"Good evening, Lady Diana."
Diana merely nodded at the butler, who in turn bowed and called for a maid to come and attend to the ladies. The girl scurried forward and Diana worked mechanically, shedding her outerwear and immediately climbing the stairs towards her own room. Her mother made a noise of disapproval as she was left behind, but Diana ignored her, as she had been ignoring her since they left Fitzwilliam manor. Her head was pounding, and she gave a short order to be not be disturbed and a tray sent up to her, and then she was finally alone.
Diana sank to the ground slowly, her back against the closed door. She didn't even bother to take off her shoes or undo her hair. She merely buried her face into her hands and began sobbing uncontrollably. Had she cried this much when her husband, a good man with a wonderful temper and eyes full of love for her, had died? She knew she hadn't. She was still in mourning to atone for that sin, since she did not feel the grief she knew any woman with feeling would have experienced at the death of such an excellent companion. Charles had been everything her mother had wanted for her, and yet Diana had never been able to even tell him that she loved him.
Her disregard for his money and titles had shown him that she certainly did not care that he was rich, and yet affection was not what had led her to accept him. Circumstances had very soon made him realize that his young wife was more heartbroken than she would let on, but he had never questioned her, had never even pushed her to confess feelings he knew she did not have. Eight years had passed comfortably, and Diana had resigned herself to a life of contentment. Her last chance at happiness had sailed away the day before she formally met Charles, and she had known he would not come back. And now, she knew why he had not.
Diana had always considered herself to be a forgiving person, and yet, as her thoughts drifted to that day, she knew she could never forgive her mother for what she had done.
!
They were sitting in the formal parlour, her mother's room of choice. Mina was busy answering a letter from Alexandra Fitzwilliam and Diana quietly reading a book. Once the letter was done, Mina dropped her pen and started speaking, her voice quiet.
"Richard is in England these days, you know," Diana winced and looked up slowly, unwilling to revisit a topic that still caused her as much pain as it had eight years ago. She had met Alexandra Fitzwilliam and her husband plenty of times since her marriage, had visited her daughter-in-law and formed a friendship with her, and yet the person she dreaded seeing was always overseas. Despite the look on her face, her mother continued. "He was barely twenty and the second son of an earl, and you were seventeen and a known beauty. You could have had any man you wanted, but you had always been too caught up with him to give anyone else the attention they deserved."
"Mother, please," Diana closed her book and rested her forehead against her hand. "Eight years is not nearly long enough, and I do not wish to speak of this."
"You never stopped caring for him, did you?" Mina sounded pained. "Your husband was an excellent man, yet you never looked at him the way I saw you look at Richard."
"My husband, God rest his soul, deserved more love than I could give him," said Diana quietly. "I don't see why you have brought this up now, mother. Richard left me all those years ago."
"Richard came to ask for your hand the morning his ship sailed."
Diana froze. Her heart stopped for a second, then it began beating again faster than it had beaten in years. She could feel the blood rush through her veins, her ears were burning and her eyes were misting over. She was suddenly in so much pain that she doubted she could continue sitting. Richard had asked for her? She recalled vividly the day he had proposed, her blind happiness, his promise to go see her mother immediately, her reassurance that she would understand… Blindly, she stood up and turned towards the door, unwilling to hear more and yet dying to know what her mother was going to say. She collapsed into her chair seconds after standing, her head spinning with a ferocity she had never experienced before. A cool hand touched her forehead, and she saw the concerned face of her mother looking down at her. Her expression told Diana everything she needed to know.
"You refused," she choked out. Mrs. Harris looked away. Diana let out a sound that was between a moan and a wail and buried her face into her hands, the tears falling freely now.
"I told him the truth," Mina's voice was strong, but she had backed away now and was sitting in her own chair, as always uncomfortable with her daughter's emotions. "You were meant for greater things than the wife of a soldier or, heaven forbid, a clergyman. Richard knew this, and when I had explained to him that love was not enough, he saw things my way. You would never have been happy with him, Diana."
"I loved him," whispered Diana, shaking her head at her mother's words. They hadn't surprised her, not after she had seen her harass Charles' lawyers mere hours after his death to find out how much was left for his wife. Her mother was relentless and ambitious, but Diana had never thought her cruel. "Richard was the only man I could ever love, mother. I would have been a beggar on the streets with him."
"You don't mean that," snapped Mina. "You were always too dramatic."
"I do mean it!" insisted Diana. She sat up in her chair and ignored the throbbing in her head. "We both know I married Charles to spite Richard, because I thought he didn't love me and he had left me, and you let me think that! It was horribly unfair to Charles, mother."
"Be that as it may, it was done," said her mother briskly. She returned to her embroidery. "Alexandra has invited us to dine with her. Darcy is engaged, and she would like to introduce you to her. Richard will not be there, when she last wrote he was in Kent. He's supposed to make a match with his cousin, you know."
Diana snorted, momentarily forgetting her pain at the thought. "Lady Catherine's daughter? The poor girl was meant for Darcy, was she not?"
"Richard could do worse."
"Richard can do better," Diana stood up, her anger melting into heartache. "I will take a tray in my room. I do not want to go to this dinner, you may go and make my excuses. I am in mourning, mother."
"We have always accepted the Fitzwilliams as family, do not forget the service Lord Fitzwilliam did us when we came to London without a penny to our names," snapped her mother. "You will go to this dinner because you owe them your presence and your help. London society will not discredit you or your name for visiting the home of my closest friend."
Diana closed her eyes and ran a hand over her face wearily. "I will think about it," she said finally. Biting her lip, she slowly headed towards the door.
"I didn't mean to hurt you, you know," her mother's voice was so soft that Diana froze her in her tracks, her hand resting on the door handle. "I knew you could do better, and I was right. I did not know you cared for him so much."
Diana sighed and left the room.
!
Her mother had had her way in the end, and Diana had dressed up and packed a bag and gone to Fitzwilliam manor, her heart in her throat because she knew he would be there. Did he remember her? It was a question that had haunted her since the day he left: had he left because he did not want to marry her? Had she misunderstood his proposal? Misread his preference for her? No, she knew Richard Fitzwilliam. He had loved her and he had asked her to marry him, and he had taken the miniature as good luck, kissing it reverently in a way that had made Diana want to ask for a kiss as well, but she had not. She had merely smiled and blushed and almost cried with joy, her heart so full of happiness that she doubted she would ever be that happy again.
She had been right.
She had been worried, at first, that he would be angry at her when they met. She knew he had gone to protect her, to spare her feelings. Perhaps it should irk her that he had not even explained himself, but Diana knew that Richard knew her, really knew her. She would not have let him go, not without a fight and a possible scandal. His quiet departure had broken her heart, and Diana had never been able to trust again, but she could not blame him.
His expression when he had seen her had said it all. He was shocked, but not unhappy. Diana couldn't understand whether she was unhappy or happy. She had had a constant headache since her mother's confession, and even now she merely leaned her head back against the door and closed her eyes, praying that sleep would take her so she no longer had to think of Richard Fitzwilliam's eyes as they followed her across the room.
Bit of a filler chapter so I'll be uploading another one this weekend to make up for it. Do let me know what you think, and I'm so glad you're all enjoying the story! :) xx