The Wrong Mr. Wright

by Patricia Bray

  “I know little of George Wright,” Diana said, and never had she spoken truer words. For all that she had nearly been ruined by him, she could not claim to know his essential character. “But I can tell that he and his brother are not close, and I will admit that I am curious as to the cause.”

  Charlotte shrugged. “Families are always quarreling over one thing or another,” she said. “There are times when Arthur and I can hardly bear to be in the same room as one another. But underneath it all we love one another, and if I ever needed him, I know I can count on him as a brother and as a friend.”

  Interesting, but hardly helpful. “And what is your impression of Mr. Wright? Is he a friend, as well? A good man, do you think?”

  Charlotte’s steps slowed. “His manners are pretty, and he makes an amusing companion,” she said thoughtfully. “But there is something about him that I do not like. At times I think he is laughing at me, and at all of society.”

  “He has little patience for fools,” Diana said. “Though if that is a character flaw, I must own it is mine as well.”

  “It is not that. Let us say rather that while I would not mind him as a dinner partner, I would be very careful about accepting an invitation to take a stroll with him alone in a moonlit garden. Of course, now that I am engaged to Lord Wiggams, the question is moot.”

  Diana winced and hoped her face did not show her distress. If only she had heard these words two months before, how very differently things might have turned out.

  “I think you were wise to be cautious,” Diana said. “Now tell me, how are the wedding preparations advancing? Have you selected a date yet?”

  Charlotte gracefully accepted the change of topic and spent a full quarter hour describing the elaborate plans for the wedding that was to take place next spring. All Diana had to do was smile and make the occasional murmur of interest. But even as she listened, she kept pondering the mystery that was the Wright brothers. Surely, somewhere, there was a key that would let her understand their behavior and the conflicting accounts that she had heard. Diana simply had to be patient and persevere.

  Thirteen

  The weather had been rainy with dark, gloomy skies, which perfectly suited Lord Endicott’s mood. But on Thursday, the skies cleared, and with the return of the sun, he felt his own spirits begin to lift. Perhaps the situation was not as hopeless as he had feared. Finding himself at loose ends, he readily accepted Tony Dunne’s invitation to join him in Hyde Park, taking advantage of the fine day to exercise their horses.

  “So how goes your courtship?” Tony Dunne asked.

  “Slowly,” Stephen said. “Diana still hasn’t forgiven me for quarreling with her. I sent her an invitation asking her to take a drive with me today, but she snubbed me. Wrote that she was already engaged.”

  “So I am your second choice of companion,” Tony said. “It is good to know where I stand.”

  “I mean no insult—”

  “None taken,” Tony said quickly. “Only a fool would prefer an outing with an old friend to a chance to escort a pretty girl around the town.”

  Diana’s rejection of him had rankled, and he thought longingly of those first days in London. Then he had had her all to himself. Now he had to share her time with the myriad of acquaintances that she had formed. Not that he begrudged her enjoyment; he would not be so petty. But sometimes he wondered whether she still wanted his friendship, now that she no longer needed his support. And how could he court her if she would not even accept his invitations?

  “Diana was engaged to luncheon with Miss Fox, and then they planned to spend the afternoon strolling in the park. Miss Fox fancies herself an artist and wished to sketch the river, I believe,” Stephen said. He had learned of her plans when he called upon the house at Chesterfield Hill this morning, only to discover that Diana had already departed for the day.

  “So that is the reason we are here, instead of in St. James’s Park,” Tony said, referring to their more usual ride.

  “Yes,” Stephen said. “I do not like how much time she is spending with Miss Fox.”

  “The young lady seems unexceptionable.”

  “I have no quarrel with her. But where one finds Miss Fox, one also finds her brother, Arthur Fox. And his role in the events of this past April is one that I am not yet ready to forgive.”

  As they rode along the bridle path, Stephen’s eyes scanned the crowds, but he could not spot Miss Somerville among any of the small knots of strollers, nor was she one of those picnicking under the trees. Perhaps they had changed their plans, or perhaps they had already been here and left.

  They rode in silence for a few moments, until the path took them down near the bank of the Serpentine Lake.

  “I say, isn’t that Miss Somerville? In the blue rowboat, just past that point of land?”

  Stephen reined in his horse and looked; but the rowboat was turning away, so all he could see was the back of a young lady. She wore a green dress, and a straw bonnet covered her hair, giving no hint of the color underneath. But he recognized the other passenger quite clearly as Arthur Fox.

  “It may be her,” Stephen said. He gave a soft cluck, and his horse obediently started down the hillside toward the water. After a moment, he heard Tony Dunne following him.

  The boat finished turning, and, indeed, he could see it was Miss Somerville. And the reason for the odd maneuvers became clear as well, for it was Miss Somerville who held the oars in her hands and not her escort.

  The young man gestured with his arms and appeared to be instructing her. Slowly the boat righted itself and began an erratic course toward the dock. When they were just a few yards from shore, Mr. Fox looked up and saw him. He must have said something to Miss Somerville, for she turned around in her seat.

  Stephen waved at her. She smiled and began to wave back. She called out something that he could not hear. Then she began to stand up.

  “No!” he exclaimed, but it was already too late.

  The rowboat rocked, leaning toward the left. Diana and Mr. Fox both leaned violently to the right side, with the inevitable results. There was a loud splash as the two fell into the water, and the rowboat overturned beside them.

  Stephen dismounted and handed the reins to Tony Dunne. He reached the water’s edge just as Diana stood up, and then Arthur Fox, leaning heavily on the rowboat, was able to stand up as well. It was fortunate that the lake was shallow after the long summer drought, for the water came only up to her thighs.

  Diana gave one look at the rowboat and the hapless Arthur Fox and then began making her way toward shore. Stephen, heedless of his own clothes, jumped into the water, and walked out to meet her.

  “Give me your arm,” he said.

  She did so, and they slogged through the muddy water and thick reeds to the bank, where Tony Dunne reached over and helped her climb up and then reached down to give Stephen a hand as well.

  Stephen glanced back and saw that Arthur Fox had managed to right the boat, and with the help of another group of rowers, he was towing it in to the shore. Satisfied that the young man was in no danger, he turned to Diana.

  Her dress, which had been pink, was now soaked through with muddy river water and clung to her like a second skin, revealing a generous set of curves that would make any man’s mouth water. Stephen quickly stripped off his jacket and placed it around her shoulders. Despite the summer heat, she was already beginning to shiver.

  “This is all your fault,” Diana said.

  “My fault?”

  “Yes,” she said, her blue eyes flashing. “Mr. Fox was teaching me to row. I was doing just fine until you distracted me.”

  “I was not the one who decided to try and stand up in a rowboat,” Stephen pointed out. “Did he not warn you that it was unstable? What were you thinking?”

  “I was not thinking,” Diana said. “I was happy to see you, and look where that got me.”

  Her words cut him to the quick. “It was an accident,” he temporized. “Now we must ge
t you home, so you can change out of those wet clothes before you catch your death.”

  And before anyone else had the chance to gawk at her. They had already drawn quite a crowd of onlookers, amazed that someone could overturn a rowboat on a lake that was as calm as a millpond.

  “Tony, will you—”

  “I will see that your horse is returned to the stables,” Tony Dunne said, reading his mind. “It is not far from here to the gate, and you can hail a hackney coach from there.”

  “Thank you,” Stephen said.

  “My pleasure. Miss Somerville, I hope we next meet under more fortunate circumstances,” Tony Dunne said, tipping his hat. “And, Stephen, I advise you to take care of your lady.”

  “I will,” he promised. Even if she did not realize it, it was clear that Miss Somerville needed protecting, from herself most of all.

  When Diana returned home, a servant informed her that her father wished to speak with her. Summoning her maid, she hastily disrobed and washed off the traces of the smelly lake water. Her dress and slippers were ruined, and as for Lord Endicott’s coat, it would never be the same. Even her hair was filled with mud and weeds, as she discovered when she began to brush it out. She must have looked a sight and was mortified that Lord Endicott, of all people, had seen her disgrace.

  She did not know what had happened. She knew better than to move suddenly in a rowboat. Her reading had taught her that they were chancy craft, their small size making them inherently unstable. But she had been doing well, even managing to row a steady course. Then she had seen Lord Endicott, and the next thing she knew, she was in the water, scrambling for her footing.

  She had felt utterly humiliated and snapped at Lord Endicott when he had presumed to scold her. Fortunately he had sensed her ill temper, and the journey home had been peaceable, if silent. She had invited him inside, but predictably he had declined, preferring to return to his own residence so he could change.

  It took nearly an hour to make herself presentable, but by that time she had calmed down and was able to greet her father with equanimity.

  “Papa, you wished to see me?” she asked.

  Her father looked up from his book, and then marked his place with a ribbon and set it aside. She crossed the room and kissed him on the cheek in greeting.

  “Diana, we need to talk,” he said.

  His serious expression told her that this was no light conversation that he intended. Diana sat down on the edge of a stiff-backed chair, feeling suddenly as if she were Emily’s age.

  “What is it? Is there something wrong?” Was it her mother? Something at home? Her sisters?

  “Perhaps you should tell me,” he said. He gave her a meaningful look, the one that always made her feel obscurely guilty.

  “I am sorry, but it was not my fault. I do not know how the boat managed to overturn—”

  “What boat?” he asked, his eyebrows raised until they nearly disappeared under his hairline.

  “The rowboat this afternoon. Arthur Fox and I were out on the Serpentine Lake, when we had a mishap of sorts.”

  Her father shook his head. “I had not heard of this,” he said.

  Diana bit her tongue as she realized that there had been no need for her hasty confession. If she had only held her tongue, he might never have learned of this escapade. Then again, discovery might have been inevitable. Her father had always had a way of finding out when one of his daughters was in a scrape, especially when his eldest was involved.

  “Let me guess. You were pretending that you were rowing in India where you were attacked by vicious crocodiles,” her father said disapprovingly.

  “Papa, I am not a child to be playing games,” Diana said, very much on her dignity. Such might have been true a few years ago, but now she was a grown woman.

  “Then, how did the boat overturn?”

  She cast her mind back. It had all happened so quickly.

  “I turned to wave to a friend on the bank. The boat rocked a little, but we would have been fine had not Mr. Fox lunged to the other side to try and compensate. It must have been his movement that tipped us over,” Diana said.

  In hindsight, it seemed clear that Mr. Fox was not nearly the expert in boats that he had claimed to be when she had asked him to teach her. Surely an expert would have been able to prevent their unfortunate capsizing.

  “I see,” her father said, closing his eyes briefly. He wore the expression of long-suffering patience that he often had when dealing with Diana and her sisters.

  “But that is not why I wanted to see you,” her father said. “I have heard reports that have disturbed me. Reports that you have been seen keeping company with Lord Endicott’s brother.”

  “He has a name. George Wright,” Diana said.

  “Forgive me if I do not care to speak his name,” her father said. “I cannot forget that he tried his best to ruin my eldest daughter. Though you seem to have forgotten that fact.”

  Diana felt herself flushing. “I have not forgotten,” she said.

  “But you have been seeing him?”

  “Yes.” Even admitting as much made her feel guilty.

  Her father let the silence stretch between them.

  “He was a guest at a picnic I attended, though I did not know beforehand that he was to be there,” Diana said.

  “And was that the only time you saw him?”

  Her father had always been good at reading the truth in her. “No. I encountered him the other day at Hatchard’s, and he insisted on taking me to Gunther’s for ices.”

  “You went with him for ices,” her father repeated. “A man who tried to rape you.”

  Put that way, her actions sounded ridiculous.

  “I did not know how to refuse him without making a public spectacle of myself. And Mr. Wright has apologized repeatedly for his sins. I am convinced that he feels sincere regret,” Diana explained.

  “You misjudged him once, are you certain that you now have the measure of his character?”

  It was a good question, and one that had occupied her mind for many days.

  “No,” Diana said. “But our encounters have been purely by chance. I have no plans to seek out his company.”

  Her father sighed and rubbed one hand over his face. “I swear I age a year for every month that we spend in this damn city. I will not rest easy until we are back home in Kent, where I know my neighbors, and they know us.”

  Diana felt guilty as she realized the strain the season was exerting upon him. He had not complained once, and yet she knew how much he disliked London. And how much more he disliked pretense in any form. It must be galling for him to have to play the part that she had assigned to him.

  “Do you wish to leave?” Diana asked. “I know Mama misses the girls dreadfully.”

  He shook his head. “No, we said we will stay through July, and there is no sense in changing our plans.”

  She felt relieved, for she did not want to leave, not when there was so much gaiety planned for the next weeks as the city gave itself over to celebrating the triumph at Waterloo. And at the same time she felt guilty for keeping her father here for her own selfish reasons.

  In truth, the celebrations were only one reason that she wished to stay. Once she returned to Kent, it was highly unlikely that she would ever see Mr. Wright or his brother, Lord Endicott, again. Thus she did not want to leave, not until she had made up her mind about the brothers. Both of them offered friendship and hinted at stronger feelings, but she could not make up her mind about either of them. Was George truly a villain? Was Stephen playing the part that honor demanded, or were his affections truly engaged? She could not leave London until she knew the answers to these questions.

  “If I thought you would listen, I would forbid you to ever speak with Mr. Wright again,” her father said. “But I know such an order is only likely to provoke you to contrariness.”

  “I will promise not to seek him out,” Diana said. “And if he speaks to me, I will be polite. Nothing mor
e.”

  “That is as much as I can hope for. And, Diana, be very careful. You are playing with fire. Lord Endicott does not strike me as a man who will let himself be made a fool of. You need to be very certain that you know what it is you want. If you are trying to attract Lord Endicott’s attention, you are going about this the wrong way.”

  “I am not doing anything of the sort,” Diana replied. “And as for Lord Endicott, I want nothing from him but his friendship.”

  It was a half-truth at best; but it seemed to satisfy her father, and Diana made her escape, grateful that she had gotten off so lightly.

  Later in the quiet of her own chambers, Diana reflected upon her father’s advice. It was not fair. Everyone seemed to know how she should act. Lady Endicott, Miss Charlotte Fox, her father, even Stephen felt they had a right to dictate her behavior. Lady Endicott asked for her help and obliquely warned her that Stephen was a tyrant. Miss Fox told her that George was pleasant, but not to be trusted. Her father and Stephen both lectured her on the need for appearances and on the folly of associating with George Wright. They did not care that he had apologized and offered to make amends. It seemed that no matter what George did, they would never forgive him.

  They treated her as if she were a child. Everyone told her what to do, but there was no one to talk with about how she felt. She wished suddenly for her sister Mary. Mary, at least, would listen and sympathize with her dilemma.

  But she already knew what Mary would say. Mary would tell her to trust her heart. But her heart had already led her astray once. This time she would make no decisions until both her heart and intellect were in agreement.

  Fourteen

  “I told you to stay away from her,” Lord Endicott said.

  He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. This meeting was at his request, after all, and he would be ill-served if George chose to leave before Stephen had a chance to make his point.