Kisses were just one of those things a young man did not feel comfortable discussing with a lady, and certainly not a lady like Dianna. She was too… nice. Yes, that was it, Miles decided as he studied her rapidly flushing countenance. And he’d known her too long. Since they were infants, practically. Which made her more of a sister than a fiancée, and any discussions on kissing taboo, even if one day they would be expected to kiss quite a great deal.
Unfortunately, Dianna did not seem to share his opinion and even though her round cheeks had turned red as tomatoes and her bonnet was irreparably ruined, she persisted with her chosen topic. “How good did it feel?”
“How good did what feel?” Miles said evasively.
“The kiss, silly! How good did the kiss feel?”
“Keep your voice down,” he hissed, his own face taking on a warmer hue as he imagined one of his friends overhearing their discussion. How they would laugh! As if they didn’t laugh enough as it was. As the only fifteen-year-old boy in all of England to already be engaged (at least, that is what it felt like) Miles had endured his fair share of jokes and jests. He certainly didn’t think it was amusing, but if he took offense the jokes simply got worse and so he’d learned early on to laugh with his friends instead of shoving his fist down their throats.
“I just wanted to know,” Dianna mumbled, shoulders slumping. “I am sorry if I upset you.”
Miles dragged a hand through his hair. Hell. At moments like these he wished he could simply turn on his heel and walk away, but the pang of guilt he felt for inadvertently hurting Dianna’s tender feelings kept him rooted to the spot. Guilt, and something else. Something else he didn’t yet have a name for. “You didn’t upset me.”
She lifted her head, blue eyes hopeful. “I didn’t?”
“No. It’s just… an unusual question.”
“I do not think so,” she said, taking him by surprise. The epitome of a well-bred English rose, Dianna had never done or said anything in his presence that could ever be considered inappropriate.
Until right now.
“We are going to be husband and wife one day, which means-”
“If,” he interrupted, only to inwardly curse himself when her bottom lip wobbled.
“If?” she repeated in a tiny little whisper. “What do you mean?”
Everything Miles desperately wanted to say lingered on the tip of his tongue, but not wanting to hurt Dianna, not wanting to see her beautiful blue eyes shimmer with tears and her mouth do the little quiver that tore at his heart, he swallowed the words back. “Nothing. I meant nothing by it.”
“Are you certain?” she asked.
“Yes.” The lie felt heavy in his mouth, but Miles knew it was better than the alternative. How could he tell her what he truly felt? That he didn’t know, not for sure, if given the choice she was the one he would have chosen for himself. That he didn’t even know if he wanted a wife, or all the obligations that would come with being married. “I am.”
Dianna toyed with a lock of long blonde hair that had come loose from its neat coiffure. “Very well. I only meant to say that when we are husband and wife one day, we will be expected to do… well… you know.”
“Kiss?” Miles suggested innocently, and couldn’t help but grin when her entire face turned red. “You are the one who started this conversation you know,” he pointed out. A conversation he was now rather enjoying, not that he would ever admit it.
“Yes.” She gave a heavy sort of sigh. “I suppose I was curious. What if… well…” But her temporary surge of courage seemed to have left her, leaving the question unfinished. “Never mind,” she muttered, turning away. Without thinking, Miles took hold of her forearm, his fingers gently closing around her sun warmed flesh.
“What if what?” he asked quietly.
Her eyes were two enormous pools of blue. “What if I am not very good at it? The kissing, I mean. I have never done it before, you know,” she confessed in a voice barely loud enough to be heard.
Miles had assumed as much, and he was glad to have his assumptions confirmed. He found the idea of Dianna kissing someone else did not sit well with him. It did not sit well with him at all. “We could try it now, I suppose,” he said, doing his best to sound nonchalant even as his heart threatened to gallop out of his chest and his trousers bulged.
“What if someone sees us?” Dianna gasped.
His shoulders rose and fell in a careless shrug. “What if they do? We are engaged to be married, after all.” And at long last he felt as though he’d finally found an upside to that particular predicament. “Close your eyes,” he instructed gently.
Her chest rose and fell as she took a deep breath and did as he asked.
Staring down at her innocently upturned face, Miles discovered he was as nervous as she. Perhaps even more so. Just do it, he told himself. Just kiss her. It isn’t that hard. You’ve kissed other girls before. But none, he realized, as important to him as Dianna.
“Maybe we should wait,” he said, shocking himself.
Her eyes flew open. “Wait?”
“Yes.” Letting go of her arm, he crossed his arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels. “The, ah, first kiss in a courtship is very important.”
Dianna’s brow furrowed. “It is?”
“It is. And you only get one, you know. Once the first kiss is done you can’t have another go at it.”
“I… suppose that is true.” Expression clearing, she suddenly threw her arms around him in an impulsive hug and he felt the tantalizing burn of her lips against his cheek before she jumped back. “Thank you, Miles.”
Fighting the foolish urge to touch the side of his face where her mouth had just been, he stared at her quizzically. “For what?”
“For being so kind and thoughtful.” Her smile turned shy. “I couldn’t imagine marrying anyone else, and I am glad my first kiss will be with you.”
Humming a happy tune she spun around and skipped off towards a group of girls her age.
Miles watched her go, a sinking sensation forming in the pit of his stomach, for he knew, even if she did not, that he was neither kind nor thoughtful.
Chapter Fourteen
For the past seven years the first ball of the Season had been held at the private residence of Lord and Lady Fancott. This year was no exception. Coveted invitations, strictly limited to precisely three hundred guests, were sent out the week before. Dianna received hers on a rainy Tuesday while having tea with her mother.
“I do not wish to attend,” she said after only the barest of glances at the thick ivory envelope with its telltale wax insignia boasting a fanciful F sealing the back. Taking a sip of warm tea drizzled with honey, she held the delicate porcelain cup aloft as she gazed out the window. Rain fell in a steady drizzle, soaking the tree lined street and row of tidy brick townhouses on either side of it.
“Do not be ridiculous.” Tearing into the invitation as though it were the first present on Christmas morning, Martha Foxcroft’s face lit up as she silently mouthed each word. “Oh, this sounds lovely, Dianna. What do you think would be better, your blue gown with the pearl beading or the green with the white lace?”
“Mother…” Even knowing that any attempts at contradicting her mother were useless, Dianna couldn’t help but try anyways. Given that her current mood perfectly matched the drab weather outside, she had positively no interest in attending a ball where her every move would be scrutinized and her every word speculated upon.
In her desperation to flee Ashburn, Dianna had failed to consider what other repercussions Miles’ return would bring. Chiefly among them that the flames of gossip she’d been forced to endure following the abrupt end of their engagement four years ago would be ignited anew.
Having already been forced to endure more stares and whispers than she cared to count while simply walking down the street and through the park, she was loathe to think of what awaited her at a ball filled with men and women eagerly clamoring to find out if she and M
iles had reconciled or not.
Had she been thinking clearly she would found a reason to avoid London entirely, but on the morning she and Charlotte departed Ashburn her mind had been anything but clear.
“Well?” Martha persisted. “What do you think? The blue or the green?”
“I think I am not feeling well,” Dianna demurred. She knew changing her mother’s mind would be the equivalent of turning water into wine, but she could not help but try.
“I do not see what that has to do with selecting a gown. The ball is six days away. If you are not feeling better by Thursday we will send for the doctor, but I am sure you will be fine,” Martha said with a dismissive wave of her hand before she stood up and lovingly placed the invitation on the mantle above the fireplace.
A woman who had once been a great beauty in her youth and valued appearance and status above all else, Martha now chose to live vicariously through her daughter - when it suited her. When it did not, she lived her life as though Dianna did not exist, flitting from social function to social function and leaving Dianna in the care of her sister Abigail.
Growing up, Dianna had never understood why her mother would rather dance until dawn with strangers than stay home and read her only child a bedtime story. Now, being both older and wiser, she understood Martha was a bitter woman at heart who wanted more than she’d been given and would never be capable of being satisfied with what she had. Dianna still loved her nevertheless, and the habit of trying to please her mother was not one easily broken. She’d been trying to win her mother’s favor since she was a little girl and now, some eighteen years later, she was still trying.
“I will wear the green with the white lace,” she said with a sigh. “It is the more comfortable of the two.”
“Comfortable?” Martha tilted her head back and laughed. “Darling, who cares for comfort? Beauty is not comfortable. The blue, I think. I do so love the bead work.”
Why ask my opinion if you never heed it? Dianna wanted to snap. Instead she bit her tongue, choking on the sour taste of silence. Every once in a great while she mustered the courage to disagree with her mother, and every time it ended the same: with her in tears, Martha suffering from a case of the vapors, and nothing changed. “Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “The blue.”
“Marvelous. Now why don’t you go upstairs and get some rest.” Crossing the drawing room in a brisk swish of dark purple skirts, Martha placed the back of her hand across Dianna’s forehead in a rare display of maternal concern. “I am not surprised you are not feeling well. Ever since you returned from Ashburn you have been looking rather pale and these dark circles beneath your eyes are not at all attractive. I knew you should have returned with your father and I, but you insisted on remaining.” Clucking her tongue, she dropped her hand. “I only hope your appearance resolves itself before the Fancott ball. I don’t know how you are going to catch a husband looking as you are.”
Were it anyone else Dianna would have taken insult, but she knew her mother meant no genuine harm with her thoughtless remarks. If anything, Martha most likely believed she was helping instead of hurting. Such was her way, and becoming angry with her would be the equivalent of shouting at a bird for chirping or the sun for shining.
“Mother…” Hesitant to broach the subject, but knowing it would be better to deal with it sooner rather than later, Dianna took a breath and said, “Have you heard anything about Lord Radnor as of late?”
Martha’s eyes, the same soft blue as her daughter’s, narrowed ever-so-slightly. “I know he has returned to England, and I know he will most likely be accompanying his mother and sister to London for the Season. Other than that I have heard nothing, nor do I care to. ”
Taken aback by her mother’s cavalier response, Dianna set her cup of tea down with an uncharacteristic clatter. “You… you don’t?”
All of her life she’d known one thing to be true: her parents expected her to marry Miles Radnor. The betrothal arrangement had been a feather in both of their caps; one they’d worn proudly for it had ensured their daughter an excellent match and their future grandchildren titles of inheritance. When Miles disappeared, they’d been as devastated as she. Perhaps even more so, although for entirely different reasons.
For a long time they both held out hope Miles would return and all would be as it had been; only in the past twelve months had Martha begun discussing other suitors of marriageable age. Dianna assumed with Miles’ reemergence her mother would be eager to rekindle their courtship.
She never imagined Martha would want nothing to do with him.
“Why would I? That man is no longer our concern.” Perching on the wooden arm of a sofa, Martha pursed her lips. “He humiliated us, Dianna. And he broke his word. Do you honestly think I would want a man like that married to my daughter? No,” she said before Dianna could answer. “Absolutely not. We shall find you a titled gentleman with an upstanding reputation who is willing to overlook a bit of scandal and that horrendously short hair of yours. You deserve nothing less.”
It was, without a doubt, the nicest thing her mother had ever said to her.
Feeling a bit dazed, Dianna stood up. “I… I believe I will go take a nap down.”
“See that you do. Oh, and darling?”
“Yes?”
“I will have one of the maids bring up a cool compress for your face. Those smudges really do look dreadful.”
Dianna bit back a smile. “Thank you, Mother. That would be very nice.”
Rain fell from the heavens without cease for the next five days. On the morning of Farcott Ball, however, as though by some divine intervention, the skies parted and the sun finally emerged, chasing away the gloomy gray storm clouds that had been threatening to take up permanent residence over London.
Waking to the sound of sparrows chirping, Dianna blinked sleepily, a smile curving her mouth as she opened her eyes to the sight of fresh sunlight spilling through the gossamer curtains.
It is a sign, she decided as she got out of bed and washed her face in a basin of warm water a maid had set out on the dressing table while she still slept. A sign that things were going to be better. That she was going to be better.
Dabbing at her neck and chest with a towel, she smiled at her reflection in the round looking glass, pleased to note her cheeks held a rosy flush and her eyes boasted their old familiar sparkle.
Having been kept busy with endless fitting appointments in preparation of the ball and a steady stream of social calls that yielded surprisingly pleasant company without any hint of the gossip she had been dreading, Dianna thought of Miles not at all.
Well, she corrected after meeting her own rueful gaze in the mirror, almost not at all.
The truth of it was he would always be a part of her. But a part of her past, not her present, and certainly not her future. As her mother insisted on pointing out - once a day every day - there were countless other eligible suitors to be charmed, and when Dianna put her mind to it she was nothing if not charming.
To be honest, it was all a bit exciting. For the first time in her life she would be experiencing a true London Season; not as a girl engaged to be married or one recently spurned, but as a woman ready (and finally willing) to find love. Picking up a fine toothed comb, she began to run it gently through her tousled curls, a bit awed by the newfound determination she saw gleaming in her eyes.
She could finally admit, to herself if no one else, that the broken engagement had destroyed her confidence. Not only had she been abandoned by the man she’d grown up thinking would one day become her husband, but she’d done nothing discernible to earn such a rejection, giving her cause to believe it had been her fault Miles left.
Following several long days of contemplation, she’d come to realize it hadn’t been her fault at all. There was nothing wrong with her. She’d done nothing bad. For four long years she’d sat in the shadows, bewildered and hurt, blaming herself for something she’d had no control over. At long last she was ready fo
r a new beginning. At long last she was ready to step out into the light.
Beginning with the Farcott Ball.
Chapter Fifteen
“Do you think I look alright?” Turning in an anxious circle, Harper held up the lace hem of the ball gown that had been delivered just that morning and wrinkled her nose. “Everything is so white. Even the dance slippers Mother picked out are white! I look like a ghost.”
Miles glanced at his sister. “You do not look like a ghost.”
Dressed in a gown the color of cream with her ebony hair done up in a fanciful twist and elegant pearls dangling from her ears, Harper looked far more grown up than he would have liked. He’d already caught two chaps looking in her direction since their arrival at the Farcott estate, and sent them both scampering away with a dark glower that promised pain and agony if they dared do anything more than look.
“A snowman, perhaps,” he added with a grin. “But not a ghost.”
“You’re a wretch,” Harper said, but his teasing comment achieved the desired effect. Seeming to forget about her appearance, she held out gloved arm and smiled. “Shall we?”
Bending at the waist, Miles dipped into a mocking bow. “We certainly shall.”
Side by side they joined the long line of men and women waiting to be received by Lady Farcott before they descended into the glittering ballroom. Given his height Miles was able to see easily over the dark crowd of heads to the top of the grand staircase where their hostess for the evening greeted each and every guest, her smile unwavering. Music filled the air, helping to muffle the din of excited voices as people called out to friends and acquaintances they hadn’t seen since the end of the last Season. Jostled from behind by an eager young woman intent on furthering her position in line, Miles held fast to Harper’s arm and gritted his teeth.
London Ladies (The Complete Series) Page 47