A/N: I realise some of the dialogue in this chapter may seem jingoistic and inflammatory. It may also seem very OOC. Please rest assured this does not reflect my personal views, and it will be explained later in the story. Don't let it put you off.

Chapter Five - Letters

"Thank you," Diana said, as soon as they were away from those vitriolic women.

"I hate to see a lady in distress, Miss Prince."

"I can take care of myself."

"I do not doubt it. But cruelty is unnecessary from whatever angle it comes from. And for it to come for the amusement of others is repugnant and inexcusable."

She nodded. "Your ward seems very patriotic."

"He is. I think if it were not his only chance for a good home and a good education then he would not have consented to come to England at all."

"His family?"

"Dead, all of them murdered."

"Murdered?" she repeated, shocked.

"It is not as uncommon in America as it is here. There is more lawlessness, fewer honest men."

"You speak harshly for someone whose mother was American."

"I have first-hand knowledge of it," he answered briefly. "My parents trusted the American government. They were murdered because of that."

Ah, so that was what he had meant when he had expressed his sympathy earlier. "I am sorry."

He nodded, then paused, though his feet did not. He was an excellent dancer, she suddenly realised; they had not missed a single step. Dancing was thankfully one of the feminine arts that Diana was more than competent in. Finally he spoke again. "Whatever you hear, Miss Prince…"

"Yes?"

"Forgive me—whatever you hear said about your father, whatever he is accused of, you must never believe any of it. Hector was incapable of betraying his country. I have no evidence," he added, seeing where her thoughts might take her, "else of course I would have presented it at court."

"I see. Then what do you have?"

"Suspicion."

"Suspicion of whom?"

"Men who have neither names nor faces."

Well that was an impossible answer, so Diana narrowed her eyes, looking into his for signs of jest or anything more sinister. There was nothing; he appeared to be entirely serious. Or else entirely mad. Diana frowned a little more. They were silent for another moment or two, following the steps of the dance while Diana's mind worked furiously. Finally she decided to ask the blunt question. "What exactly do you do, Mr Wayne?"

He frowned in apparent puzzlement. "I thought I had explained, Miss Prince. I am an import merchant, specialising in goods from-"

"-the Far East, I know. But what do you actually do?"

She had left it too late; with the music fading now, he only took her hand, kissed the back of it, bowed and then excused himself. He was gone before a protest had formed on her lips. When she went to look for him again, neither he nor his ward were anywhere to be found. Donna, when she found her, told her that Mr Greyson had left her some minutes earlier, though she did not seem too distraught about that, considering how well they had been getting on.

She went then to talk to the bride and groom, who while they had been dancing every set so far, had been obliged to take a short break. "I think my feet may be bleeding," Lois said to Diana when she saw her, though that did not make the broad smile on her face disappear.

"But you are still having a good time?"

"Oh, the best of times," she beamed.

"I expect you'll be departing soon for Scotland, Mr Kent?"

"Soon enough," he nodded. "But first I must persuade my wife to quit the dancing. Not an easy task, I fear."

"No," she smiled. "How long will you be gone?"

"Around two months I should think. If we went for any shorter a time it would hardly be worth going at all, since it will take a week or even perhaps two to get to Edinburgh."

"And Mr Wayne is happy for you to take such a long leave of absence? I was dancing with him a few moments ago," she said in explanation. "He must be a remarkable employer."

"Actually it was Mr White who gave me the time off. He's the editor of the paper."

"I see."

"Mr Wayne is the owner though."

"Yes, I met him over dinner. He was kind enough to…rescue me from some rather unpleasant acquaintances," she said. "You've not seen him have you? He vanished after the dance and there was something I wanted to discuss with him."

Clark smiled with a little shrug. "He does have that habit."

"Do you not find it frustrating?"

"I have found it is something one must become accustomed to, or else be driven made by it."

She laughed. "I see."

They were approached by a blonde man and woman, both of whom Clark greeted warmly before turning to his wife. "Lois, I don't think you've been formally introduced: this is Mr Oliver Queen, head of Queen Industries, and his wife Mrs Dinah Queen."

The Queens bowed and curtseyed respectively. "Wonderful to make your acquaintance, Mrs and Mrs Queen."

"Likewise. Congratulations, Mrs Kent. The ceremony was beautiful, and this evening has been most enjoyable."

"Thank you." She gestured to Diana. "This is my friend, Miss Diana Prince."

Neither of them batted an eyelid at her surname, instead smiling in a friendly fashion. "Miss Prince."

"Mr Queen. Mrs Queen. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"As it is you. Have you enjoyed the dancing?"

"Yes, I always do. It is one art I can reasonably judge myself to be competent in."

"I cannot believe that," Dinah smiled. "No one is that graceful on the dancefloor and nowhere else."

"Thank you, Mrs Queen, but you've not seen me do anything but dance. I should wait until you see me draw or sing before you make a judgment on my grace. Or lack, thereof."

They laughed, and Dinah asked, "So where are you from, Miss Prince?" Diana blinked in surprise, and reading the expression, a concerned look appeared on the blonde Mrs Queen's face. "Are you alright, Miss Prince?"

"Fine, thank you, it's just… Forgive me, I find it odd now to think that anyone in society does not now know of my family. My father was executed for treason a few weeks ago."

Dinah's jaw dropped. "I am so sorry, Miss Prince. How terribly rude of me. I apologise, Oliver and I have been in India for more than two years now. He is the heavily invested in the industry over there."

"Ah, I see."

"I can't apologise enough for-"

"Please, Mrs Queen, think nothing of it," Diana assured. "What about you? Where are you from originally?"

"I was born in Portsmouth, and met Oliver in London three years ago. We married and when our work took us to India, we moved to Delhi."

Diana made a note of that. Our work, not his. My, my, she though. This wedding seems to be full of enlightened young women. Not that she had a problem with that; indeed, she enjoyed their society more than she did any other.

"Where do you reside, Miss Prince?"

"At Dashwood Cottage, a few miles from here, with my sister, Donna. I have another sister too, Cassandra, who is at school."

"Ah, well in that case," Oliver exclaimed, who had been listening, "allow us to take you and your sister home. It is on our way after all."

"That is very kind, Mr Queen, but-"

"I will brook no refusal, Miss Prince. Please accept it as the gift of kindness from a stranger."

Diana, obliged to accept, nodded. "Thank you. I will go and fetch my sister."

She did so, finding Donna dancing. She did not seem too disappointed to be pulled away from her partner though, and came quite willingly. 'Donna, you've not seen Mr Wayne anywhere have you?" Diana asked quickly.

"No, I haven't. Why?" she asked curiously.

"No particular reason," she answered quickly, feeling uncomfortable under her sister's beady and slightly amused gaze, for no reason she could name. "We were just discussing something interesting, that's all."

Donna nodded, and Diana frowned once her sister's attention had moved on. She looked quickly through the crowd, but could not find the face she was looking for. The intriguing Mr Wayne had completely disappeared.

A week after the Kents' wedding, Donna and Diana both received letters. Diana's was from Lois, sent from an inn in Sheffield.

Dear Diana,

I hope this finds you well, my friend, and that your sisters are also in good health. This will not be a long message, as I am writing primarily to send you the address of the apartments we are staying at in Edinburgh, so that you may reach me there. I have enclosed it at the bottom. For the present we have stopped at an inn in Sheffield for a few days, so that the horses may have a proper rest. I am, of course, as ever, impatient to be underway, but Clark tells me not even I can alter time, no matter how much I try! It is still so strange to see my luggage marked as 'Mrs L Kent'—she still feels like a stranger to me, another woman who is only newborn. I'm not quite at home in my new skin. I see your face as you read that, and no doubt it is laughing—

—Diana was grinning—

—but please do not misunderstand me. I am still myself, and that shall never change. It would take more than marriage, you know that. And you mustn't fear that Clark is trying to change me; he never would. He loves me as much as I love him, and to me he is the most perfect being. And now I insist you burn this letter immediately after reading it, because my blush would already put most strawberries to shame!

We set off for Scotland tomorrow, and I am reading about the various attractions awaiting us there. I hope to convince Clark to take an excursion to the coast whilst we are there, as well as touring the castle, museums and taking in the sights. I feel very excited now, and can hardly wait to be there and take it all in.

Before I sign off, I must ask you a favour. Clark has naturally been writing to his mother often, and while she insists she is well, not lonely and without need of aid around the farm, he is convinced that she would not tell him if something were really wrong. I am sure you know the reasons this might be; she does not wish to worry us, and she does not wish to potentially spoil our enjoyment of the honeymoon. He asks if you might find time to see to her or write to her, simply to either confirm or deny his fears. If confirmed, then please do not feel you need to intercede on our behalf—simply tell us and we will come back down to England as soon as possible. That is all.

With that, I must leave, since it is late and the bed is calling. Another thing I look forward to talking to you about, though I do not think even I dare put it on paper. You would not believe how pleasurable being married can be…

That is all for now!

Your devoted friend,

Lois.

Diana folded up the letter with a blush staining her cheeks. She had never experienced what Lois had alluded to, but she knew enough—in theory—to guess at her meaning. Her mother had never approved of the custom of keeping daughters in the dark about anything they might one day need to know. As a result, Diana knew full-well what her wedding night (not that there was ever to be one now) would hold, and she thought Donna did too. Cassandra, of course, was too young yet, and it was not a conversation Diana was looking forward to. Especially since she would hardly be able to answer any of her questions to a degree of satisfaction.

And on the subject of questions without answers, Donna had also received a letter this morning. It seemed to be expected, since she took it from Etta with an eager smile. She had given only vague replies to her sister's enquiries—an old friend from school, apparently, whom she had been writing to for several months. As far as Diana's memory knew, few of Donna's friends still communicated with her since Father's execution. Besides, the handwriting on the front of the envelope had not been feminine. It was decidedly masculine; bold and strong. Added to which, Donna had not stayed in the parlour with her sister to read the letter, and nor had she discussed it afterward. It had been enough for Diana's suspicions to be piqued, and the letters had continued. While she corresponded with Lois and Martha Kent regularly, Donna received and issued a series of letters, all to the same person, and none of which she allowed her sister to see. It had occurred to Diana a number of times that a simple search of Donna's room would reveal the hiding place of the letters, but it had equally not occurred to her to actually do it. She could not abuse her sister's trust like that. Whomever Donna wrote to was her business. Diana would have to trust that she knew what she was doing. And that for once, head would overrule heart.

For now, she was fairly certain that she knew who it was from. She wanted to be happy for her sister, she really did, but it was difficult. Dick Greyson had seemed a lovely young man, and he and Donna had gotten on very well… But the fact remained was that they would not be able to marry, if friendship turned to romance. Bruce Wayne had seemed very pleasant, and certainly very courteous, but he was the richest man in England. Diana seriously doubted he would allow his sole heir to marry a woman as poor in fortune and standing as Donna.

Only how to break it to her sister?

A/N: Review please!