Lord Haversham Takes Command Page 8

  As his feet thawed, a plan began to form in his mind. It was risky, fool-hardy, and quite possibly dreadfully insane but anything that involved the person he must make his confidant was bound to be a few shades beyond the pale. Still, it was the best he could do without involving the Crenshaws, whose safety must come before all others — even his mother’s.

  Chapter Seven

  The evening of her family’s departure from the Cygnet and Lute, Mira sat in her room at Wembley House in London wondering if perhaps she hadn’t been too hard on Harry earlier that morning. Bertie or no, Harry would have proved a more amicable traveling companion than George. Besides, which, she hadn’t meant to treat Harry so inconsiderately and hadn’t realized she had done so until her mother took her to task once they were arrived and out of earshot of the men.

  “For, Mira, you must know how your words at breakfast must have hurt him,” she had said. “I don’t believe I have ever seen such a purely naked look on Harry’s face in all his life.”

  Mira could think of little to say in response except to point out that they hadn’t seen him in ever so long, and that perhaps this particular expression was as commonplace as his ridiculous waistcoats, and that surely her mother had meant to use the word ‘transparent’ instead of ‘naked’ which clearly had unwelcome connotations. Rather than be filled with the sense of superiority she always felt when supplying a more exceptional word, she felt hollow inside and hadn’t the faintest idea why. Now she was left alone in her room at Wembley House, her thoughts filled with doubt, wiping away tears for which she could not account.

  Dinner brought new opportunities, however. The contemplation of her new ball gown — a tulle robe over a white satin slip — led her to square her shoulders and dry her tears. She wished to look her best in the case her mother had thought to invite Harry to dinner. Perhaps if he could abandon ‘Bertie,’ she might find it in her heart to forgive him for his lies. She might even become accustomed to his new manner of dress if only his features were arranged just as Harry had always used to wear them.

  As she rose from her dressing table, she took up her fan and handbag, her spirits rising along with the rustling of her skirts as she closed the door behind her. When she spied her mother coming down the hall, all the unpleasantness of earlier in the afternoon was forgotten.

  “Oh, Mama! How young and beautiful you look!” Mira exclaimed.

  “Nowhere near as do you,” Lady Crenshaw said with a warm smile.

  “I am persuaded the gentlemen at the ball will assume us sisters, each and every one,” Mira insisted and took her mother’s hand as they proceeded down the stairs to dinner. “Which calls something to mind. Have you invited Harry to dinner?”

  “I’m so sorry, dearest, I had meant to but I hadn’t the chance. I had assumed he would be riding into London with us and I would have many opportunities to speak to him about it. It is a pity that I did not.”

  “I … I had thought so as well.” Mira hoped her face did not betray her sudden misery. She knew he had gone ahead on account of her behavior and wished she knew if he were angry as well as hurt. Now she would not be able to beg his pardon until the ball; it seemed an eternity to wait.

  “Don’t look so downcast, Mira. I have invited George to dinner. He will be escorting us to the ball as your father has business to attend to this evening.”

  There was no reply to this piece of news Mira could speak aloud as they had reached the bottom of the stairs in full view of her family, and she wished not to invite ridicule from her brothers. However, her dismay was tangible. An entire day seated by George in the carriage, his well-oiled hair accosting her view whenever she looked up and his bony fingers spread across his knees whenever she looked down, was enough punishment for her unkindness to Harry at breakfast. Must she spend the evening with him as well? Could she possibly endure marriage to him?

  There came a rap at the door, and Mira’s heart took up a startling tattoo in her breast. Perhaps Harry had come after all. Surely he would assume he was always welcome just as he used to. She let go of her mother’s hand and waited in the hall until their guest entered, every fiber of her being alive with anticipation. It was with a decided decline of her spirits that she saw it was only George after all.

  “Miss Crenshaw,” he said with a nod of his head, as if she were a mere acquaintance rather than the woman he had chosen to make his wife.

  “George, thank you for coming,” Mira said with a smile even as her heart sank. “Mama says you are to be our escort to the ball this evening as Papa cannot attend.”

  “Horses couldn’t drag me from your side,” George replied.

  “None but Witch’s Brew,” Mira retorted with a flash of annoyance. Had he not said as much at breakfast that very day?

  George frowned and took her by the elbow to force her to his side. “A temper such as that is not becoming, Mira. I hope never to see such a lapse again,” he hissed in her ear as he led her into the dining room and seated her at her father’s left. George took his seat on her father’s right, as was his due, a circumstance that left Mira nowhere to look except straight at his needled nose during the course of the meal. Instead, she fumed into her plate and consoled herself with thoughts of her father’s rage when he learned of George’s behavior. However, there would not be the time to tell him of it until tomorrow. She prayed it would be soon enough to put paid to George’s suit for her hand in marriage, or delay it at the very least.

  Adrian and Stephen took up seats on either side of the table, and Mama her usual seat at the end. “George,” she said, “I am given to understand that you have made a substantial contribution to one of the Queen’s charities. How exemplary of you!”

  “Those in my position must do what one can,” he replied. He picked up his spoon and dipped it into his soup bowl. “While we are on that note, I trust that before too long, dear Cousin, you will become accustomed to giving me my due, even in such familial surroundings.”

  Mira felt as if her eyes flew of their own accord to note her mother’s reaction. Her face looked as if it had crumpled, and her ears were as rosy as her cheeks. “I beg pardon, Your Grace,” she said. “It’s only that I have known you since you were an infant. I hadn’t thought how you are addressed would be of any consequence, here, amongst ourselves. However, I shall do as you wish, of course.”

  A moment of pregnant silence ensued, followed by the crash of Adrian’s fist to the table. “That is coming it a bit strong, George!” he exclaimed. “Are Stephen and I to tug at our forelocks as well?”

  “But of course not,” George asserted. “Though of a decidedly lower social circle, you are Crenshaws, as is my cousin Anthony. That applies to you as well, Mira,” he said with a nod of his head in her direction.

  “Pray forgive me should I not thank you for the honor of calling you by your given name,” Mira snapped. “Papa, I wonder that you should have naught to say,” she prodded with a look for her father who appeared to be every bit as angry as Mira felt.

  “George is young and in want of guidance in this matter,” he said in a voice so even as to be positively ominous. “Let it not be forgotten, Your Grace, that my wife is your cousin on the Wembley side, and it is through her hospitality that you are seated at this table. Ginny, my love, I find that I must hurry if I am to keep my appointment,” he said as he rose and went to her side. “I regret that it is not I who shall be escorting the loveliest lady at the ball,” he added in low tones, whereupon he kissed her hand, bowed, and quit the room without a look or word for the rest of his family.

  “Well then, shall we eat?” Lady Crenshaw chirped with a wave of her fork and a sparkle in her eye. Her sons turned to their plates with alacrity and betrayed no sign that they had observed the tight compression of George’s already too-thin lips. However, Mira did notice, along with the way the blood had drained from his face, his complexion now a hue somewhere between winding sheet-gray and curdled milk-white.

  It seemed that lightening the mood
was to be left to her. “Will the ball be very crowded, Mama?”

  “I suppose it shall,” her mother replied. “It is the first of the season and sure to be a grand affair. Never fear, my darling, you will take very well, I am persuaded of that, and shall have many opportunities to dance,” she added, her face beaming.

  “At least I might be assured of three dances, may I not?” Mira asked with a look for each of the young men seated at table. She reached into her drawstring bag and drew forth a dance card. “Isn’t it the cunningest little thing? It was included in the invitation. Do you not see, George?” she asked in a vain attempt to wheedle him into a semblance of good humor. “I shall give you first choice of the dances. I know that there are some of which you are not fond.” She placed the little book on the table and waited as he took a pencil from his breast pocket and wrote his name, not once, as she expected, but thrice.

  “Why, George, that is most generous of you,” Mira said in her brightest voice. “However, by three, I had meant one for each of you.”

  “It is customary for a gentleman to have the opening and closing waltz with his lady, as well as the March,” George replied in his usual top-lofty tones.

  Mira bit her lip. Would there be a waltz left for Harry? She did so wish to speak with him and, to be sure, the waltz was the most promising opportunity for audible conversation.

  “Well!” Stephen exclaimed. “She is as much my lady as yours, George, as no announcement of your betrothal has been made. It might seem a bit odd, in fact, should you claim three whole dances of an evening.” He withdrew his own pencil and scribbled in the little book, whereupon he passed it to Adrian, who scribbled his own name in turn and returned it to Mira with a wink.

  Mira was gratified to see that he had crossed out George’s name and claimed the March for himself. Stephen had done the same with the last waltz. She had barely time to note this, however, before George pulled the card from her fingers.

  “Am I to have only one dance with you then?” he demanded.

  “There are many dances yet to fill,” she replied, suppressing an urge to snatch the card and allow him only the first waltz. “Why, there is the Quadrille and the Cotillion and a contradanse.”

  George gazed at her with a narrow-eyed look. “I know what it is you are about. You are hoping to save the waltzes for Lord Haversham, are you not?”

  “It would be odd should she not reserve a dance for him,” Lady Crenshaw interrupted. “He is one of her oldest friends. Besides which, this is Mira’s first official ball, and I won’t see the three of you cluttering up her dance card. There will be any number of young men vying for the chance to dance with her, and I, for one, will enjoy watching events unfold.”

  “I must confess, I have yet to speak to Mira’s father,” George said with another nod at his intended. “However, once the betrothal is announced, I expect to claim my privileges.”

  “Just so long as by privileges you mean two waltzes and the March, there will be no need for pistols at dawn,” Stephen said with a snort.

  “If you are implying that Mira and I should anticipate our vows,” George said in clipped tones, “I should think that to be none of your affair.”

  “What it is Stephen meant to imply,” Adrian said as he leaned across the table to better facilitate staring down his cousin, “is just this: if you so much as touch Mira without her consent, betrothed or no, you will have to answer to us.”

  “Pray abandon this topic of conversation before you offend the ladies,” George demanded.

  “It is your attitude that most offends me, George,” Lady Crenshaw said with a challenging lift of her eyebrow.

  Mira thought her mother never looked more regal, her brothers never so handsome, and George never so like he had swallowed a toad. For the remainder of the meal, not a soul opened his or her mouth for any purpose but that of the forking of food. At one point, Mira considered screaming so as to break up the heavy silence but owned that her father would be horrified should she do so in his presence and deemed his absence no excuse for such a breach of conduct.

  Eventually, it was time to board the carriage for the journey to the ancestral pile of the lord and lady who would host the ball. As expected, George took Mira’s arm to lead her through to the front hall. Adrian took the other only long enough to whisper in her ear.

  “Should Harry be at the ball, I shall give him my waltz,” he said, before dropping behind to take his mother’s arm. Mira felt her heart swell with gratitude, whereupon, Stephen took his place and whispered, “Why you should wish to dance with such a jackanapes, I will never know.”

  “To which jackanapes do you refer?” she hissed back, to which Stephen merely gave her a wry grin and dropped behind to take his mother’s free arm until they had made their way outdoors and began to board the carriage. Mira felt she had sat beside George in one conveyance or another long enough to last a lifetime, but, naturally, he had other ideas and forced her mother and brothers to sit together on the seat that faced backwards.

  “George, is it not ill-done of us to take the forward facing seat when my mother must sit on the other?” Mira asked in hopes that he would be gallant and offer to switch with his hostess.

  “Doubtless Lady Crenshaw appreciates your loyalty,” George retorted, “but you really must accustom yourself to your new status. As my Duchess, you shall take precedence over your mother, as well as your brothers and well-esteemed papa. I am persuaded that even your mama would not dare to voice a differing opinion on this subject.”

  Mira sensed rather than saw three sets of jaws tighten at his words and knew the response to this piece of folly was best left to her. “I do not believe status to be an adequate substitute for manners,” Mira said with a mildness she did not feel. “It seems to me that as a suitor to my hand, you would have the decency to treat my mother with the respect due any lady in her circumstances.”

  “I take your point with regards to your mother. As to your use of the word ‘suitor,’ let it be understood that matters have progressed beyond the need for such descriptions. To say so would be to imply there are others competing for your hand in marriage and that is not the case. That is to say, should there be any, your father will most assuredly put paid to their pretensions as you and I have been promised to one another since you were a child.”

  Mira heard the release of a frustrated sigh from one of her brothers, she knew not which, and took heart. “I understand you believe that to be the case, but I am correct in assuming no official contract has been made. Tomorrow, once I have made my bows to the Queen, I shall be officially out and as likely as any other of the girls making their debut this Season to be favored.”

  “It is quite true, my darling,” her mother piped in before George, who had turned red with rage, had a chance to speak. “You are sure to meet with little competition. Not only shall you outshine the other debutantes this year, you are bound to be outnumbered by the young men, the occupants of this carriage a case in point. The years prior to your birth were replete with baby boys, or so it seemed. I warrant there will be half a dozen young men laying claim to the hand of each young lady.”

  “Mother,” Adrian implored, “you make it sound as if Mira were a broodmare rather than a young lady en route to her first ball. Furthermore, the thought of just such a conversation going on in the carriages of young ladies all over London, also en route to this ball, causes me to quake in my boots. Should I consider a compliment a declaration? Should I only request a dance from those young ladies I wish to regard me as a suitor? Am I even now to weep and gnash my teeth with the knowledge that young ladies of marriageable age are few and far between and I should therefore plan my strategy accordingly?”

  At this final utterance, Stephen could no longer contain his mirth. “As if a one of them would let you near! Why should they look to you when your vastly more eligible older brother stands at the ready to sweep them off their feet?”

  “Oh dear,” their mother mused. “I hadn’t con
sidered either of you old enough to become serious about finding a wife as of yet. It seems like only yesterday the both of you were in leading strings. A young lady wants an older man, one slightly more mature and definitely established, for a husband. What is more, should she be so foolish as to let her heart wholly rule her head, she doubtless has a father to set her straight.”

  “Is that how you ended up with Papa?” her eldest twitted her. “With no father to see you wed to one of his cronies, you were allowed to marry for love, is that not so?”

  “That is neither here nor there,” their mother insisted. “Besides, my Grandaunt Regina was far more formidable than anyone’s father. It was her dearest wish to see your papa and I married. We were fortunate in that we suited one another and that your father had the means to support me in spite of his youth.”

  “Suited? Is that what you call it?” Adrian hooted. “If that’s the case, things seem to have deteriorated into all-out infatuation since.”

  “Mama and Papa were madly in love!” Mira exclaimed.

  “Not at the outset,” her mother replied, “but certainly by the time he offered marriage, there was little doubt as to how either of us felt. That being said, he had more than a few pennies to rub together at the time. Love is a powerful motivator, but one can hardly live on it.”

  George’s high coloring had receded, but Mira could sense his agitation despite the distance forced between them by the hoops of her skirt. She hadn’t any idea what it was about their topic of conversation that offended him but she knew that it hardly mattered. They were bound to disagree on almost everything.

  Memories of Harry, recent ones, began to fill her mind, in particular the expression on his face just that morning when she had so callously denied him a seat by her side in the carriage. A shaft of longing pierced her heart with such suddenness, it was all she could do not to cry out. She took up her fan and began to wield it with a vengeance. Perhaps if the draft became stiff enough, it would blow away her desire to see Harry, at least for the time being.