[hider=hrm] I'm just ferreting Mrs. Vaughn out, so I realize there is little "story" here other than her point of view. But if need be, I can do a "Bess" post as well. [/hider]

Diana Vaughn, Mrs. Robert Vaughn, set the quill to the side of her page, dusted the paper, and let the sand remain for a time as she looked out onto the wild gardens. She was a slight thing, with wrists as frail as a sparrow's. Her long neck and small body were almost too young for her twenty two year old frame. From the day she had married at seventeen, she had grown little if at all in any of her stature, remaining almost childlike in form. Woe to any who let her appearance dictate her inner character however. For little known to any but her closest companions, Diana was a force of nature. It had been only natural for she to become one. Newly married, her Robert had left her to the tender mercies of the social circles. Without him to direct or aid, with little but his name and that only as a weak door stop in that he was in the Americas (none dared to even think that he might not come back, let alone say it aloud), Diana had had to play the part of the waiting wife, the winsome and bonnie girl. Gone were the times when her very look upon this or that person played a position shifting in the great Game that women played within the dances, the card games, the lawn parties. Rather, she found herself, rather without any warning, off the table. She was Robert's and where was he? Why, he was gone and left her nothing but a quiet, delicate memory of mornings at his side and carriage rides about the park. 

For a short time, Diana had sat in her parlor and waited on a card, on a visitor. Her melancholy at having lost her husband to his journeys might have inhibited her very happiness had she not had a very good friend in Miss Fannie Bolton, a pastor's daughter and Diana's age. Fannie, it could be said, was a creature of unfathomable good nature and much advice, most importantly advice to Diana that not only did melancholy make one tiresome, but it also made one pale and wan. What man would with to return to a wife who had spent all of his time away, seated in the window, watching for his return? 

“For,” Fannie laughed gaily, “this isn't some romance of long lost captain's ship, my dearest. You walk no rooftop and you'll not be seen to waste away with grief. Come with me and we'll go to The Midville-Price's house this very night. I have heard tell that the Austrian will be there!” 

Diana would, in years to come, be hard pressed to recall the name of this newest enticement, the Austrian, who brought out his horses and who spoke with a perfect tongue, almost without any hint of accent. It wasn't the intrigue which made her get out of her chair and go to make merry with her dearest Fannie, but the realization that she was, strangely, very much alone and must make her own way or fade to obscurity. To Fannie and to her lady's maid alone she told her thoughts. To the world, she showed but a girl who would make the best of her fates. 

And so, with gentleness, with laughter, with a quick wit and sure, but genteel manner, the girl made herself into a woman any man would be proud to return to. She made acquaintance with those higher than she, kept secrets for some and offered secrets for others, and fast made her way into what she felt was an arena of the social circles few her birth could be expected to go. Her nimble mind often caught her a ledge upon which she would swing, only to climb higher until it was not so much her husband's return which she clambered for but the trials themselves. Her independence was not so much a hindrance as it was an opened cage door and she a bird newly tried to its wings. 

So it was, that five years passed and when the note came to warn her of her husband's return, Mrs. Robert Vaughn was not so content with the idea as she might have been four years prior. He, she assured herself, would want to go about business with his older friends and she, relegated to being his wife once more, must do the same. 

But the changes! Oh the changes were horrifying. For unlike she, he muttered and paced about, ran to this or that errand to acquire his pay, a task which she could, to some extent, understand. It was, no doubt, of a very frustrating nature to deal with accounts. She had done well enough when he was gone, but she knew the initial shock and how strange it had been, how difficult. No doubt, he would need only to square his accounts with all and then she might receive him once more as her husband. Granted, she would have to direct him toward this or that party to secure their interests with those connections she had claimed while he was away and her mind had already bent toward the task rather handily. 

She steered him toward a supper and then a concert and in the venues, she introduced him around, made light of his boorish comments, and attempted to give him subtle guidance as befits a wife, so that he might re-enter the world he had left. It was to be understood that he often talked of his experiences and that held some interest for a week or two, but he so often turned toward how he felt he was being treated upon his return, his frustrations at the lack of recognition, that after a few more gatherings, she found that her space had begun to clear. The work of years and his petulance and single-mindedness were blowing it apart as a stiff wind does a house of cards. 

So it was, that she began to work quietly in the background. A word thus and a whisper here, until Lady Dartland suggested Lady Rumsford and together, the women had given their careful agreements. There was little telling the men what it was they were to do, of course, but the best of them knew she was a director of a great play and with a call here or a nod there, she might get the actors to all take their places and thus, keep the story on the stage. 

So it was, that Lord Rumsford and her husband came to their accord. With a sigh of relief, Diana made her plans once more and waited for the warmth to come out of the chilly company of her husband. Yet to her horror, it was not to be. No sooner were funds exchanged and actions completed, then Robert announced his intention to leave behind town and go to the country. Diana could stay, he insisted, as he had little to offer her in the countryside. 

No – she would not have it. If he were to the country, so would she. Even with her card house rained about her, Diana continued to look at opportunity. If he had done such a disservice to her during this season, she could utilize the countryside for parties outside of the season and, allowing her husband time to rest up from his travels, he would be more amenable to attempting a re-entry into the tonne after. And so she had gone with him. Kissing her Fannie and leaving behind her lady's maid to pack up her things, Diana had left her machinations and her free flights and had instead, bound herself to the earth and her husband. 

The earth, she thought as she looked out into that decrepit garden, was not so bright a thing as she had remembered. She had spent some time in the countryside as a child, but there was little sign of color in the brown and green spray of disorder outside her window. 

“Higgins,” she called and the older man bowed as he came forward. “My husband has seen fit to not return for supper. I shall eat in the parlor. Oh, and Higgins?” she folded her paper and then quickly addressed it before standing and holding out the envelope to him, “the mail. Thank you.” 

The woman watched her husband's valet leave her to the quiet and then she sighed. She would go into town herself the next day. She needed to acquire a maid as well as to look into the gardens. If the letter did as she hoped, the quiet of the building would not be alone nor so quiet much longer. Fannie would be glad of the chance to come and visit.