Miss Wonderful (13 page)

Mirabel's
optimism was swiftly ebbing. "About yourselves," she
repeated.

"About
our livestock, crops, tenants, and poachers," Captain Hughes
explained. "Sir Roger bragged about his greyhounds. The vicar
went on about his prize marrows. We yammered and yawed about leaky
roofs and wandering pigs and mole catchers. Mr. Carsington must have
been bored witless, but he looked as entertained as if we'd been
telling bawdy stories."

Mirabel
let out a sigh.

"A
clever strategy, don't you think?" said the captain.

"Who
does not think highly of a good listener?" she said. "Who
is not happiest when speaking of himself and his own concerns? By the
time you had left the dining room, you were all viewing him as the
dearest friend of your bosom, I daresay. And this dear friend happens
to be Lord Hargate's son. I can imagine what you were all thinking:
What an understanding fellow! Such easy manners! No high and mighty
airs about him!"

"I
was thinking Mr. Carsington has a great political future ahead of
him, if only his father will buy him a seat in Parliament," the
captain said.

Like
everyone else, Mirabel was fully aware that the House of Commons was
not a democratically elected body. The lords of the land controlled
the seats, and "winning" one cost about seven or eight
thousand pounds.

"I
wish Lord Hargate had done so as soon as his son had recovered enough
from his war injuries to stand upon the hustings," Mirabel said.

"Too
late for that," said the captain. "We might as well resign
ourselves. At least we'll be paid handsomely for use of our property.
And we might take consolation in furthering economic progress."

"Really?"
Mirabel turned sharply back to him. "Try consoling yourself with
this."

She
reminded him of the changes that had overtaken pastoral villages from
one end of England to the other with the growing network of canals
and the industrial areas that grew alongside them. She reminded him
that not all factories were as agreeable in appearance or so well-lit
as Mr. Arkwright's in Cromford.

She
drew a verbal picture of foul-smelling brickyards and their miserable
residents, and of the even more desolate world surrounding coal pits.
She spoke of winding gears and slag heaps, cranes and coal barges,
the hiss and clang of steam engines, the clouds of black smoke and
the banshee wail of the whistles. She reminded him they lived at
present in an arcadia, one of England's most beautiful places, whose
tranquillity they treasured.

She
turned toward the window and gestured at the night-blanketed
landscape beyond. Growing impassioned as she reminded her neighbor of
all they'd invested in then-land and the people abiding on it,
Mirabel forgot everything else. Consequently, she failed to notice
they had company, until a low rumble of a voice jolted her back to
the moment.

"Thinking
you must be parched with so much talking, Miss Oldridge, I took the
liberty of bringing you a cup of tea," Mr. Carsington growled
behind her.

Chapter
5

MIRABEL
turned so abruptly, she nearly knocked the cup and saucer from his
hand. But Mr. Carsington moved quickly. His war injuries had
definitely not slowed his reflexes.

"Tea's
ready?" said Captain Hughes. "Excellent. I feel in need of
a stimulant." He fled to his hostess.

Mirabel
collected her composure and accepted the tea with steady hands.

"I
hope it hasn't cooled too much," Mr. Carsington said. "I've
stood here for a time, because I didn't wish to interrupt you."

"You
were eavesdropping," she said.

He
nodded. "That, too. I was perishing of curiosity. I wanted to
know what had roused your passions."

His
voice dropped very low, to become more an undercurrent than a sound.
Mirabel's pulse rate climbed, along with her temperature.

He
studied the floor. "In your agitation, you have shaken loose a
great many pins. I cannot decide whether or not it is an
improvement." His hooded gaze traveled in the most leisurely
manner up the skirt of her gown, lingered briefly at her bodice, then
proceeded unhurriedly to the top of her head.

Every
inch of the way, Mirabel felt the narrow golden scrutiny—through
her heavy silk gown, buckram corset, flannel petticoat, and silk knit
drawers—right down to her skin, which it left tingling.

"Is
my hair coming down again?" she said composedly. "How
vexing. I wish you would show my maid your method with hairpins. I
collect you learned that at Oxford, too. Unfortunately, Lucy did not
attend university."

"If
she had, she might have learnt how to hold her liquor," he said.
"Obviously she was drunk when she arranged your hair. But let me
correct a misapprehension, Miss Oldridge. I did not learn how to pin
up hair at university. I learnt it from a French ballet dancer. She
was very expensive. I might have sent you and your maid and all the
other ladies in this room to Oxford for what she spent in a
twelvemonth."

"You
might send us to Paris, but not Oxford," she said. "Perhaps
you failed to notice that women are not admitted to our great English
universities."

"I've
noticed," he said. "It is a great pity."

"I
daresay. No ballet dancers to teach you useful skills."

"True."
He folded his arms and leant back against the window frame. "Such
forms of entertainment are sadly lacking. But I was referring to all
members of your sex. I don't see what great harm would result if
women were permitted the same sort of education as men."

Mirabel
didn't try to hide her disbelief. "I see what you are doing.
Having easily made all the gentlemen love you, you suppose you can
turn me up sweet as well. You've guessed that I'm a bluestocking,
and—"

"I
should say 'intellectual,' rather," he said. "You read the
desperately difficult-sounding book about the fossils and strata, and
no doubt you understood everything your father had to say about
mosses and tulips."

"Mr.
Carsington, only on rare occasions can I make heads or tails of what
my father is saying," she said impatiently. "He has his own
unique thought processes, which I do not attempt to follow. I should
not advise anyone else to attempt it, either, for that way madness
lies. I have my doubts, in fact, as to whether other botanists
understand him."

"It
would be more useful for me to understand your thought processes than
his," he said.

With
not-so-steady hands, she set down her neglected tea on a small table
nearby. "In order to change my mind?"

"I
must do something," he said. "If you speak to the rest of
your neighbors as you did to Captain Hughes, I shall be here for
months, trying to repair the damage."

"You
should have anticipated me and bolstered your cause when you had the
opportunity after dinner. You cannot expect me to hold my tongue
merely because you are amiable and charming."

His
dark eyebrows arched. "You've found my behavior to you amiable
and charming?"

"That
is not the point," Mirabel said. "The point is, your
position and fame don't signify to me, and I won't be seduced by your
charm, so I recommend you not take the trouble of exerting it. Also,
while I am grateful for your efforts and sacrifice on behalf of your
country—"

"Pray
let's leave that nonsense out of this," he said stonily.

The
frigid tone did not intimidate her. She was accustomed to men using
every sort of tactic to make her retreat or yield. She was accustomed
to men trying to make her feel insignificant or unsure, and thrusting
Keep Out signs in her face. She had learnt to disregard these ploys.
She'd had no choice but to learn.

"It
isn't nonsense, and I cannot fathom why you would say so," she
said. "You fought bravely. You suffered damage, permanent
damage. Still, you aren't the only one or the one who suffered most."

He
stiffened as though she'd slapped him. But in the next instant his
expression softened into puzzlement, and by degrees the faintest
promise of a smile touched the corners of his mouth.

His
rigid posture relaxed, too, and he said, "An excellent point,
Miss Oldridge."

So,
he was not offended. Mirabel's estimation of his character rose a
cautious degree. She went on, "It does seem to me that we ought
to keep the two matters separate. Gallantry in battle is no assurance
of wisdom in other matters."

He
regarded her steadily—seriously, she would have thought, but
for the smile that yet hovered at his mouth. She wanted to ask what
the almost-smile meant. She was tempted, terribly tempted, to touch
the place where it lurked. Her heart was beating a little too fast.

She
folded her hands at her waist and said, "I wish you to
understand that it would make no difference to me if you were the
Duke of Wellington. I should still think ill of this canal scheme and
do my best to hinder you."