standing on the threshold of love, Diana was prey to a twinge of unease, almost a feeling of discontent. She remembered being happy as a child, a different sort of happiness, not this confused mixture of elation and alarm. How long and sunny and simple the days of youth seemed, thought Diana, feeling ninety. Perhaps growing up meant one could never again be happy in an uncomplicated way. There was no way back down the long road to childhood where summers were always golden and sunny, and the winters snowy and shining white.
Then, as one grew in size, adults no longer seemed like confident giants to be trusted and obeyed. Diana had never believed that one lived happily ever after once one was married. Annabelle had thrown a vase at her husband’s head one day and had shouted terrible things at him. Admittedly, the next day she had been laughing and affectionate, but Diana had felt Annabelle should not have quarrelled with her husband at all. Minerva was happy. But Minerva had always been happy, thought Diana naively, and she had always played ‘mother’ to the rest of them, so it followed thatmarriage should simply be an extension of her vicarage life.
She did not see much of Deirdre and Daphne, but the last time she had seen Daphne that beautiful matron had had a severe toothache, and the last time she had seen Deirdre, that normally sparkling and vital creature had cried all day over the death of one of her kitchen maids. It was not that one should not cry, but novels always seemed to stop at the wedding. Perhaps it was because no one wanted to know what went on after the wedding, or perhaps everyone did know that the first blissful rapture faded into tolerance, punctuated with babies.
‘Diana!’ Lady Godolphin’s voice penetrated her muddled thoughts. ‘Colonel Brian is speaking to you.’
‘I was merely asking whether Miss Diana was looking forward to her first Season,’ said the colonel.
‘Yes,’ said Diana politely. ‘There will be many balls and parties.’
Colonel Brian was even greyer than when Diana had last seen him, which was in the heydey of the colonel’s affair with Lady Godolphin. Diana was not shocked at the thought of two such elderly people having an affair. Once over forty, an affair was surely a tonnish name for companionship.
‘Miss Diana is not looking forward to the Season at all,’ laughed Jack Emberton. ‘Miss Diana would rather be on horseback riding across the moors above Hopeworth.’
Diana gave him a quick smile. ‘I must put away those days, Mr Emberton,’ she said. ‘It would be arroganceto think myself beyond coping with the rigours of the Season when every gently bred lady has to do the same thing.’
‘Ah, but the ladies “do” the Season to find a husband, Miss Diana. What if you were to find a husband before the Season, some man who would let you ride free to your heart’s content?’
Diana coloured faintly and studied her plate.
‘That was a bit warm,’ whispered Colonel Brian in Lady Godolphin’s ear. ‘Have you checked out this man’s background?’
‘Yes,’ lied Lady Godolphin impatiently. Like most people who pride themselves on being good judges of character, Lady Godolphin remembered only the few times she had been right about someone and forgot all the times she had been wrong.
Mr Emberton was so solid , so well-dressed, so comfortable a man to have at the dinner table, it stood to reason he must have an impeccable background. In truth, Lady Godolphin found the Armitage sons-in-law a trifle overwhelming. She liked her men to be a little more earthy, and she flushed with pleasure as Colonel Brian pressed her hand under the table. She had often tried to reanimate their early affair, but when she wanted it back, the colonel seemed to have grown cold, and when he wanted to do something about it, Lady Godolphin somehow treated him coldly, feeling obliged to pay him off for past rejections.
The rest of the evening proceeded amicably. Since there
Then, as one grew in size, adults no longer seemed like confident giants to be trusted and obeyed. Diana had never believed that one lived happily ever after once one was married. Annabelle had thrown a vase at her husband’s head one day and had shouted terrible things at him. Admittedly, the next day she had been laughing and affectionate, but Diana had felt Annabelle should not have quarrelled with her husband at all. Minerva was happy. But Minerva had always been happy, thought Diana naively, and she had always played ‘mother’ to the rest of them, so it followed thatmarriage should simply be an extension of her vicarage life.
She did not see much of Deirdre and Daphne, but the last time she had seen Daphne that beautiful matron had had a severe toothache, and the last time she had seen Deirdre, that normally sparkling and vital creature had cried all day over the death of one of her kitchen maids. It was not that one should not cry, but novels always seemed to stop at the wedding. Perhaps it was because no one wanted to know what went on after the wedding, or perhaps everyone did know that the first blissful rapture faded into tolerance, punctuated with babies.
‘Diana!’ Lady Godolphin’s voice penetrated her muddled thoughts. ‘Colonel Brian is speaking to you.’
‘I was merely asking whether Miss Diana was looking forward to her first Season,’ said the colonel.
‘Yes,’ said Diana politely. ‘There will be many balls and parties.’
Colonel Brian was even greyer than when Diana had last seen him, which was in the heydey of the colonel’s affair with Lady Godolphin. Diana was not shocked at the thought of two such elderly people having an affair. Once over forty, an affair was surely a tonnish name for companionship.
‘Miss Diana is not looking forward to the Season at all,’ laughed Jack Emberton. ‘Miss Diana would rather be on horseback riding across the moors above Hopeworth.’
Diana gave him a quick smile. ‘I must put away those days, Mr Emberton,’ she said. ‘It would be arroganceto think myself beyond coping with the rigours of the Season when every gently bred lady has to do the same thing.’
‘Ah, but the ladies “do” the Season to find a husband, Miss Diana. What if you were to find a husband before the Season, some man who would let you ride free to your heart’s content?’
Diana coloured faintly and studied her plate.
‘That was a bit warm,’ whispered Colonel Brian in Lady Godolphin’s ear. ‘Have you checked out this man’s background?’
‘Yes,’ lied Lady Godolphin impatiently. Like most people who pride themselves on being good judges of character, Lady Godolphin remembered only the few times she had been right about someone and forgot all the times she had been wrong.
Mr Emberton was so solid , so well-dressed, so comfortable a man to have at the dinner table, it stood to reason he must have an impeccable background. In truth, Lady Godolphin found the Armitage sons-in-law a trifle overwhelming. She liked her men to be a little more earthy, and she flushed with pleasure as Colonel Brian pressed her hand under the table. She had often tried to reanimate their early affair, but when she wanted it back, the colonel seemed to have grown cold, and when he wanted to do something about it, Lady Godolphin somehow treated him coldly, feeling obliged to pay him off for past rejections.
The rest of the evening proceeded amicably. Since there
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