Miss Dashwood's Dilemma

Miss Dashwood's Dilemma Chapters 1-3

CHAPTER ONE

"But you won't go ... I mean, it would hardly be proper, would it now, Diana, dearest?" The question came from Mrs. Anne Dashwood, a still-pretty widow with fading blonde curls escaping from a lace cap. She peered over the half spectacles she used for sewing and reading. She would never wear them in front of anyone else but Diana; such was one of her several small concessions to vanity. "Did you hear me, my love?"

Diana gave a long-suffering sigh, yanked the uncooperative silk thread that was supposed to be part of a forget-me-not on her embroidery, and then yelped as she pricked her finger. She flung the cloth aside and sucked her stinging finger. "Ow! I hate embroidery!"

Mrs. Dashwood offered no sympathy for her wound because, clearly, the social niceties of whether Diana would or would not accept Lady Prescott's Christmas party invitation overrode her maternal instincts.

"We are both invited, Mama, and I know Lady Prescott would love to see you again. She said so in her letter."

Mrs. Dashwood took off her spectacles. "Oh, I cannot attend," she said quickly. "You know I promised your Aunt Margaret I would spend Christmas with her family in Devon. She is Arnold's only living relative and I feel I must oblige her. After all, she has invited us every year since your poor dear papa died. Margaret is expecting both of us, but of course if you prefer to attend Lady Prescott's function, then you must do so."

"Oh, Mama, why do you care so much about whether I go or not?"

Flustered, Mrs. Dashwood went pink and blinked as tears sprang easily. She fumbled for her lace-edged handkerchief. "You know why."

Diana got up, suppressing another sigh, this time of annoyance, and went over to Mrs. Dashwood's chair. She knelt down, took Mrs. Dashwood's hands in hers, and gazed at her sniffing parent.

"I'm sorry, Mama, but I cannot go around as if treading on eggshells. Lady Prescott did mention he might attend. At some stage, Sir Gareth and I will bump into each other. And when we do, we'll probably just bow in a distant manner, give each other a polite smile, and make haste to get away as quickly as possible."

She sat back on her heels and laughed. "That will be so amusing. Me scurrying in one direction and him in another in case we have to exchange greetings."

Mrs. Dashwood burst into heart-rending sobs. "Oh, Diana, where is your sense of decorum? Why do you laugh about something so serious ... so ... oh ... I don't know what?"

Diana peered at her mother. "You mean scandalous, don't you? Go on, say it. I don't mind. My behaviour was shocking and outrageous and most of our friends have dropped us."

Mrs. Dashwood's reply was a loud Boo-Hoo.

"I'm sorry, Mama. I know you so wanted the match."

"And your dearest papa," wailed Mrs. Dashwood. "He and Sir Gareth were on such good terms, despite your father being at least twenty years older than Sir Ga-Ga-Gareth!"

She turned away from Diana and put her face against the cushions. Her shoulders heaved.

Diana patted her mother's back gently. The threat of spinsterhood frightened her much less than it did Mrs. Dashwood. After Sir Gareth, she wasn't sure if she could ever trust what a man said. "Never fear, Mama, I'll marry someone else in time."

"But when?" shrieked Mrs. Dashwood, sitting up straight and flashing an angry glance at Diana. Her watery blue eyes blazed with an anger Diana had never seen before. She recoiled, startled.

"Why, Mama—" she began, disturbed by her mother's uncharacteristic anger. Mama only ever displayed genteel emotion, the kind she thought appropriate for a lady of quality and delicate breeding to express. She liked to utter tearful sobs, and faint moans of protest, but never raw, naked anger.