Lord Haversham Takes Command (12 page)

“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 fists 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.

Despite the increased flow of blood to her brain, Mira could think of no words for what she felt. Even if she had, her heart beat so fast, she could not draw breath to speak. Clearing her throat, she found herself enough recovered to squeak out a thin “goodnight.”

“Until Dover,” he said, and, with a great show of reluctance, released her hand. She knew she must depart, but neither of them moved. The air between them seemed a palpable obstacle too great to conquer, yet he managed to reach across it to take hold of a red-gold curl and caress it between his trembling fingers.

Mira was once again left to wonder what could be so intriguing about her hair that could be so worthy of his notice even while her body seemed to comprehend what her mind could not fathom. The knowledge filled her with a sensation of warmth that spread from her center to flood her entire being.

Suddenly, his gaze flew again to her face, his cheeks ruddy with chagrin as if caught out in the middle of some imprudent act. He opened his mouth and took a breath as if he were about to speak, then seemed to change his mind, and dropped the curl with an air of defeat.

“Harry, what is it?” she asked and the air between them shifted as if he had taken a step towards her though she knew he had not stirred.

He pinned her gaze in his own and swallowed hard, lifted his hands as if to take her by the shoulders, then dropped them again to hang in fists at his sides. The air between them pressed against her as if in demand of she knew not what, and he moved towards her to fill the space that divided them. When she did not move or flee or faint, he took a step closer until nothing separated them but her hands against his chest so that she could feel how fast his heart beat beneath her palms.

“Do not,” he said in a voice as breathless as she felt, “marry George.”

“I won’t,” Mira promised.

“Even should your parents wish it?” he demanded as he searched her eyes.

“I … I don’t think they shall.”

He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. “And if they do?” When she didn’t answer, his eyes flew open, and she read his heart in them.

“Oh, Harry,” she said and reached up to put her hand against his cheek and marveled at how scratchy and unyielding and utterly foreign-smelling yet utterly familiar all at the same time. “I have spoken with them, and they have agreed to give you a chance.”

He swallowed again and put up a hand to cover hers, his breathing more labored with every moment. With a small cry of relief, he dropped his forehead to rest against hers and slid his free hand up her back to rest at the base of her neck. Without knowing why, she closed her eyes and focused on the sound of his breathing, extraordinarily aware of the proximity of his mouth to hers.

“No matter what happens,” he said, his voice rough, “I beg you to know that I love you. I always have, and always shall. You must promise that you will never doubt it.”

Mira wished to nod her head to indicate her assent but knew it to be too dangerous as it would put her lips in a compromising position. Nevertheless, when his fingers slid up to tangle in her hair, the breath caught in her throat and her chin lifted of its own accord. With a little tug, he pulled her mouth to his and her senses reeled at the merest touch of his lips to her own.

He moved over her mouth as he had her wrist, slowly and gently with a sweetness that brought tears to her eyes, his lips taking hers from one corner to the next, savoring everything in between, as if it were the last kiss they would ever share. She felt a moan rise in her throat, and her lips parted as if in obedience to a command she could not have known to give. With another groan, his arms came around her as he pulled her closer than she thought possible, and he deepened the kiss until she became dizzy and limp and her knees buckled beneath her.

Immediately, he pulled away, and she opened her eyes in surprise to find him looking at her in alarm.

“What is wrong?” she asked, alarmed on her own account.

“I thought perhaps you had fainted,” he said in a voice so thick and husky that it sent a heretofore unknown shiver up her spine.

“Oh,” she said, still more than a little breathless. “Should I have?”

He smiled in a way she had never before known him to smile, and she realized she was held in the arms of the new and fearless, possibly dangerous, Harry she had imagined and yearned for. She wished to speak to him, to put any number of questions to him, but her heart beat so fast she struggled to catch her breath. If only she could stay in his arms forever, but he loosened his hold on her, and there was naught she could do but test the dependability of her knees and attempt to stand on her own. Instead, she sagged against him so that he was forced to once again enfold her in his arms before she collapsed. He seemed to have no objection for he kissed her again, this time hard and searing hot as if branding her with his lips would make her his. Finally, with a deep sigh, he took her by the elbows and stepped back.

This time she managed to remain aloft and required only a moment before her head stopped spinning. She knew she had put off her departure far past what her parents would approve and moved towards the door. Harry seemed ready to allow her to leave for he went to the door as well and pulled it open.

“You will come to Dover?” he asked as if her response to his kiss hadn’t promised him any manner of possibilities. She found herself nodding regardless, and took the arm he offered for her journey down the front steps to Adrian, who waited, impatiently, for Harry to relinquish Mira into his care.

Without a word, Adrian opened the carriage door, handed her in, put up the steps, and closed the door between herself and the person she loved more than any other.

Chapter Twelve

Harry watched the Crenshaw’s carriage disappear into the night and told himself matters were not as dark as he feared, that he would see Mira again, that her parents would accept his invitation to come to Cedars, and that the orders he would find waiting for him there would not send him pelting into the night immediately upon his arrival.

He turned to Adrian who remained at his side and attempted a jovial smile. “I fear that I grow weary of London,” he said shortly.

“The season has barely begun,” Adrian replied with some surprise. “It’s Mira’s debutante Season; you can’t mean to desert her!”

“Not at all. Rather, I hope for her to join me.” Harry knew he was taking a risk by abandoning Bertie’s asinine behavior for the moment, but he rather suspected Adrian would sprint away if Harry uttered even one obnoxious bark of laughter. Besides, Adrian was trustworthy, and Harry needed his old friend’s help in achieving his goal. “I am to have a house party in Dover. Might I prevail upon your mother and father to allow her to attend? That is to say, your entire family are to be invited.”

Adrian said nothing, but Harry saw the doubt cloud his eye in spite of the dying flames of the flambeaux on every side.

“I fully comprehend your reservations,” Harry urged in a low voice, “but matters are not as they seem.”

“Do you mean to say that you did not appear at my house less than a week past dressed like a jackanapes and calling yourself Bertie? Heaven knows you will not win fair maiden behaving as such,” he said with a jerk of his head in the direction of the departed carriage.

“I am persuaded Miss Crenshaw’s affections are fixed, regardless of what I wear or how I am addressed,” Harry said stiffly.

“It is not Mira’s feelings under discussion. If you find her essential to your happiness, you must convince harder hearts than that of my sister.”

“And what of the state of your heart, Adrian? Is it as hard as all that?”

“There was a time when I could not have wished for her a better man,” Adrian replied with a shake of his head.

“And now?” Harry urged.

“I doubt I’ve seen her happier than just now. Who am I to stand in her way? However, I cannot endorse your cause with my father if you utter so much as a phrase
a la Francaise
,” Adrian warned.

“And if I do?”

Adrian frowned. “You mustn’t.”

“But,” Harry prodded, “you will see to it that your parents accept the invitation to the house party on behalf of your family?”

Adrian threw back his head and laughed. “You did not used to be quite so intractable. You must own that persuading them to leave London when Mira has just made her bows to be a very tall order.”

“Of course, but I intend to invite the cream of society so her absence will be of no consequence.”

“You believe that society will follow you into the country with the Season so fresh?” Adrian demanded.

“I do! They shall be eager to see what scrape my mother falls into next, shall they not?” Just as eager as was Harry to prove to Mira that his mother’s next debacle would be her last.

“You are doubtless correct, but do you think your credit can stand it or are you already in one scandal too deep?”

“We shall find out, my friend,” Harry said with a hand to Adrian’s shoulder.

“Not so fast! I find I cannot endorse this plan unless certain persons are invited.”

“Oh, and whom should I add to the list?” Harry asked, his interest piqued.

“To be fair, it’s only one person. Rather, one person and her mother and father,” Adrian amended.

“Ah!” Harry said, as light dawned. “Do I see wedding bells in Miss Sutherland’s future?”

“Only if she says yes,” Adrian replied with a broad smile.

“To that end I recommend a thorough kissing,” Harry insisted as he turned to lead his guest up the steps into the house.

Light dawned for Adrian as well, and his smile dissolved into a scowl. “I think perhaps I should call you out for that!”

“Perhaps you should!” Harry laughed and opened the door to allow Adrian to enter. “However, I am persuaded you would much rather go in search of another dance with the lovely Lucy.”

Adrian smiled broader than before. “You are a dashed sight too clever, Haversham,” he said with a shake of his head, whereupon he went through the door and up the stairs, two at a time, to the room containing Miss Sutherland.

Harry, however, retired to the library where he sat by the fire and contemplated the evening’s events. He had discovered that his mother was perfectly amendable to airing her shortcomings for the world to see, something he had formally believed to be a mostly private horror. He learned nothing definite from George, other than that he was a hopeless muttonhead, but was successful in the recovery of his orders in spite of it, or rather, because of it. Against all odds, a house party had been proposed and was going forth, and he had kissed Mira in a way so insistent, selfish, foolhardy, and irrevocable that she had little choice but to acquiesce.

The fact that she had so recently seemed resigned to marrying George proved how little she knew her own heart. Worse, in spite of his declaration of love, Harry was acutely aware that she had not professed her love in return. He knew he needed to take himself more in hand; he must go slowly and allow Mira to make her own choice. To that end, he would invite a number of gentlemen in want of a wife to the house party. It would necessitate invitations go to a number of eligible young ladies as well, and Harry trusted it would not raise hopes of an offer of marriage in the hearts of said young ladies nor their mothers. However, it would not do to have an uneven party.

He went to the desk, found paper and pen, and began his second guest list during the course of that day: Lucy Sutherland and her parents for Adrian, while Mira’s bosom beau Viola Carlson-Johnson and her mama and papa would do for Stephen. The orphaned and single Mr. DiPastena and his sister, Jenny, would be balanced out by the unmarried Sir Hollis and his sister Heather, conveniently possessed of an elderly father who never ventured anywhere so no need to find him a partner at table. Giles Russell was led around by the nose by his widowed mother, and the widowed Marquess of Grandison led around by the nose by his unwed daughter, Ramona. Harry positively smelled a match or two somewhere amongst the four of them.

As he continued on with his list, he noticed that none of the gentlemen invited were likely in the least to suit Mira, but he pushed the thought aside; she must have the opportunity to spend time with other candidates for her hand. Those who were willing would each have his chance. He knew he must invite George in order to keep him under scrutiny and, therefore, his mother, also. As it turned out, they made a full twenty four, including himself, his mother, and his father, whom he hoped could be prevailed upon to attend.

It grew late, and his guests departing but Harry stayed at his desk and scratched out the needed invitations. He would leave for Dover at first light, immediately after he had seen to it that the invitations were hand delivered to his guests and a special messenger acquired to take a letter to his housekeeper and butler in Dover; it would never do to show up at Cedars unannounced.

He dated the party for two days hence which should give Harry time to hire the necessary help, have the furniture removed of its Holland covers, cleaned, polished, and bees-waxed into readiness. It would also give his guests the required time to make their arrangements and arrive, at the very latest, day after next in accordance with a late dinner or, perhaps, an early supper. He would plan menus for both as he was almost certainly more qualified to do so than his mother.

He was certain, also, that his mother was incapable of selecting her wardrobe in so short a time which would serve to delay her departure by at least several days. This bought him time with the Crenshaws prior to his mother’s arrival even while it posed a different problem. As such, he hoped Lady Crenshaw would agree to be his hostess until Lady Avery’s arrival and scratched a note on the Crenshaw invitation requesting her services. Why he was in such haste to retire from London and commence a house party without his mother immediately available to act as his hostess was a question society would beg be answered, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it. He counted on most being too polite to ask.

Finally, he was finished. With a yawn, he pulled the bell rope for the butler to take the invitations in hand and see to it that the fire was damped and the room tidied. He then wandered out to the front hall to bid goodnight to the last of his guests, whereupon he took the stairs up to the first floor, expecting to find the drawing room empty. Instead, he found his mother seated on the floor by her plinth, her arms stretched across it, her head to one side, fast asleep.

As he gazed down at her, he recognized that she very well might represent his largest challenge in the quest for Mira’s hand in marriage. There were others: ‘Bertie’ would almost surely be needed to make an appearance which would upset the Crenshaws, Harry might find it necessary to quit his own house party at any time, his orders might involve any number of perilous instructions, and George, as well as any of the other gentlemen Harry invited, might eventually appeal to Mira in a way he did not. However, in spite of his personal doubts and fears, he sensed that the strength of their mutual attachment would rise above any and all of these matters but that of his troublesome, unpredictable, and foolish mother.

With a sigh, he lifted her into his arms and carried her up to the second floor to the bedrooms. He passed his father’s room, his snores verification that he was only too happy to abdicate his responsibility for his wife to whomever was at hand. Once Harry had obtained his mother’s room, a footman hurried forward to open the door, and Harry placed her on the bed and rang for her maid.

As he once again regarded his mother, still pretty after years of marriage to her affable but neglectful husband, Harry realized that she had stood in the way of his every success in life. It was she who had coddled him, fussed over him, denied him, over-protected him, and held him to such an unrealistic standard that he felt it useless to try. It was she, in part, who made it so difficult to return home, both after Eton and most recently. If it weren’t for her, he might not have allowed himself to be coaxed into his assignment with the Queen’s secret service, something he was determined to see through to the end. He had run away too much, too often in the past, and he had given his word. That matters should resolve into a choice between honoring his word and winning Mira’s hand hardly seemed fair.

Yet, in spite of all that was against him, he was determined to succeed. His mother, should one wish to view the matter in the right light, could prove to be the force behind his biggest triumph. It was a fantastic thought, in every way, but he held fast to it through the night and on into the morning. He continued to hold fast to it as he bent over the neck of his horse and made his way to Dover with as much speed as possible, and the thought was with him still when he arrived that evening, stiff and weary, at Cedars, to request from his housekeeper that a tray be brought to his room for his supper.

“And, Mrs. Lambson, as I outlined in my letter, I shall be expecting guests to arrive by this time tomorrow evening. Rather a lot of them, I’m afraid,” he added a bit ruefully.

Mrs. Lambson’s eyes opened wide, but she gave no other sign that she found his news anything but the stuff of daily fare. “If it pleases my lord, it should be useful to know how many rooms shall be required. I will set about gettin’ them aired the moment I have spoken to Mrs. Ward about your dinner.”

“Yes, of course,” Harry said and reached into his pocket for the list of guests as well as the menus. He held out a bag of coins between his long fingers. “Buy whatever is needed and send someone out to hire extra help come first light.”

“Yes, my lord,” she said with a bow that was not quick enough to obscure her relief. “And what of your room? I shall send a maid upstairs this very instant.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Harry replied. Heaven knew he had spent the night in places far worse than a room heavy with dust and sporting an unaired bed. Satisfied that all of his wishes would be executed, he turned to make his way up to his room when he heard Mrs. Lambson, in a voice that quavered, ask, “Have I misread this m’lord, or is Lady Avery to be in attendance?”

“Yes, she is. What of it?” he asked, turning to regard her with an expression calculated to put paid to the rebellion he sensed stirred in Mrs. Lambson’s breast. As far as Harry knew, the Averys had spent little time at Cedars, however, he owned that one visit was all that was required to leave behind a reputation the villagers would not soon forget.

“It’s only that there are some that won’t step foot in the house if Lady Avery be in residence, beggin’ your pardon, my lord,” she said in confirmation of Harry’s fears.

“I see,” he said shortly in spite of an intense desire to pepper her with questions designed to satisfy his curiosity. “In that case, be on the lookout for families new to town or those with young girls who have never met Lady Avery. And do send the butler up with my tray. You have far too much on your plate already,” he added with an acute awareness that Mrs. Lambson’s goodwill should prove vital.

“Yes, m’lord,” she replied so doubtfully that Harry wondered if perhaps she had the right of it. Perhaps his expectations were a bit unrealistic. Perhaps there was nothing that could be done about the force of nature that was his mother.

Once he had identified a suitable room and shut the door behind him, his mood lifted. All that was needed was some hearty food and a good night’s sleep and he would be fit to spend the day preparing to welcome Mira to Cedars. Could it have been less than twenty four hours since he had seen her, since he had held her in his arms and kissed her? It seemed an age and it would be the same numberless hours before he saw her again. He pictured her, the petal-soft skin of her face framed by golden-red curls framing impossibly blue eyes that were fringed with dark lashes above a dainty nose that turned up at the end, highlighting the perfect bow of her mouth — one with lips of satin that tasted like honey …