with genuine concern, noting the pinched look of pain on her aunt’s face.
“I was so distracted over our quarrel that I slipped on the stairs.” She fixed Diana with a look of condemnation.
“I am so sorry,” Diana murmured faintly.
“It was a very close call,” the doctor proclaimed. “You are the most fortunate lady alive not to have broken a bone. If you had, it is conceivable that you might never have walked again.”
Prudence covered her eyes, unable to face such a possibility.
“Even with no bones broken, an arthritic hip is a heavy cross to bear. I recommend the medicinal cure of mineral baths. Immersion daily will do wonders for your complaint, Madam Davenport. I vow ’tis the only answer for your affliction.”
“How ironic,” Prudence said with pathos. “I begged Lady Diana to sojourn to Bath for a month, but she refused out of hand.”
The doctor’s eyebrows bristled; he stroked his muttonchopwhiskers gravely. “Mineral water has almost magical properties. Applied externally, it is antiseptic and antirheumatic; taken internally it is antispasmodic and antibilious. I am sure Lady Diana will reconsider her thoughtless refusal.” The doctor then dismissed her. “I should like a little privacy with my patient.”
“Did anyone see or hear her fall?” Diana asked Biddy suspiciously as they left the room.
The maid shook her head. “It was me who run for the doctor, but she’d already picked herself up when she rang for me.”
Diana sighed. It was all very well to decide your own fate in theory. Reality was another matter. She knew she was being manipulated like a puppet with Prudence pulling her strings, but there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about it. She had been outmaneuvered. She had been cast in the role of selfish, heartless bitch.
So be it,
Diana decided.
After the doctor departed, Diana returned to the drawing room to see how Prudence fared. Her aunt could not quite conceal her look of triumph, mingled with pain, of course.
“Prudence, I’ve been thinking—Bath is a fashionable shopping mecca these days. The Milsom Street shops dress some of the leading hostesses of the ton. If I agree to go, I suppose I could acquire a whole new wardrobe. One more in line with my own taste.”
Diana watched a look of real pain cross her aunt’s face as she realized Diana was bargaining. What a shrewd baggage the girl was!
Within the hour, plans for the trip were under way Biddy was rushed off her feet packing for Prudence. Diana packed very little; she would indulge in a shopping spree that would set Bath on its ear! She went to the library to choose a book for the journey. As she ran her fingers across the gilt titles, she paused to think about what effect this tripto Bath might have upon her future. The image of Peter Hardwick came full-blown into her mind as she relived their last exchange of words: “I’m most flattered for your invitation, Peter, but I shan’t be coming to Bath.”
“You shall!” he had vowed.
Diana shivered at the memory of the look she had seen in his eyes.
“Biddy, take the seat next to Lady Diana. I shall need this one to myself. Just pop that cushion next to my painful hip—carefully, girl, carefully—and we can be under way.”
Diana, dreading the trip of one hundred miles confined in a closed carriage with Prudence, had fortified herself with a volume of Ovid from her father’s library. Knowing it was overtly sensual, she had tucked it into a copy of the
Bath Chronicle.
She leafed through the book until she found “The Art of Love.” She did not exactly learn the things she wished to know, but she certainly learned that the Romans believed woman was created to be man’s plaything and considered all females to be unchaste voluptuaries. Oyid’s amorous tactics were pure eroticism: the art of enjoying a woman’s body as fully and delightfully as possible.
Annoyed that Ovid omitted a woman’s mind or personality completely, Diana snapped
“I was so distracted over our quarrel that I slipped on the stairs.” She fixed Diana with a look of condemnation.
“I am so sorry,” Diana murmured faintly.
“It was a very close call,” the doctor proclaimed. “You are the most fortunate lady alive not to have broken a bone. If you had, it is conceivable that you might never have walked again.”
Prudence covered her eyes, unable to face such a possibility.
“Even with no bones broken, an arthritic hip is a heavy cross to bear. I recommend the medicinal cure of mineral baths. Immersion daily will do wonders for your complaint, Madam Davenport. I vow ’tis the only answer for your affliction.”
“How ironic,” Prudence said with pathos. “I begged Lady Diana to sojourn to Bath for a month, but she refused out of hand.”
The doctor’s eyebrows bristled; he stroked his muttonchopwhiskers gravely. “Mineral water has almost magical properties. Applied externally, it is antiseptic and antirheumatic; taken internally it is antispasmodic and antibilious. I am sure Lady Diana will reconsider her thoughtless refusal.” The doctor then dismissed her. “I should like a little privacy with my patient.”
“Did anyone see or hear her fall?” Diana asked Biddy suspiciously as they left the room.
The maid shook her head. “It was me who run for the doctor, but she’d already picked herself up when she rang for me.”
Diana sighed. It was all very well to decide your own fate in theory. Reality was another matter. She knew she was being manipulated like a puppet with Prudence pulling her strings, but there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about it. She had been outmaneuvered. She had been cast in the role of selfish, heartless bitch.
So be it,
Diana decided.
After the doctor departed, Diana returned to the drawing room to see how Prudence fared. Her aunt could not quite conceal her look of triumph, mingled with pain, of course.
“Prudence, I’ve been thinking—Bath is a fashionable shopping mecca these days. The Milsom Street shops dress some of the leading hostesses of the ton. If I agree to go, I suppose I could acquire a whole new wardrobe. One more in line with my own taste.”
Diana watched a look of real pain cross her aunt’s face as she realized Diana was bargaining. What a shrewd baggage the girl was!
Within the hour, plans for the trip were under way Biddy was rushed off her feet packing for Prudence. Diana packed very little; she would indulge in a shopping spree that would set Bath on its ear! She went to the library to choose a book for the journey. As she ran her fingers across the gilt titles, she paused to think about what effect this tripto Bath might have upon her future. The image of Peter Hardwick came full-blown into her mind as she relived their last exchange of words: “I’m most flattered for your invitation, Peter, but I shan’t be coming to Bath.”
“You shall!” he had vowed.
Diana shivered at the memory of the look she had seen in his eyes.
“Biddy, take the seat next to Lady Diana. I shall need this one to myself. Just pop that cushion next to my painful hip—carefully, girl, carefully—and we can be under way.”
Diana, dreading the trip of one hundred miles confined in a closed carriage with Prudence, had fortified herself with a volume of Ovid from her father’s library. Knowing it was overtly sensual, she had tucked it into a copy of the
Bath Chronicle.
She leafed through the book until she found “The Art of Love.” She did not exactly learn the things she wished to know, but she certainly learned that the Romans believed woman was created to be man’s plaything and considered all females to be unchaste voluptuaries. Oyid’s amorous tactics were pure eroticism: the art of enjoying a woman’s body as fully and delightfully as possible.
Annoyed that Ovid omitted a woman’s mind or personality completely, Diana snapped
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