The mood in the room brightened as copies of the play were passed around and plans for rehearsals, costumes, and props volleyed back and forth.
Diana had to agree with her sister. Lady Harriet was brilliant. This was what they all needed—a source of excitement for the coming week, and an outing to look forward to. A diversion. Perhaps it would take her mind off Mr. Dawes.
“Of course, Diana must be Ursula.”
Diana startled. “Why must I be Ursula?” She had been hoping for the most minor of the handmaiden roles.
Sally lifted one shoulder in an isn’t-it-obvious shrug. “Pure. Beautiful. Saintly. That’s you, Miss Highwood, isn’t it?”
No, Diana wanted to object. No, it isn’t. You’re looking at a woman who ogled a man’s brawny forearms this afternoon. And ran from his kiss out of cowardice, not virtue.
For the first time since the announcement of this theatrical scheme, her mother showed genuine enthusiasm. “Yes, Diana must be Ursula. With Lord Drewe playing the role of her bridegroom. It’s perfect.”
Diana pinched the bridge of her nose. “Mama, you do understand how this story ends? How Ursula achieved her sainthood? She is beheaded by Huns and dies a virgin.”
“True.” Charlotte leafed through the play. “But then, so do her handmaidens. They all die virgins.”
“There, see? At least you’ll be the leading virgin,” Mama said. “And you’ll have the best costume. A bridal costume. That will set Drewe’s mind turning.”
“I tell you, it won’t.” In an attempt to end the conversation, Diana renewed her search for her thimble. Where could it have gone?
With a smug harrumph, Mama propped her feet on a low stool and settled her petticoats. “You are meant to be a nobleman’s wife, Diana. I have always known it. My intuition—”
“Forgive me, but your intuition must be flawed,” Diana replied, peering under a chair. “You’ve been predicting my lofty match for years. During that time, no fewer than three unmarried noblemen have resided in this village. None of them expressed the slightest desire to wed me.”
“Because you did not encourage them! If you fancy a gentleman, you must let him know. Not in words, of course, but in the language of female subtleties.”
Female subtleties? Mama possessed all the subtleties of an elephant on parade. She brazenly thrust Diana into the path of every available gentleman.
Meanwhile, the one man Diana found attractive wasn’t a gentleman at all but the village blacksmith. And apparently subtleties weren’t her strong point, because he’d seen right through her.
Aaron Dawes could tell her thoughts weren’t saintly.
But he’d wanted to kiss her anyway.
She glanced out the window again. His mare was still outside the tavern.
“I’m not unfeeling, Mama. Merely careful. You know I’ve had to be.”
She touched a hand to the chain around her neck and the small bottle of tincture hanging there. It was her talisman. The medicine inside was meant to help her in a breathing crisis. She’d suffered from asthma ever since she was a small girl.
For most young people, tantrums and tears and wild whoops of joy were all normal parts of childhood. Not so in Diana’s case. Not only had she been kept inside, prevented from running and playing and stomping through the snow, but she’d also been schooled to temper her feelings. No outbursts of any kind.
Emotions were too dangerous.
Charlotte settled next to her, crushing into the same chair and fondly stroking Diana’s shoulder. She murmured, “You know how I hate to agree with Mama, but I don’t think she’s entirely wrong. You should be Ursula. And flirt with Lord Drewe if you feel like it. This is your time to take the lead.”
“My time to be a martyred medieval virgin?”
“Your time to do whatever you please. You know what Susanna said last year about your asthma. It isn’t coming back. And if you don’t need to worry about dying any longer . . . don’t you want to start living?”
She pushed a copy of the play into Diana’s hand. “Here. Take whatever role you choose. Except Cordula. I want to be Cordula. She gets the most gory execution.”
Diana stared at the play for a moment. Then she handed the folio back at her sister. “Not now. I . . . I think I’ve remembered where I left my thimble.” She rose from the chair.
“Really? Where?”
Diana went to fetch her cloak from a peg by the door. “At the Bull and Blossom. I’ll just run over to get it.”
“But the rain!” her mother called.
Diana closed the door on her mother’s objection and dashed outside.
Charlotte was right. Now that her health had mended, Diana needn’t fear her own emotions any longer.
She did want to start living. And she was going to start tonight.
Aaron told himself his second drink would be the last.
And then he ordered one more.
Fosbury had already sent Pauline home for the evening, and the tavern keeper yawned as he slid the refilled tumbler across the bar.