They raced together back to the sick room only to find Richard lying still and quiet in his bed as though nothing had occurred. Henrietta was taking his pulse and looked at them both with great compassion.
“I’m sorry, Esther. It seems that there’s no change after all.”
“He squeezed my hand!” Diana insisted shakily. “He talked to me.”
“What did he say?” her aunt asked, the heavy sympathy on her face and pity in her voice increasing. As Diana paused to think, her aunt’s hand came to rest on her shoulder, but it brought her no comfort.
“You can tell us, Diana. No one is going to be angry with you. What did you think he said?"
“He said my name,” Diana told her, instinctively keeping back the topic of conversation which had led to his brief revival.
Her mother sat down again in the chair beside the bed and tried to compose herself after her crushed hopes.
“He did, Mother!” Diana insisted, sensing that the two older women were both thinking that she had imagined the scene.
“Diana, go and take Andrew into nuncheon and then out for your walk,” her aunt instructed her firmly but not unkindly. “You need some fresh air and company. Do not upset yourself over what was clearly a misunderstanding. I’ll stay with your parents, and I’ll let you know if there’s any change. Have Mrs. Bridge bring us some food in here.”
Soberly, Diana nodded and left the room. After informing Jenson sadly that Dr. Hughs would not be required after all and ordering the necessary food for the sick room, she then found Andrew alone in the drawing room absorbed in making notes on a pamphlet with a pencil.
“Would you care for some nuncheon, Cousin Andrew? We have cheeses, bread and cold cuts laid out in the dining room whenever you are ready.”
“Damn it!” he said crossly without looking up at her. “Looks like the Brighton races were a washout. Never mind. York will be better for me. It usually is.”
Diana could make no comment to that, knowing nothing about betting on horse races except that her parents strongly disapproved of the pastime and discouraged Percy from engaging in it.
“You’re a quiet little thing, aren't you?” he said suddenly with a wolfish smile, discarding his pamphlet and pencil carelessly on the table. “I hope you’ll have more to say for yourself after we’re married in three weeks. It’ll be a damned dull honeymoon if you don’t, and I’ve been looking forward to our wedding night all the way back from India, ever since I got Mater’s letter.”
Again, Diana could think of nothing to say to such a remark, whose crudeness only reminded her that she must still actually live through the reality of what Andrew was anticipating in words. A wedding night, a honeymoon, and a life together.
“If you’re not hungry, I’ll send our other guests in to eat without us,” she said blandly. “We were expecting you earlier, and they have waited for you.”
“Are you another one of this family’s bloody complaining women?” Andrew guffawed. "Mater was hopping mad that I wasn’t up earlier today. You should have seen her. But a man should be able to lie in at his own house once in a while without all his womenfolk making such a damned fuss about it."
Andrew’s rudeness and failure to make even rudimentary inquiries after her father or mother no longer surprised Diana. Her parents had been correct in their whispered judgement that Henrietta had spoiled the boy. He had been allowed to do as he pleased and speak as he pleased ever since his father’s death. The man before her was the unfortunate result of that indulgence.
“Would you like to eat nuncheon now, Cousin Andrew?” Diana repeated neutrally.
“Food, you say? Yes, might as well.” He finally hauled himself up from the couch and followed her into the dining room.
The midday meal was as uncomfortable as dinner had been the previous night. Even without his mother’s encouragement, and with little engagement from the others around the table, Andrew droned on persistently as only a man who loves the sound of his own voice could manage.
Edmund and Jacob were polite, and Percy was slightly lost as Andrew fixed on the subject of horse racing. He presented himself as an expert with access to contacts and betting tips that the other men must envy and appeared unaware of their disinterest or disdain for his comments.
To Diana’s admittedly untutored ear, some of Jacob’s comments and questions indicated more expertise in the matter of horses and racing. Lord Wycliffe shared a knowing look with Edmund after Andrew’s response to one apparently very simple question about his plans for the Royal Ascot, and it gave her the impression that Andrew had been tested by her brother’s two friends and was very much found wanting.
Once the meal was finished, Andrew pushed his chair back with a groan.
“I suppose I’ve got to take you out for a walk now,” he grumbled to Diana as if she were a dog. “It’s a shame we can't just bring in the local vicar and jump straight to the wedding night.”
Offense and resentment rose again in her bosom.
“If you don’t wish to walk, then I have no desire to force you,” Diana said as sweetly as she could. “Please do amuse yourself as you normally would after nuncheon.”
As she stood and looked across the table, she noticed that Edmund was glaring at Percy, who had acquired his ‘little boy lost’ face and was shrugging his shoulders helplessly.
“You are a little devil, aren’t you?” Andrew guffawed, amused at her anger. “I’m only saying that we’ve been engaged for years. Our families have agreed on everything, and there’s no real need for this courtship business when you think about it. Come along then.”
His cursory order made Diana’s blood boil harder, and she inhaled deeply, strongly tempted now to absolutely refuse Andrew’s company.