by Gwynn White
29
Diana sank back in her chair, her mind whirling. Her heart breaking.
How could Derek have lied to her, to all of them? She reviewed every interaction she’d had with him, trying to understand. Grasping for any bit of truth, hoping to see the glint of it shining up through the muck of their past.
She drew in a deep breath, trying to regain her equilibrium so that she could think clearly again. Surely the equations would line up. Surely she could make sense of this, somehow.
Just as she caught her balance, Le ushered an older gentleman into the conference room, and her world tilted again.
Father? The word trembled through her.
No, it could not be. Her father was dead—and yet, this man looked so familiar, with his gray-streaked hair and jutting nose.
“May I present Viscount Smythe,” Le said. “He claims to be related to Miss Smythe.”
“Diana?” The viscount halted, fixing her with his gray eyes.
The cogs in her mind spun, spun, then clicked together. She knew this man… he was…
“Uncle Xavier?” Her voice wobbled on the name.
“Dear heavens!” he said. “It is you!”
He strode forward, arms open, and, without thinking, she jumped up to embrace him. He smelled of expensive tobacco and oranges. When she finally pulled back, both their eyes were wet with tears.
“How did you find me?” she asked.
She’d been lost and found twice in less than a day, and she felt as though she might shatter from it. Like a piece of metal stressed beyond bearing, or a stone with a hidden, fatal crack running through the center.
“I saw the notice,” Uncle Xavier said. “I couldn’t be sure it was you, Diana, though you look so very much like your mother. I had to discover more, and this office was listed as the contact for further information.”
“The notice?” Director Quinn asked.
Le made him a slight bow. “In the off chance that Miss Smythe was not, in fact, aboard the Valiant, I took the liberty of issuing a missing persons holo. It was broadcast widely.”
“Indeed.” The director nodded at his secretary. “A good though. And I suppose it worked out for the best, if Miss Smythe is now reunited with her family.”
“What became of you?” Uncle Xavier took her by the shoulders and scanned her face. “You were reported dead. There was a body, I attended the funeral of your whole family. And then I left Earth for several years.”
Diana shook her head. “I don’t know. During the accident, I was thrown free of the carriage, and woke up in an orphanage. I couldn’t remember anything for quite some time, and when I finally did, they didn’t believe me.”
She bit her lip, remembering the harsh laughter of the matron when Diana insisted she lived in a mansion in Mayfair. To prove the woman wrong, Diana had snuck out of the orphanage and made her way home.
But it was not her home any longer. The unfamiliar butler at the door had turned her away, saying a different family lived there now, and they didn’t condone beggars.
Bewildered, she’d gone around to the kitchens, only to find all new servants there. The cook had given her a few scraps and sent her on her way. There had been no one to turn to, no one who would recognize her, or accept her story as true.
Uncle Xavier frowned, carving deep grooves on either side of his mouth. “There were a number of orphans on the omnibus when it crashed. I suppose you might have been taken for one of them. Still, what a monumental travesty! I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am for all you’ve been through.”
That was hardly the worst of it. The ache of losing her family was a dim echo compared with the sharp, immediate pain of losing Derek. She glanced at him, memories crowding her mind of all the times they’d shared together.
I thought I loved you.
He regarded her silently, his blue eyes shadowed.
“What will you do now?” Tipper asked. “Does that mean you’re a toff, Di?”
Uncle Xavier’s expression eased. “If the young man means to ask about your social status, then yes, you are a young lady of the nobility. Your great-aunt is the Duchess of Penderly, after all. I’m sure she’d be delighted to take you in, as she’s lost so much of her family.”
“I… don’t know what to say.” Truly, Diana felt as though she stood on the edge of a precipice, winds whirling all about her, threatening to push her off into the cloud-filled void.
Would she fall, or would she fly? Her ability to sense the trajectory of her own choices had failed her, leaving her shaken and completely unsure.
“No need to decide just now,” her uncle said. “I know this must come as a bit of a shock to you.”
It was the gravest understatement. Diana felt as though her world would never turn perfectly on any axis, ever again.
Director Quinn looked at her. “I would like to remind you that you still have a position here at the spaceport, Diana. If you’d like to remain.”
“I don’t know.” Everything crowded in on her, the lines of chance and opportunity hopelessly tangled until she just wanted to find a dark corner, curl up into a ball, and weep.
Seeing the look on her face, Tipper jumped up and wrapped his arms about her shoulders.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “It will all come out right.”
“Well then.” Nails stepped forward. “As long as there’s no danger to Miss Smythe, I’ll be taking Officer Byrne away.”
No.
Diana trapped the word behind her teeth.
Slowly, Derek rose from his chair. He paused beside her, and she was torn between pummeling him for his betrayal, or giving him a soft, single kiss goodbye. Instead, she did neither, just stood there, trying not to give in to the sobs gathering in her throat.
“I wish you the happiest life imaginable,” Derek said, meeting her gaze. “You deserve nothing but the best. Goodbye, Diana.”
She gave him a tight nod. If she spoke, she would cry, and if she began to cry, she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to stop. Only Tipper’s arms, still tight about her shoulders, kept her from falling to pieces right there on Director Quinn’s plush carpet.
Spine straight, Derek turned away and let Nails lead him out of the conference room.
He did not look back.
30
Diana shot a glance at the stately old woman at her side as they preceded toward the crowded ballroom of yet another high-society soiree. Her great-aunt was garbed in an elegant emerald-green gown, with matching jewels at her neck, wrists, fingers, hair… With a sigh, Diana stopped herself from counting up the wealth of gems adorning the Duchess of Penderly.
Her own jewels were paltry in comparison, and she liked it that way. A small set of rubies at her throat and a single ring were quite sufficient, no matter how much her great-aunt might disapprove.
“Diana, you are a young lady of Quality now,” the duchess had said with a stern look. “It would behoove you to comport yourself accordingly.”
“I’m comfortable as I am,” she’d replied.
She was trying, truly, but it was difficult. Ever since arriving in London with Uncle Xavier a fortnight ago, she’d done her best to behave within the strict confines of proper society. But by all the stars, the nobs could be tiresome.
Of course, she was also desperately trying to distract herself from the might-have-beens that still fogged her thoughts. It had been too difficult, trying to return to her work at the spaceport. The cloudiness of her mind made it so that she could scarcely see the trajectories that had once been drawn, clear as lines of light, in the air before her.
“Don’t fret yourself over it,” Director Quinn had told her, his voice warm. “You’ve had a calamitous week. Take some time off, accept your uncle’s offer to go up to London. Perhaps that will help.”
Neither of them had mentioned Derek. He remained in jail, though the plot to bomb the spaceport had been foiled and key members of the INR rounded up. By removing herself from Southampton, Dian
a had also removed the temptation to visit him. Seeing him again would only wound them both.
The trial to determine his fate was fast approaching, though, and despite herself, her heart ticked down the days.
Unfortunately, pretending to be part of Society was not proving to be a sufficient distraction.
Balls and parties, teas and musicales… Compared to scrounging up a living as a streetrat, the lavish lifestyle of the Duchess of Penderly and her friends was nearly incomprehensible. When Diana had said as much to Uncle Xavier on one of his visits, he’d given her a curious look.
“Don’t you remember growing up in the nobility?” he’d asked. “I’d thought this would all be familiar to you. Like a fish returning to water, yes?”
It wasn’t though. Occasionally she’d have a dim, echoing sense of recognition, but mostly she felt as though she were trying to wear garments three sizes too small. The clothing of her childhood, which she had long since outgrown.
“Remember,” her great-aunt said as they reached the ballroom, “No dancing with the same partner more than twice in an evening. Once is preferable. You don’t want to play favorites, after all. At least, not yet.”
Diana let out a silent sigh. “Yes, Aunt.”
She’d tried to call the duchess “Your Grace,” as was customary for that title, but her great-aunt would have none of that. “Milady” was too subservient, and “great-aunt” too much of a mouthful. The question of the duchess’s given name was never raised, though Diana thought it might be Hortense.
So “Aunt” it was, despite the fact that three generations separated them.
“Her Grace, the Duchess of Penderly, and Lady Diana Smythe,” the butler announced as they stepped over the threshold into the brightly lit ballroom.
Unlike the People’s Cotillion Diana had gone to, the balls the duchess frequented in London were only attended by the highest orders of the nobility. Snobbery was as thick in the air as expensive perfume, and any social misstep Diana might make was duly noted and gossiped over.
That hadn’t seemed to keep a fair number of eligible men from paying attention to Diana, however; much to her great-aunt’s dry approval.
“You’re a catch,” the duchess said. “Despite your past, you’ve an excellent pedigree, not to mention being an heiress. Be sure to show some discernment about whom you will allow to court you.”
No one knew about her sordid past, of course. Uncle Xavier and the duchess had put about some vague story of Diana being sent to live with distant relatives after her family was killed in the carriage accident. They pretended that she’d only just come to London to be presented to Society.
And to find a proper spouse, which seemed to be the chief occupation of all the other young ladies she’d met so far, not to mention a goodly portion of the gentlemen.
“I’m not certain I want any of them to court me,” she replied.
From their vantage point at the edge of the room, Diana could pick out a number of fellows who had sought her out at the half-dozen social events the duchess had insisted she attend.
Unfortunately, they noted her presence as well, and quickly converged.
The sandy-haired gentleman whose eyes glazed over whenever Diana began to speak. The foppishly dressed lord who laughed too much. The arrogant baronet who reminded her rather too strongly of Lord Atkinson.
At least her kidnapper had been deported off planet. Sadly, not to a prison world, but instead to a “sanitarium planet” where convicted nobility were incarcerated for the rest of their lives. She hoped Lord Atkinson reaped all the rewards of his odious behavior.
The evidence of wealth was all around her, the men courtly to the point of foolishness, their manners polished even more brightly than their shoes, but it only served to make her feel out of place. She might look the part of a well-bred young lady, but under the silks and jewels, the layers of nano-lifted skirts and artfully arrayed hair, a part of her was still Diver, the streetrat.
And she didn’t mind—but she knew that the possible future husbands signing their names to her dance card would.
This was not the life she wanted. Pretending to be something she wasn’t, denying her past in the slums and the spaceport. As one of her would-be suitors whirled her precisely about the dance floor, the knowledge coalesced into a clear, hard conviction.
It was all she could do to endure the last waltz. Her partner was dark haired and blue eyed and made her think of Derek—not that painful thoughts of him were ever far from her mind. With a pang, she recalled the first waltz she’d ever danced, Derek holding her lightly in his arms as they twirled about the room, laughing together at their stumbles.
There was no laughter here, except the bright, forced kind. And stumbles of any sort were greatly frowned upon.
At the end of the dance, she managed a graceful enough curtsey, then fled back to her great-aunt.
“I’m ready to leave,” Diana said.
“Hmph.” The duchess peered at her, but seemed disinclined to argue. Perhaps she was also realizing that this experiment was at an end.
In the velvet-upholstered carriage, Diana laced her gloved fingers in her lap and gathered her courage.
“I’m sorry, Aunt,” she said, “but can’t stay in London any longer. I thank you, so very much, for taking me into your home and giving me all this…” She gestured to her gown and jewels, the coach, the bright gaslamps of Mayfair passing outside the windows.
“But it is not the life for you.” The duchess let out a weary sigh, her years suddenly showing more clearly upon her face. “I understand. I’d hoped that you could step into Society and take your place here, but clearly it’s not to be.”
Diana couldn’t tell if her great-aunt was being realistic or was, in fact, deeply disappointed. The old woman had spent decades keeping any trace of untoward emotion from her expression, and an acquaintance of only two weeks wasn’t long enough for Diana to decipher the look in her eyes.
“I am sorry.” Diana was, truly.
It had been a lovely little wisp of a dream while it lasted. But it had been the dream of a naïve young girl who knew nothing of the world except a sheltered corner of London Society.
The mist in her mind cleared further, and she drew in a deep breath of the night air.
“What will you do?” her great-aunt asked.
“I rather think… I’d like to become a star pilot.” The words surprised her, but even as Diana spoke them, she knew they were right.
“A star pilot. Well. How unusual.”
“There are women pilots,” Diana replied, a little hotly. Not a great number, of course, but some. “If you want to withdraw my inheritance—”
“Oh goodness, no.” The duchess waved her hand back and forth, as though swatting away an annoying insect. “You are still a Smythe, and entitled to a portion of the family fortune. It’s not as though there are that many others left to give it to. Xavier is terribly spoiled already, and has too much money of his own as it is. I’m sure you’ll put it to good use.”
“I will.” Diana knew that much, though the details were hazy.
A way to take streetrats to the stars. A school. She was beginning to see the possibilities, like constellations glimpsed through a scrim of night clouds. Before long, she trusted the wind would sweep the air clear and the patterns would, once again, burn brightly in her mind.
31
Di!” Tipper barreled into her as she stepped through the doorway of Number 54 Queensway Tower. “You came back!”
“I did.” She ruffled his hair, noting it was overdue for a wash, and smiled fondly at him. Some things never changed.
“You were away forever,” he said. “I thought I was doomed for a bachelor.”
“I was hardly gone more than a fortnight! And besides, you were invited to live with the duchess, too. Not my fault you turned down her hospitality.”
Tipper made a face. “London’s for nobs and flash folk. Southamptonport’s the place for me.”
The truth was, the boy had taken one look at the Duchess of Penderly’s grand town house, full of shiny knickknacks and rigid expectations, and demanded that Uncle Xavier take him right back to Southampton. He’d seen right away what it had taken Diana two weeks to discover—but then, Tip had always been a clever one.
“You’ve the right of it,” Diana said. “But I’m home now.”
“Just in time, too.” He hefted her valise and started hauling it back to her bedroom.
She paused in the kitchen and took an appreciative sniff. “Just in time for fresh scones?”
“Aye, that too.” He set her luggage down and bounded back to the kitchen. “But Derek’s hearing is tomorrow! It got moved up in the docket. I sent you a message.”
Thank heavens she’d decided to return sooner rather than later.
“We must have crossed paths outside of London.” She began unbuttoning her pelisse, trying to ignore the fact that her fingers were trembling. “How’s it looking for him?”
“Well enough. I don’t think he’s going for transportation, at any rate. Not after he fingered the INR lot. Special dispensation for cooperating with the law or suchlike.”
The tightness in her chest eased somewhat.
“That’s good news. Now, how about you butter me a scone while I go wash up?”
As she dried her face on a soft towel, Diana wondered why she hadn’t been called up as a witness. Derek had saved her life, after all. Wasn’t that worth something? Or had everyone assumed she’d gone off to live the grand life of a lady, and didn’t care one whit any more.
The fact of it was, she did care. A great deal.
Now that she was back, the Tipper-shaped hole in her heart was mended. Next to the question of Derek, missing Tip had been an ache she’d also tried to ignore as she’d attempted to fit herself back into the life of the nobility.
It had been a worthwhile, if failed, experiment, however. She’d come to that realization during the return trip to Southampton. If she’d never gone to London, a part of her would always have wondered if she belonged in the world of the gentry.