Lord Haversham Takes Command (14 page)

“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 intoned 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.

Eager to join Mira for their ride, he forced himself to concentrate and was rewarded with a clear picture of the red-sealed orders where they lay on the tray Randall had brought up, the same tray he had thereafter removed. Harry realized that the fire on the landing had distracted him from his vigilance, and that the orders had not been burnt but had been taken down to the kitchens where they might have fallen into any number of hands. He was grateful that those particular orders divulged little more than that Harry was to stay put, but their presence alone was additional proof that Harry was far from the fribble he affected to be. Grateful that his most recent orders had not fallen under the eyes of his enemies, he took up his pistol and departed his bedchamber, leery of anyone who might forestall him and thus deprive him of even one precious minute with Mira.

As he did not wish to wake any of his guests and encourage unwanted company, both congenial and murderous, Harry waited to don his boots until he gained the front hall. He handled the great front door with as much care as possible and hoped few to none heard the slight squeak of the hinges. Finally, he gained the stables and was delighted to see Mira had arrived before him. She was glorious in her deep blue riding habit, her hair aglow in a rare morning beam of sunshine, and the way she smiled and held her hands out to him induced such a wash of emotion — love, adoration, regret, sorrow, and longing — that tears started in his eyes.

Abashed that she should see his weakness or perhaps discern his latest secret, he shook away the drops of moisture and affected pain from an imaginary bit of straw before he took her hands in his and smiled in return.

Quickly, he saddled the horses. “Are you ready then?” he asked, just as he always had when they had ridden together as youngsters. He knew she recalled it as well when she tossed her fiery mane of gold-red curls and answered as she always had in days gone by.

“When am I not?” The saucy smile that accompanied this piece of impertinence was thoroughly familiar, but the sidelong look from beneath her long lashes and the blush that followed were entirely new. With a wide grin that belied the constriction of his heart, he cupped his hands to facilitate her dainty foot and, just as he had done so many times before, tossed her into the saddle.

They guided their horses into the path that divided a nearby copse of ancient cedars and trotted for quite some time in amicable silence. Harry wanted to say so much but cast aside one precarious topic of conversation after another; since Mira didn’t seem any more disposed to talk, he remained silent. He attempted to enjoy the squeak of the leather, the scent of the leaves, the breeze in his hair, but only the warmth of her gaze could touch him. In spite of the light and bright air, redolent of the sea and abrim with birdsong, his oppression was so great it threatened to collapse his lungs. To remain so close at her side and yet so far from his heart’s desire was a torture he could bear no longer.

With a cry of frustration, he pressed his feet into his mount, rode ahead a pace or two, and swung his horse round to face Mira. He could see that she was startled but he chose not to pause long enough for speech. Instead, he urged his horse alongside hers so that his right knee grazed her left, turned in the saddle, and pulled her into his arms.

With a sigh, she rested her head against his chest where she doubtless felt every beat of his thundering heart. It was then he knew she had guessed the truth of his imminent departure, yet she did not complain or lament or even speak. He had loved her as a girl, had loved her more when he saw the young lady she had become, but he thought he should never love anyone as much as this woman in his arms who trusted him so far beyond what he deserved.

He longed to kiss her before it was too late, fearing it would be their last; the thought served to remind him that she belonged not to him but some other man who would one day make her his wife. He prayed he had said enough to dissuade her from granting George that honor but owned the identity of her husband was no longer his affair. His horse took a step back, and he was forced to release her. However, once she had regained her seat, he took her face in his hands and willed her to know what he would do if he were free to do so. She stared back at him, her heart in her eyes, and with a little cry, put her hands up to cover his and pressed her lips to the heel of his hand.

They remained thus until Harry became aware of the presence of other horses, presumably with riders. He grasped the reins and wheeled his horse in the direction of the threat just as George and his mother emerged from behind a stand of trees. It flashed through Harry’s mind to wonder how much they had seen and, for Mira’s sake, was gratified he had not kissed her after all. He must ever after consider the kisses they shared at Haversham House as the promise for the future they implied, as well as their farewell.

“Well, well, well,” George said. “It would seem we were not the first to rise with the dawn this morning.”

The Duchess, her heavy, honey-gold hair twisted into elaborate knots under a brown hat that matched her eyes, sniffed and looked away as if Harry and Mira were the very least of her concerns. Harry, suddenly aware that his enemy could be a woman as well as a man, heartily hoped they were.

“Why, Miss Crenshaw, it is His Grace and Her Grace!” Harry squealed. “One might almost refer to them as The Graces if there weren’t only the two of them.” He added a pithy laugh that sounded sharp in his own ears and wheeled his restive mount around in a circle to address George and his mother yet again. “How fortunate that you have arrived! I was just telling Miss Crenshaw how I must be off to see my tailor. He isn’t what one would hope for in London but he does well enough for these backwater affairs.”

George cocked a brow in question and drawled, “I am shocked to learn you employ a London tailor. I had thought
all
of your affairs to be of a backwater nature.”

Harry felt his skin bloom red with anger and his jaw clench until he could hear the grinding of his teeth above the Duchess’s unladylike laughter. However, until Harry sailed away, Bertie must needs hold the reins.

“I should think that most of Lord Haversham’s wardrobe to have been made abroad,” Mira asked in mild tones designed to soothe. “You are always the epitome of elegance, Lord Haversham, even if Papa feels you sometimes eschew lace to your detriment.”

“Oh,” Harry said with a crow of laughter. “It is my manner of dress His Grace refers to, is it? Well, color me contrite!” he quipped with a bow so deep he was in danger of poking his eye out on the pommel.

“You are far more remarkable than I had remembered,” the Duchess commented with a smile more snide than unctuous. “How could I have forgotten such a wit as yours?”

“Did you hear that, Miss Crenshaw?” Harry twittered. “She thinks me a wit, a speaker of
bon mots
, a purveyor of mental delicacies! Have you heard the one about the fan? Or was it the flute? I hardly can remember!”

“We have heard it,” George muttered. “Several times at dinner last night and at least once before if my memory serves me right.”