Lord Haversham Takes Command

by Heidi Ashworth

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Why, I doubt I have seen anything so comical!” Mira said blithely. She could not help but notice Harry’s low spirits at dinner and ached to see him smile. “I believe you have a sprig of parsley in your hair, just there.” She pointed to the offensive article, but despite the care she took to make light of it, his face drained white and his eyes glittered in a way that wrung her heart.

  She took a step closer and put her hand on his arm. “There is a waltz playing; I don’t believe we have danced together all night,” she added breezily as if she hadn’t suffered agonies from his neglect of her. She couldn’t fathom why he should wish to dance with every girl but she; it couldn’t be that he was put off by her appearance as she had taken care with her toilette and donned a gown in his favorite deep blue that matched her eyes to perfection.

  Harry said nothing, nor did he move, and, in spite of their being quite alone in the room, there came a strange sound from behind him on the table. She stepped round him to see what it could be and gasped in surprise. “Harry, is that a monkey I see?”

  Finally, he stirred and to her relief, spoke. “Yes, I do believe it is.”

  “Well,” she said, determined to have her waltz, monkey or no. “I don’t see how it should prevent our dancing together.”

  She thought he bit back a smile, but the slight curving of his cheek prodded a tear to spill down his face and the ghost of the smile was gone. Thoroughly at a loss, she reached up to pluck the greenery from his hair, but he anticipated her action and threw up a hand to forestall her.

  The misery that had threatened to overwhelm her all day rose into her chest but she waited, her hand held painfully tight in his own. Finally, he opened his eyes, his brow creased with sadness or anger, she knew not which. Mira longed to know what she had done to displease him, but it seemed that his store of words was used up.

  “I shan’t mind the parsley if you do not,” she said, choking on tears of her own.

  Suddenly, the monkey took up a shrill screaming so loud it threatened to bring others into the supper room and put an end to their privacy. Mira was crushed. The moment she had seen his face in the stables earlier that morning, she had known he must leave but knew not when and assumed they would spend every possible moment together in the meantime. She had been at pains to hide her sorrow so as not to spoil what time they had together but to no avail; he had stayed away all day, had taken supper with her best friend, and had failed to ask Mira for even one dance the entire evening. What had she done to deserve such pointed disdain? How long did they have together before he disappeared from her life yet again?

  It seemed not long, for the moment the inquisitive faces of his guests began to flood into the room, Harry pushed through them and stalked through the doorway. Mira watched him go with her heart in her throat, unable to follow or speak or even think.

  “Is that … a monkey?” the Marquess asked. “Because, if it is, I know of a very good recipe for monkey brain stew.”

  Mira felt a frown crease her own face as she turned to face him. “People eat monkey brains?”

  “Not Sarah Siddons!” Lady Avery cried as she forced her way through the crowd hovering around the entrance to the room. “Oh, Miss Crenshaw! I most especially wanted you to meet Sarah, my monkey. I had hoped to have an entire zoo set up for tonight, but even if I could have found an animal other than a mangy old bear, I wasn’t terribly clear on where I should have it. I thought perhaps in that corner … ” she mused as if Mira’s world were not crashing to the ground.

  For once in her life Mira was glad of her brothers’ advice and happily ignored her hostess who was too caught up with fashioning a cage for Sarah Siddons from the dining chairs to notice Mira’s neglect. Hastily, she made her way out of the supper room through the gathering crowd that included slack-jawed Crenshaws of every stamp. The exception was her mother who smiled her encouragement and put out a hand to halt Mira’s progress and whisper in her ear.

  “It was when I had run from a house party that your father followed me,” she said with a squeeze to Mira’s hand who threw her arms about her mother for a tight embrace.

  “Oh, Mama! Thank you!” she cried, whereupon she ran into the ballroom and looked about for Harry. It took but a moment to determine he was not there and she struggled to tamp down her burgeoning sense of alarm. Why had she never told him of her feelings? If he were to leave her again, it wouldn’t, couldn’t be before she had told him how very much she loved him. She attempted to work out where he might have gone as she ran through the door leading out of the ballroom into the passage and down the stairs that led to the main floor of the house.

  Once arrived at the ground floor, she heard a faint commotion that seemed to be coming from the back of the house. Breathless and nearly frantic, she rushed through a maze of passages and finally into the kitchen to find the servant girls cowered in the corner like so many birds in a cat-stalked nest. A woman in an apron had a pan raised high above her head and looked as if she meant to use it on a tall man in black. With a start, Mira realized the man was Harry, and her heart nearly leapt out of her chest.

  He, however, was quick on his feet and dodged the crazed woman only to be accosted by the butler who took a swing at him. Harry dodged the butler’s fist as well and rapped him soundly on the head with the butt of his pistol.

  Mira screamed. Why would Harry do such a thing? She called after him but had no hope of being heard for, with a mighty roar, a second woman wearing the keys of a housekeeper at her waist lunged for him just as a thundering from behind Mira threatened to collapse the house. She turned towards the noise to see a dozen footmen dash into the kitchen at a dead run, Sarah Siddons in the lead. With a screech, the monkey vaulted onto the scrub table, into the sink, swung across the greasy wrought iron chandelier in the middle of the room, and landed in a heap on the housekeeper’s head, whose ensuing screeches rivaled those of her primate oppressor.

  Heedless of the mayhem around him, Harry sprinted for the back door and disappeared into the night. Without a thought except that she could not bear it if she hadn’t the chance to speak with him before he disappeared, Mira followed him into the darkness. The sky was heavy with storm clouds and there was little light as she peered across the lawn towards the sea, however, she thought she saw a flash of white on the far side of the lawn just before it winked out of sight. Convinced it was one of Harry’s overly-exposed shirt cuffs, she picked up her skirts and ran just as the rain began to fall.

  The lawn came to an abrupt halt at the edge of the cliff that overlooked the ocean far below, but Harry was nowhere to be seen. Her skirts and hair whipped tight around her by the wind, she stood and scanned the path that led down to the beach, the rain stinging her face like tiny bits of hail. Then she saw a flash of white in the distance, so far down the path it might as well have been across the ocean. Where was he going? Would he ever return?

  The wind in her skirts threatened to blow her from the rocky ridge, but she gathered the fabric into her arms as best she could and flew down the path, the soft, kid leather of her dancing slippers shredding into smaller and smaller pieces with every step. If she did not catch up to him, she knew not what she would do. Nor did she know how she could allow him to leave her if she did. Nearly blinded by the rain, she trained what was left of her vision on the treacherous path, so it came as an utter shock when she ran headlong into him with a thud against his rock-hard chest.

  “You little fool!” he ground out, his arm tightening around her with a viselike grip. As instantly as he had locked her in place, he let go and gave her a bit of a shove to the side.

  Dazed and more than a little confused, she looked up to find that he held aloft a pistol as close as could be without the muzzle being quite literally in her face. For the briefest of moments she feared he meant to use it against her, but common sense allowed there was no cause, and she realized he pointed it up the path from whence she had just come. Suddenly, a shout rose into the air an
d the outline of a man came into view as he scampered down the path mere feet from where they stood.

  “Mira,” Harry growled, his vision trained on the man, “get behind me this instant!

  Mira thought it best to do as he said but hadn’t a chance to move before another shout came from the path above.

  “I know what you are about and I insist you stop immediately!” cried a man in a voice remarkably like that of George.

  “Or what, Your Grace?” Harry challenged, stepping in front of Mira. “You shall cudgel me with your stickpin?”

  The man had now drawn near enough for Mira to decipher his expression in the inconstant moonlight. “George, surely Papa must have spoken to you by now. I am not yours, and you have no right to treat me thus!”

  “I demand that Miss Crenshaw return with me to the house this instant, Haversham! I find your actions heinous, though you are correct in that I have no means to force you from your aim save through my wits.”

  “You would be better served by the stickpin,” Harry quipped. “Am I correct to assume it was you who have been dogging my every step?”

  “I admit to having followed you once or twice since your return to England’s shores, yes. It was in Miss Crenshaw’s best interests.”

  “Word of my activities abroad seem to have preceded me,” Harry said.

  “But of course; you are infamous! I couldn’t tolerate the thought of Mira being deceived by you but I needed proof before I could hope to dissuade my cousin Anthony from allowing his daughter anywhere near you.”

  “And did you obtain your proof?”

  “Not precisely, but it would seem your secrets do not end with your return to the bosom of your family. Being as I am a fair man, I did try to warn you away.”

  “Then I was correct in assuming it was you who penned those notes?” Harry demanded.

  “What notes?” Mira asked from her position behind Harry’s right shoulder.

  “The ones left here at Cedars, signed anonymous,” Harry explained.

  “I did not write any such thing!” George cried in a huff.

  “Didn’t you?” Harry needled.

  “No! I left them unsigned. Much more distinguished that way, and by half!”

  “All right, then, George,” Harry said as if speaking to a particularly dull-witted child. “How is her fate sealed?”

  “Need I explain? I should have thought my intentions towards Miss Crenshaw have been made more than clear!” George shouted. “And do put down that gun before someone gets shot!”

  Mira, in possession of a fantastical thought, felt she ought to speak up. “Harry, I believe he thinks us to be eloping. By boat!”

  Harry lowered the gun just a fraction. “Then you are not in league with Randall and the rest?”

  George shook his head. “Randall? No! Who is he?”

  “My butler,” Harry replied, scanning the path up to the cliff.

  “I suppose he is on his way down here to put a stop to this debacle as well, in which case I will be happy to accept his assistance. If you think I shall let you disappear with her, Haversham, you are sadly mistaken! As such, I have alerted the authorities, and they will be here presently. I will not be jilted by my own cousin!”

  “George, how could you?” Mira cried. “We aren’t even officially engaged!”

  She was never to know what his response might have been for there came a loud crack, and Harry had her off of her feet and in his arms in the flicker of an eye. As he ran to a dinghy that rested in the sand at the water’s edge, understanding dawned and Mira suddenly realized from whence the danger came. “That was a gun! Who is shooting at us?”

  Harry jerked his head towards the ridge of the cliff above the path. “That would be a traitor and his compatriots, otherwise known as Randall and the footmen of Cedars, aided and abetted by my cook and housekeeper.” He placed Mira on her feet within the confines of the boat, told her to get down, and turned his attention to the men on the ridge of the cliff.

  Mira did as she was told, but George would have none of it.

  “She will do no such thing,” he commanded as he reached into the dinghy and attempted to pull Mira to her feet. “She is coming with me!”

  Harry placed a foot into the dinghy to keep it from drifting out to sea. “Don’t be a ninny, George! Get off the beach or you’ll be shot!”

  “Not without Miss Crenshaw,” George shouted over the crash of the waves.

  Mira rose to her knees to implore her cousin to do as Harry said, but her voice was lost in the crack of a gun as Harry shot into the sand at George’s feet who, in turn, lost no time in running headlong down the beach to cower, in relative safety, behind an outcropping of rocks.

  There came another shot from the ridge above as Harry pushed the dinghy farther into the waves and jumped inside. As they headed out into the deep water and were tossed about in the waves, Mira wondered if drowning weren’t an easier death than being hit by a bullet. Her mind was suddenly filled with all she had heard about the boating accident at Eton, the one everyone spoke of but never explained. She had no clue as to what actually happened, but the consequences must have been grave or it would not have been something of which no one would speak. What had Harry done? Was she doomed to drown if a bullet didn’t kill her first?

  “Harry,” she said, forcing the words through her chattering teeth. “I’m frightened.”

  He pushed her down into the bottom of the boat in reply, picked up the oars, and began to row. “Just … trust me!” he shouted.

  What could she say in response? The question of whether or not she trusted him was the one she had given herself to answer often and often, and it was always, eventually and somewhat unaccountably, yes. The clouds shifted, and, for a moment, the moon reflecting on the water provided the light she needed to look into his face as he battled the waves. There was nothing of Bertie there, nothing but the Harry she had known and loved, as well as the Harry she had wished for and newly discovered.

  “I do trust you!” she shouted above the roar of the waves and knew he had heard her when his face split into an exultant grin. Warmed by his smile, Mira felt utterly unafraid. She was cold and wet and shivering, but as she glided into her future with the man she loved, she refused to consider any details except that Harry — her Harry — returned her love, and they were together.

  Another shot rang in the air, and Mira’s momentary bliss was shattered. She lifted her head to risk a peek at the shore and saw that it was lined with men who fired upon them relentlessly, their faces illuminated by the sparking of their guns. Most of the bullets landed in the water, but a few bit into the upper prow of the dinghy with an unnerving thunk followed by a vibration Mira could feel through the soles of her feet. Contrary to her fears, Harry was an expert with the oars and he plied them with a strength and urgency she could only admire, until, at long last, it became clear no bullet could possibly reach them and the crisis was over.

  Suddenly, Harry tossed down the oars, knelt in the bottom of the boat, and dragged her into his arms. “Mira, my darling Mira, how selfish I am!” he cried, his breath coming in great gasps as he attempted to fill his punished lungs with air. The waves were choppier than ever, and Mira wondered at his enormous strength that kept them both balanced on their knees in the heaving dinghy.

  “I couldn’t bear to leave you, but I had my orders. Besides, it wasn’t safe — you weren’t safe when you were near me. And then, when you followed me onto the beach … perhaps I should have sent you off with George but when faced, once again, with the prospect of leaving you, I simply could not.”

  With a start, Mira realized he expected a reply to this somewhat confusing speech, however, the moment she opened her mouth, he covered it with his own with a passion entirely new to her. She responded with an answering intensity that shook her to the core while it thrilled her to no end. This was the man she had hungered for, one who could reveal his every feeling and need with trust that she would view his transparency not a
s weakness, but as a strength, one which she might add to with her own with no fear of rebuff.

  “Oh, Harry,” she breathed between kisses. “I thought you would never come back to me.”

  “I never left you,” he murmured as he rained kisses to the top of her head. “You were all I thought of.”

  “But why, Harry? You did come back, but it wasn’t you. I thought I should die!”

  With a groan, he kissed her with lips that were soft, warm, and lingering, and that called to her in ways the demanding kisses hadn’t. In spite of the icy rain from above, she felt a glow of warmth spread from her center that radiated out to enclose her entire being with heat. She wanted nothing more than to go on this way forever, but a sliver of rationality remained, one that insisted she ask her questions whilst Harry was inclined to answer them.

  “We have wasted so much time!” she professed, pummeling his chest with her fists. “Why did you not come home after Eton?”

  It was too dark to read his expression, but the way he released her and slid from his knees to the bottom of the boat told her that the answer pained him. As it was impossible to stay aloft without his support, she took her seat again as well and waited for his voice to come out of the darkness.

  “It was the accident, the one at Eton. I … I was torn up … destroyed, really. And Mother, well … the state I was in, I knew I shouldn’t have any patience for her. As for my father, he should have proved intolerable.”

  “But I don’t understand; it was just an accident, was it not? What could they have said that would not have been a comfort?”

  “My mother and father are never a comfort, no matter the occasion.” A brief break in the clouds allowed enough moonlight for her to see the bleakness in his eyes. “Besides, it was my fault,” he said in a rush, as if his resolve threatened to desert him, “my fault entirely!”

  “Yours!” Mira heard herself exclaim.

  “How was I to tell them?” he demanded in a voice that wavered just a little. “They would not have understood how I, their perfect son, could do anything so utterly irresponsible, so foolish, and most of all, so unheroic! It would have served them better had I died attempting to rescue poor Edwin.”