As she sat enjoying morning tea in the small dining room with Verity, Diana tried not to think of the day before. So the girls were convinced that Mr Dale was considering marriage. The idea was as ridiculous as it was appealing. His interest could not be too strong, for she was sure he would not have returned to the Carlow home had Verity and Honoria not forced the issue.
But once there, he had been more than willing to speak to her. And it was more than that. It was far more telling that he listened. Anyone might speak when trapped alone in a room with a stranger, just to fill the embarrassing silence. He had said very little about himself, but made every effort to draw her out.
And he had made the curious offer of aid. Perhaps she had misunderstood him, putting too ominous a spin on the words. After years of watching out for the virtue of others, even the most innocent of unguarded comments might be seen as an improper advance. She replayed the exchange endlessly in her mind, trying to see it from all sides. But it became even more confusing with repetition.
And now, whether she saw him again or not, Verity and Honoria would tease her endlessly on the subject of Mr Dale, just to see her turn pink at the mention of the man's name.
But if she did see him?
It was all she could do not to moan aloud at the thought. Her curiosity about him had grown to fascination, and then obsession. If she saw him, she would make a complete cake of herself. Any interest he might have felt would turn immediately to distaste, once he saw her behaviour.
It was disaster.
She gave Verity a weak smile over her cup of tea, and wished Honoria a good morning as the girl appeared in the doorway, yawning and sorting through the morning's mail. 'Here, Diana. A letter addressed to you.' Honoria held it out to her, and then snatched it back, holding it to her temple, as though trying to divine the contents. 'Too thick for a billet doux. I wonder what it might be?' She passed the letter to her friend.
'What utter nonsense, Honoria. You really are being most unfair to me. If you are not careful, I shall remember this behaviour. And when you receive a letter, I shall return the torment.' She tried not to appear as excited as she was, but she rarely received mail. It was even more rare to receive it unexpectedly, and she had no idea what this might be. She ran a finger along the edge of the folded paper to pop the sealing wax.
Bank notes fluttered to the table in front of her. It was as startling as if she had opened the letter to a flight of moths. She leaned back in her chair, as though afraid to let the things touch her dress.
'Ohhh my.' Verity had no such fear and came to her side to scoop the notes off the floor and into an organized pile on the table, counting as she went. 'There is all of thirty-four pounds here. Who sent it?'
Diana's mind was too numb to scold her charge for the impudence of the question. In truth, she was curious to know the answer. She picked up the letter, searching both sides for information. 'I do not know. There is my address, right enough. But there is no return.' She turned the paper. 'And no message, either.'
'Why would anyone send such an odd number?' Honoria asked. Was there a debt that needed paying?'
Diana stared at the money on the desk. 'None owed to me.' There might have been, to her father. But it was far more likely a debt was owed by her, than to her. And why would the money have come to her now, so many years after it might have helped?
'Well it is nowhere near your birthday. Or Christmas, for that matter,' Verity said.
Honoria riffled through the stack. 'And it does not look as if the person went to the bank for the money. The bills are all odd. Creased. Old.'
'But legal tender, all the same,' she told them. The Carlow girls were used to their money, clean and neatly folded, going straight from their brother's hand into their reticules. They had never been forced to search their father's pockets after a night of gambling, hoping that there would be a little left to pay the grocer.
The memory shocked Diana, for it had been so long, she'd thought it forgotten. But at the sight of the somewhat ragged bills before her, the past came flooding back and brought bitterness with it. Pound notes hurriedly gathered and stuffed into a pocket or purse. Not stacked neatly, but front to back, and upside down. This was enough to be very near a year's salary to a paid companion. But someone had thrust it into an envelope as though it were nothing, and addressed it to her. She stared at the writing on the letter, trying to divine masculine from feminine. The letters were roughly formed, as though the writer had wished to conceal his or her identity.
'Well, whoever it was seemed to think it most important that you receive this,' Verity said. 'You are sure that you have no idea?'
'None.'
'No belated gifts from estranged godparents?'