Secrets Of A Wallflower. Amanda McCabe

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      Chris frowned as he studied the man. ‘Thursby? Really? He has some kind of investment scheme in India he says he can let some of us in on later.’

      An Indian investment scheme? Was that why Thursby had started coming to her father’s house so often? That sounded strange to her. Surely such ideas always ended in calamity? ‘Oh, no, Chris. You aren’t thinking of doing that, are you?’

      ‘It sounds simple enough and Thursby says we’re sure to double our money very quickly.’

      ‘I don’t think...’

      The dance ended and as they swirled to a stop at the edge of the dance floor, they found themselves next to Emily and her partner.

      Emily looked quite pretty, with her cheeks pink with enjoyment and laughter, her amber-brown eyes glowing. Diana quite envied her gown, too, for with only a father, Em had far more control over her own wardrobe. Her mint-green gown, trimmed with black-velvet rosettes, with black and green plumes in her hair, made her look far more elegant and sophisticated than other ladies their age.

      ‘Oh, Di! Isn’t it splendid?’ Emily said. ‘Such a wonderful orchestra.’

      ‘Only because you’re the best dancer here and could find rhythm in any old tune,’ Christopher said.

      Emily laughed. ‘As can you. Shall we, then, Chris? Show them how a schottische is done?’

      ‘We shall,’ Christopher said and took her arm to swirl her away.

      As they disappeared back into the sparkling melee of the dance, Diana looked around. Her mother sat along the row of gilded chaperons’ chairs by the silk-papered wall, gossiping with two of her friends. At the other end of the room, glimpsed between flower arrangements and groups of laughing people, she saw Lord Thursby. She felt suddenly trapped, caught between two forces she didn’t want to face yet.

      On impulse, she spun around and dashed out of the ballroom via the nearest side door. She found herself in a small, domed hall, also draped in carpets of flowers but blessedly quiet. There were only a few people there, whispering together, sipping champagne, the music muffled beyond the door.

      She hurried down a flight of stairs to the next floor down, where there was the card room, the billiards room, and a large sitting room that had been turned into the ladies’ withdrawing room. She heard a burst of giggles from that chamber and she knew she could easily join them, but she suddenly only wanted to be alone. To hear her own thoughts for a minute.

      Unlike most London houses, including her own parents’ narrow dwelling on Cavendish Square, Waverton House was vast, four storeys of chambers like a series of jewel boxes, sparkling with treasures. She went down one more set of stairs and peeked through a half-open doorway to find a library. Perfect.

      The silence was heavy, deep and echoing after the hum of the ballroom. She could almost hear herself think again. She wandered along the rows of books, studying the gilt titles on the leather spines, the paintings on the panelled walls between the shelves.

      Next to the curtained window nook was a table laid out with the day’s newspapers. She studied the headlines. They were all about the Paris Exposition, of course, swooning praise for the delicious cafés, the wonders of the pavilions for the arts, the exotic mock-souks, the fashionable ladies arriving to parade along the Champ de Mars.

      A loud voice suddenly burst the silence, making Diana jump.

      ‘Oh, please, just listen to me this one last time! Don’t you owe me that at least? For all we were to each other?’

      It was a woman’s voice, low and urgent, filled with choking tears, and it was coming from the corridor outside. Moving closer to the library with every word. Diana held her breath, hoping whoever it was would just keep moving past.

      ‘Laura, what we had was over long ago,’ a man answered, weariness barely hidden in his soft, kind tone. ‘We can’t revive it now. You know that.’

      ‘Why not?’ the woman demanded. ‘Everything has changed this time. It could be even better! I have missed you so much...’

      To Diana’s horror, the quarrel wasn’t moving away. The door swung open and she instinctively dived behind the heavy velvet window curtains before they could see her and they all faced a most embarrassing scene. It seemed to be a night for hiding out.

      ‘We should return to the party,’ the man said, still so calm and steady, so horribly quiet. Diana couldn’t help but wince for the woman. ‘Neither of us wants a scandal.’

      ‘Of course that’s not what I want! Some horrid, shabby court case like Bertie Wales and the Aylesfords. That won’t happen now. We’re both free!’ the woman said sweetly. ‘Oh, my darling Will, don’t you remember what those heavenly days at Beresford Hall were like? It could be that way all the time now.’

      Quite against her will, Diana found herself rather curious. It sounded like one of those delicious French novels they had once passed around at Miss Grantley’s! She cautiously peeked around the edge of the curtain.

      The couple stood near the carved onyx fireplace, the lamplight throwing them into silhouette. The woman was Lady Smythe-Tomas, Diana could tell that from her luminous champagne gown, the golden swirl of jewel-bedecked hair. She reached out with her elegant gloved hands to grasp the man by his lapels, her fingers curling against him sinuously. Diana was quite surprised she would have to beg any man for his attentions; they all seemed to fall right at her feet.

      Who was this man? He surely had to be vastly attractive. Her curiosity growing, she pushed the curtain back just a bit more so she could see his face.

      She gasped and quickly stifled the sound with her satin-covered fingers. It was Sir William Blakely.

      Sir William was handsome, of course, arrestingly so. The perfect counterpoint to Lady Smythe-Tomas’s golden, sunny beauty, with his glossy dark hair and fathomless brown eyes. If Diana was a casting agency for the theatres, she could do no better than those two for looks. But he was so solemn! So dedicated to his career.

      Or maybe he wasn’t always so solemn. She remembered him laughing by the lake, his damp shirt clinging to his shoulders, all bright and full of youth in the sunshine. Surely that man could have a passionate affair.

      ‘Laura, this can’t go on,’ he said, still so calm, so cool. Diana wondered why the lady hadn’t slapped him yet, for staying so unruffled about the whole passionate business.

      ‘Why not? Do you not still find me beautiful?’

      ‘Of course you are beautiful. Your photo in every shop window tells you that. And you deserve more than a man buried in his work.’

      ‘But surely I could help you with that, too! Every diplomat needs a hostess.’ She leaned towards him with an enticing smile, her fingers smoothing the satin lapel she had crushed. ‘And there is always this...’

      She went up on her toes and tried to press her lips to his. But the promised kiss didn’t last long at all, the merest brush. He pushed her away, gently but firmly, his hands unwinding her arms from around his neck and holding her away. ‘I need to return to the ballroom.’

      Lady Smythe-Tomas’s СКАЧАТЬ