“One would think this conversation was significant enough to warrant a person’s full attention,” he grumbled.
“It does. It has. I was considering my own behavior, and how it could have led you to believe I didn’t care for you…that is…”
Oh, how mortifying.
Whit didn’t seem to notice her discomfiture. He simply nodded in understanding and closed the distance between them.
His head slowly bent down to hers until she could smell the faintest hint of coffee on his breath. She liked that, she decided, closing her eyes. She liked it very much.
“Mira! Mira, are you out here?” Kate’s voice, not far down the path, had her jerking back.
“We’ll finish this another time,” Whit whispered against her lips before stepping away. No sooner had he retreated, than Kate came into view. “There you are. Evie thought you’d be in the library, but I knew you’d be here this time of year. Good morning, Whit.”
Because his sister’s bright smile and distracted eyes never failed to both touch and amuse, Whit bent to kiss the top of her head in greeting.
“Good morning,” he returned. “It’s early for you and Evie to be up, isn’t it?”
“Mother wants help with some last-minute arrangements for the ball. Will you come, Mira?”
“Er…Yes, of course.”
Kate took her hand and began tugging her down the path. “I’d make myself scarce if I were you, Whit. She’s looking for someone to take the ladies into town for a spot of shopping.”
Last-minute arrangements turned out to be everything from greeting and settling the musicians to overseeing candle replacement in the half-dozen ballroom chandeliers. Morning gave way to midday, and it was past time for tea when Mirabelle finally made it back to her room.
She’d barely started to wash up a bit when Kate knocked on her door and, carrying a gown of pale blue, let herself in.
“Would you like this? I bought it because mother insisted the color matched my eyes, but it doesn’t in the least, and I’m a hair too tall for the cut as well.” She frowned thoughtfully at the dress. “It’s not like Madame Duvalle to make mistakes. I wonder if she has a new girl working for her.”
“Why don’t you bring it back and have her fix it?”
Kate looked appalled. “I’ll not be responsible for having some poor girl sacked.”
“Give it to Lizzy, then.”
“I tried,” she replied. “But she has more gowns from me and Evie than she knows what to do with. She says she has a pile of dresses to sell already, and if Evie and I give her one more, she’ll quit our employ and open a shop. Won’t you at least try it on, Mira? I hate to think of it going to waste or—”
“All right!” Mirabelle laughed and took the gown. “Lord, I’ve never met a more convincing babbler in my life.”
“I’ve many gifts, babbling is but one of them.” Kate made a shooing movement. “Go and try it on.”
Mirabelle stepped behind a screen and replaced her old gown with the new one. It took a bit of work. “It’s too tight,” she decided yanking on the material. “My stays show, and my chemise bunches terribly.”
“It’s not a dress one wears with stays,” Kate called.
“Oh.” She shimmied out of the half-corset and tried again. “My chemise is still bunching, and it’s too light a material to go without one. I’m afraid it just won’t work. Pity too—it’s lovely.”
“What a shame…Oh! Why don’t you try it with your new chemise underneath?”
“Will that work, do you think?” she asked stepping out from behind the screen.
“It can’t hurt to try.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Mirabelle rummaged through an armoire and pulled out the box from Madame Duvalle’s. It took her a moment to untie the triple knot, but eventually she succeeded in freeing the blue cloth. “It looks to be near the same color. A bit darker perhaps, but the same hue.”
She stepped behind the screen and changed yet again, slipping the new chemise on with a sigh of pleasure as the soft material brushed her skin.
“It’s the most heavenly thing,” she murmured.
“What’s that?”
“The chemise, it’s wonderful. I may start sleeping in it.”
“What if there’s a fire?”
“A very good point.” She pulled the dress on next. “It fits,” she said, a bit stunned. “It fits perfectly. It even covers the scratches on my shoulder.”
“Let me see,” Kate needled.
Mirabelle stepped out from the screen, still gazing down at the gown. It was simply cut with puff sleeves and only a wide band of ribbon along the hem for decoration, but it was far more fashionable than anything she could normally afford. The blue material appeared even paler than when Kate had first handed it to her, and there was a sheerness to it that allowed the darker chemise to show from underneath, giving the overall effect of layered colors.
“Oh, Mira. It’s lovely. Absolutely lovely.”
“It is, isn’t it?”
“Yes. You’ll wear it to night, won’t you? And you’ll let Lizzy fix your hair.”
“I don’t know…” She caught sight of herself in the mirror and grinned. The gown nearly glowed. “All right…Yes, all right.”
“Excellent. Why don’t we have tea here, then? It’ll save us time. I’ll just go tell the others.”
When Kate left Mirabelle’s room, it was to discover an eager Lizzy standing in the hall. “She take it, miss?” the maid asked in a rushed whisper.
Kate hooked her arm through Lizzy’s and headed to their rooms. “Were you eavesdropping, Lizzy?”
“Of course I was,” the maid said, completely unrepentant. “But I couldn’t make out but every third word.”
“I expected better from you,” Kate chided. “You should have brought a glass to press against the door.”
“There wasn’t one handy, and Cook would have my head if I took one out of the kitchen. Did she take it?”
“Did Cook take what?”
“No, Miss Browning, and the dress.”
“Oh. She did.” Kate patted her friend’s arm. “It was a clever scheme you concocted.”
“Not so difficult, seeing as how she and I are of a size and Madame Dupree likes nothing better than a challenge and a secret.”
“And a sizable fee from my mother.”
“That as well.” Lizzy agreed. “I wager that dress fit her like a dream.”
“It did, indeed.”
They walked together in companionable silence for a time before Lizzy spoke again. “Lady Kate?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you still have that novel where the lady’s maid dies for her mistress?”
“Lord, no,” Kate laughed. “One read-through of Lady Charlotte the Cowardly and Her Prodigiously Stupid Maid was enough for me. Why?” Kate stopped and gawked at her. “Never say you liked that book?”
“No.” Lizzy smiled and started them forward again. “No, I didn’t.”
Fourteen
She wasn’t beautiful.
Mirabelle knew she was not a beautiful woman, and no amount of blue silk or hair pins would change that fact. But for the first time in her life, she realized that she wasn’t quite as plain as she had always imagined either. In fact, to night she looked decidedly—pretty. Certainly there was a world of difference between being beautiful and being pretty. Mirabelle ran her fingers down the silk at her waist and hips without attempting to hide her grin. After all, there was an equally large difference between being pretty and being plain, and she had certainly leapt to the winning side of that gap to night.
“It’s the smile, you know.”
Mirabelle turned around at the sound of Kate’s voice to find her friends watching her reaction.
“Your smile,” Kate repeated. “It’s one of your best features.”
“It’s true,” Sophie agreed. “It completes the picture.”
“Like the finale of a good symphony.”
Mirabelle b
eamed at Kate’s comment but shook her head in denial. “I’m no symphony,” she replied before returning her attention to the mirror. Catching sight of her friends’ disgruntled reflections she added, “but I’ll not argue against a sonata.”
The girls laughed before Kate cocked her head thoughtfully to one side and said, “Do you know, I think that’s the very reason I’ve never thought of Miss Willory as truly beautiful? She never smiles with her eyes. Her expressions are always so practiced, so calculated.”
“Like a tavern ditty without the invectives,” Evie offered.
“A pointless endeavor,” Sophie agreed laughing. “Rather sad.”
Kate rolled her eyes but appeared amused nonetheless. “Come on, Sophie, Evie, we need to get ready. I’d hug you, Mira, but I’m afraid to muss you.”
“I had planned on being a dramatic opera,” Evie remarked casually. “But I think I’ll aim for a wicked sailor’s tune instead. Curses included. That should put Miss Willory’s nose out of joint.”
Mirabelle laughed and waved her friends out the door with one final reassurance that she would do nothing to endanger all their hard work.
Because she hadn’t the startling looks or the inherent talent for drama that some of the other young women possessed, Mirabelle’s entrance into the ballroom that night went largely unnoticed. Except, of course, by her friends—and Whit.
“That can’t be…is that…Mirabelle?”
“You look a little surprised, Whit,” Kate commented casually, her eyes sparkling.
Whit brought his drink up for a long swallow. “What the devil happened to her?”
“Nothing too remarkable,” remarked Sophie. “Just a new dress, and Kate insisted on Lizzy doing Mira’s hair to night. Excellent job she did of it too.”
“Didn’t she?” Kate agreed.
Whit finished his drink. Just a dress? Just a dress! The garment in question was a concoction of pale blue silk that flattered Mirabelle to perfection. The cut hugged her subtle curves faultlessly—and the color made her skin look like fresh cream and her dark eyes shine brighter than he had ever seen them.
And when a man begins thinking a woman’s dark eyes could shine brightly, he was well and truly sunk.
Bloody hell.
He glanced down at his empty glass, wondered if he could have another drink so early in the evening without thinking less of himself, then glanced up again to see a young man leaning over Mirabelle’s hand.
He handed the glass to Kate without looking, who took it with a smug smile he was too preoccupied to see. He’d made several strides across the floor before a hand reached out to grip his arm.
“Do you intend to dance alone?” Alex inquired.
Whit stopped and reluctantly turned his gaze from Mirabelle. “What are you talking about?”
Alex dropped his arm and jerked his head at the dance floor. “The dancers are lining up. It’d look a bit strange for you to be up there by yourself. What were you planning to do?”
Temper had him answering before reason could get a thought in edgewise. “She doesn’t need to be dancing with the likes of him.”
“Who?” Alex asked. “And who?”
“Mirabelle and…” He actually had to look to remind himself who he’d seen kissing her hand. “Mr. Kittlesby.”
“Why not? Kittlesby’s a good sort.”
He was, actually, but that wasn’t the point. The point was…the point was…“She shouldn’t be up there…wearing that sort of gown.”
Alex glanced over. “Seems a perfectly normal sort of gown to me. I think she looks rather nice.”
“Well stop thinking on it. You’re a married man.”
“Didn’t say I was thinking of taking the dress off her. But now that you mention it—” When Whit turned on him, blood in his eyes, Alex laughed and held up a hand in peace. “I’m only having a bit of fun with you. I am a married man and very much in love with my wife. Besides that, I see no great difference in her to night other than a pretty dress.”
“Then you’re a blind man.”
“Or perhaps I’ve seen all along what you have not.”
Because he was beginning to suspect there was some truth to that, and didn’t care in the least for admitting to it, Whit offered only a grunt in response.
“It’s not as if every man in the room is suddenly vying for her attention, Whit,” Alex pointed out, and then added in a mutter, “and believe me, that can happen.”
“One is enough.”
“I suppose it is,” Alex agreed and gave him a bolstering pat on the back. “I’ve left my wife alone long enough. Try not to do anything rash while I’m away.”
Whit barely noticed his friend’s departure. While the dance continued, he worked on clearing his head. What had he planned on doing, whisking Mirabelle away in front of everyone? That was the action of an impulsive man, and by God, he was not an impulsive man. He was a reasonable, sensible, respected peer of the realm. He would not make a spectacle of himself.
She’d danced with others before, he reminded himself. She was smart and witty and friendly, and during the London Season, when men were pressed by their mothers into dancing with one of the less fashionable girls, she was often their first choice. It had never bothered him in the past.
But then, she hadn’t been his in the past.
And she bloody well was now.
He wasn’t certain what that meant yet, but he was damn certain he wasn’t going to let someone else fawn over her while he sorted it out.
He clenched and unclenched his fists, and waited for the dance to end. The moment it did, he was at Mirabelle’s side. “Won’t you take a stroll about the room with me, Miss Browning?”
She looked at him, baffled, which was no wonder as he hadn’t waited for Mr. Kittlesby to return her to her chair.
“Oh, ah.” Her eyes darted to Mr. Kittlesby and back again. “Er…yes. That is, it’d be my pleasure. You’ll excuse us, won’t you, Mr. Kittlesby?”
“Of course,” the young man answered in a tight voice.
He needn’t have bothered, as Whit had already pulled Mirabelle off into the crowd. Keeping a firm grip on her elbow, he maneuvered her through the press of people and out onto the terrace. It wasn’t nearly as packed as the ballroom, but it was a near thing.
“Blast.”
“Is something wrong, Whit?”
“I want a moment of your time,” he responded, sweeping his gaze from one end of the terrace to the other.
“Well, you’ve taken it. Rudely, I might add.”
He ignored her censure and led her to the far end where the light was dimmer.
“You’ve made a habit recently of grabbing my arm,” she commented.
“Perhaps I simply like touching you.”
“I…There’s no way for me to respond to that without embarrassing myself.”
“No response required.” He pulled her into a recessed portion of the terrace. “Here we are.”
“I don’t know that this is proper.”
“Answer a question for me, and I’ll let you go.”
She scowled at him. “I hadn’t realized I was being held captive.”
Likely better that she didn’t, he decided, and opted out of replying. “Where did you get that dress?”
She blinked at him and glanced down at her gown. “Why, is something the matter with it?”
He very nearly told her exactly what was the matter with it—it was beautiful. She was beautiful in it. Every man in the house could see she was a beautiful woman in a beautiful gown. He had just enough common sense left, however, to know those words, spoken as an accusation, would accomplish nothing—nothing good, anyway. And now that he’d removed her from the ballroom, the worst of his temper was settling to a manageable burn. He took a deep breath. “There is nothing at all the matter with it.” And because he worried his behavior may have caused her to think otherwise, he added, “You look lovely.”
And to that he added a silent, and heartfelt Dam
n it.
“Oh. Thank you. I’m glad you like it. I…” She dropped her gaze, and fiddled with the material at her waist. “I should probably tell you…the cost of it will come to you. I didn’t do that on purpose. Kate bought the dress, but it didn’t fit her properly, and she gave it to me. If you like I can—”
“Why should I care where the bill was sent?” he asked, honestly baffled. “Have I ever complained before?”
“Before?” She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“Your other gowns,” he clarified. “The other bills—” He cut himself off when she continued to shake her head. “The bills haven’t been sent to me?”
“Of course not.”
He scowled in thought. He never paid attention to the details of the bills from the modiste, he simply paid them. “Your uncle, then?”
“No,” she replied and tilted her chin up a fraction. “I pay for my own gowns…usually, anyway. And if it bothers you—”
“It bloody well doesn’t bother me,” he snapped.
“It rather sounds like it bothers you,” she pointed out.
He drew a frustrated hand down his face. “Why would you pay for your own gowns when you knew perfectly well I’d see to the expense for you?”
“Well, I didn’t know perfectly well, did I?”
He sent her a dubious look. “Do you mean to tell me that my mother never offered?”
“Of course she did, but—”
“But you refused,” he finished for her. “Why?”
“A woman has a right to her pride as much as any man,” she answered. “I take enough from your mother—from your family.”
“You’ve taken nothing that wasn’t freely offered.”
“All the same—”
“It’s only a gown, for God’s sake,” he continued with an impatient wave of his hand.
“Exactly. I fail to see why you’re so upset.” She shook her head when he opened his mouth to argue. “This isn’t the place to discuss this.”
“You’re right.” He stepped back to a window and slid it open. “Climb through.”
She stared at him, then the window, then him again. “What?”
“Climb through,” he repeated gesturing with his hand. “It’s the study.”
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