Chapter Eighteen - Games

The ball was tonight, and Diana had woken to sunlight in golden splashes on the ceiling of her bedchamber, and a nervous feeling in her stomach. How silly. It wasn't even as if the Prince Regent was coming – though, there had been a rather terrifying wait between sending the palace the invitation and receiving a reply declining it. Enough highly important men and women were coming. None of them quite as rich as Bruce, but still. People of ridiculously high standing, all of them. Thank the gods that their friends would be there too.

Still, with all the preparations made, she could at least enjoy the luxury of being able to lie abed for a little longer than usual–

Without a noise of warning, the bedroom door opened. More than a little irritated, Diana propped herself up on her elbows, ready to berate the servant who had entered with so little ceremony.

"Do you– Lois?"

Mrs Kent breezed into the room looking entirely unconcerned for Diana's now-lost sleep. "Still laying about, Diana? I've never seen such laziness from you. But then, you are a rich man's mistress, I suppose."

"There isn't anything else to do," Diana pointed out. A maidservant came in with a tea tray, which she put down gently on the dresser. "The guests are either coming or they are not, the food is prepared, Alfred and I carefully selected the blooms from the hot house yesterday, the musicians have confirmed–"

Lois sighed impatiently and poured out two cups of tea. "Think, my friend. What is the one thing you do not yet have?"

"Ah. My gown."

"And Madame Benoit is expecting us in two hours, so it is past time that you are up and dressed, Miss Prince."

Diana groaned and attempted to lie back among her snowy pillows. Lois' only response to that was to throw the quilt from the bed entirely. "Alright, alright! I will get up."

"And dressed. Quickly. I will be waiting downstairs."

They ate breakfast as a group, after which the gentlemen went out with the dogs to seek some sport in the park. Diana ate hot buttered rolls and coffee while smothering copious yawns. Judging by the smirk which Bruce was attempting to hide behind his newspaper, she was not being entirely successful.

Mrs Queen was confined to her bedchamber with a headache; Diana gave instructions for the best arrowroot to be sent up to her room before they left. The sheepskins which lined the leather seats in the carriage, as well as the fur muff and rabbit-skin gloves, made Diana heartily grateful she was the 'kept woman' of an incredibly wealthy man. She made a particular effort to make conversation in the carriage ride, if only to keep from falling asleep.

"How is your husband?" Mr Kent had seemed his normal self last night, but it was difficult to tell what was bravado and what real ease.

"Acclimatising. He … We were dancing last night, you know," Lois said, a faint blush covering her cheeks which made Diana wonder if dancing was what they had been doing. "And he … floated."

"Fl–" Diana checked her tone. "Floated?"

"Yes. A good six inches in the air."

Diana sat back again in the carriage seat. "Do you think he might … fly?"

"Like a bird? I don't know. I'm a little afraid what Bruce's test for that might be, however."

Diana remembered the throwing star too, and shuddered.

Madame Benoit's salon was in a fashionable district of London, and frequented by ladies (and dandies) of fashion and fortune from all over England. It was rumoured that the Prince Regent purchased his cravats from her. They arrived a little late.

"Zut alors, am I always to expect you so tardy, Miss Prince?" the madame demanded as she walked in. "Come, come! Rapidement!"

"Is she allowed to be so rude to paying customers?" Diana asked in an undertone.

"She's French. I think she's allowed to be rude to everyone. I imagine having Napoleon as your Emperor will do that," Lois remarked.

"Dépouiller!" Madame Benoit commanded, shoving Diana behind a screen.

She did as commanded, and removed her clothing until she was in her petticoat. A moment later, Madame Benoit and her dressers folded the screen back. They were carrying a gown of rich purple material, trimmed with gold threat. Diana involuntarily leaned back. "I thought we had ordered ivory and silver?"

"Ivory and silver like every other woman will be wearing?" Lois commented. "No, my friend. We want you to stand out."

"Who is we?" Diana demanded. "I will look like– like an ape in a harlequin's jacket!"

"You will look divine!" Madame Benoit interrupted angrily. Taking in the real unease on Diana's face, she gentled her tone and took Diana's chin in her calloused hand. "Ma petite, you have the beauty of Aphrodite herself. You must celebrate this."

It was with great misgiving that Diana allowed herself to be laced into the gown. There were gasps and murmurings of admiration, but looking in the glass, Diana couldn't see the reason. She arranged for Madame Benoit to send the bill to Mr Wayne, and they went to take tea at a fashionable tea rooms before returning home.

There was, apparently, just time for a code-breaking session before the rest of their guests started arriving. "I've been thinking about my father's journals," Diana said, before they began. "I don't think it is a code, per say."

Bruce looked up from the Sanskrit cypher he had been preparing. "Oh?"

"That is, it is a code, but I think it's double locked. Look, here," she said, tracing the characters of her father's handwriting. "It's obviously Cyrillic, no?"

"I'd already considered Russian."

"Yes. But backwards Russian? And then encoded."

"But encoded with what? We still require a key."

"I wonder if you're looking for something more complicated than it actually is," Diana mused.

"What do you mean?"

"This code is something my father used every day, clearly. He was an intelligent man, he must have known that there is something in these journals that you would need. Does it not follow that the key might also be something he used every day?"

"Diana, by that logic, the key could be his horse."

Diana smiled at his dry humour. "It is only a theory, I admit. But not without merit, I feel."

"Your theories rarely are."

"I will persist in puzzling it out. But my instincts …"

Alfred's discreet presence entered the room. "Excuse me, Miss Prince – guests will begin arriving soon. Mrs Kent and Mrs Queen have already retired to dress."

Diana sighed and shut her father's journal. "I should do the same. Excuse me."

It was a process which required at least three hours, apparently, though none of the ladies used rouge. It did involve disgorging the entire contents of Diana's jewel-box. She had never really categorised them before – something which she was being roundly chastised for by her friends.

"Honestly, Diana, how can you begin to find anything in here?"

"I … don't," she replied honestly.

It was settled between Lois and Dinah that she would wear no necklace, as the golden thread around the neckline of her gown was ornament enough. But she did have a net of gold and pearls which would nestle in her hair, and diamond drop earrings in each ear. The jewellery, her friends had left her to put in herself after having dressed themselves and returned downstairs.

As Diana was once more nervously smoothing out imaginary wrinkles in her dress, there was a knock at the door. She opened it to find Bruce standing there, ready to escort her. At least, she assumed that was his purpose. At the moment, he did not seem to remember it. Diana swallowed and prayed she was not to be treated to the suave, charming dandy she had expected to see tonight. He thought about it; his smile widened, his eyes tracked her form in a way she felt physically, but his tone was entirely genuine.

"Diana, you look … you are beautiful."

"I feel ludicrous. This colour is scandalous. Of course, I am a walking scandal, I suppose."

The debonair smile did come out then, as he offered his arm. "Well, then let's be scandalous, shall we?"

"Let's."

The guests arrived in a flurry of polite curiosity, eager to examine the mysteries of Wayne Manor – as well as those of its master and his mistress. It was suddenly easy not to be embarrassed in front of all these strangers, and Diana surprised herself with how many of the names and faces she remembered. She also remembered to be convincingly shrill, if the winces and grimaces on the faces of her friends were anything to go by.

After the dancing came food, and after the food came the gaming tables. Diana played whist rather well generally, but tonight had decided to lose as much money as possible. Two hours after she had started, she threw down her cards and pouted. "How much do I owe, Sir Edward?"

"Fifty three pounds, seventeen shillings, Miss Prince."

An obscene amount of money, but Diana only said lightly, "Goodness."

"Do you wish to surrender?"

"Oh, no, I don't see any need for that."

"I rather do, my dear." Bruce's voice came from over her shoulder, the warmth of him close against her skin. She decided it was the champagne which caused her to flush, despite only having imbibed a very little.

"Oh, one more hand? I'll make it up to you, darling," she replied coquettishly, looking up at him from under lowered eyelashes.

Raucous laughter echoed from the others around the table. Bruce joined in. "One more hand then." He bent to kiss her cheek, and then stood back to watch.

Within ten minutes, Diana had won back all the money she had lost. And made another twenty two pounds besides. Sir Edward Couch looked on the verge of a heart-attack. "Miss Prince, I am completely undone!"

Bruce's hands curled around her shoulders. "What a coincidence. She undoes me on a regular basis."

Bruce offered her a hand and pulled her to her feet, and Diana, really pleased with her win, did the thing which felt natural. Which was to kiss him. Without hesitation, she slid her hand around to the back of his neck and pulled his mouth to hers. She surprised him, of that there could be no doubt, but after a moment of hesitation, he responded perfectly. One arm went around her waist, the other thoroughly ruining her intricate hairstyle. She remembered thinking how well they fit together, and here was yet another example of this perfection. Diana lost awareness of the card tables, of the assembled guests or the music still playing from the ballroom. There was a strong beat, but it was only the thundering of her heart.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I fear we are about to lose our hosts …"

Finally, they parted, and Diana once more heard the hoots and whistles of the others. She blushed to the roots of her hair. "Forgive me," she murmured.

"Not at all," he replied, equally quietly. He let go of her, save for her hand, upon which he placed a gallant kiss. "Champagne, mon coeur?"

"Mais oui."

Sir Edward Couch rose to his feet also. "While you await your beverage, Miss Prince – might I have the next dance?"

"Of course."

The music was lively, and Sir Edward a more spritely dancer than his years might otherwise suggest. Diana was glad of the distraction, as it enabled her mind to move on from the way Bruce's body had felt against her own, the way she could still feel her pulse in her lips, the taste of him – brandy and raspberry ice.

It should not have surprised him that Diana would be the one to grasp the bull by the horns. All their guests had either departed the manor or departed for their own beds by now, the last of the carriages swaying drunkenly down the driveway in the pre-dawn light.

"How pleasant it is to be in the open air," Diana murmured next to him.

Instead of climbing the steps back into the house, she sat down on one of them and began to unwind the pearls from her dark tresses. Bruce looked away. She had surprised him twice tonight. In his experience, letting her hair completely loose was something a woman did only with a lover. He ached to run his fingers through those ebony strands, as he had earlier. The kiss had been the first surprise. If he had been given a moment more, it was exactly how he would have celebrated Diana's win at the card tables. That it had been her to initiate the embrace had been a genuine shock. Everything else, though, had been wonderful. The sensation of holding her in his arms, the taste of champagne and sugared almonds which still lingered on his tongue – it had all felt entirely natural. Too natural.

He sat beside her. "Diana–"

"May I speak first?" she asked.

"Of course."

She smiled. "Thank you. These past months have been the most exhilarating of my life. I cannot tell you what your mentorship, your friendship means to me. Yet I think we are both aware that, if left to itself, our friendship will arrive at a more intimate destination." There was no embarrassment in her tone. She simply stated it as fact. "For the sake of our work, that would be a mistake."

"I … agree."

She met his eyes with another smile that he decided would no longer make his heart beat faster. "I hope we may stay as we are."

"And advance no farther."

"Exactly. Friends, and nothing more complicated."

"Friends," he nodded.

"Thank you. Goodnight, Bruce."

"Goodnight, Diana."

She rose, and he forced himself not to watch her go.

A/N: Review please!