Lord Haversham Takes Command Read online

  “But … why?” Mira asked, her hopes turned once more to ashes.

  “Why what?” Lady Avery replied, bright as a summer afternoon and happily occupied with the task of clothing removal.

  “Why would you wish to draw so much attention to yourself at your own son’s wedding?”

  “Because it shall be such a spectacular day! The more important the event, the more drama is required, that is what I always say, for you see, I never had a wedding; Eustace and I eloped,” she added with a sad, little moue. “As such, I have been plotting and planning every detail of Herbert’s nuptials since the day he was born. I have even done up a dozen sketches of his bride’s gown. It is the dearest thing positively groaning under the weight of hundreds of satin roses attached hither and yon! However,” she added with a decidedly downcast air, “I must admit, I am at a loss as to this house party. I’ve barely had time to breathe, let alone think. Perhaps you might help me plan something perfect for tonight!” she asked with a flurry of claps.

  “I imagine you shall do well enough on your own,” Mira said faintly.

  “I suppose you are right. A penchant for drama is one of my God-given gifts; I defy anyone to deny it,” she said with a sigh that denoted a resignation towards her deific burden.

  Mira could think of no reply that suited such a statement and longed for escape. What had become of the maid whose arrival would release Mira from her duty? How long before she was able to quit the room without giving offense? Was there time to gather her parents and flee the premises before Lady Avery unveiled her preposterousness, her next plot, or, heaven prevent, any part of her person?

  Finally, Lady Avery was down to her corset and pantaloons, the high color in her cheeks had receded, and Mira felt she could, in good conscience, leave Lady Avery to her own devices. Since it was clear to Mira that Lady Avery, happily occupied at the dressing table, would hardly notice anything beyond her own reflection in the looking-glass, Mira departed without even a by-your-leave.

  As she walked down the stairs to the front hall, her head splitting with unpleasant possibilities, the front door opened to reveal Stephen and Adrian, loaded down with an astonishing amount of baggage.

  “Oh!” Mira cried, delighted to have additional reminders of home to bolster her in what had proved to be trying circumstances. She flew down the stairs to greet them but was startled by the sight of Her Grace, George’s mother, still styled as the Duchess of Marcross until such time her son should take a wife. Mira, painfully aware that she was, in George’s and his mother’s eyes, the girl poised for such a position, did not wonder at the frown on Her Grace’s face when she looked up to see her intended successor. The Duchess was a beautiful woman and still somewhat young; doubtless she did not look forward to a journey through life as the dowager duchess.

  The butler and several footman were soon on hand to divest Mira’s brothers from what proved to be mostly Her Grace’s bags, and it was not long before Harry appeared to greet the newcomers.

  “But I do not see His Grace!” Harry said in tones more than a little reminiscent of Bertie. “Is he not with you?”

  The Duchess responded with naught but a roll of her eyes.

  “Miss Crenshaw,” Harry said, turning to address her, “I’m afraid you must enlighten me. Does the roll of the eyes indicate that her son is with her but out, perhaps seeing to the rubbing down of the horses, or that he is presently a resident of the lunatic asylum?” he asked with a giddy giggle. “For, you must know, I have long thought it the best option for a case such as his.”

  Mira was more than a little impressed at the Duchess’s utter lack of response, but Stephen’s and Adrian’s arrested expressions clearly revealed their discomfort at Harry’s lack of decorum. At the same time, she suspected this was a breach of manners of which even Stephen could approve.

  “His Grace set out with us in the carriage,” Adrian explained, “but shortly thereafter took the journey alone on his mount.”

  “An unnatural son,” announced his mother, who was engaged with the removal of her hat and gloves precisely as if the front hall were her personal dressing room. “I have never understood him,” she added with a sharp look for Mira.

  “I am persuaded he is cognizant of his duty to his position,” Mira began but soon faltered. There was no response to the Duchess’s remark that seemed other than impertinent.

  “Your Grace,” Harry intoned with an exaggerated bow. “I have been remiss in my duties and must tender my apologies. Miss Crenshaw,” he said as he took her elbow and steered her towards the double doors leading into the parlor, “allow me to find you a seat by the fire in the faultless company of your esteemed parents.”

  Mira, her back now turned to the Duchess, could only wonder as to the effect of Harry’s neglect upon George’s mother, however, her response was far from what she could have expected.

  “Ah, so that is where you have hidden him,” the Duchess purred, whereupon she pushed her way past Mira and opened the double doors without the aid of so much as a single footman. “Tony!” she cried and took herself on winged feet across the room where Mira’s father and mother recovered from their journey.

  Mira turned to Harry to decipher his reaction and was shocked to learn he was not in the least surprised. “You knew of this warm relationship between my father and his aunt?”

  “I should hardly call it warm,” Harry said with a look for her father who leaped to his feet and ran through the door to the gardens for all the world like Joseph from Potiphar’s wife. With far more grace, Lady Crenshaw also rose, a determined smile fixed to her face, and held out her hand to the Duchess in greeting. The Duchess had no choice but to greet Lady Crenshaw in return, and the two of them were soon seated across from one another on the sofa, prepared to do battle.

  “Someone ought to rescue her,” Stephen suggested.

  “If only Her Grace weren’t a woman,” Adrian carped as he pounded a fist into his hand.

  “I am astounded!” Mira said. “I hadn’t the slightest idea there was anything between them and yet you two have known all along?”

  “There’s naught between them,” Adrian insisted. “She simply wishes there were, that is all.”

  “Why has she been invited, anyway?” Stephen demanded.

  “It was needful,” Harry said shortly. “Go and see if you can’t find her another post to scratch at,” he added with a nod at Stephen and Adrian. “There is something I would say to Mira before we join you.”

  The conspiratorial smile on Adrian’s face was at odds with Stephen’s obvious reluctance to fall in with Harry’s plan, but they soon disappeared into the parlor and shut the doors behind them.

  “Finally, we are alone,” Mira said and smiled, though she knew her lips trembled so that they betrayed her misgivings. It would never do for someone to walk through the great hall, alive with sunshine from the mullioned windows, to witness them alone and deep in conversation, or worse, in kisses, if Mira had her wish.

  “Yes,” Harry said, and turned to face her, his expression grave. “It is, in part, with regard to our time alone I wish to speak.” He took her hands in his, warming them, though, until that moment, she had not realized they were cold. “I believe I have made my feelings known beyond any doubt, however, I was wrong to expect your feelings to mirror mine. I should not have forced myself upon you.”

  “I have been kissed but thrice, my lord,” Mira said, her trepidation flown, “each by the same man. If it pleases you, I would point out that I slapped you but twice.”

  Mira felt the fluttering of her stomach increase in accordance with the width of Harry’s smile, and it was glorious.

  “If by that I am to assume my kisses are welcome until I feel the sting of your palm against my cheek,” he said with a squeeze of her fingers, “I think perhaps I should not risk it.”

  Mira cocked her head and gave him an impudent smile. “I cannot credit it! You have always been a taker of risks, Harry Haversham.”

 
“You speak truer than you know,” he said, his expression once again grave. “But there are things … people, rather, whom I shall not risk. This is why I feel it needful to warn you that Bertie might … no,” he said with a shake of his head, “must make an appearance.”

  Mira opened her mouth to protest but was thwarted by the finger he laid against her lips. “I do not know from which direction hazard lurks and if I am found out … that is to say, if my secret is revealed, all who are close to me will be in danger. However, none will believe Bertie conversant enough with a pistol to cock it, leave alone pull the trigger.”

  Mira had much to say, the least of which was not a decided aversion towards the brandishing of pistols, cocked or otherwise, and attempted to convey such in spite of his finger against her lips, but he would have none of it.

  “My darling, I do not speak idly. If I am to lose you as my wife, so be it, if it means I have guarded well your life.”

  Mira felt her eyes grow wide with amazement. She knew Harry was possessed of imperative reasons for his actions and trusted him even when she most likely should not; however, this was beyond anything she had presumed. All in all, she was left with very little to say but say it she would. “I understand, but, oh, Harry, how I wish it were not so!”

  He dropped his hand and pulled her close to take her quickly into his arms. “Another thing I dare not risk is your parents’ ire. Should we be discovered behaving thus, your good father could prove the most dangerous of all.”

  Mira nodded in agreement but could not imagine her papa would willingly hurt Harry, regardless of the cause. She took a step back and tried to smile. “It’s only that I have so longed for your presence, not only since we last met, but for these past four years.” She felt the tears gather in her throat and she choked a bit. “Harry, I have missed you so!”

  His reply was swallowed up by the turning of wheels in the gravel drive and the approach of the butler in response. Quickly, Harry pulled her deep into the shadow of the stair. “Meet me in the stables at daybreak. I will have a horse saddled for you and we shall go for a ride before the other guests awake.”

  Mira found it easy to smile to this, and then Harry was off to greet his newest arrived visitors.

  By evening, all of the guests had arrived, George not excepted, though his absence until time to dress for dinner went unexplained. Mira greeted him with a degree of pleasure not one whit less than she had received all of Harry’s guests but refused to allow him any claim on her above that of cousins. It was not her place to correct George as to his pretensions to her hand in marriage; that was a chore best left to her father. However, she refused to behave as if the Duke were her suitor, even when at risk of stirring his wrath. Once she had retired to her room to dress for dinner and distractions were few, her attention turned to what Harry’s mother might have planned for the hours and days to come. Mira’s stomach knotted at the thought and wondered if she shouldn’t simply claim a sick headache and take to her bed until morning. However, she knew Harry counted on her to help diminish the impact of his mother’s antics, as well as those of Bertie, should he make an appearance.

  In this she was not disappointed.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Harry knew himself to be grateful his mother had remained out of sight until dinner. He told himself he was grateful she had found time to act as his hostess in spite of having been occupied with he knew not what all afternoon. He felt he should be grateful for her hand-clapping and artless conversation as well, for it smoothed the way for Harry to be seen in the same repugnant light. He never needed to play the fool more than now for he had received another ominous note under his door as he dressed for dinner. Try as he might, however, he could find nothing for which to be grateful with regards to the dead and dying fish that lined the center of his dinner table.

  He hardly knew how to react, nor, it seemed, did his alter ego, Bertie. He stood at the head of the table and gaped along with his guests while his mother clapped and curtsied like an actress at a curtain call. “Maman, what is this?” he twittered a la Bertie, the memory of his most recent message heavy on his mind. It read: Her fate is sealed, and could only have been penned by someone in the house, one who most likely watched the fish flop about in their shallow graves even now.

  “Why, Herbert, you know how much I wished for fish at our last do. And, yes, I do know why you are doubtful. The fish should have been in a bit more water. I can’t think why the servants did not choose deeper bowls! I am persuaded Prinny used deeper bowls for his fish.”

  Harry drew a deep breath, exchanged a glance with Mira who stood down-table with her wide-eyed parents, and brayed with laughter. “Poor Maman! Those fish were but tiny, imported carp, not English sole, and they swam down table in a miniature river of his own devising, not bowls from the scullery!” He followed this with another bout of laughter that bent him in half before wildly waving his arms at his guests to indicate that they should be seated.

  To his great relief, everyone sat in spite of the oppressive double-eyed stare from the dead sole. He took advantage of the general hubbub to instruct the footman behind his chair to have the poor creatures removed.

  “But, Herbert, I hadn’t time for imported fish,” she murmured. “You will spoil everything!”

  “I’m afraid it’s a sight too late for that,” he said in low tones designed to keep his words from the ears of the Crenshaws halfway down table. “Tell me the fish is your only surprise for the evening.”

  “I could say so, but I’m not entirely sure it wouldn’t be a lie,” Lady Avery said with a pout.

  “Oh Mother, you are such an original!” Harry roared with laughter in spite of the pointed indifference of the assemblage at large who were all engaged in their own, doubtless, far less compelling conversations.

  “Well, I do try, Herbert,” she riposted, mollified. “But I must admit I am dubious as to how I shall carry off the zoo.”

  “Zoo?” Harry echoed as he gazed down the table at his beloved and bid her a silent adieu.

  “Well, one can hardly call it a whole zoo when all I have managed to round up is the monkey, but, mark my words, I shall have a full zoo not many days hence.”

  Harry methodically spooned soup into his mouth and wondered how one divests oneself of a monkey whilst working on how to act like one without alienating the Crenshaws. Another glance down the table revealed to him a puzzled Adrian, an angry Stephen, their tearful mother and distraught father, and a white-faced Mira. The Duke and his mother, the Duchess, wore the self-same expression, one of smug satisfaction. How Harry longed to wipe the prim smile from George’s face with his fist but knew it would only add to his quickly expanding list of troubles.

  He focused, instead, on his planned morning ride with Mira and took comfort in the fact that one little monkey was a good deal less trouble than an elephant, should his mother devise a means to obtain one. The fact she had not, as of yet, meant naught.

  The remainder of the evening passed in a blur of a badly behaved Lady Avery, an obnoxious Bertie, and the domination of the Crenshaws by George and his mother who, between them, allowed no one else near enough to Mira and her family to exchange a single word. Consigning his guests to the flames of his mother’s lack of decorum, Harry retired early in a foul temper.

  With morning came a reluctant clarity. The likelihood that he would lose Mira, either through his mother’s antics or his own, was perilously great. A period to his existence might even be in order, if those who sought his life had their wishes. Briefly, he contemplated the most likely instrument of his demise and shuddered at the raft of possibilities. He had already been shot at, but there were other means available to anyone who stayed under the same roof, as Harry suspected he must.

  There came a rap at the door, and he jumped out of bed to answer, forgetful that he still wore only his nightshirt. The opened door thankfully revealed only the butler with a red-sealed missive in his hand.

  “This has just arrived,” he i
ntoned as he handed the note over to his master.

  Harry took it and shut the door without a word. Hastily, he split the red wax seal that kept his orders safe from prying eyes and, with a sense of finality he felt deep in the marrow of his bones, read that he was to row out from a secluded cove along the shore to board ship and deliver to its captain the sealed missive in Harry’s possession. It would seem he were to take a journey as well, for he was to stay aboard, leading Harry to wonder if the possibility of his identity having been compromised might have reached his superiors. The fact that he was to leave before next light came as a crushing blow.

  Harry was aware of three things straight away. One, his immediate danger was worse than he had supposed and every person with whom he shared a roof, including Mira, could potentially catch a stray bullet, consume a poisoned Poisson, or possibly even share his fate as he fell to his death down the stairs. Two, he must add the task of procuring a dinghy, getting it ready for his use and hidden, to his list for the day, one which already included the purging of a monkey, as well as any other creatures his mother managed to corral in the meantime, and without anyone the wiser. Three, he must make the most of his morning ride with Mira as it was likely the last moments they would spend alone together. His heart faltered at the thought, but he owned Mira was never truly meant for one such as he and never had been. He had disqualified himself from the honor with his actions, and there was nothing left for him to do but restore her to a life of peace and safety.

  Hastily, he dressed for riding but not before he crumbled the wax seal into tiny pieces and burnt the message on the fire. Suddenly, he wondered what had become of his last red-sealed missive, the one delivered by the butler the night of his arrival. He conducted a search of his room but it was not to be found; either someone had taken it — someone such as George or whomever was the author of the anonymous notes — or Harry had burned it as he should have. However, try as he might, he could not recall doing so.