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Chapter 3: Lady Diana
The Knight's Revenge, May 1843
Diana tried to pry her eyes open but they were heavy and weighted down, feeling gritty and blurred by a film of fog.
Her head ached and it was relieving to actually give up on the unpleasant task and seal her lids once more.
In that wistful state between asleep and awake, her imagination took over and roamed her mind for new threads to spin.
It began its work and with a rush, the events of yesterday came crashing down on her with such force that she bolted upright in fright.
It had all happened, it wasn't a bad dream, it had been real. Instead of being safe and happy with her mother in the palace she was on a ship. Headed to a faraway country that she had no concrete knowledge of and to a family she hadn't known existed.
Swinging her legs over the side of the low bunk she looked about the room.
More of a closet really, it was only as long as her bunk and not much wider. There was a window of sorts at the end of the room directly across from the door and the brown wood of the ship was the only color to be seen besides the beige bedding. The only other item in the room was a trunk under the window. It was a far cry from the splendor and luxury that had surrounded her every day for the past 13 years.
13 years of lies… She thought bitterly, and then another memory came to mind. I am 15, not 16. An entire year of my life that I thought I had lived doesn't exist like it was stolen.
That summed up her feelings on the whole situation perfectly. Stolen, her life had been stolen from her. Once when she was a toddler and again now. Stolen and ridden with lies.
She found she didn't mind that last part as much as the fact that she was no longer allowed to live as if the lies were true.
She stood a bit unsteadily, feeling the boat move slightly beneath her feet. She wondered how long it would take to become used to walking on water.
Driven by curiosity she decided to open the trunk and look inside. After fiddling with the clasps and struggling a bit with the heavy lid she managed to uncover the contents and looked in disappointment at two small piles of clothing.
One stack was of various underclothes and in the other were three dresses that were almost identical to the one she had discarded the day before. They were of different colored wool and to her eyes appeared horrendously uncomfortable. On top of all these articles rested that awful body cage Laurel had squeezed her into, calling it a corset, that Diana had torn off yesterday.
Laurel!
So, the seamstress had made her a whole wardrobe for her journey.
They thought of everything.
She let the lid drop with a bang and stood.
Not wanting to think again of the Sultan's betrayal she turned to the door and threw it open. She stepped through and found herself in the captain's cabin.
"Hello? Anyone here?"
She entered and glanced about. The Captain didn't seem to be there so she began to investigate and try to discern what kind of man he was. Despite the trauma of the whole situation, she couldn't deny her overwhelming curiosity about him. He was the first Englishman she had ever met and would, therefore, be the standard by which she measured all the rest, whether for good or bad.
She crossed the floor swiftly, the sound of her bare feet tapping against the boards echoed through the space.
It was much larger than her hovel of a room; she found she resented him for that. As she looked through his belongings she found everything in impeccable order without as much as a hair out of place. The books on the shelf were arranged meticulously by height. The desk and table's surfaces were clear of any form of clutter, the rug was smoothed and placed directly beneath the table with great precision, and the bed was made with the skill and neatness of an army officer.
What a bore. She thought as she observed this sanctuary of order.
She gathered from the surroundings that he was a serious man who valued regularity and uniformity. He was neat and tidy and appeared to leave nothing to chance or laziness.
It was beginning to seem that he was a hollow drudge. She read the book titles in her uneasy English and found none of them very intriguing. They seemed to be works of science, philosophy, and language. She would have much-preferred novels or poetry to such drab volumes of learning.
She looked back over the desk trying to find something that would offer her a glimpse into this austere man's intimate character.
Her eyes grazed over various metal instruments all lined up superbly and a small stack of neatly arranged letters. She was sorely tempted to read those notes but didn't for fear that he would be able to tell if anything had been moved. For she knew she could never successfully replace them in such a restricted order.
At the end of the desk, she did find something however that grabbed her full attention.
There rested a small portrait in a silver frame. Curiosity unbridled, she picked it up in order to examine it closer.
The artist had been a master. The pair staring back at her through the frame looked so lifelike that she imagined she could see their breath gather on the glass.
It was a picture of a couple. They were dressed quite oddly in her opinion but she fancied it was the normal fashion for the English. The man was walking beside the woman, leading her gently by the arm and looking back at her with loving eyes. He was much taller than she, with dark hair and a mustache. He wore a suit jacket of green and trousers of white. At his neck was tied an elaborate bow that was also white. The woman looked directly out of the portrait with a gentle smile on her pink lips. Her hair was a much lighter brown with streaks of gold. Her gown gathered under her bust and hung straight with little-puffed sleeves, it was of a powdery blue edged with silver. From the bottom of her skirt peaked out a small white slipper.
They looked happy and in love. Diana lost herself in thought imagining who they were and what they were like.
Just then the sound of steadily nearing footsteps reached her ears.
Quickly she replaced the picture and raced to the table; just managing to sit down as the lock turned in the door. Hurriedly she arranged her features into a mirror of picturesque sinlessness; just in time to greet the large man who entered holding a silver tray.
Bruce raised an eyebrow at the sight of the calm young lady in his cabin. Sitting serenely at the table with her hands folded elegantly in her lap and an innocent smile on her pretty face.
He walked forward, placing the tray before her on the table. Never breaking eye contact, and keeping his face in its normal stern, firm, setting he moved past her to the desk and slightly adjusted the frame a quarter of an inch.
Her tranquil exterior melted away as she crossed her arms and slouched, a contemptuous scowl marring her countenance.
So, not only was he stiff as a board and neat as a pin she concluded that he was also, unfortunately, as observant as a money lender during collection.
He walked back to the table and greeted her with a small bow. Not nearly as deep as the one yesterday she noted with offense. She had already forgotten the change in her status and was unaware of the fact that this was a normal greeting of pleasant people in England and that he was trying to accustom her to its practice.
"Good morning Diana."
She did not so much as a nod in his direction, but that name stuck in her throat like a stone. Instead, she raised her chin into the air with defiant pride and stared regally at the wall past his head.
Seemingly undisturbed by her rudeness he took his place at the table and began to uncover the various dishes on the tray.
The smell of sausages wafted to her nose as the steam rose from the plates, making her stomach growl in response.
He eyed her amusedly and set a large portion of the food in front of her and then commenced to enjoy his breakfast.
She was angry that this undeserving foreigner hadn't taken notice of her martyred refusal of food, but it did smell tempting, and she was starving!
She hadn't eaten since the morning before and now she was so ravenous that even this bland fair of what she assumed was typical English cuisine looked appealing.
Her resolve crumbling, she began to eat with gusto, shoveling food into her mouth with impressive speed.
She completely ignored the silverware, not understanding its purpose and not caring to discover it.
Bruce was knowledgeable of this foreign practice of eating with one's hands so the sight of it wasn't shocking. In fact, he was impressed at how immaculately clean she was able to keep herself during the process. But it did bring to mind the massive amount of work they had to do to get her ready to meet her family. He knew they would be happy to see her in any state but Diana would feel uncomfortable and out of her element enough already without having to worry about her table manners.
For now, though he decided to let her enjoy her meal in peace.
Diana devoured the last of the biscuits that she felt personally were hard enough to be used as projectiles and began to look around for a way to clean her hands. To her surprise, she saw that there were no finger bowls but instead, a piece of white cloth folded neatly on the table. Supposing it was better than nothing she vigorously wiped her fingers on the napkin but did not feel that her hands were sufficiently clean.
Looking across the table she noticed that the Captain was still eating his food and felt slightly embarrassed at being the first one finished.
They sat in silence for a time before she broke it with a most interesting yet unexpected question.
"Are you my father's servant?"
Bruce quickly swallowed his food and wiped his hands on the napkin; sensing that the meal was at an end, and answered her question, and prepared for many more.
"No."
He was prepared to explain the whole situation to her entirely but before he got a chance she blurted out the second inquiry, that was much more worrisome than the first.
"Are you his son then?"
Bruce looked at her in surprise, trying to recall anything that could have led her to believe he could be her brother.
"No, Diana, we have different surnames."
"What was your name again?"
"My name is Bruce Wayne, and yours is Diana Princeton. So, you understand I am not your brother?"
The teenager waved his statement away with nonchalant wisdom.
"Of course, I understand that you can't be my full brother. But perhaps are you his illegitimate son?"
She felt no embarrassment with this statement but only a slight annoyance at his ignorance of the meaning of her question, she just wanted to understand who he was.
Bruce, however, was shocked at her bluntness, ladies simply did not speak with such frankness.
"No, I am not an illegitimate son."
Diana's brow knitted in frustration as her agitation and uncertainty grew.
"Then who are you?"
"I am…"
She stood with a jerk knocking over the chair, her face was angry and the confusion she was feeling radiated of her person like heat.
"What are you doing here? Why hasn't my father come for me? You said he wanted me back why isn't he here?"
"Diana please if you would just calm down and listen…"
"NO! I don't know you nor can I trust you, we are not family!"
"In a way we are."
She stopped at that, interest replacing anger.
"We are? How?"
"Well not you and I directly, but your cousins are married to my distant cousins. Also, our families have always been close."
Confusion was back.
"But why are you here? Why didn't my father come for me?"
Bruce sighed, this wasn't how he had wanted this conversation to begin.
Maneuvering his large frame through the confined space with surprising grace he managed to set her fallen chair back to rights.
"Diana, please, sit down."
His voice was so kind and gentle that she felt herself being put at ease. He had such a soothing voice, deep and rich.
She sat down whilst he pushed in her chair for her. Walking slowly back to the other side of the table he took his seat once more. He was so tall that Diana noted that there were only a few inches between the top of his head and the room's low ceiling when he stood at his full height.
He clasped his hands in front of him on the polished table and stared at his fingers intently. Then he raised his piercing blue eyes to hers.
"Diana, your father is dead."
She tilted her head quizzically to the side as she pursed her lips in thought.
"He died five years ago, the doctors said it was his heart."
She didn't seem sad, but then Bruce reminded himself that she had no memory of the man and until just yesterday had absolutely no idea of his existence at all.
"But, you said I had a family in England. They want me back, that's what you said…if he's dead, who wants me?"
To reassure her he took her hand in his. This gesture was completely out of character for him but with all his reserved ways and steely demeanor, Bruce Wayne hated to see any living thing suffer. She, of course, had no knowledge of the significance of this gesture but was only aware that for the second time in her life a man was touching her.
"Diana you do have a family, a large family, and they want you with them more than anything."
"Who?"
"Your mother had two sisters. An older half-sister Mary, and a younger full-sister Martha. You are going to live with your Aunt Martha."
He retrieved a roll of parchment from the desk and handed it to her.
"This will help explain things, your Aunt Mary made it for you."
He helped her unroll the paper and hold down the edges. Mary had made an entire family tree for Diana to study. It looked quite detailed to Diana's eyes but she would have been surprised to learn of the massive amount of personal restraint Mary had to employ to keep from adding any unnecessary relatives that might hinder Diana's learning of those who were now going to be a part of her life.
Diana eagerly studied the ink lines and names, intensely curious about the people she saw written there, trying to imagine what they looked like, what they were like.
Bruce began to point to various characters and offer details to her mental depictions.
"Here is your grandmother, Diana Lennox, you were named after her."
She looked at the name in wonder. Suddenly her name became special in her mind and the distaste she had held for it began to disappear.
"And here is her first husband Charles Chatsworth, Earl of Rothsburg. He was your Aunt Mary's father."
Diana nodded her head intently following his finger with her eyes as it moved along the lines.
"Now, Mary wed Captain Benjamin Lance and they have one daughter, your cousin, Dinah. She's 21. She married my 3rd cousin once removed, Oliver Queen, Marquess of Rolland. He is the heir to a Dukedom which means one day Dinah will be a Duchess."
That meant nothing to her and she wished he would stop slowing down the explanations with unimportant details.
"Who's that?"
"That is your grandfather, Edward Lennox, Viscount of Cheswick. He and your grandmother had two daughters, first your mother, Hippolyta, here, and your Aunt Martha, here."
"Are these her children?" Diana asked eagerly.
"Yes, Martha married Jonathan Kent, Earl of Lonworth, and they had two children your cousins Clark, who is 24, and Caroline who is 9, but among the family, she is called Kara."
"Why were there no children between them? Did my aunt not want more children?"
"No, your aunt loves children, she and your uncle did, in fact, have several other children but none of them survived infancy."
"Why did none of my relations come with you?"
"When I left your Uncle Jonathan was seriously ill and Clark had to stay behind to help his mother care for him. I received word several weeks ago that he had died. I penciled in the date."
"So, she is a widow now."
"Yes, Martha is now the Dowager Countess of Lonworth. Your cousin Clark assumed the title of Earl upon his father's death and his wife Lois is now the Countess. Lois is actually my 3rd cousin and Oliver's 3rd cousin once removed."
"It is the same in Dagra. For the crown prince to inherit the sultan must first die. I find that sad, it must put significant strain on a relationship to know that your heir is only waiting for your death."
"I can assure you, Diana, that no amount of wealth or titles could make up for your cousin's loss of a father, and I know that he would gladly trade it all to see him again."
Bruce's voice had turned stern and she felt bad. She hadn't meant to imply that this cousin of hers was without feeling she was just trying to find comparisons between a way of life she understood and one that was unfamiliar. Wanting to change the subject Diana pointed to another name on the list.
"Who is this?"
"This is your father's side of the family. As you can see you are the only daughter, of an only son, of an only son."
"Clark's father is dead so now he is an Earl and my father was a Duke and now he is dead so I am a Duke, yes?"
"I am afraid not. In England, the eldest son inherits the title."
"But he did not have a son, see?"
She pointed to the paper as if all of this information was new to him too.
Putting a perfectly manicured nail down pointedly she made her case.
"No sons just one daughter. So that makes me a Duke."
Bruce felt the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile as she raised her chin proudly and looked at the paper approvingly, confident in her own correctness.
"I am sorry but no. You have a title, as the daughter of a Duke you are a Lady, but your father's title has passed on to his closest male relative."
Diana's eyebrows swooped down like two black wings. Clearly, she did not think much of this idea of male priority, though it was a concept she was all too familiar with. But she had hoped things might be different in England.
"And who might that be?" She commanded a bit sharply.
With all good grace, Bruce showed her the offending persons on the parchment. She looked at the name with a critical eye. As if she could judge his character from the name and decide if he was indeed a worthy heir to the title that had passed her by.
"Elliot Hale, your 3rd cousin once removed."
"Only 23, a bit young to be a Duke then."
Bruce didn't point out that only moments before she had felt more than ready for the role at the hardly ancient age of 15.
"He's a good deal older than I when I came into my inheritance." He said, more to himself than her.
"And how old was that?"
He didn't even pretend to have heard her but simply continued on.
"You can see here that your father has three first cousins on your grandmother's side. They are the children of your great-aunt Adelaide. There are the Twins Artemis and Alexandra Troy, both 69, and their younger brother Philip, 51, the family calls him Zeus. He is an officer of her majesty's navy and has two daughters, Donna 10, and Cassandra 7."
"Did the Twins not marry?"
"No, they are the family's official maiden aunts. They don't care for men much, their brother included but his existence they at least suffer because he is family."
She had become quiet again listening half-heartedly as he continued his explanations like a professor in a schoolroom.
"That concludes the living relatives, but if you are interested I can tell you about your Grandmother Diana's Greek relations—"
"Enough!"
He had thought they were making headway. Thought she might be enjoying learning her genealogy.
But one look at her face showed every emotion within her. A torrent mixture too complex to describe.
"You wanted to know who was waiting for you. You can see for yourself. You have a large family anticipating your return."
"I had a family…I had my mother's love, my sister's affections, friends, servants, and more relations then written on that stupid piece of paper! I was happy!"
Her accent thickened with each word. With her desire to revert back to her old life.
"And now that's all taken away from me. I am going to people I don't know. A culture I don't understand. Forcing me to leave behind all those I love, and a way of life I belong too. And you expect me to be happy about it!"
The air was stale with her hatred.
Slowly he rolled up the parchment and placed it back in its assigned place.
Then he looked at her. He looked at her for a long time. When he spoke it was with serious, and dutiful frankness.
"No Diana, I do not expect you to be happy about it. But I do expect you to resign yourself to your future."
She turned large eyes toward him and set her face into childlike resistance while a tear rolled down her cheek.
"No…I do not want to go to your country."
He nodded his head.
"I know. But, you are going, and you had better prepare yourself. Nothing good comes from fighting the inevitable."
