any longer. When he was sure the strange, peevish young Diana was out of hearing—an easy task, as she stomped her feet and slammed doors loudly enough that everyone in the house was surely aware of her location—he finally gave in and erupted in laughter that shook his belly.
I’m thankful I made it back here from Spain when I did,Colin thought, wiping away a tear and pushing back from the table.To think that I missed the last three weeks of sport like this!Indeed, between this savage breakfast and the colourful invectives she had hurled at Sir James last night, Colin could not remember the last time there had been such vivacity in the Leeson house.
Although …he mused with a minor stirring of guilt in his breast.As ridiculous as her behaviour is, it is clear that Diana is truly upset by something.Colin rubbed his chin in thought.It certainly makes sense to be put out by being pushed to marry against one’s will—I should know that better than anyone.
Yet for all her dramatic protestations, James Leeson was no tyrant, of that he was sure, and would never do anything to genuinely harm a child in his care; besides, such things were different for well-born women than for men, he knew.
She must still just be in the throes of grief over her mother and father.Colin’s mind traced the precious few memories of his own father that had not yet receded into the mists of oblivion. He had been only a small boy when his father had died, and the memories that remained were crude yet delicate as spun glass. Christmas mornings, sunny afternoons beneath a shady tree, the feeling of his father’s whiskers scratching his face as they embraced. Mostly he remembered the fear and terrible, crushing sadness as he and his mother had mourned the man’s sudden passing.
Again something tugged at Colin’s heart, reflecting on how terrible such pain must be for a grown woman, especially losing two loving parents at the same time.Hard as it is to resist tweaking the nose of a creature who reacts to it with such uproar, I really should be a bit gentler with Diana. For now, at least. She deserves that much.He rose from the table, suddenly eager to leave the scene of this encounter.
Then he sniffed, suddenly detecting something amiss. Hanging in the air was the faintest trace of a smell of unfamiliar flowers. The odour kindled some memory hidden still deeper in the recesses of Colin’s mind—something beyond concrete form or words. All he knew was that something about the smell made him feel unbearably sad.
Before he left the dining room, he cast one last look towards Diana’s empty chair. Apart from that strange, compelling smell, there was a palpable crackle of energy left behind in her wake, Colin sensed, something that stirred in him a sensation he could not quite define. Whatever it was, it was enlivening, provoking him to feel more alert and less discontent than he had ever remembered feeling in his life.
Colin shook his head, half in amusement and half in confusion. However terrible the circumstances that had led her to stay at the Leeson house, he could not deny that he was grateful for the presence of this energy that seemed to follow Diana like a shadow … and for her presence as well, in a ridiculous kind of way.
Chapter 6
A World Beyond the Walls
On this morning, the weather was not so different than the previous afternoon. Improbably, for a second day in a row, the sun was shining down merry and bright upon the suburban London enclave in which the Leeson house was situated.
Diana closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath through her nose, savouring the sensation of the cool sweetness in her lungs. The air around her was thick with birdsong, the sky of purest blue overhead populated by puffy clouds that resembled nothing so much as minuscule sugary confections.
A gentle breeze stirred the mosaic of green leaves on the elm and hawthorn trees that flanked the edges of the Leeson garden, casting blessedly cool shade upon the garden path that snaked between a hundred carefully cultivated tulips, daisies, and, of course, columbines as lovely as they were poisonous. She fairly flew down the meticulously kept path, inspecting the sights and smells of Nature’s beauty even as the air filled her to bursting with vibrant, unapologetic life.
As Diana roamed the garden, keeping the house to her back at all times, she thought to herself,How absolutely splendid it is out here! Since arriving I cannot ever remember feeling this …She stopped, suddenly unsure of herself.I do not know if ‘happy’ is the right word, somehow.It felt wrong to feel that way, somehow, as though she were betraying her mother and father by abandoning her grief even for a moment. Then a gust of wind tousled the greenery all around her, and Diana burst into giggles as the air filled with a hundred gossamer dandelion clocks.
Look at them all!Diana thought in wonderment, trying to catch some of the ghostly white travellers in her fingers. Tears scattered from her eyes in her joyful laughter, suffused with half-remembered impressions of having chased dandelions with her mother on some idyllic summer afternoon in her childhood.Christopher must have missed these beauties in all his meticulous grounds keeping,she reflected, and felt a rush of gratitude for the man’s inattentiveness in his weeding duties. Or else he allowed a few to grow discreetly, where Uncle James would not see them. He would surely have them pulled out, no matter how pretty they are.
Diana sighed, her arms falling to her sides as all the bliss that had suspended her on the winds left her body. For all the splendour of the flowers of English summer and the beautiful sights and sounds that surrounded her, she could not avoid the fact that she was still a victim of tragic circumstance. She was committed to live her life rather than allow herself to be entombed in a grave of her own digging … but what kind of life was left to her?
She turned around in place, drinking in her surroundings.Not one in a hundred Londoners is fortunate enough to be able to enjoy such natural beauty—in a thousand, even.But inexorably, at the edge of her vision, Diana could not help seeing the tall stone walls that outlined the estate’s grounds. Tipped with decorative wrought iron spikes, she wondered to what degree they were meant to keep people in rather than out. And behind her, at the end of her twirl, was the grim grey hulk that belonged to her captor James Leeson.
This may be a pleasant prison, but I am no less a prisoner, thought Diana, feeling her cheeks redden in consternation. Over those walls were all the wonders and terrors of the world, but as close as it was, it did not matter how much wealth was assigned to her name in a ledger in Jerome Arnold’s study somewhere; her fate was in the hands of Uncle James, for good or ill.
Hands folded behind her back, she resumed walking the winding garden path, her mind running over the events that had brought her to this beautiful yet isolated place.
I can scarcely remember even meeting Uncle James before coming here,Diana thought, the scenery that surrounded her disappearing behind the grim pall that now hung over her once again.But whatever memories I do have of him before this time, I recall nothing that would suggest such cruelty and callousness in the man.
She sat heavily on a low stone bench, folding her legs beneath her and allowing her arms to collapse limply into her lap. She gazed off towards the distant wall at the back of the grounds, watching the parade of little white clouds sail across the horizon, freer than she would ever be. Apart from a strange, ugly black tree squatting on a hillock below, the garden was as pristine and verdant as any landscape painting she had ever seen.
Diana cast her mind through her memories of her mother, searching for any mention she might have made of her brother’s parsimonious nature. Recalling nothing of the sort, her mind began to linger instead upon other, more pleasant images. She closed her eyes, wrapping herself in the comfort of days gone by.
I remember the lunch I had with Mother and Father in some garden or another very far from our home. They were so much bigger than me, then—that is, I was so small, I suppose. I thought we had walked for miles and miles to find just the right spot to eat, though surely it was only a little way after we exited the carriage. I cannot ever remember eating anything so delicious and refreshing as those blackberries Father helped me pick from the bushes.
