by Lynn Morris
They sat down on Mirabella’s shawl. With easy grace Giles cocked one leg up and rested his arm on his knee; Mirabella sat with her legs tucked neatly to one side. Surreptitiously she wiped her nose one final time.
Giles watched her, and his gaze grew steady and grave, his eyes deepening to a royal blue. Quietly he said, “I suppose you’ve heard about Brydges.”
“Hm? Oh, yes, I have. A letter from Lady Jersey was waiting for me when we arrived yesterday, describing the lurid scenes in endless detail,” she said carelessly.
Giles looked slightly puzzled, and asked slowly, “Are you—upset?”
“About Lord Trevor and Rosalind? No, certainly not. In fact I’m relieved, for I know there was a lot of nonsensical talk about me and Lord Trevor in Town, and this will surely put paid to it.”
He frowned. Reaching aside, he plucked up a stalk of greenery and crushed it, rolling it back and forth between his fingers. “Hm, thyme, isn’t it,” he said absently. “Yes, there was talk of you and Brydges, some of it from him. He said that you were leading him a merry chase, but he didn’t really mind, he thought that you were well worth waiting for.”
Sarcastically Mirabella said, “Apparently my definition of ‘waiting for’ someone is wildly different from Lord Trevor’s. It doesn’t signify anyway, Giles, and I don’t really want to talk about him. I had understood that you were going to Scotland this month, I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Half a moment, Mirabella. I thought—everyone thought that you had finally decided on Brydges. Obviously now you would never consider marrying him, but under the circumstances it seems that you’d be much more distressed.”
“As I said, I’m not distressed, I’m relieved. As for this talk of me and Lord Trevor, I suppose it’s my own fault, for I’ve been criminally stupid, but at least I’ve realized it and come to my senses,” Mirabella said uncomfortably. “Do we really have to talk about this any more?”
“Yes,” he said bluntly. “So—so you’re saying that since this has happened with Brydges, you haven’t quite decided on who else you might consider?”
“No, I’ve decided that I began this Season as an idiot with an imbecilic plan, but thankfully I ended the Season, as they say, wiser but sadder.” He still looked at her with utter bafflement, so she decided to speak plainly. “I thought that I wanted to get married, but I don’t.”
“You—you don’t?”
“No. That is—no.”
“Oh. I see,” he said blankly, and blinked several times.
Brightly Mirabella said, “I’m glad that you do, for I honestly, really, truly do not wish to talk about it any more. Again, I thought you were going to Scotland?”
“Scotland?”
“Yes, Scotland. That cold, mountainous land to the north, where the indigenous inhabitants speak with a rolling burr-r-r-r,” she trilled, “and not only the females, but also the males wear skirts.”
“Why on earth would I go to Scotland?”
Uncertainly now Mirabella said, “I understood that you were going with the Smythes for grouse. To their new shooting box. In Scotland.”
“Smythes? Shooting box?” He shook his head as if to clear away a cloud of troublesome gnats. “That’s absurd, I have no intention of running off to Scotland with the Smythes or anyone else.”
“You don’t?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Oh. I see,” Mirabella said, although it was obvious that she didn’t.
“I’m glad,” Giles said sardonically, “and I have this eerie feeling that we’ve already had this conversation, don’t you? Anyway, that rumor must have gotten started from Mrs. Smythe, but it’s all claptrap as usual, or at least it mostly is. I invited Harry Smythe to come home to Knyveton with me, and I suppose Mrs. Smythe talked herself into believing that I was coming back to their shooting box with him in August, although I never once agreed to do so. I didn’t even know it was in Scotland.”
Very slowly Mirabella said, “And so Harry Smythe is here, at Knyveton, now? Did you invite Barbara?”
“Barbara? Miss Smythe? Good heavens, no. Why would I invite Miss Smythe to Knyveton? If I did, I’d have to have the whole family, and although Mr. Smythe is an agreeable-enough fellow, I wouldn’t be able to endure Mrs. Smythe for more than an hour at most. It’s an outlandish notion anyway, for Miss Smythe has no interest in coming here.”
“She doesn’t? But I thought—that is, everyone thought—thinks—”
Severely Giles said, “Mirabella, please don’t tell me that you’ve paid any mind to all of the balderdash about me and Miss Smythe. The entire thing is fabricated from Mrs. Smythe’s fertile and wishful imagination, and she’s so transparent that I thought surely you would know how ridiculous the gossip about us was. It had no foundation whatsoever, for though Miss Smythe and I find each other’s company to be agreeable, there was never any question of a romantic attachment.”
Mirabella was so astonished that she was dumbstruck. She stared at him, her eyes wide, and even her mouth was slightly open, as her jaw had literally dropped.
With amusement he said, “Mirabella, close your mouth, well-bred young ladies do not conduct polite conversation with their mouths gaping open. That is, I hope that we’ll have more polite conversation. I find it hard to believe that you’re speechless, I’ve never seen you so. I don’t much care for it.”
“But—but—but I thought—do you mean that you’re not in love with Barbara?”
“I can’t think of any plainer way to say it. No, I am not now, have never been, and do not intend ever to be, in love with Barbara Smythe.”
Again the tears started flowing, completely unnoticed by Mirabella. After long silent moments, Giles pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket and handed it to her. “Your nose is running again,” he observed clinically, “because you’re crying again. Why are you crying now? I thought I knew and understood you through and through, but today I’m thoroughly confounded.”
“I don’t know why I’m crying,” Mirabella said plaintively, and blew her nose. “I’m terribly confused, because I’m not sad, and that’s why women usually weep, isn’t it? Anyway, I’m not sad, I’m happy. I mean, I think I’m happy. Yes, that is true, I’m happy.”
“Then let us solve this conundrum together. If you’re—” He stopped abruptly, for now Mirabella was laughing.
“No, no, I’ll have no more conundrums, ever. I’m happy, Giles. Can we just leave it there?”
“No, we cannot. I know that something isn’t right with you, and I can’t fathom what it is. You used to talk to me, Bella, can’t you talk to me now? I know I can help you, as I always have.”
“Yes, you always have,” she repeated softly, and wiped the last tear from her cheek. “I do want to tell you, Giles, but I’m afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“I’m afraid that you’ll be embarrassed, or uncomfortable at least. I’m afraid that it will affect our friendship, that we may not be able to be such close friends any more.”
Her eyes were averted. He reached over and took her hand in his, and she admired the grace of his hands, his long supple fingers. In a low, intent voice he said, “Bella, never in this life do you need to fear anything from me. I can’t conceive of anything you could possibly do or say that would cause me any discomfort whatsoever. And I promise you, I vow to you, that I will always be your closest, most faithful friend.”
Mirabella looked back up at him. “Thank you, Giles. What I want to tell you is that I love you. Well, of course I’ve loved you for my entire life, but what I mean is that now I’ve fallen in love with you. Not just now, this instant, that would be silly, but I have finally, slowly realized that I’m in love with you. Please know that I’m perfectly happy that you’re not in love with me, for I believe you, I know that in your way you’ll always love me, and I treasure that and am content.”
Giles frowned, a more fierce and forbidding expression than she had ever seen on his affable features. In
a guttural voice he said, “I think I misunderstood you. Would you please repeat that? And simplify, please.”
Helplessly Mirabella said, “I love you, Giles.”
He stayed very still for a long time. “I had no idea…you were so determined to marry, you were so certain that you’d never know real love. Are you sure?”
“It’s one of the few things in this world that I am sure of. You aren’t upset, are you? We can still be friends, can’t we? We need never mention it again, and I promise that I’ll be a good friend to any lady who is fortunate enough to marry you.”
Now, finally, Giles’s sky-blue eyes crinkled, and he grinned his familiar old crooked grin. “Actually, I should very much like for that lady to be you. I love you, Bella. I’ve been in love with you for a long time.”
“You—you have?” Mirabella spluttered. “But I never knew, in my wildest dreams! You never showed it, at all!”
“Neither did you. Haven’t we done a clever job of fooling each other?”
They stared at each other, Giles still half-grinning. Slowly a smile, filled with delight, lit up Mirabella’s face. She leaned forward and gently put her lips on his. At first he seemed frozen, but then he put his arms around her and kissed her, a long sweet lingering kiss. When their lips parted, he clasped her tightly to him, and she put her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder.
“I can’t believe it,” Mirabella whispered. “Thank you, Lord…thank you.”
Giles said, “Amen. Lady Mirabella, would you do me the greatest honor, and marry me?”
“Oh, yes, yes!” Excitedly she sat up and took his face in her hands and gave him an exuberant kiss. “We can get a special license from the bishop, so we could be married as soon as next month! August weddings are a little unusual, I suppose, but what does it matter, and I wouldn’t want to have a big ostentatious production at St. George’s anyway, of course we’ll want to be married here, at St. John’s, by Mr. Rosborough—”
Giles put up one hand. “One moment, please. It’s impossible that we marry so soon. The primary reason—or at least one reason—that I never declared myself to you was because I’m simply not in a position to marry you right now. You know that I’m having some financial difficulties, and I don’t expect them to be fully resolved for at least another year. I couldn’t support you in the manner to which you’ve become accustomed, and which you deserve. And the one thing that would embarrass me deeply is to live off my wife. It’s a matter of honor.”
Mirabella’s expression slowly changed from incandescent joy to outrage as he spoke. She jumped up, stamped her foot, and shouted, “Hang your honor! That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard in my life! You won’t marry me because I have money?”
As Giles got to his feet, he said dryly, “I did get my wish that you would talk to me, I might be obliged to think that over.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “Of course I want to marry you, more than anything in life. But it isn’t too much to ask that we wait for a year, is it? Many couples have at least a year’s betrothal.”
“We’re not many couples, Giles. After what I’ve been through, I can’t bear the thought of waiting for you for so long. Please, please, Giles, forget all of this worry about money. It’s not really your honor anyway, it’s simply pride, and that’s the deadliest of the seven sins. As your betrothed, I must point that out to you and tell you to repent,” she cajoled him.
“It’s not that simple,” he said sternly. “What I can’t bear is the thought of marrying you with barely a ha’pence to my name that’s not owed to creditors.”
Mirabella’s eyes flashed deep sapphire blue. “Very well, then. What I shall do is tell Pappa to deposit my settlement into your bank account, and refuse to take it back. Then you’ll have thirty thousand pounds, and I’ll be penniless. Would that satisfy your honor?”
“Of course not, that would be absurd,” Giles rasped. “I wouldn’t accept it.”
“That’s what would be absurd, if it was sitting there and you refused to spend it. What about this, then? I will loan you all the money you need, and we will draw up all the necessary documents, and you will repay me each month, with appropriate interest, of course. Oh, wait a moment. Again, that would be ridiculous, for you to transfer your money to me, when actually by law all of my money will be yours. Let me think, let me think, oh, now I have it. I wish to purchase your little black mare, she’s quite a spirited, lovely thing and honestly, Giles, she’s too small for you. I’ll give you thirty thousand pounds for her.”
“You’re not going to allow me to get away with this, are you?”
“No, I am not. I demand that you marry me next month, or I swear, Giles, I really will put my money into your account.”
“This must be the most bizarre conversation I’ve ever had,” Giles said. “But I shouldn’t be surprised, you always get your way, Bella. Would you do me the honor of marrying me—next month?”
“I will.”
Their second long savory kiss was interrupted by a loud crunching sound at their feet. They had completely forgotten about Dolly. She had managed to get Mirabella’s satchel opened. She was contentedly eating an apple, staring up at them with deep contemplation.
Giles laughed. “I’m surrounded by females that always get what they want when they want. I’m going to be the most pathetic, browbeaten husband on earth.”
“And you will love it. Come, Giles, you must go speak to Pappa now. Help me get my things, and hurry, please.”
“My lady, your wish is my command.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Arm in arm, Mirabella and Giles argued, affectionately of course, all the way back to the house. Mirabella stopped mid-sentence when she burst into the drawing room, where Lady Camarden was writing letters and Lord Camarden was reading. “Pappa, Giles wants to speak to you,” she said excitedly. “Oh, never mind, that’s silly, of course, Mamma, you can hear. Tell them, Giles.”
With one long-suffering glance at Mirabella, he said, “Sir, and—er, madam, I would like to beg that you will grant me the greatest honor, and give me your daughter’s hand in marriage.”
Lord Camarden looked them up and down. “You two have finally come to your senses, have you? About time. As for giving you her hand, I gladly do so, although I know you’re only indulging me, I couldn’t give Mirabella’s hand or anything else of hers to anyone unless it’s what she wanted. You’re very kind to an old man, Mirabella, thank you for the gesture.”
Lady Camarden said, “Thank the gracious Lord, at last. It’s the most sensible thing you’ve done in years, Mirabella. Now I suppose I must rewrite all of my letters. Have you set a date yet?”
Mirabella said, “I want to get married next month—”
At the same time Giles said, “I was hoping for the end of September—”
That started the argument again, for Giles had been begging Mirabella for at least a little time to ready Knyveton Hall, while she insisted that she didn’t trust him to do the things that needed to be done to her future home, and she would see to any repairs and refurbishments herself. Although the discussion was slightly heated, they were holding hands, and absently Mirabella led him back out into the entrance hall and out the front door, to go to assess Knyveton Hall.
Lord Camarden said, “I’m glad they’ll be so close. One happy result of it is that they can quarrel there instead of here.”
“Look here, I’ve written seven perfectly good letters today,” Lady Camarden lamented. “And now we won’t be going to Littlemoor, so I’ll have to write everyone, except that villain Brydges and that sly skunk Rosalind FitzGeorge, and cancel. I suppose I’ll wait to do my rewrites until I find out if the wedding is to be in August or September.”
“I would wager on August,” Lord Camarden said, and returned to his book.
On the way to Knyveton Hall, Mirabella and Giles were still engaged in their spirited discussion, but at odd intervals they would stop and look at each other, amazed again that their
entire lives had changed in the last two hours, and there was more kissing. Finally they reached Knyveton, and paused for a few moments on the bridge leading to the entryway, watching the swans gliding majestically. “They are so heartbreakingly lovely,” Mirabella murmured. “Oh, I have just had the most capital idea! At Aldington House they have an entire flock of black swans—are they called a flock?”
“I believe it’s called a bevy of swans,” Giles said warily.
“A bevy of black swans that Lord Aldington acquired from New South Wales. Surely he would let us have a couple, wouldn’t that be splendid? I shall put it on my list. Unless—you don’t think that Mr. Aldington is too upset with me, do you?”
“Actually, I think that you might have granted his fondest wish, for right now at any rate, considering the bizarre Byronic mood he’s been in. You gave him a star-crossed love affair to lament. Last month Aldington joined me and Harry and Miss Smythe quite often, riding in the park and at balls and parties. I had a difficult time of it for a while, for I was obliged to console both Smythe and Aldington for the loss of their lady loves. Soon, however, Aldington began to take comfort in Miss Smythe’s company, and before we left Town I noticed that she was cheering him up considerably. I expect that soon—if she isn’t shouting it from the rooftops already—Mrs. Smythe will be telling everyone how Miss Smythe broke a baronet’s heart, but her one true love is the heir to a barony. So that will be satisfactorily settled, I think. I only hope that Harry can have a happy ending, too.”
“Oh dear, I’d forgotten all about him. You did say that he’s here?”
“Yes, although I feared I was going to have to engage a mule team to drag him here. He’s hopeless as far as Josephine is concerned, you know. He’s convinced that she cares nothing for him, and I’ve almost talked myself into an apoplexy telling him otherwise.”