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“I consider myself a lady of faith,” the dowager said. “Though I don’t go to church much these days on account of my condition.”
Simon met Diantha’s gaze. She could tell he was surprised. It was surprising, to outsiders, when Lady Harcourt had her flashes of lucidity. They wouldn’t necessarily lead to memories of her biography, or her family; they were snippets of the past.
“But back when I did go to church, or when I was meant to,” Lady Harcourt continued, “I often found myself struck with a megrim.”
“I remember, my lady. They always seemed to arrive on Sunday mornings.”
“Yes, so unfortunate.”
“I think,” Lord Marsden said, not even bothering to try to temper a grin, “that we can make a distinction between being faithful and being observant.”
“Yes,” Lady Harcourt said. She turned to Diantha. “I like him.”
I like him, too.
“What are we meant to wear?” Miss Morgan asked that afternoon by the edge of the pool.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Lady Stonely, “but my husband has assured me that the gentlemen have gone for a long ride, by which I believe he meant they are giving us our privacy.”
“Hmm.” Miss Morgan turned to Diantha. “What did you and the elder Lady Harcourt wear yesterday?”
“Our dresses,” Diantha said. “Mine is still quite damp. And I only brought two.” She looked down at herself. “Perhaps I ought to go change into the still-wet one in order to preserve this one.”
“I think we should go in in our shifts,” Miss Morgan said.
Diantha found herself agreeing. “Being weighed down by the amount of wet fabric that comprises a dress was neither pleasant nor practical. A shift is lighter and will dry faster.”
“It’s decided, then. Will you unbutton me?” Miss Morgan turned and presented Diantha with a line of buttons down her back.
Diantha made quick work of them, and it wasn’t until she was disrobed herself that the reality of the circumstance sank in: She was standing in her shift with a countess—albeit an unconventional one—and the sister to a countess.
Well, there was nothing for it. “If you would like my advice?”
The ladies both answered in the affirmative.
“I suggest immersing yourselves quickly, and fully. It is very cold, and in my estimation, it is better to submit to that fact than to resist it.”
She took her own advice, but she was the only one. The other two ladies got partway in and began shrieking.
Shrieking became laughing—Diantha joined in on that part—and after a minute, she was alone in the pool.
“I am sorry, Miss Brown!” Miss Morgan cried. “I cannot do it!”
“Nor I, but I shall attempt to immerse my legs.” Lady Stonely sat on the stone edge of the pool and winced as she extended her legs into the water. “My goodness. While I am sure there is some benefit to taking these waters, I am less certain it outweighs the suffering induced along the way.”
“How do you do it, Miss Brown?” Miss Morgan came to sit by Lady Stonely, but she left her limbs on land.
“Once you get used to it, it’s not so bad,” Diantha said. “Which if you think about it, is true about many aspects of life.”
“Yes,” Miss Morgan said with a sudden urgency that surprised Diantha. “I certainly know that to be true.”
“I would even go so far as to say that if you sit in the discomfort for a while, if you pay close enough attention to the subtle undercurrents—no pun intended—of what you are feeling, you begin to notice a kind of slow turning.”
“A slow turning?” Lady Stonely asked, leaning toward Diantha with what appeared to be genuine interest.
“Pain is replaced by a kind of exhilaration.” She closed her eyes, trying to think how to articulate it. “It’s almost as if I can feel the blood traveling through my veins.” She tilted her head back, let the warm sun on her face exist in juxtaposition to the cold otherwise enveloping her.
“It can only last so long, though,” she said with a smile as she heaved herself out of the pool. “But I will say, this is the best part.” Standing by the edge, she held her arms out to her sides and took a deep breath. “The aftermath of immersion … It makes me feel … Well, it’s difficult to put into words.”
