The Last Garden in England(88)

Perhaps that was why it had been so satisfying when cracks began to show in Cynthia’s facade. It had started when Cynthia and Murray’s mother ran off to Africa with the man who was now her husband with hardly a goodbye to her own children. This forfeited Murray’s mother’s right to Highbury House. Diana had witnessed the moment Cynthia heard that the family property would pass to Murray and seen the flicker of jealousy flash over her sister-in-law’s eyes.

Then, one day at a party, Diana had realized that Cynthia had been out for quite a few Seasons, and the number of times Cynthia found herself partnered to dance had shrunk. An engagement to a baron’s son in 1936 never materialized. Then, in the spring of 1939, the National Service Act passed, and the young men who’d once flirted with the only Symonds daughter left for officers’ commissions.

Cynthia had changed after that. As the nation entered war, her purpose in life seemed to transform overnight from marriage to the war effort. She’d become almost dictatorial in her passion, hardened in her determination to win the war from Highbury House. That, and Diana’s own stubbornness about the transformation of her home, had sparked much of their discord.

Now, however, Diana sat studying her sister-in-law, who wore a lazy smile on her face thanks to the champagne coupe in her hand and the wedding breakfast they’d just enjoyed.

“Do you know, I’d forgotten what this tasted like,” said Cynthia, raising her glass.

“You mentioned,” said Diana.

“It tastes like happiness,” Cynthia said.

It, Diana realized, was quite possible that Cynthia was drunk before the four o’clock hour.

“That’s Bollinger for you.” She’d opened up the wine cellars again today, a move that had made Mrs. Dibble look positively queasy. But what was a wedding without something to toast with? Miss Adderton had done her best with the food, but there was no changing the fact that rationing was still on. It felt good to air out the well-stocked wine cellar for a celebration.

“The bride looks pretty,” said Cynthia, squinting in the direction of the new Mrs. Hastings.

“Brides are always pretty on their wedding day. It’s a rule,” said Diana.

“You were lovely.”

Only Diana’s long-trained control kept her from recoiling at the compliment. “Thank you.”

“I remember thinking you were beautiful and my brother was handsome. What a funny thing it was that you two married.”

“Funny?”

“Oh yes, don’t you think? I doubted you would be married at all when I first met you,” said Cynthia.

“I was already engaged to Murray when we first met.”

Before Cynthia could reply, Robin pounded across the veranda to Diana.

“Mummy! Mummy! Do you want to see how fast I can run?” he shouted between excited breaths, Miss Adderton’s nephew close on his heels.

“Robin, now isn’t a good time,” she said, her eyes sliding to her sister-in-law.

“But, Mummy! Bobby and I have been practicing,” he whined.

“Go play in the garden,” she said while Cynthia tried to sip from her already-empty glass.

Her son skipped over to Bobby and whispered something in his ear. The pair of them giggled and ran off together.

“Yes, I didn’t see how a marriage between you and Murray would work at all,” Cynthia continued, unprompted.

“Why?” Diana fought to keep the edge out of her voice. She shouldn’t have asked—nothing good would come of digging up old feelings—but she couldn’t help herself.

Cynthia laughed. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“My family is just as good as yours.”

Cynthia gave an uncharacteristic snort. “Oh, better if you asked your mother.”

She inclined her head, acknowledging her mother’s snobbery. Truthfully, the Eddings family had made its money in the Napoleonic Wars, and the Symondses had only acquired their wealth when Murray and Cynthia’s mother had married into the family, bringing the Melcourt soap fortune and Highbury House.

“Then what was it?” she asked.

Cynthia leveled a look at her. “I thought my brother was going to swallow you alive. You were such a quiet, serious thing, and my brother was a bully.”

“Murray was not a bully,” she said automatically.

“Oh, Diana, he was, though. Even you must see it. He wasn’t cruel, but he had to have his way, and he wielded kindness to get it,” said Cynthia.

“I won’t stay here and listen to this,” she said, pushing herself out of her seat. “I cannot believe you’d speak about your late brother that way.”

“And I cannot believe that you can’t see that he did it to you, too.” Stunned, Diana slowly dropped back into her chair, and Cynthia leaned in closer. “When was the last time you went to a concert?”

Diana swallowed around a lump of emotion. “We moved to Highbury. It’s not like London.”

“You could have found something in Leamington Spa or Birmingham, or you could have taken the train down with Murray. He was always in London. Without you.”

“Are you’re implying—”

“No, nothing like that. For all his faults, he had a moral compass, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t leave you up here to rot.”