Chapter Text
Spring was even more wet and stormy than usual this year. The clouds had taken permanent residence over Hertfordshire, pouring rain and showers almost every day.
But during the last weeks, the skies have cleared. The sun has finally come out, drying the ground and bathing the country in warmth. There's only a faint trace of petrichor left behind, along with that characteristic smell of wet grass.
The Elizabethan mansion is alight, all the windows of the ground floor illuminating the gardens, assisted by the airy lanterns hanging from the marquee. The poles are elegantly decorated with twisted vines, creating a dreamlike effect. Footmen with trays are moving all around. A gramophone has been pulled outside. Lord Lockhart's valet is standing next to the table, changing the records.
Edevane Park is dressed at its best, celebrating the night.
Kurt stands at the edge of the party. He knows the grounds with his eyes closed; he's been roaming them since he was a boy. But for all his constant contact with this world, and all his acquired worldliness at Cambridge, lately he feels out of sorts. Or maybe it's exactly due to the consciousness this worldliness, along with adulthood, has brought him.
He scans the fashionable crowd. Most of them he doesn't know, but not for lack of social graces. They're part of the Lockharts' London set, descended earlier with the morning train. Whatever path his life takes, as bright and lucky and well-paved as this path proves to be, they'll always be divided by an invisible wall.
He nods to a few familiar faces; talks to a couple of people. He has already greeted the hosts and left his gift at the Great Hall, but he's still to give his personal wishes to the celebrator.
And then he spots her, somewhere around the center of the frey. She's talking with a young man who's gesticulating passionately. Her smile is polite, but he can see her eyebrow itching to lift.
She's wearing a pale green dress, her hair arranged in a deceptively simple knot on the base of her neck. A slim gold diadem sparkles on the crown of her head.
She nods at something her partner says, her eyes flicking around. As soon as their gaze locks, she smiles. She keeps nodding, still smiling, but her eyes remain fixed on Kurt. The moment the man pauses for breath, she excuses herself and walks to him.
Her smile is brilliant.
“You came.”
He smiles back. “Of course. Happy birthday.”
“I was losing hope.”
“Were you, now?” he smiles teasingly.
She follows his gaze back to the young man, now talking to another girl. She scoffs, but apparently decides he's not worthy of another thought.
“When did you come back?”
“A couple of weeks ago.”
“Summa cum laude. Papa told me. Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
He stands there, drinking her in. He hasn't seen her since Christmas. In the past four years, they've been meeting each other only intermittently, and the passing months had left them both transformed every time. Diane far more drastically than him.
He's known her since she was a little girl, and now that girl has turned into a woman, tall and slender, fresh and dazzling in her long ball gown.
And still endearingly childlike.
“Did you bring me a present?”
“I did.”
“What is it?”
“Telling you would rather spoil the surprise.”
“Will I like it?”
“I hope so.”
She laughs, satisfied, and takes his hand. “Come on,” she says. “Dance with me.”
There's a million reasons why he shouldn't. They all fly out of the window in front of those blue eyes.
“Nice dress,” he says, as they start twirling around.
Diane narrows her eyes, then loses them when she sees he's not joking. “Mother made me wear it.”
“Blends with the surroundings.”
“I look like lemongrass,” she says, annoyed.
Kurt laughs. “You look beautiful.”
She shrugs, as if trifling matters of appearance are inconsequential.
“How was the season?” Kurt asks.
“Cut short. Thank goodness for that.”
“Your father seems well.”
Diane sighs. “He's not well. Your own father should know about it.”
“His heart again?”
“Yes. Palpitations. He's stressed. All these talks about a war… It became so bad, that Mother forbade him from attending the House and brought us back here. Saved me a lot of grief, at least.”
“She still threw you a party.”
“It's wonderful, isn't it? And the weather cooperated. I missed the country so much.”
“Welcome back.”
Her eyes are shining. “Thank you.”
The song changes.
You made me love you
I didn't think to do it, I didn't think to do it
You made me want you
And all the time you knew it
I guess you always knew it
Lady Lockhart is standing next to her husband, smiling at the guests. The pleasant expression on her face doesn’t mirror the words currently leaving her mouth.
“So many young men. Dragged themselves all the way from London to be here tonight. And she's ditched them all to dance with the doctor's son.”
“He's a fine boy,” the Earl says placatively.
“Reggie, we’re not having this discussion again. This is not the point. Fine boy or not, he's not Diane's kind of boy… he's a doctor.”
“They're friends.”
Lady Lockhart has a few choice words for that too — for the kind of friends her husband has allowed — nay, encouraged — their only daughter to have. But Sir Overby is approaching them, so she fixes the smile on her face and turns to greet him.
You made me happy sometimes
You made me glad
But there were times, dear, I felt so bad
“You didn't come yesterday,” Diane says. “To Will's,” she adds, reading the question in his eyes.
“I had to help dad. Old Webb took ill again.”
“He's ill, or he's drunk?”
“He's ill because he drinks.”
“And what could your father do for a drunk man?”
Kurt sighs. “Had one pint too many. Got home from the pub, fell straight on to the chicken coop, and hit his head. We had to wrangle him out of the planks and put him to bed.”
Diane laughs. “I'm sorry. I know it's not funny. I just picture him…” She laughs again. “Sorry.”
There's nothing funny about a man drinking after his only son was killed in the mines. But he can't begrudge her. She belongs to another world. “Did you have a nice time?”
“Where?” Diane's mind is still in the chicken coop.
“At Will's.”
“Oh.” She shrugs. “It was fine. We played tennis. Cary and I battered them. Viola sulked. And Malcolm came late because the London train was delayed, which turned out to be a blessing, since he only talked about the news and the bloody Kaiser.”
Kurt nods.
You made me cry for
I didn't wanna tell you, I didn't wanna tell you
I want some love that's true
Yes, I do, indeed I do, you know I do
“Will said you will enlist.”
His face clouds. “I told him that in confidence.”
“Well, he told me in confidence.”
Her eyes glint with a smile. Kurt shakes his head, his lips twitching.
Gimme, gimme, gimme, gimme what I cry for
You know ya got the brand of kisses that I'd die for
You know you made me love you…
She looks at him. She's a little shorter, so she has to lift her head to look up. “Kurt—”
There's a tap on his shoulder.
“May I cut in,” Malcolm says.
Diane looks annoyed. “We were not done.”
“Yes, you were,” Malcolm says nonchalantly. He takes her hand and starts moving in a fluid motion, leaving her no option than to follow his steps.
Kurt smiles. It seems strained. “It's alright. I'll see you.” He turns around and walks away, leaving them in the middle of the dance floor.
Diane is seething. “I understand that this sort of behavior is fashionable in certain circles, but I happen to consider it boorish.”
“Your mother doesn't like you dancing with him,” Malcolm says calmly.
“My mother has no business—”
“Your mother is right. It was polite that he was invited, but you don't have to entertain him.”
Diane looks aghast. “I invited him myself. It's my birthday. We are all friends, Malcolm.”
“I'm not his friend,” Malcolm says. “And you shouldn't be either. He's nothing but a doctor.”
“He's a doctor who just graduated Cambridge with honors. What do you have to show in your life?”
“I don't need to show anything. That's the difference. I don't need to earn my living.” She opens her mouth to reply, but he cuts her off, his voice dripping with disdain. “Lot of good these honors will do him, anyway. He'll simply take up his father's practice, treating country folk.”
“That's right. He's going to take care of you one day.”
“As if I was staying here”, he says derisively.
“We are country folk, Malcolm. My father considers himself country folk. Your lord of the manor.”
“Your father is an earl. My father was a baronet.” Malcolm smiles pleasantly. “At any rate. He's good for filling a seat at your table, and evening the numbers when there are no other options. But no more.”
“You're disgusting.”
There's a tap on his shoulder.
“May I cut in,” Will says.
Malcolm looks annoyed. “We were not done.”
“Yes, you were,” Will says nonchalantly, taking Diane in his arms.
She shakes her head. “At least my mother is happy. Men cutting in one after the other. Will Cary follow?”
“I'm sure her plans extend farther than a couple of meager baronets, but let's make you seem desirable in the meantime.”
She slaps his shoulder. “He was horrible to Kurt.”
She still can't believe it. The nerve of it; the ugliness. It was always there, but never so ugly. That pillock.
“He was right, though.”
“Will!”
“And Kurt knows it. He's been keeping his distance.”
“He's been away at university.”
Diane sounds defiant, but her voice betrays the truth. Ever since Kurt left for Cambridge and she slowly left adolescence behind, he's kept less and less of their company. Her mother has been acting progressively colder towards him, too. Diane had ignored it, steadily inviting him to their gatherings. The others had more or less done the same.
On the surface, nothing has changed from when they were children. Not even Malcolm, really — he had always reacted poorly towards Kurt. But tonight he actually voiced the social division everyone has been unwilling to acknowledge.
Still, Kurt had already been politely withdrawing.
“I don't want anything to change,” Diane says. “I want the world to remain as it is.”
He knows she's not only talking about their unavoidable adulthood. He feels it, too. All the news from Europe. That sense that darkness is looming in the distance, coming closer and closer every day. That sense that the world will soon change — and not for the better.
“Well, you're changing too,” he offers. “You're leaving for Girton in September.”
“This doesn't have to matter. We can come and go, but we can always all return here. Meet here. Be together.”
“Even Malcolm?”
“Oh, what do I care about Malcolm? He can sod off to London if he likes it so much. Good riddance.”
Will wonders if she understands what's truly at play. Why Kurt has been getting so reserved; why Malcolm can barely hide his hostility towards him anymore. But this is not the moment for this conversation.
He settles for careful neutrality. “Well, the world can stay as it is tonight,” he says cheerfully. The late May night is sweet and balmy; the air is mixed with the scent of flowers. Everything is carrying the promise of summer. “You've turned eighteen. That's a good enough reason to celebrate.”
“And I dodged the ball at Kenwood House”, Diane says happily.
“You're not going?”
“Why should I? I was presented in court. I went to balls. I had a ball. I curtseyed and I danced and I listened to idiots, and all that time I was bored to death.”
“You like dancing.”
“That I do. Well, I'm dancing with you.”
“I have it on good authority that you were magnificent.”
“The picture of a perfect debutante,” Diane says primly. “A real class act.”
“And you still didn't manage to find a husband.”
She sighs dramatically. “I don't need a husband, William.”
“I bet Virginia is disappointed in you.”
“She is. It was her last hope before I'm off to Cambridge.”
“I still can't believe that you pulled this off.”
Diane laughs. “I know. Thank goodness for papa. If I didn't know better, I'd say she came close to divorcing him.”
Will laughs, too. Diane smiles dreamily. “But now I want a golden summer. Like of years past.”
“Well, let's have it then.” He twirls her around and draws her back in. “Happy birthday, babygirl.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees her mother smiling in approval. Annoyance flares again. “Stop calling me that silly nickname.”
“What's with the nerves tonight? Are you surfing the crimson wave?”
Diane wrinkles her nose in distaste. “And to think that my mother would have you for grooms. Kurt is always a gentleman. In comparison, you and Malcolm are both pigs.”
“You still have a chance with Cary.”
She smiles viciously. “And how is dear Alicia?”
Will narrows his eyes. “No more talking.”
He twists and twirls her again, as the music rises to a sky full of stars.
Across the channel, over France and Austria, in the city of Belgrade, a group of young revolutionaries is plotting the murder of Franz Ferdinand.