Chapter Seventeen
It was in the mid-afternoon when they finally had news of the couple who had brought Diana into the house. Diana had calculated a long time ago the time it might take for Dick Grayson and her sister to cross the Atlantic Ocean, and then for a letter to cross it back again. She had therefore been on tenterhooks for the last week, so when Alfred entered with a letter for Bruce, she looked up, alert.
Alfred held out the letter to Bruce. "It is from Master Dick, sir."
Bruce snatched it from his butler's hand and tore open the seal, scanning through it at a rapid speed. Diana curled her fingers in her skirt in an effort to stop herself from reaching for the letter too. Mr Wayne did not keep her in suspense for long.
"Your sister is safe."
Part of Diana wanted to sink in a chair in relief, but something stopped her. "But?"
"They are in New York. And they are married."
This time, her knees did fail her. Once sitting down, she put her head in her hands, in a vain effort to ward off the impending shame and humiliation. She had wanted it, hoped for it—as it was the only way to stop utter disgrace—but still… "I am so sorry," she said.
"Sorry?" he repeated.
She looked up, meeting his unreadable gaze and speaking as earnestly as she was able. "I warned her to be measured in her conduct, not to believe so recklessly that-"
"You've said before she loves him. Do you hold to that? Does she truly love him?"
"Yes," Diana sighed. "Deeply. She is simply too young and headstrong to have considered anything else."
The man facing her frowned. "What else ought she have considered?"
Diana's eyes widened. Did he really intend to force her to list all the reasons her sister should not have been happy, all the reasons Donna was about to be consigned to poverty? "Surely, Mr Wayne, you know as well as I the obstacles that would normally prevent such a match! That should have prevented it!"
He sat down beside her. "No, Miss Prince. I am not certain I do."
Diana let out a noise somewhere between a derisive laugh and an incredulous sob. She leapt to her feet, the agitation inside her too great to allow further immobility. "But you cannot be ignorant of them! Your great fortune, and consequently Dick's, our lack of fortune, of anything approaching one—their youth; our rank alone would an impossibility! You are a royal advisor, a great industrialist, and we are the disgraced female offspring of a traitor! They could not have been less compatible if we lived on the Moon!"
Bruce stood, physically putting himself in Diana's way. He took her hand, the touch alone enough to stop her legs. Her rising hysteria, he stemmed with a small glass of port-wine, which he wrapped her fingers around. She swallowed it quickly, and once she had, Bruce led her back to the couch without a word, or letting go of her hand.
After a few moments of silence, Diana spoke again. "I apologise. I am not usually so…female about these things."
"It is a shock for anyone to bear, male or female," Bruce said gently. "And I suspect you have been very frustrated for a very long time, Miss Prince. All emotion needs an outlet."
Diana's mouth curled upwards into a smile. "Mr Wayne, if you do not mind me saying, that is a very…American attitude. It's highly inappropriate to even be here at all—even more so for me to be weeping before you."
"But you are not weeping," he said softly. "Now, to the original issue: Donna and Dick."
Diana's smile vanished as soon as it came.
"You say your sister loves my son; I know the feeling is reciprocated. Love, in my experience, is all that is needed for youthful felicity."
There it was, Diana thought. There was the excuse he would give for cutting Dick off completely, for reducing them both to destitution-
"However, I am not so naïve as to believe that they can exist on love alone. I will write to my banker directly and increase Dick's allowance, so that they may be more comfortable when youth has abandoned them even when felicity has not."
Diana blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
He smiled. "I believe you heard me, Diana."
"But…"
He quirked an eyebrow. "But?"
She shook her head. "You intend to increase his allowance—make it bigger?"
"You would prefer I did not?"
"No, no, I- Forgive me, Mr Wayne, I am flabbergasted. Most men in your position…"
"Did you think I was most men?"
She considered him. "No. I never have."
"Good."
"I… Thank you, Mr Wayne. Bruce. I—my whole family—are more in your debt than we could ever hope to repay."
The naked gratitude and warmth in her voice seemed to unnerve him a little, as he cleared his throat and said, "Think nothing of it, please. Happiness is so rare, and true love rarer still, in today's world. Too many matches are made for riches, or rank or convenience."
"I agree."
He smiled again, some of the easiness restored to his manner. "There is an address, if you would like to write to your sister."
Diana took the letter from him. "Thank you. I have no idea what I will say to her, at the moment at least. I think I had better contact my younger sister first," she said.
"Cassandra?"
"Yes. She knows almost nothing of this; I did not want to worry her. She is only fourteen."
"That seems so young. It did not when I was fourteen, I seem to remember."
"No, nor I," Diana agreed. "Yet so much has happened since then."
He nodded, then stood. "I will write to Dick now."
Diana left the couch to sit at the desk by the window, picking up the pen and ink she found there and putting the nib to paper. She hardly knew how to begin, and it was a struggle to get any words out, still fewer that made any sense. Finally though, she managed to form a coherent letter to Cassandra. As she had finished and was sealing it, Alfred came in.
"Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss Prince. I was just coming to stoke the fire."
"Please, don't stop on my account."
He nodded, and bustled around the room going about his duties. As he finished, he approached her. "Is that for the post, Miss Prince?"
"Yes, for my youngest sister. The two-penny, I think."
"Would you like me to place with the rest of Mr Wayne's correspondence?"
"Oh, thank you, Alfred."
That done, she returned her attention to the preparations for the ball. Organising balls was not an unfamiliar task for Diana; far from it. Upon her mother's death, she had become mistress of the household, and as the Prince family had been among the first in the county, balls had been a fact of life. With the aid of the housekeeper and Donna, Diana had held more than half a dozen, all of them widely held to be highly successful. The rudiments were the same here – flowers, enough firewood, musicians, invitations, rooms aired for those staying one night or several. For the food: meats, wine, dainties, the obligatory white soup, ale and pies for the coachmen bringing their guests. But everything was exponentially bigger at Wayne Manor. More of everything, two times, three times more.
Then there was the fact that, as a bachelor, Bruce had never given a ball before. He had appeared at many, danced, played the charming, air-headed dandy, but never held one at his own home. Curiosity alone virtually guaranteed that every invitation Diana sent out was accepted greedily, while letters from people she had never even met poured in, hinting strongly for one. It deepened her disgust for polite society as a whole, that they would condemn individuals for breaking the rules, but anything could be overlooked if one only had enough money.
One of the first invitations she had sent out was for royalty. When Bruce handed her a list of the most influential people in the country, she had laughed aloud when she saw the Prince Regent's name. "You are not serious?"
"Perfectly. He won't come, but he needs to be invited."
So, he duly had been invited. Along with the Prime Minister and several members of the aristocracy. To Diana's great relief, Prince George had, with regret, declined the invitation. Now almost everything was ready. Quite handy, really, given that the ball was tomorrow evening.
They were expecting the first of their guests soon, as some friends – those who Diana really considered friends – lived too far away to travel to Richmond for one evening only. The desk Diana had chosen to work at this afternoon had the best view of the long driveway. At the moment the herd of deer in the park were scattered busily over it, grazing at the verges, the stags rubbing their antlers against the trees in an effort to remove the fine fuzz which covered them. Suddenly they scattered into the trees, and after a moment, a carriage appeared, briskly wheeling over the smooth gravel towards the house. Diana put her notes down, smiling. Lois and Clark would be almost as happy to hear her news regarding Dick and Donna as she would be to deliver it. Months before, when she had first entered Wayne Manor, she would have thought it improper for the mistress of the house to open the door to her guests: now she saw that as the false pride and stupidity it really was. Accordingly, it was with relish that she threw open the door before Alfred could get there and greeted Mr and Mrs Kent with a wide smile and no preamble.
"We have received word!" she cried as soon as they were out of the carriage.
"Of Donna?"
"Yes! She and Dick are in New York, and they are married."
"Wonderful! What a relief for you, my friend," Lois said, hugging her.
"Indeed it is. Just knowing she is safe is … I cannot describe what a weight has been lifted."
"What else did she say in her letter? Did she apologise for worrying you so abominably?"
"The letter was from Dick, not Donna. I am unsure, but I think she is probably well aware that I was furious with her, and perhaps ashamed of herself."
"I must say, Diana, your fury would intimidate me," Clark smiled. "How do you do?"
"Please, come in, come in."
Alfred served tea to them in the blue drawing room, using the second-best china. As far as Diana could tell, the very best china had not been used since the late Mr and Mrs Wayne had been alive, and she had learned early on that almost nothing of theirs was touched. Still, Bruce being Bruce, even the second-best china was exquisitely crafted and delicately painted with coral-pink roses and gold leaf on the rims of the cups and saucers.
"I have also made biscuits, Miss Prince, if you or Mr and Mrs Kent would like some refreshment?"
"How could we pass up anything you have cooked, Alfred?" Clark asked.
"Very good, sir. I will also alert Mr Wayne to your arrival."
The biscuits arrived before Bruce did, along with news that Mr and Mrs Queen would also be pulling up imminently. In short order, all five of them were sharing a pot of tea while the servants took luggage up to the guest rooms. There was still no sign of Bruce, and after more than twenty minutes had passed, Diana wondered if there was something wrong.
"Excuse me. I will go and seek out our host."
She found him where she had expected to, in his study. The clock face was shut, but the safe door was open and there were a large number of papers and notebooks spread out on the desk. She knocked gently on the door.
"Bruce? Our guests have begun to arrive."
"Oh. My apologies. I was … caught up."
"With my father's diary?" she asked, spotting it. She moved to his side as he stood.
"Among other things. Diana, I-"
"Yes?"
"I have to confess something to you."
"This sounds dreadful," she teased.
"It is," he replied seriously. "One of the reasons I agreed to train you, the main reason I suggested you live here was this," he said, indicating the diary. "I hoped you would know something, would be able to break the code in a way I hadn't. Having you here would be of use to my work."
"Not so terrible, surely."
"No. But I knew you were likely to agree because- Well, what other choice did you have? With Donna's elopement, you would be shunned and excluded from society. At the time I convinced myself you were not so desperate, but now-"
"Now you have seen how I reacted to Donna's letter, you think I was. And you believe you took advantage of my situation."
"I did. It was dishonourable."
"Balderdash," she said simply.
He frowned. "You cannot deny that when the letter arrived-"
"I was emotional, yes, and you are not wrong when you say that had this marriage not taken place, society would have shunned me."
"But the marriage has taken place, and that would have rendered your name respectable again. I have removed that chance for you."
"Bruce, stop," she said firmly. "This is self-pity, and if you think you removed my self-agency then, then recognise it is what you are doing now. I know my own mind. I knew it then too. I am here because I choose to be, not because you are somehow conspiring with society's expectations to keep me here. Unless you truly believe I am so weak willed as to be manipulated by you-"
"I don't mean to imply-"
"You implied it just a moment ago," she interrupted. "So, not only are you being utterly wrong-headed – apparently forgetting that regardless of what Donna does, my father was still hanged for treason – you apparently have an incorrect grasp of me. Do I, or do I not in your estimation, possess a steadfast character?"
"Undoubtedly."
"Then do me the courtesy of not underestimating me again, and of not insulting yourself."
He took her hand and kissed it. "I will, Diana. You have my word."
"I will hold you to that, Bruce," she said softly.
He was still holding her hand, and with a small movement, tucked it under his elbow. They walked into the drawing room arm in arm.
A/N: Ball, anyone? Perhaps a first kiss too? ;)