A Sapphire Season

by Lynn Morris

  Giles and Lewin arrived at a quarter of six, but as this was an informal “family” dinner, there was no standing about curtsying and bowing in the drawing room. Mirabella thought that Giles looked particularly handsome, with his well-tailored blue coat, discreet blue-and-gray waistcoat, and black close-fitting trousers. How could she not have seen and admired, always, how well built he was, slim but muscular, how fine his features were, how his blue-black hair was always so attractively arranged, the striking contrast of his coloring with his blue eyes, with what manly grace he moved and talked?

  This plaintive and, Mirabella scolded herself, rather pathetic admiration of Giles’s person was interrupted when he greeted her with, “I see you’ve repented of your shameful neglect of your fashion duties. You’re wearing my favorite blue silk, and Josephine is wearing that pretty shade that I believe the ladies are calling Pomona green.”

  Mirabella replied, “Yes, I’ve come to realize lately that I’ve been neglecting several things, and have been obliged to repent often.”

  Giles stared at her quizzically, but just then Lady Camarden said, “We’re not standing on ceremony tonight, of course, dinner is ready, let’s go in.”

  They all sat at one end of the dining table, with Lord Camarden at the head, Lady Camarden, Josephine, and Lewin on one side, and Mirabella and Giles on the other. As the footmen began serving the soup, Lord Camarden said, “As Audrey said, we’re not standing on ceremony tonight. You may as well go ahead and tell them, Lewin.”

  When her father started to speak, Mirabella had taken a deep indrawn breath, and clenched her jaw. When she heard the last word, she was so startled that she forgot to breathe.

  Lewin took his sister’s hand and said simply, “I’ve received my orders. I’m to return to duty in Spain by July first. There is a transport ship leaving from Portsmouth for San Sebastian on the fifteenth of June.”

  A heavy silence followed. Josephine sighed, and Lewin patted her shoulder.

  Lady Camarden said, “Lewin, naturally we’re so sorry to hear this news, but it seems to me that you’re hardly devastated.”

  “No, my lady,” he said calmly. “I’m a soldier, and I belong with my men, in Spain. I’m sorry, Josephine.”

  She said, “No, Lewin, don’t apologize, for you’re courageous, and you know exactly what God has intended you to be, and you honor Him by fighting for your country. I only hope I’ll be brave, and say good-bye without burdening you unduly with grief.”

  Giles said warmly, “Spoken like the chivalrous lady that you are, Josephine. You’ve inherited your mother’s beauty and grace, and your father’s faithful heart.”

  “Thank you, Giles,” Josephine said softly. “Those are the highest compliments I could ever hope to receive.”

  Mirabella had recovered from her astonishment, and said, “But Lewin, did you say you must leave on the fifteenth? That’s barely two weeks from now.”

  “Yes, and that’s the rest of my announcement. I’m going home, of course. I’m leaving early in the morning.”

  “I want to go home with you,” Josephine said instantly. “I’m sorry, Mirabella, but I know you understand.”

  “Certainly I do,” Mirabella said. “It’s all rather sudden, but I’m sure we can get enough of your gowns packed up tonight, and send the rest after. Lewin, you weren’t planning on taking the stagecoach, were you? Pappa, we must send them in the town coach.”

  “Although we’ve all grown accustomed to you ordering our lives, Mirabella, I’ve already taken the liberty of arranging just that with Lewin,” Lord Camarden said.

  The rest of the dinner was spent in talking of the details of transporting Lewin and Josephine home, and Lewin spoke, with spirit and undeniable eagerness, of the progress Wellington was making in Spain. “Old Boney had never made a strategic error, and very few tactical ones, until he was foolish enough to invade Russia. He’s still putting up quite a fight, but now it’s mostly defensive, instead of a crushing offensive.”

  As the talk went on, mostly among the men, Mirabella was able to gather her thoughts. Surreptitiously she studied Giles. He spoke with intelligence and knowledge about the war and the politics of war. Mirabella wondered with self-deprecating humor what she thought she would see in studying him so closely. I suppose I’m still thinking he’s going to stand up, burst into song, and tell us of his rapturous love for Barbara…how silly I’ve been—again! I know that Giles will be prudent and circumspect about such an important decision as marriage!

  When they finished dinner, instead of observing the convention of the ladies’ leaving the gentlemen to their port and brandy, they all went to the drawing room. The men were still deep in conversation, and the ladies naturally sat together to talk of how to get Josephine ready to leave in the morning. Mirabella said, “After Lewin and Giles leave, I’ll go up with you, and I’m sure with Colette’s help we can get you packed quickly.”

  “Thank you, dearest,” Josephine said gratefully. “Although I had anticipated this, I wasn’t quite prepared for how quickly Lewin would have to leave. Lady Camarden, I suppose this puts a social burden on you, to make my apologies for the engagements we’ve accepted? When I get home I’ll be glad to write personally to the ladies, but…” Her voice trailed off uncertainly.

  Mirabella blurted, “Oh dear, Josephine, you won’t be able to say good-bye to Mr. Smythe! He’ll be crushed!”

  Calmly Josephine said, “Mirabella, you presume too much. He and Giles and Lewin have become close friends, I’m sure that Giles will explain to him.”

  Unaccountably Mirabella had been thinking that because Giles had mainly come to London for the Season for Lewin’s sake, he would return to Knyveton when Lewin left. But of course now he had another vitally important reason to stay in Town. Suddenly Mirabella felt the overwhelming and debilitating fatigue that had plagued her so much in the past days, and she grew silent.

  Lady Camarden told Irby to get her engagement diary, and together she and Josephine went through the invitations they’d accepted in June, and Josephine took down all the addresses of the ladies to whom she would send her apologies. “We have no engagements with the Smythes,” Lady Camarden said in her businesslike manner, “but we’re sure to see them somewhere or other, and I’ll explain to Mrs. Smythe the grave necessity of you leaving Town.”

  Josephine said, “I’m sure she’ll receive the news with great joy.”

  “Yes, until I recount to her, in great detail, what an amiable and personable gentleman is her son, and how much you enjoyed his company this Season,” Lady Camarden said with satisfaction. “I presume I may have your permission to speak so freely, Josephine.”

  “You may, my lady, and thank you,” she said with amusement.

  Giles left Lewin and Lord Camarden and came to sit by Mirabella. “I know you’re upset about Lewin, but it seems you’re a little pale and out of sorts. Are you?”

  “As for being pale, I hadn’t really noticed, but I’ll surely tell Colette that we must think about some rouge,” Mirabella replied lightly. “As for out of sorts, I suppose I am, but it’s as you said, because of Lewin. It seems I’m the only one who didn’t see this coming, even Mamma didn’t seem surprised. I suppose I’ve been so much distracted of late that I was hardly paying attention to anyone but myself.”

  “Yes, you have had a busy Season, haven’t you?” Giles agreed carelessly. “But seriously, you’re lacking your usual glow, you really must take your self-prescribed dosage of ratafia. I know you, you’ve likely been up haunting the halls and frightening the servants all hours of the night.”

  You don’t know me nearly as well as you think, Mirabella thought sadly, but she merely said, “Yes, sir, of course I’ll follow your orders to the letter as always.”

  Giles grumbled, “As if that’s ever happened in the history of the world.”

  “Of course not, what could I have been thinking? Perhaps my head has been muddled by sleep deprivation. Anyway, Giles, I was wondering, I—I don’
t suppose you will return to Knyveton, now that Lewin’s leaving?”

  He looked puzzled. “No, of course not. I’ve monopolized him enough, he really wants to be with his family these last two weeks. And though I’m sure my social calendar is nowhere nearly as full as yours, I have accepted some engagements for the rest of the Season. By the by, I heard you’re going to Ascot to stay at Lord Levenden’s house. Brydges said there’s going to be quite a party, you should really enjoy yourself.”

  With a supreme effort Mirabella made herself smile. “It seems to me that wherever Lord Trevor goes, there is generally a party. Surely he invited you?”

  “He did, but he knows very well that I don’t gamble, and that’s about ninety percent of the fun, or so I’m told, though I’ll never understand it. Anyway, even though Town will be almost deserted that week, I’m sure I’ll find something to do to amuse myself.”

  “I’m sure you will,” Mirabella said with a sinking heart. “I’ve noticed that you, too, have been much in demand this Season.”

  It came to their attention that Lewin was saying his good-byes. “I must report to the War Office at dawn tomorrow, and I still must pack, though I know it won’t be nearly such an onerous task as gathering up all of your fripperies and gewgaws, Sister. Giles, are you coming now, or are you staying?”

  He stood up. “I’m ready, I think we must leave the ladies to their toils. Good night, Mirabella. I’ll see you soon.” He bowed and he and Lewin took their leave.

  Mirabella had found her entire conversation with Giles curiously impersonal, even strained. But she was so drained, mentally and physically, that she couldn’t work out whether the strain was all on her side, or Giles’s, or both. It took all the strength she could summon to help Josephine with her packing. After about an hour, Josephine said to her, “I know very well that something is wrong with you, you’re pale and as listless as I’ve ever seen you. Are you getting ill, dearest?”

  “No, of course not, I’m never ill. I wish everyone would stop telling me I’m pale, I declare I’m going to have Colette paint me up with so much rouge that I’ll look like one of the demimonde,” Mirabella retorted crossly.

  “Why yes, what a capital idea,” Josephine said sarcastically. “Just listen to yourself, I don’t think you even know what you’re saying. Colette, I’m ordering you to take Mirabella to her room, dose her liberally with ratafia, and put her to bed. If she wants to stay up and wander around, sit on her. I’m perfectly capable of packing a trunk by myself.”

  With unusual meekness Mirabella obeyed. Happily, it wasn’t necessary for Colette to sit on her; she was almost passed out before she had put on her nightclothes. Eagerly she embraced sleep; for now, and she suspected for a long time to come, it was the only peace she knew.

  Chapter Twenty

  Lewin’s and Josephine’s leave-taking made Mirabella feel disconsolate indeed. The weather did not help: the dawn was dark, with a heavy sullen rain that turned to steam as soon as it hit the streets. London had been unseasonably hot for May, and it seemed that June would be as close and unbearable as July and August always were in Town.

  That night Mirabella and her parents went to the theatre, as guests in Lord and Lady Jersey’s box, which included a large party of sixteen people. The play was A Midsummer Night’s Dream, which was one of Mirabella’s favorites. But on this night she felt so dispirited that she could hardly carry on a conversation, or even pay attention to the play. Against her will she found herself searching for Giles. But she didn’t see him, or the Smythes.

  Lord Trevor visited during intermission, and Lady Jersey immediately asked him to join them. He sat with Mirabella, and though she smiled at his banter and did manage to respond to him in a sensible manner, she knew that he was aware of her distraction. Private conversation was not possible, of course, but as they left the theatre he whispered in her ear, “May I call on you tomorrow?”

  As if she were an automaton, she replied, “Yes, of course.”

  That night, although she was fully as exhausted as ever, she didn’t fall asleep immediately. All she could think, over and over, was I’m so tired. How I miss Josephine. I’m so very very tired of London, of all of it, of the parties and balls and working so hard to be bright and happy when all I want is to get away, to go home, to have some peace…I’m so very tired…

  Instead of feeling her familiar dreary despondency as soon as she awoke, she sat up abruptly, alert, and stared into space. How very odd…is that You, Lord? Somehow You spoke to me while I was sleeping? It must be, for as silly as I am, it would never occur to me.

  She rushed through dressing and hurried downstairs to her mother, who was always an early riser. Without morning greetings she sat at the table and blurted out, “Mamma, I want to go home.”

  Lady Camarden was not the kind of woman to be easily shocked, especially where Mirabella was concerned. She finished chewing, delicately patted her mouth with her napkin, and said, “Would you? Am I to order the carriage now, or may I at least finish my breakfast?”

  “Oh, I think I can wait until you finish. I’m sorry, Mamma, of course I wish to explain. I—I’m just so tired, you see. For—for some reason I—I—this Season—oh, it’s so complicated. I miss Josephine, I didn’t realize how much her company meant to me. I miss Camarden. And I—I’m tired.”

  “Yes, so you said, and so I’ve noticed these past weeks. When would you like to go?”

  Mirabella sighed. “I wish I could go now, but tomorrow would be soon enough, I suppose.”

  Cautiously Lady Camarden said, “You do know that we’ve accepted several invitations for the next month, including a week at Lord Levenden’s for Ascot.”

  “Yes, I know, and last night as I was thinking of how much I wanted to go home, all I could think of was of my social obligations, and how irresponsible it would be for me to neglect them.” She brightened a little and went on, “But the most peculiar thing happened to me this morning. When I awoke, the only thought that was in my mind was ‘It’s no sin to go home.’ I think—I think that it was the Lord, you see. I know that it’s rude to cancel invitations already accepted, but it is certainly not a grave sin. Is it? Or do you think that I’ve suddenly lost my senses? My social sense, at any rate.”

  “No, I do not,” Lady Camarden answered briskly. “The Bible tells us that the Lord will direct our steps, so I find it completely reasonable that under the circumstances He’s telling you to go home and heal. Do not give me that cheeky look, Mirabella, I know that you’re not ill, but I also know that something is troubling you.” Her gaze grew softer, and though her voice was not tentative in tone, it was gentler. “We have never been the closest of confidantes, but you are my daughter, and I love you dearly, and I want above all things for you to be happy. Would you like for me to come with you, or were you thinking of being alone for a time?”

  Mirabella swallowed hard. “I’d like for you to come home with me, Mamma. I know that you’ll be embarrassed to take such an abrupt and ungracious leave from all of our friends in Town, and I apologize.”

  “Nonsense, girl,” Lady Camarden said, returning to her normal crispness. “Ever since you came out I’ve endured London mostly for your sake, and because your father is so much happier when we’re here. But he’ll understand, as will all of our friends, our real friends, that is, for all I intend to say is the truth, for both me and you, and the gossips may natter on as they please. We’ve found the exertions of the Season fatiguing, and wish to retire to the country early. I only have one question, Mirabella, and I hope you will not think me too intrusive, but I am not a blind fool, and you know that. What do you intend to do about Lord Trevor Brydges?”

  “He’s calling on me today. I know it’s unorthodox, Mamma, but I beg you will leave us alone for a few minutes. As I said, it’s complicated, but I feel I owe him a more personal explanation.”

  Her interview with Lord Trevor was uncomfortable. Mirabella simply told him the truth, much as she’d told her mother
that morning, although in a much more organized, matter-of-fact manner.

  He looked incredulous, then stood up to pace a few steps. “Are you saying that you’re leaving Town tomorrow morning? Just like that?” He snapped his fingers, a hard brittle sound.

  Mirabella was more surprised than offended at his brusqueness. “You sound angry. I don’t understand. I thought that our agreement, I suppose you could call it, was not of such a nature that either of us would feel any sort of obligation to the other.”

  For a moment his eyes narrowed grimly, but then he relaxed and sat back down. “I beg your pardon, my lady. You’re right about our ‘agreement,’ but you’re wrong about my reaction. I’m not angry, I’m just surprised and disappointed. I suppose this means that you won’t come to Levenden Lodge for Ascot?”

  “I’m afraid not. Again, I hope you’ll forgive me, sir.”

  “And what about Littlemoor, in August?”

  “Naturally your invitation still stands, and I hope you’ll plan to join us.”

  With a hint of frustration he asked, “And for the next two months? In no way do I mean to impose upon you, but I’ve always meant what I’ve said, that I do think that we should take as much opportunity as we can to at least get to know each other better. I understand—I think—your wish to go home to rest, so I won’t beg for an invitation to Camarden. But would you at least consider corresponding with me?”

  Mirabella smiled. “Do you know, Lord Trevor, that in spite of your careless flirtatious ways, I find you to be refreshingly direct when you wish to be? You know that it’s not seemly for us to correspond, because—”

  “Yes, I know, the old Polite Society conundrum, a lady and gentleman may not correspond unless they are betrothed. I don’t suppose you’d wish to pretend that we are engaged for two months? No? I suppose it’s just as well, I’m a lamentably poor letter-writer anyway.” He stood up and bowed. “Then this is good-bye for a time, Lady Mirabella. I thank you for your consideration in speaking to me personally, and please extend my sincerest gratitude to Lady Camarden for allowing me such a privilege.” Although his words were courteous, his manner was coldly formal.