by Lynn Morris
“I don’t know, I truly don’t. I realized that maybe you and I always thought Mirabella and Giles should marry just because it seemed sort of inevitable. But now I think there’s a possibility that Mirabella feels about Giles the way I do. I adore him, I love his company and never tire of it, I know that in his way he loves me and would do anything for me, and I feel the same about him. But in love with him? Wishing to marry him? The thought’s never entered my mind.”
Lewin argued, “But still, even if Mirabella’s not ‘in love’ with Giles, doesn’t it seem to you that she’d be happier with him than with all these other fellows that she’s not in love with?”
“That would seem logical, except for two things.” Josephine hesitated, then went on, “I know you won’t misunderstand this, because you know Mirabella and love her as I do. She’s mindful of rank, and fortune; not so much in a greedy way, but as a sort of safeguard to rule out fortune hunters, after what she went through with Captain Pryce, you know.”
Lewin murmured, “I see. It’s hard, because in a way it does justify Giles’s thinking. No one who knows him, including Mirabella, could ever think he was a fortune hunter. But I can see how a man in Giles’s situation could wonder such a thing, if maybe even a little tiny thought of ‘He’s marrying me for my money’ might come into his wife’s mind. So what’s the other pea under the princess’s mattress?”
“Oh, Lewin, don’t joke, it’s not funny. At least, it’s not laugh-funny, but I admit it is rather odd-funny. You see, Mirabella takes it for granted that she and Giles will always be close, will always be best friends, that he’ll always be there for her and she’ll always be there for him. She has this idyllic vision in her mind of her titled, wealthy, nameless, faceless, silent husband, a fine estate with a conservatory of course, four children, and Giles next door, and they all live happily ever after.”
“So she is blind after all. That will never happen.”
“No, it won’t,” Josephine agreed unhappily.
“Giles can hardly bear to be around her now, if she marries I think he might just run off back to Italy and never return to England. Come now, seeing Giles every day like she does at Camarden? She won’t even be at Camarden, she’ll be at Estate with Conservatory. Mirabella’s not stupid, how can she not see this?”
Josephine shook her head helplessly. “I’ve sort of pointed this out in some of our talks, but she just merrily glides right over it. I just don’t know.”
Lewin said sturdily, “Well, I do know. I know that Giles loves Mirabella, and I know that she cares deeply for him. I may not understand about her little fancies and airs, but I know that Giles would make her the best husband, and would make her happier than anyone else ever could.”
Josephine said admiringly, “Good heavens, that is so simple, but profound. I always thought of you as my silly older brother, not a man of such insight and intelligence. I always thought I was much more clever than you.”
Lewin grumbled, “Marvelous, I’m intelligent, you’re clever, a great lot of good it does. The other thing I know is that we’d better pray that Mirabella and Giles come to their senses before it’s too late, and they both live unhappily ever after.”
Chapter Eighteen
It took all of Mirabella’s resolve to drag herself out of bed at eight o’clock for breakfast and church. Over the years she had grown accustomed to nights with very little sleep, but on this morning she felt sluggish and dull. She didn’t have a full-blown headache, but there was a dull throb in the back of her neck. Her mirror revealed a pale face and lackluster eyes.
After soaking her eyes and forehead with a cool wet cloth, and with some expert application of rice powder and rouge by Colette, she looked and felt better. She knew that when she was ill, she always felt worse at night. When she was upset, she always felt bleaker at night, and when morning came her spirits revived.
Now she reflected that the situation might not be as hopeless as she had thought. It was true that she had finally comprehended that she was deeply in love with Giles, and that presented a myriad of questions and problems. But she might have been imagining, or at least exaggerating, his regard for Barbara Smythe. Last night she had hysterically mired herself in a dither, when the solution—or at least the first step—was to simply talk to Giles. Before she decided what to do, she must at least understand the nature of his relationship to Barbara.
At breakfast her mother had news that cheered Mirabella even more. “It came by special messenger at dawn,” Lady Camarden said happily. “Clara was delivered of a boy last night, and it seems that she had an easy time of it. Philip writes that the baby is very well, and they’ve named him Tiberius after your grandfather, and William Henry after your father.”
“How wonderful!” Mirabella cried. “Can we go see him?”
“Not quite yet, for Clara’s parents and sister and her husband are attending her,” Lady Camarden answered. “But Philip assures me that in a couple of weeks he and Clara will welcome us.”
“Oh, how I hope so,” Mirabella said fervently.
Josephine offered her congratulations to the family, and said that Tiberius William Henry Tirel was a noble name indeed. Lady Camarden remarked acidly that if Mirabella shortened it to “Tibby” as she had shortened Clara’s preferred “Alexander” to “Alex,” her daughter-in-law would likely have the vapors.
Mirabella only half-heard the rest of the breakfast conversation, for now it was occurring to her that her simple first step might not be so simple after all. What was she to say to Giles? How could she casually lead him into a conversation about his true feelings for Barbara? She couldn’t think of a way to question him about it without being intrusive. Though she and Giles were so close, they were careful not to intrude on each other’s most private feelings without an invitation, as it were. After all, Giles had not questioned her about her plans for marriage. Apparently Giles hadn’t really cared enough to discuss it with her. He certainly hadn’t shown any jealousy.
But Mirabella was by nature high-spirited and not subject to fits of despondency, so she matter-of-factly made up her mind to stop obsessing over Giles. They were best friends, why shouldn’t she talk to him? She toyed with the idea of sending for him, but decided that it would seem artificial. She would see him at Lady Cowper’s ball tomorrow night, and devise a way to tell him she’d like to speak to him alone. Surely, as had been the case all her life, things would be better after she talked to Giles. Somehow everything would come out right.
But as had been happening often lately, Mirabella was wrong.
* * *
Mirabella dressed very carefully for Lady Cowper’s ball. Her gown, which was new and a particular favorite of hers, was of Indian mull, the lightest and most gossamer muslin made. The shade was a deep warm ivory, and it was “shot” with gold threads and heavily embroidered in gold around the hem, waistline, and sleeves. Her long gloves were dyed the same shade of ivory, and had gold embroidery along the tops. Mirabella had specially ordered satin slippers with gold thread and bows. The only jewelry she wore was a small, delicate crucifix with blood-red garnets and tiny drop garnet earrings. In her hair Colette skillfully threaded a gold ribbon studded with garnets.
As usual Josephine finished dressing first, and came to talk to her as Colette finished Mirabella’s toilette.
“You look lovely in that deep-rose gown,” Mirabella complimented her. “I think that every shade you wear is your best, and I’ve come to see that you look very well in any color.”
“Thank you. You look lovely, as always. I’ve been somewhat concerned, for I thought that you were looking a little pale. But tonight you seem your usual glowing self.”
“Yes, I suppose I have been a little distracted the last couple of days,” Mirabella said vaguely. She had decided that she wouldn’t tell anyone that she’d finally realized that she was in love with Giles. For one thing, she felt singularly foolish. For another, in spite of her best efforts at being optimistic, the dreaded thoug
ht that Giles might actually be in love with Barbara—or even worse in a way, that he simply wasn’t interested in marrying Mirabella—made her determine that no one must ever know of her feelings for him.
“Was it because of Mr. Aldington?” Josephine asked sympathetically.
“I beg your pardon?” Mirabella said blankly.
“Mr. Aldington. Have you been worrying about how you might gently disentangle yourself from him? Even though we haven’t talked about it, I could see at the theatre that you’ve lost interest in him as a potential suitor.”
Mirabella felt a slight shock. She hadn’t had a single thought about Denys Aldington since that night at the theatre. Had it really been only three nights ago? It seemed much longer. “Oh, yes, Mr. Aldington. No, I hadn’t been particularly worried about him. After all, we weren’t exactly tangled, so I can’t see any difficulty in disentangling.”
With some distress Josephine said, “But Mirabella dearest, don’t you think it’s possible that he might get hurt? He seems to be so interested in you, romantically, I mean.”
“He’s interested in Romance, not me,” Mirabella said tartly. “In fact, I may be doing him a great favor. I think he’d like nothing more than to have a tragic, lost, hopeless love. Oh, don’t look so upset, Josephine. I’ve known Mr. Aldington for years now, and he’s never shown the slightest interest in me as far as a romantic attachment. Believe me, in a day or two he’ll be falling helplessly in love with someone else.”
In spite of this rather callous dismissal of Denys Aldington’s feelings, Mirabella felt uneasy in trying to work out how to handle him. Normally she knew instinctively how to distance herself from men, without thinking too deeply about it. But she was distracted this evening, and was a little impatient with the idea of employing delicate finesse in communicating to Denys Aldington that she was no longer interested in him. She must simply try to avoid him as much as possible, discreetly of course, and to be friendly but impersonal when she saw him.
Lady Cowper’s ball was very grand, so a master of ceremonies announced the guests. “The Most Honourable the Marquess of Camarden; the Most Honourable the Marchioness of Camarden; the Lady Mirabella Tirel; Miss Rosborough.” Looking out over the three-hundred-plus crowd, at the far end of the room Mirabella saw Denys Aldington turn alertly to the ballroom doors, and start to make his way toward her. She couldn’t see Giles or Lewin anywhere. Close by, however, she did see Lord Trevor Brydges, with Lady Jersey and Lady FitzGeorge. Grabbing Josephine’s arm, she hurried toward them.
After the formal greetings, Lady Jersey said, “Darling, here you are, we were just gossiping about you. The word is that Aldington’s out, poor dear, although I never thought he was quite suitable for you, he’s only going to be a baron, and not a particularly rich one at that, and Lord Aldington is so hale and hearty you might have been a gray grizzled grandmother before Denys ever inherited, and it was all due to some bizarre thing at the theatre, wasn’t it, Rosalind? So do tell, Mirabella, who is next on your list?”
“Sally, you are incorrigible,” Mirabella said, her cheeks flaming. “I have no intention of discussing my personal life here and now. If you’re going to gossip about me, I beg you will do it behind my back and not to my face.”
Far from being repentant, Lady Jersey laughed and said, “Very well, I’ll hold my tongue until you’ve left.”
“I seriously doubt that, you’d likely explode into bits if you couldn’t talk, Sally,” Lady FitzGeorge said.
“Likely I would,” Lady Jersey carelessly agreed. “Oh, look, Aldington is making his way over here, with that pitiful hangdog expression he’s been wearing this Season. I’ll head him off, Mirabella, don’t say I never did you any favors.” She went to him, threaded her arm through his, and promptly turned and marched him off in another direction.
“Oh dear, I hope she doesn’t harangue him about me,” Mirabella said.
Lord Trevor said, “Stop troubling yourself about Aldington, he’ll spend the next few days lamenting his ill-fated love and quoting from Childe Harold and Hours of Idleness and in a week or so he’ll be starry-eyed over some other young lady. Enough about Aldington, I say. Lady Mirabella, I’m going to be honest with you and tell you that I am going to gossip behind your back, but I’d much prefer talking to you in front of your face. Will you grant me the honor of dancing the first two waltzes with me, and allowing me to escort you to supper?”
Mirabella, who was still avidly, though discreetly, searching for Giles, replied absently, “Certainly, sir, it would be my pleasure.”
Lady FitzGeorge said slyly, “I may not be privy to your list, Mirabella, but I can plainly see who is hoping to be next on it. Come, Miss Rosborough, let us give Lord Trevor an opportunity to speak privately to Lady Mirabella’s face. The Smythes came in earlier, and I know you’ll be wishing to see Mr. Smythe, and your brother of course. He and Sir Giles came in with them, if we can only find them in this crush.” Rosalind took Josephine’s arm and began to thread through the throng.
Mirabella said with exasperation, “It seems that all of my friends are determined to embarrass me this evening. I hope you’re not offended, sir.”
“Offended? Why should I be? You’re a beautiful, clever, elegant lady whom any man would eagerly pursue. The only thing that’s offended me is that you considered Southam and Aldington first. All along it should have been me,” he said with his devil-may-care grin.
“Sir, please, you, too, are embarrassing me,” Mirabella said, flustered. “I—I must protest that I’ve been—that my demeanor—or my actions—have been misunderstood, or misconstrued.”
“Please accept my most heartfelt apologies, my lady, I wouldn’t embarrass you for the world. I promise to cease and desist this instant. Come, it’s already as hot as blazes in here, shall we go have some refreshments? Oh, deuce take it, I knew I wouldn’t get a moment alone with you.”
Lord Southam bowed deeply to Mirabella. “Lady Mirabella, Brydges. Madam, if you aren’t already engaged, would you do me the honor of dancing the quadrille with me?”
“Why, I—that is—no, sir, I am not engaged, I shall be happy to.” She took his arm.
Lord Trevor said, “I’ll be waiting right here, my lady, for I intend to guard you until my waltz.”
“Not to worry, Brydges, I won’t spirit her away,” Southam said sardonically. They stood at the edge of the dance floor, watching the opening couples in the first movement.
Now Mirabella was even more perturbed. She had seen Lord Southam several times in the last two months at balls and parties and while riding in the park, but she hadn’t spoken with him. Mirabella didn’t have any delusions that she had broken his heart, but she knew that since gossip had been rampant about their estrangement (if it could be called that), he must have been embarrassed, and had been avoiding her. Now, tonight, just when she needed all her wits about her to manage the morass that she had carefully constructed and then deliberately waded into, all she could think of was Giles. With a supreme effort she marshaled her thoughts and determined not to appear to be an utter half-wit to Southam.
“You dance so rarely, sir, all of us ladies feel very fortunate when you request the honor,” she said brightly. “I thank you.”
“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you.” The second movement began, and they joined a “square” with three other couples. As they danced, Mirabella kept unobtrusively searching the dancing couples and the crowd for Giles, but she didn’t see him at all, nor did she see the Smythes or Lewin or Josephine. She did notice that people were staring at them, and some ladies watching the dance appeared to be whispering behind their gloved hands or fans. Lord Southam gave no sign that he was aware; as always, he danced with grace and dignity, his eyes squarely meeting hers.
Mirabella felt that she was completely incapable of clever repartee on this night, but she also knew that she owed it to Lord Southam to make some sort of explanation, and reparation, if she could, for her behavior to him. He was regarding
her gravely, but with no rancor. Finally she said, “Sir, I owe you an apology. My behavior to you, and some of the things that I said, were inexcusable, and very wrong. Will you forgive me?”
Lord Southam rarely smiled, and when he did it was a rather cold expression that barely reached his dark eyes. But still his smile, and his words, warmed Mirabella. “I will gladly forgive you, my lady, and hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me, for I, too, must apologize. Shall we call it pax, then? Without the kiss of peace, of course,” he added ironically.
Mirabella’s cheeks colored, but her smile was glowing. “Pax it is. I hope we can still be friends?”
“It would be my honor and pleasure, my lady, to remain so,” he said with his customary formal gallantry. He said nothing more for the remainder of the dance. Taking her hand, he returned her to Lord Trevor. Before he released her hand, he bowed deeply over it and smiled at her once again, and then he began to make his way through the crowd. As she watched his tall figure, head and shoulders above everyone else, Mirabella felt an immense relief.
Lord Trevor had been joined by two young gentlemen, Mr. Eberhardt and Mr. Strack. Mirabella had been introduced to them, but knew them only slightly. Lord Trevor said with mock annoyance, “I was determined to monopolize you this evening, Lady Mirabella, but I should have known better. These two young pups are hoping for a dance. I don’t suppose I could dissuade you, and steal you away for that glass of punch?”
“Nonsense, it’s a ball, we’re required to dance,” Mirabella said. “You know very well that you love to display your manly skill in dancing, Lord Trevor, not to mention your best opportunities for outrageous flirting. Mr. Eberhardt, Mr. Strack, I should be happy.”
And so the evening went as usual, with Mirabella never lacking for a partner. Her two waltzes with Lord Trevor were amusing and lively, for he flirted with her as he always did, but he made no more comments about her all-too-well-known betrothal plans. In the second waltz she finally saw Giles, dancing with Barbara Smythe. They smiled and nodded to her from across the dance floor. When the dance ended, Mirabella was determined to follow them and talk to them, but Lord Cowper requested the next dance, and she felt that it would be rude to deny her host.