âI cannot believe that I have changed so much in a month,â Dinah exclaimed.
âYes, you have changed, more than I could have hoped,â Cobie replied. âBecause you were loved and cared for.â
âYou have not loved or cared for me.â There was almost accusation in her voice.
âNo?â he queried. So much of what Madame had done, had been done because of his instructions.
The new savoir faire which Dinah had learnedâand was still learningâinformed her that, if she wished, she could make him hers at any time, whenever she pleased.
At the top of the stairs she saw the pair of them in a large gilt-framed mirrorâand gasped. She was prepared for her husbandâs splendor. Evening dress became him as nothing else did. But she was not prepared for the sight of herself.
She was his complement in every way. The girl who had hunched her shoulders and bent her head, lest the world look her in the face, had gone.
âYes,â Cobie said in her ear. âWe go well together, do we not?â
Dear Reader
Some years ago I did a great deal of research on the lives of those men and women who, for a variety of reasons, lived on the frontiers. Re-reading recently about life in Australia in the early nineteenth century, it struck me that an interesting story about them was only waiting to be told. Having written HESTER WARINGâS MARRIAGE, it was a short step for me to wonder what happened to the children and the grandchildren.
Hence The Dilhorne Dynasty, each book of which deals with a member of the family who sets out to conquer the new world in which he finds himself. The Dilhornes, men and women, are at home wherever they settle, be it Australia, England or the United States of America, and because of their zest for life become involved in interesting adventures.
âWhat I tell you three times is true.â Lewis Carroll
Early March, 1892, Somerset
L ady Dinah Freville, the unconsidered half-sister of Violet, Lady Kenilworth, who always spoke of her in the most cavalier manner possible, was being equally cavalier in referring to her.
âI really donât want to leave you, Mama. You know how much I dislike staying with Violetâand how much she dislikes having me.â
She was staring through the window of the small dining room in her motherâs cottage in Somerset. Her mother, the widow of the late Lord Rainsborough, elegantly dressed in a loose silk Liberty gown of many colours, was busy with her canvas work.
She eyed the flowers she was stitching, yawned, and said gently, âI know, I know, but you canât stay with me, my love. By my husbandâs will, now that youâre eighteen, your guardianship will pass from me to your brother, and since he is still unmarried he has decreed that Violet will take you over and arrange for you to be presented at court. With luck, she will also arrange a suitable marriage for you. I canât keep you here with me, however much I might wish to do so.â
Dinahâs frown grew. âI donât want to live with Violet, I donât want to be presented at court. I dislike the idea of the whole wretched business. I would much rather live with Faa if I canât stay with you.â
âOh, that wouldnât do at all!â exclaimed her mother. âAnd I do wish that you wouldnât call Professor Fabian Faa. Youâre not supposed to know that heâs your father.â
âI object to that too,â returned Dinah mutinously. âSuch hypocrisy! At least now that Lord Rainsborough is dead I donât have to pretend that heâs my father any more.â
âViolet,â observed her mother, âthinks that you are a docile, spiritless child. I sometimes wish that she knew what youâre like when sheâs absent. Does she really have such a dampening effect on you, my darling?â
Dinah spun round, turning to face her mother at last. âYou donât mind being in exile because you once werenât, because once you had a name and a place, but Iâm nobodyâno, worse than nobody. I havenât even a proper name, and every time I look at Violetâor anyone else from her worldâI always know what theyâre thinking. âThatâs the one, the child whose existence ruined Charlotte Rainsborough who bolted with Louis Fabianâand didnât even stay bolted with him once her child was born.ââ
She suddenly fell silent, half-ashamed of her own vehemence. She looked at her motherâs placid face. âWhy donât you stop me when Iâm being wicked, Mama?â
âOh, no, dear, much better to get it out of your system, as Nursie used to say.â