Finally the big day arrived. Tonight was the Whittington Ball. The cousins were so excited they could not settle to anything that day. When it was suggested that they rest in the afternoon because they would be late leaving the ball, they informed their respective mothers that they would never be able to sleep.
Caroline knew that Henry Straw would be attending the ball and was looking forward to seeing him there. Diana already had several promises to dance and was hoping her dance card would quickly be filled.
Eventually the time came for her maid, Tilly, to help them to dress. Both girls had new gowns. Diana’s gown was made of white satin and had a pale pink sash at the high waistline with ribbons that fell down to the hem at the back. Other than a few pink rosebuds dotted on the hem and edge of the short sleeves the gown was very simple. The neckline was a little lower than those of her other ball gowns, but she had been assured by the modiste that it was quite acceptable. Her light brown hair was knotted at the back of her head, with tendrils of hair allowed to escape and frame her face. A handful of pink rosebuds matching those on her gown dressed her hair. New white satin dance pumps and long white gloves completed the outfit. As she twirled in front of the mirror, Diana was quite satisfied with her appearance.
Caroline had chosen a yellow muslin fabric for her new gown. It was near the colour of buttermilk and flowed softly over her curvaceous figure. The gown was boldly trimmed with wide flounces at the hem and neckline in a contrasting pale green, a shade that almost perfectly matched the colour of her eyes. Her hair, a glossy chestnut brown, had been styled in a similar fashion to Diana’s and was trimmed with creamy pearls. Caroline wore a single pearl on a chain around her neck.
Tonight was such an important event that both girls’ fathers were to accompany them, much to the girls and their mothers delight. Two carriages therefore left the town house that evening for Whittington Manor, situated in its own substantial grounds just beyond St. John’s Wood.
The queue of carriages waiting in turn to disembark their passengers trailed all the way to the manor gates, and the circular nature of the driveway kept the house out of sight until one was almost upon it. Diana’s anticipation increased as they waited a full thirty minutes before it was their turn to alight. Her father, Lord Westbury, a gruff but kind-hearted man, was less enthusiastic, knowing from past experience that the ball would likely prove a most uncomfortable crush.
When at last they entered Wittington Manor, their cloaks were whisked from them and they were immediately taken to be introduced to the Earl and Countess of Whittington, who were greeting their guests. Following this introduction, Diana hung back and waited for Caroline to join her, and then they went straight through to the ballroom together.
The ballroom was breathtaking. Four magnificent crystal chandeliers provided enough light for the visitors to appreciate the painted domed ceilings and the richness of the decor. Gilt-edged mirrors reflected the illumination and cast shimmering areas of light on the large dance floor. The room had only minimal seating in the expectation that people would be dancing. A large adjoining withdrawing room provided ample chairs for those who wished to be seated.
The orchestra was playing only background music, and the first dances would commence later when the majority of the guests had been greeted. Some of Diana’s and Caroline’s friends had already arrived and they joined this group. Slowly their dance cards filled up. Caroline purposefully kept two waltzes free in the hope that Henry Straw would claim these. Diana allowed both Oliver Stannington and Lord Cotson to each claim a waltz, but kept the third free, secretly hoping that the Earl of Ice may request a dance.
Henry Straw had willingly claimed Caroline for the two waltzes she had kept free for him. One of these was the dance prior to the first break, giving him claim to take her for refreshments. As Lord Cotson had been Diana’s partner for the same dance, he escorted her. All the young people were grateful for the interval, as the ballroom had become uncomfortably warm, despite the doors and windows being flung open.
Lord Cotson, cutting a dashing figure in his green-and-pink-striped waistcoat, was, as always, an attentive escort. He and the more soberly dressed Henry Straw procured seats for the two young ladies and went to find them some refreshment.
“Champagne for the ladies,” Lord Cotson announced on his return.
Diana, who was extremely hot and thirsty, downed the contents of her glass very quickly.
“That was wonderful!” she declared, and when Lord Cotson offered her his own glass, she quickly accepted. Drinking this down, as well, she had to suppress a small burp as the bubbles did their work. Unused to the effects of champagne and feeling very benevolent toward Lord Cotson for giving her his champagne, she agreed that she would let him mark his name for the third waltz of the evening. She had seen the Earl of Ice arrive earlier, but much to her disappointment, he had made no attempt to speak to her or request a dance, and so she felt it foolish to reserve that waltz any longer. She did not, after all, want to be without a partner.
Another hour of dancing went by before the music struck up for the third waltz of the evening and indicated the second break was imminent. In between dances Diana had been sipping the ice-cold champagne provided in an attempt to keep cool. By the time of the second break she was feeling decidedly lightheaded and thought she was in danger of passing out if she didn’t escape the heat and crush of the ballroom.
Trying to excuse herself from Lord Cotson, she made for the large double doors that had been left open and led onto the terrace.
“I must get some air,” Diana gasped, frantically fanning herself. She made her way outside, not waiting for Lord Cotson’s response. She knew he was following her, but she was too desperate to reach the fresh air to remonstrate with him.
“That’s better,” she sighed as the cool outside air brushed her face. Suddenly her head began to swim. “Oh, my!” she said, and it was only Lord Cotson’s catching her in his arms that prevented her falling.
* * *
Why he did it Cotson could never afterward say—perhaps he, too, had overindulged in champagne. As Diana fell into his arms his brain told him that here was an opportunity not to be missed. He could win the bet with his friends and be two hundred guineas richer. With this in mind and the delightful Miss Wells relaxed against him, he waited until he spotted the Countess of Whittington heading in his general direction and then lowered his head and kissed Miss Wells full on her lips; at the same time he slipped his hand down her bodice and squeezed her breast painfully.
Confused and shocked, Diana shrieked, “That hurt! What are you doing?” and tried to pull away.
“Oh, hell!” Cotson swore softly as he felt and heard the delicate fabric of her dress rent as it snagged on his ring.
Brought to his senses by Diana’s cry and struggles, Coston was mortified by what he had done. Miss Wells looked too stunned to move, so he pushed her away from him and, to his horror, watched her topple into the arms of the countess.
“What is going on here?” the countess demanded, immediately realizing that poor Miss Wells was shocked, disoriented and somewhat the worse for drink. She pulled Diana to a bench and sat her down before turning to remonstrate with Lord Cotson, only to find that he had fled the terrace. The countess called a footman to fetch Miss Well’s mother, Lady Westbury, and waited with the girl until she arrived.
“Oh, my dear!” Lady Westbury exclaimed as she took in Diana’s appearance and the torn state of her gown. “What happened to you?”
The Countess of Whittingham filled her in on what she had observed. “I ask that you take your daughter home immediately; I will not tolerate such behaviour within my walls.” She did not want her ball to be associated with any scandal.
Diana’s head was still swimming and she seemed unable to think clearly. All she knew was that she was in big trouble. She remembered that Lord Cotson had followed her as she left the ballroom and also vaguely remembered him kissing her and grabbing her breast, but she could not think why he would do such a thing. She had given him no encouragement and she’d never had any reason to believe he was anything other than a gentleman. Her recollections were, however, extremely hazy and everything seemed to have been outside her control. She doubted that she could even stand. All she wanted to do was sleep and so she closed her eyes. Perhaps it was all a bad dream.
The next thing Diana knew she was in her father’s carriage with her mother and they were almost home. When they arrived and got her inside, Tilly appeared, and because Diana’s legs were so wobbly, she had to be helped upstairs to her bedroom where she slumped onto the bed and promptly fell asleep.
She awoke early the next morning as the sun peeped through a crack in the draperies at her window. Never in her whole life had she felt so poorly. Not even when she’d had measles as a child. Her head ached and she thought she was going to be sick, but the worst thing she felt was the gnawing fear that something dreadful had happened the night before. She lay very still—any movement increased the pain in her head—and tried to remember what had happened. She had been enjoying the ball, she remembered feeling very warm and wanting to go outside, but beyond that she could not remember anything. She could not remember leaving the ball, she could not remember the journey home, and she could not remember going to bed.
Feeling desperately thirsty, Diana very carefully reached over and pulled the cord to summon Tilly. The maid came into the room and began to open the curtains; the bright sun hurt Diana’s eyes and she begged her to close them again and bring her some tea. Tilly’s sombre eyes only served to confirm that something was indeed very wrong; the maid was usually bright and cheerful when she entered Diana’s room, but this morning she was strangely quiet. Diana knew better than to question a servant, but usually Tilly was eager to pass on any household news. But this morning, other than “Yes, miss,” she had not opened her mouth before disappearing from the bedchamber.
Feeling only a little better after a cup of tea, Diana decided to remain in bed. She had almost drifted back to sleep when her mother knocked and walked into the room.
“Oh, Diana.” Lady Westbury looked tragic. “What on earth happened last night? You have always been such a good girl, so why, oh why, did you let Lord Cotson kiss and…and…fondle you?” she cried. “And to be seen by Lady Whittingham, no less. What are we to do? Your father is upset and placing full blame on the young man. However, it will be you who will ultimately suffer.”
Diana groaned. Bits and pieces of the events on the terrace and her inglorious exit from the ball slowly came back to her. It had not, then, been a nightmare. She brushed her hand over her mouth as if trying to erase the memory of that unsolicited kiss. Yet far worse than the kiss was Lord Cotson’s squeezing her breast painfully, and when she had tried to pull away, her gown had ripped. Why had he violated her in this way? And why had she allowed herself to be alone on the terrace with him? She had never paid Lord Cotson more attention than any of the other young men in her circle of acquaintance. Her only excuse was that she had drunk too much champagne. But what sort of excuse was that? She should have known better.
“I am so sorry, Mama. I feel wretched and I know I have let you and Papa down badly. I left the ballroom for fresh air because I was feeling dizzy and thought I might faint. Lord Cotson followed me and…well, you know the rest. I did not encourage him, Mama, I am sure of that.” Tears were falling down Diana’s face as she implored her mother to believe her.
Lady Westbury gathered her daughter in her arms and let her cry. “I know, my darling, that you wouldn’t have acted so if you had not drunk so much champagne. Nevertheless, we will have to live with the consequences. I am afraid your reputation will be much damaged.”
“What can I do? I am so sorry, so sorry.” Diana wept as the implications of what had occurred crashed in on her.
“You stay in your room today and rest. Perhaps tomorrow, when you are feeling a little better, we can decide what to do. Do you want me to ask Caroline to come to you?”
Diana shook her head. She did not want to talk to Caroline or anyone, apart from Mama, at the moment. Her mother’s kindness made her feel even worse; she deserved to be scolded, shouted at and possibly disowned. That her mother believed her about what happened was beyond relief.
When she was alone she looked under the fabric of her nightgown. She saw the tell-tale bruise right where Cotson had grabbed her. She buried her head in the pillow and wept some more.
* * *
Diana kept to her room all day, her shame enveloping her like a dark shroud. The hazy memories of what had happened the previous evening kept flitting through her mind. Knowing she could not hide away forever, she dressed and descended from her room for breakfast the following day. Her mother gently told her that her father had tried to find Lord Cotson to make him offer for her, but it seemed that Cotson had not only fled London, but had left the country.
“I would not want him, Mama,” Diana protested. “I have no feelings for him.”
In his search for Lord Cotson, Lord Westbury had uncovered details of the wager. Knowing that Diana would eventually hear of this, Lady Westbury told her daughter.
“That is cruel!” Diana stormed. “Two hundred guineas! He did this to me on purpose for the money. I hate him!” Her eyes brimmed with tears of anger and grief.
Caroline came into the room at this point and Diana stopped shouting when she saw her cousin’s tear-stained face.
“Caroline,” she said reassuringly, “do not be upset. My behaviour can surely not reflect badly on you.”
“It’s Mr. Straw,” Caroline sobbed. “He, too, was in on the wager. Was he planning the same for me? Now I must tell him I will not see him again.” Her face was the picture of grief. “But I like him so much it hurts.”