Lord Haversham Takes Command (11 page)

“We shall discuss it further while we dance,” Harry said. He stood and offered his hand to Mira who took it and rose to her feet.

“I shall return presently,” Mira promised Lady Avery with a smile before she gave Harry leave to lead her to the center of the room where they waited for the music to begin, their glances coming together to cling for a moment before they skittered away.

Harry was painfully aware of Mira’s agitation and prayed he hadn’t overstepped his bounds. He waited until the music started so as to speak to her in relative privacy, but as they began to move to the music, he found himself caught up in the sensation of her hand in his own, so small and delicate, the other feather-light on his shoulder. The feel of his hand clasped round her tiny waist made him feel large and oafish in comparison, and he was afraid he would tread on her toes with his suddenly enormous feet. He reminded himself that he had danced all over Europe, indeed, had waltzed with a young lady only an hour since, and she had nothing of which to complain. With a mental shake, he took himself in hand and offered his apologies.

“I pray I have not distressed you with my talk of a house party,” he started. “I realize it was a great assumption on my part to include you in my plans but I see how good you are with my mother and I must admit, I am rather desperate.”

“Desperate? To throw a party?” Mira asked, clearly puzzled.

“No,” Harry said with a chuckle. “You are correct, a house party is not a desperate matter. However, I am wishful of removing from London to Dover for a time. It would be a pity to deprive myself of society in the middle of the Season, so why not bring society along?”

“And your mother? Do not say that after four years abroad you cannot bear to be parted from her now,” Mira said with a pointed look.

“Then I shall not,” he replied, matching her look with his own. “In truth, after four years abroad, a man does not return home on account of his mother.” He thought he saw a light flare in her eyes and took heart. “It is perhaps presumptuous of me to assume you on hand for such an event. This is your debutante Season after all, and there is the Duke of Marcross to consider.” He drew a deep breath and searched her eyes for what seemed an eternity, but she did not reply. When a surge of pain assailed his lungs, he realized he had ceased to breathe and released the stale air in a long sigh. “Say you will come, Mira,” he begged with a squeeze to her hand. He would not, could not, leave her. Not again. Nevertheless, he filled his memory with every detail of her face in the case they were parted after all.

Mira seemed not to notice his scrutiny. It was as if she were in a world of her own, and he was a bit taken aback when she spoke.

“Are you quite sure you must go?” she asked very matter-of-factly, as if she understood much more than he had supposed.

He felt relief wash through his veins. “Your gift for perception fills me with admiration. Indeed, I have no choice in the matter,” he admitted. “I have so longed for the association of your brothers and esteemed parents. Do you think they would follow you to Dover should I invite them?”

“You are obliged to ask! You must see that I can hardly make a journey to Dover on my own. And George will not hear of it if he is not to be one of the party as well.”

Harry nodded and allowed his thoughts to be swallowed up in the music for a turn or two about the room before he returned to the subject of George. The concern he felt at the thought of Mira’s marriage to the Duke amounted almost to panic; he would not have her endure the trials of marriage to a traitor. If he were honest, that was as selfless as he was likely to become on the matter. The thought of being parted from her produced a pain so fierce it brought him out in a sweat and made him weak in the knees. He hadn’t any notion of how much time in England remained to him but he must make every moment count.

“Mira,” he prompted and waited until she turned to face him and he could meet her eyes with his own. “Do you wish to marry the Duke?”

“I only wish to make my parents happy,” she said with such clarity and swiftness that Harry could not doubt it to be her primary motivation.

“Does
your
happiness mean nothing to them?”

“Yes, of course it does! Only, they feel they are more suitable judges as to what shall constitute such happiness than am I.”

“And they believe your cousin will make you happier than … than another?” Harry asked, hesitant to reveal the state of his heart before he was more familiar with hers.

“Perhaps, though they have not always.” She looked away, unwilling to meet his gaze.

“I had not thought them to be so changeable,” Harry accused.

“Nor they you,” she shot back, then, with a deep sigh, appeared to relent. “Oh, Harry! I know it is not your wish to hurt me and I will always stand your friend … no matter what else might happen,” she added, her voice choking a little. “For I will not go against my parents.”

Harry verged on asking if she did not love him more than that but swallowed the words. It was a question to which she very well might not yet know the answer. “Have I lost all hope, then, of their regard?” he asked instead.

“I don’t know,” she said with a shake of her head. She paused and gave him a keen look from eyes so blue, he found it difficult to think of aught else. “Keep your secrets if you must, Harry. I shall stand by you until you are free to tell me all. However, until my parents understand why you stayed away so long with no word and why you behaved such a fribble upon your return, they will not look on you with favor. And now you must dash off when the Season has barely begun! What are they to think?”

“You are quite right,” he said with a slow nod. “I can see that my actions have sunk me below reproach. But, why George?” he demanded, barely able to conceal his frustration. “It is clear to me you are unable to tolerate the man. Have you reflected on how marriage to him will rob you of your happiness? Are they so bent on garnering you the highest title possible?”

“Harry! You know my parents care little for such things! Perhaps you are not aware of how they once despised each other. As such, I believe they do not necessarily see our mutual dislike as an impediment to the development of an attachment at some point in the future.”

These were surprising words indeed, however, Harry refused to give up. “Your father and mother are renowned for their obvious affection for one another, this is true, and you must know that I hold your parents in higher esteem than my own parents or any others’,” Harry said with a wealth of frustration that resulted in a jerk of his hand at her waist. It brought Mira a shade closer in proximity than the steps of the dance warranted, but he was past caring what others thought — save her parents. “But their case is not yours. You say they despised each other, yes? And you might very well despise the Duke. But what George feels for you isn’t anything as warm as that. He neither despises you nor loves you; you are merely a means to an end, someone on whom he wastes little thought except how, in spite of no official declaration, you belong to him — exactly as does his race horse. There is no hope that his utter lack of feeling could one day turn to love of any kind.”

He would have gone on but he noted how her face had drained of color and thought better of it. He was at a loss as to what could have caused such distress until he felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see the Duke of Marcross, his face dark as thunder.

“I must insist you allow me the remainder of this dance!”

“Your Grace, you are drunk,” Harry said and turned away, but George would have none of it.

“Perhaps,” he said exactly as if he weren’t speaking into the back of Harry’s head. “But I can still stand and I’ll be damned if you dance one more step with my intended bride.”

Harry whirled to once again face the Duke and put out an arm to prevent Mira from participating in their exchange. “Then to hell you must go. Who are you to decide with whom Miss Crenshaw dances? The papers have been decidedly bereft of any mention of her betrothal to you or any other.”

“Harry,” Mira hissed in his ear. “There must not be another scene tonight, not on my account. I could not bear it.” He paid her words no heed, however, until he felt the touch of her gloved hand against his palm as she entwined her fingers in his. “Invite us, and I will see to it that we come,” she whispered, then let go, and made her way to the side of her cousin. “George, it is good of you to join us. I thought perhaps you had already departed.” And with that she put her hand in his and waltzed away.

Harry could not abide the thought of standing by whilst Mira danced all night with the Duke of Marcross. However, he could hardly quit his own event. As such, he must remain and see to the comfort of his guests. But he did not dance.

Chapter Eleven

Mira waltzed with George even as her thoughts were with Harry. She watched as he went to speak with his mother, who pouted and stamped her foot in response to whatever it was he had to say. It was distressing to see how much persuasion was required in order for Harry to help her regain control of her temper.

“Surely, you cannot be so obsessed with him,” George sneered.

Mira turned her attention to her cousin with a start. “I can’t think what you mean,” she said with a careless shrug.

“It’s not what
I
mean,” George drawled. “It’s what
he
means to do,” he said with a jerk of his chin in Harry’s direction.

Mira turned to look and observed Harry, now by the fireplace in conversation with a group of gentlemen.

“Why? Is he up to something untoward?” she replied, though her attention remained with Harry long enough to see him turn away from his guests to meet her gaze as the waltz brought her nearly close enough for the hem of her gown to sweep across his feet.

“He means to thwart me at every turn,” George huffed and aimed a glare straight down his pointed nose at Mira.

“You needn’t look as if you intend to eat me! And if you refer to Lord Haversham, I fear I remain at an utter loss.”

George had the grace to look discomfited. “It is not fitting that I should condemn a man before he has made his actions known to the world.”

“If by that statement you refer to his intention to woo me out from under you,” Mira said with a smile of pure sweetness, “I suppose you may be correct.”

George pressed his lips together and said nothing. Grateful for the respite, Mira found her attention once again wander to Harry. She thought it odd that there were female guests who were without a partner, including Lucy Sutherland, and yet Harry did not dance. Once again, as she sailed past him, his green and steady gaze lifted from his study of the carpet to look into her eyes.

“I wonder that your father has allowed you any association with Haversham at all whatsoever,” George said in low tones. “Lord Avery is a buffoon, Lady Avery displays her lack of breeding at every opportunity, and the Viscount, himself, is nothing but a charlatan.”

“Why?” Mira asked, alarmed. “Do you consider his odd behavior as of late to be a pretense?”

“Odd indeed!” George insisted. “He swings back and forth between acting the fool and behaving as if he is superior to everyone he encounters.”

“Surely, you can’t mean to say he believes
you
his inferior,” Mira said with an arch smile.

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.”