Lord Haversham Takes Command Read online

  Her contempt was lost on George, however. “But, of course! He makes his position clear when he apes his betters as he does tonight. He can’t have learned such passable tastes in manner and dress from his family.”

  Mira knew the equity of that statement and bit back a smile. “He did spend four years on the Continent. Surely that might account for any degree of evolution in a man.”

  “Ah! Then how does one account for his behavior as of late?” George asked just as Mira spotted the weakness in her argument.

  “Whatever the reason for his earlier behavior, he has since gained perspective,” she said with a lift of her chin. “I should be astounded were he to abandon his current mode of dress and graceful demeanor,” Mira predicted. Had she not made it clear that her mama and papa would never allow their daughter to marry such a dolt as Bertie? “In fact, I drew Bertie’s attention to the matter only tonight,” she said with a bright smile.

  “Is that so?” George asked. “And what was Bertie’s response? I am all agog.”

  “He expressed an implacable desire to mend his ways, that is all,” Mira said, uncomfortably aware that he had done nothing of the sort as she gazed once again over George’s shoulder to where Harry stood bent over the ear trumpet of an elderly woman who sat alone in a corner of the room. He gave every impression of being fully engaged in their conversation; Mira thought surely he would not notice her passing. However, at the last moment, he spotted her from the corner of his eye, straightened out to his full height and met her gaze with a frank one of his own that sent the butterflies in Mira’s stomach into full flutter.

  “I am surprised to hear you own he is in want of a lesson or two,” George quipped. “You have been so blindly enamored of him since you were a child, in spite of everything.”

  “You speak in riddles, Your Grace.”

  “Do not be so obtuse, Mira, it does not become you. Admit it, you have long made a habit of trailing after him.”

  “If by that you refer to my desire to be with my brothers, one can hardly find me guilty of anything more. The fact that Har — ah, Bertie wished to be near them as well is neither here nor there.”

  “Do you deny, then, your affection for him?”

  Mira risked a glance over George’s shoulder in time to lock gazes with Harry once more. It felt as if he were privy to their conversation, and she smiled at the bubble of happiness that rose within her.

  “The very least you owe me is the truth. If you think I do not see how you simper at him even now, you must think me the sorriest of fools. Your shameless flirting dishonors me, and I will not countenance it,” George insisted. “I wonder that your parents can have done so little to suppress your infatuation of him. Were you my daughter, I would have done so, certainly when news of the boating accident came to my ears, if not before.”

  “How does the boating accident signify in the least?” Mira asked, surprised that George should bring it up but grateful for the chance to put him to the question.

  “If your parents had favored you with the truth, you would have no need to question me on the subject!”

  “I am quite aware of the boating accident; have no fears on that score!” Mira said in defense of her parents whilst heartily disappointed that it disallowed her from further questioning as she dared not expose her ignorance on the matter.

  “Then you are fully aware of how unsuitable he is for all but the most desperate of spinsters.”

  Mira was forced into silence by that statement. She couldn’t fathom why the accident should bring so much shame to Harry. She hadn’t known, either, that the exchanged glances between herself and Harry were so apparent. The thought made her burn with chagrin, and she forced herself not to so much as glance past George’s shoulder for the remainder of the set.

  When the music came to a close, George refused to turn her loose until he had located Mira’s parents and delivered her safely into their keeping. They were discovered on the ground floor in the otherwise deserted dining room as they sat together on a small sofa by the fire. Sir Anthony had his arm about his lady as he fed her apple slices from his fingers, and she, in turn, glowed at his tenderness. Neither seemed to notice that they were no longer alone and looked up in surprise when George made his presence known with a deep cough.

  Mira thought her father looked a bit abashed, but her mother merely laughed and jumped to her feet to fix them plates of their own. Mira could not help but notice how her father’s gaze was fastened on his wife as she went round the table collecting bits and pieces from each platter and wondered that she did not feel flustered as she most often did by her father’s obvious affection for her mother. Instead, Mira felt an envy that pierced her soul. If this was what it was like to love and be loved, then there was no hope for her and George. When her mother approached her with a plate of fruit and sandwiches, Mira refused it and abandoned George to sit by her father on the sofa.

  “Papa,” she whispered. “I find I have the headache and must go home.”

  “I would not be in the least surprised if your mother shouldn’t wish to go home as well,” her father said, placing an arm around her shoulders and giving her a gentle squeeze. “Let us leave your brothers to fend for themselves and bespeak our carriage.”

  “Thank you, Papa!” Mira replied as she leaned into the circle of his arm. “I am afraid George will be angry with me but I find I do not mind so much if he is.”

  Sir Anthony frowned. “What right has George to be angry with you?”

  “He hasn’t,” Mira said once she had ensured George was too caught up in conversation with her mama to eavesdrop. “Nevertheless, he is continually finding fault with me. When he last dined with us, he was dreadfully rude and even grasped my arm quite painfully.”

  Her father’s frown deepened, and Mira felt how his tension rose as he prepared to speak. Fearing the worst, she put a hand to his knee and said, “No, Papa. I do not wish there to be a scene. Poor Bertie has had more to deal with than any man should tonight already.”

  “It is good of you to consider his feelings,” her father replied, his frown all but vanished. “Am I wrong to suppose your previous feelings of affection for him have not undergone a serious alteration?”

  “No, Papa, not wrong, but your wishes do and must remain my primary desire.”

  “Then rest assured that my wishes are for you to be as content in your marriage as are your mother and I,” he said with a pat to her hand. “In point of fact, we have long believed Harry, that is to say, Bertie, to be the man for you.”

  Mira felt her heart leap in her chest. “Truly, Papa? For Mama does not seem to think so and says I am not old enough to be wise in such matters.”

  “Perhaps she is right. Whatever his name, he has not been himself as of late,” her father mused. “However, I find I cannot like George, no matter how convinced I am that I would be a fool to rob you of such a brilliant marriage.”

  “Brilliant? How can you say so, Papa?” Mira objected. “Rather, I would say commiserable, infelicitous, and fallacious.”

  “Ah, Mira, so fond of your dictionary,” her father said, tightening the circle of his arm around her shoulders. “However, let us not get too far ahead of ourselves,” he warned. “You have registered your complaints, and now it is for me to air my concerns. If Bertie had behaved ever since his return as he has tonight, I would have done all in my power to further your attachment to him. However, as things stand, he appears to be a bit unsteady. One would not go too far to call his mother more than a little deranged, and I fear for his offspring if not for Har … Bertie himself.”

  Mira yearned to speak in Harry’s defense, but George had stepped away from her mother and looked as if he intended to join the conversation with her father. “Please, Papa, I don’t wish to speak of it in front of George,” she whispered, and then he was upon them.

  “This is quite the tete-a-tete you are having,” he said, but Sir Anthony rose to his feet and held out his hand to Mira before George could
complete his sentence.

  “I’m afraid my daughter feels ill and wishes to depart.”

  Mira and her mother shared a glance. “I don’t believe I have ever seen you look so pale, my darling,” Lady Crenshaw said and hurried to Mira’s side to put a hand to her forehead. “I think it would be wise to do as your father says. George, would you be so good as to request that Adrian or Stephen have our carriage brought round?” she asked.

  George, his distaste for her choice of address plain on his face, seemed to struggle with his thoughts until he finally executed a short bow and quit the room.

  Once the door had shut firmly behind him, Lady Crenshaw turned to her daughter in alarm. “Mira, what is it? I have not seen you so distressed since your canary died when you were four years old.”

  “Mama, you cannot possibly believe that to have been the height of my despair!” Mira cried and rushed to put her arms around her mother to weep against her neck. “I was far more distressed when Harry did not return after Eton, if you recall.”

  “Is he whom this is about?” her mother asked.

  “No, it’s about George. He is odious beyond words! And that scene with Lady Avery — how Harry, that is, Bertie must have wished to expire on the spot! And then George would not allow me to dance with Harry, and I was so angry at him but I did not wish to cause Harry any more distress and so I danced with George after all, and he was odious!”

  “Yes, I do believe you have mentioned that more than once. However, I think perhaps this is not so much about the ‘odious’ George,” her mother said gently, “but how much you care for Harry.”

  “Bertie,” Mira said with a sniff, pulling away from her mother and taking the handkerchief she offered. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose as she carefully considered what it was she should say next. “He wishes to be called Bertie; I don’t know why, but I feel it is important to honor his request. Meanwhile, I merely wish to convey to you how much I despise George and how unfair everyone has been to Bertie, that is all.”

  “Yes, we are quite familiar with how much you despise George,” her mother urged.

  “Well, I am not,” her father said as he put an arm around Lady Crenshaw’s waist. “Let us hear her out.”

  “Thank you, Papa! I only ask that you give Bertie a chance. He is not deranged, as much as you fear he may be, and Mama, you may have once despised Papa, but it is not the same with George. It cannot be!”

  Her father regarded her mother in surprise. “You despised me?” he asked in mock dismay.

  “I never said so!” Lady Crenshaw insisted. “I would say, rather, ‘disliked.’ However, there is no doubt I was the last young lady you should have chosen for your wife if it weren’t for Grandaunt Regina’s interference.”

  “I owe her an undying debt of gratitude, to be sure.” Sir Anthony averred. “However, I like to think that I should have eventually come to my senses on my own. In the interim, I never thought you odious, not for one moment.”

  “Nor I you,” his wife admitted, blushing.

  “So, you see, I do believe what Mira feels for George is not the same degree of dislike we experienced at the outset of our association,” her father explained.

  “I admit, I am most relieved,” Lady Crenshaw said. “I have never thought George right for you, Mira, but feared that if I said as much, you would immediately develop an attachment to him out of pure pique. Then where should we be?”

  “Then you don’t wish me to marry George?” Mira asked, too confounded to take umbrage at her mother’s connivance.

  “Not I!” her mother insisted. “However, I felt it best for you to learn where your own heart leads.”

  “And Papa?” Mira asked, still feeling too bewildered to comprehend exactly where it was her parents stood on the matter.

  “I, as does your mother, feel we are wiser than your youth will allow. Nevertheless, you have always put me far too much in mind of your great-grandmother to press you. Nor would I wish to,” her father said with a fond smile.

  Hope surged in Mira’s breast. “I own that Bertie has seemed more than a little odd since his return, but if he continues to behave more becomingly, Mama, and were he to ask Papa for permission to court me, would you object?”

  “Not on his own account alone,” her mother replied. “However, there is still his mother to consider. I wonder if anyone’s reputation could withstand such nonsense on a regular basis. It is sad but true that society will tar you with the same brush. You might find that you are making for yourself an intolerable circumstance in which to abide.”

  Mira pressed her hands together in supplication. “Tonight, when Lady Avery carried on so shockingly, I could not help but note the look on Bertie’s face; I thought my heart would break. What he must have felt! Yet, I am persuaded it would not be fair to him if I did not afford him time to take his mother in hand. I do believe he might, if only his father does not interfere.”

  Mira carefully observed her parents as they looked at each other and back at her with eyes full of compassion. “There is no doubt that your affection for Lord Haversham is strong,” her mother said. “As to whether or not it is a friendship that can grow into something more, in spite of his mother … ”

  “Let us not forget his father,” Sir Anthony interjected.

  “Yes, in spite of his mother and his father both, remains to be seen,” Lady Crenshaw explained.

  “Bertie is far more than a friend,” Mira retorted but refrained from further elucidation on that score when she realized that an argument would most likely as not undo all she had accomplished. “Perhaps you are correct and what I feel for him is naught but friendship; I have never before been in love. But will you afford us the opportunity to sort it out for ourselves?”

  “Yes,” her father said. “But he must prove to us that he will make you a most satisfactory husband and a devoted father to our grandchildren.”

  “And that he will take his mother in hand and put an end to further scenes such as we witnessed tonight,” her mother added with deep sigh.

  “Oh, thank you!” Mira cried. She felt the need to clap her hands with joy but suppressed the urge in the nick of time. She knew that were she to develop that habit, all hopes of marriage to Harry would be at an end.

  It was then that the door opened, and a clutch of guests entered the room to descend on the platters of wilted sandwiches and browned apple slices. Behind them followed Adrian. “Your carriage awaits your pleasure,” he said with a bow for his parents and an arm for Mira.

  “Do you go home as well, Adrian?” Mira asked as they trailed after their parents.

  “I think not,” Adrian replied. “I do, however, think Lucy Sutherland grows prettier with every passing moment.”

  “Lord Haversham might take exception to your claim on her,” Mira bantered as she caught, from the corner of her eye, the subject of her barb waiting by the front door. Somehow he looked more handsome than he had when she arrived, and her heart skipped a beat or two when he favored her with an uncertain smile. She wondered if she could ever tire of the lean planes of his face, the green of his almond-shaped eyes, or the way his blond hair curled along his forehead and ears.

  She noted, also, that his jaw was tense, his hands were curled in knots at his sides, and he seemed unusually alert, a circumstance she supposed was due to the presence of George, who stood between Harry and the door as if the Duke were the evening’s host. She counted the seconds until it was her turn to say goodbye, but George indicated a stern resolve to remain, making any private exchange of words with Harry quite impossible. She felt the disappointment rise into her throat and draw it tight.

  Hoping Harry would read her thoughts on her face, Mira extended her hand to him, but George stepped forward and seized it with the speed of a viper. She gasped, but Harry maintained an admirable composure quite at odds with Adrian’s, whose arm tensed under her own. Quickly, she turned to flash him a look of warning and wondered how to forestall the inevitable flying of fist
s but was saved the trouble when her brother dropped her arm and stormed out the door. Save the butler, she was now left alone with George and Harry, a circumstance for which she felt no undue amount of misgiving.

  “I would thank you, George, to let go of my hand,” she said in a cool voice designed to communicate her disdain. He, however, seemed unaffected by her disapproval and kissed her gloved hand before he presented it to Harry with a great show of proprietorship.

  Something dangerous and wholly unfamiliar moved in Harry’s eyes, and, of a sudden, Mira wished Adrian had remained at her side. George, seemingly unaware of his danger, was little threat to Harry but she feared the pathetically thin Duke would be killed by one blow should there be no one to forestall Harry. She looked to the butler whose stare remained trained on the wall across from him as if supremely unaware of anything untoward having occurred. Just when she felt the matter must come to blows after all, Harry turned on his heel and walked away so abruptly that the pain squeezed the air from her lungs.

  A look of scorn crossed George’s face. “His mama doubtless has need of him,” he said, just before Harry returned with a pair of very tall footmen in his wake. Each took hold of one of the Duke’s arms and stalked off with him up the stairs as he struggled and sputtered his noncompliance. The butler followed the trio up the stairs, and Mira watched their departure with keen pleasure as George’s cries grew fainter and fainter and she and Harry were at last alone, or would have been if Adrian hadn’t chosen that moment to return inside.

  “Mira, they are waiting on you!”

  Crestfallen, she turned to follow her brother out the door, but Harry took her hand and pulled her back to his side.

  “Adrian,” he said in a voice that brooked no argument, “Miss Crenshaw will be out presently. Do shut the door behind you as you leave,” he said, his gaze fixed fast to Mira’s face all the while. When the sound of Adrian’s departing footsteps ceased, Harry took a deep breath and let it out as if finally rid of a great burden.

  Just when she thought there must be something terribly wrong with her face that he should stare at it so, he smiled just as he had in days of old and she felt, for the first time, that Harry was finally home. He looked down at her hand in his and brought it up for the kiss for which she had pined all evening. However, she was more than a little surprised when he turned it over and drew the top of her fashionably short glove down with the tip of his finger to expose her wrist, and, bringing it to his lips, kissed it, slowly and gently, as if this act were the sole fruition of his dreams.