The Dreadful Debutante (11 page)

“Very well,” said Mr. Danby. “But what will you tell her?”

“I shall tell her that you are feeling unwell and have begged me to take your place. That is all.”

And so Mira looked up in surprise when she was approached by the marquess later that evening, who told her solemnly that Mr. Danby was feeling poorly and had begged him to take his place.

Lady Jansen watched bitterly as the marquess led Mira onto the floor. She hoped Diggs was doing his job. She even began to worry that the guilty couple had found out about him and had bribed him to give her innocent reports.

When the marquess took Mira into the supper room, he carefully maneuvered her toward the end of one of the tables so that she would have no companion on her side, and on his other side there was deaf old Lady Antrim, who never talked to anyone anyway.

“How do you go on?” he began.

“Tolerably well,” said Mira. “I am behaving like an angel.”

“You must be enjoying your popularity.”

“I am only human. Of course, my lord.”

“I fear I misled you about young Danby. I thought he would prove to be all that was suitable.”

“And he is not?”

“I fear he is already showing signs of being a hardened gambler who cannot hold his drink.”

She laughed. “Now that I find hard to believe!”

“I do not expect you to believe me. Do not rush into marriage with him. Do not encourage him anymore until you have studied him a little further.”

Those green eyes flashed with mockery. “Yes, Father.”

“Jade! Admit you are not shocked or startled or hurt by my news. You feel nothing for Mr. Danby.”

She looked at him cynically. “Am I meant to? I did not think love entered into a society marriage.”

“It sometimes does. Lord Charles and your sister, I suppose, are typical.”

“Of a love match?”

“Of a loveless arrangement.”

“I think you are mistaken. Charles is willing to sell out, and all for love of Drusilla.”

“Have some more wine. I think you will find Lord Charles became engaged in haste and is now repenting his decision at leisure.” He wondered now whether to warn Mira that Lord Charles was becoming infatuated with her. He decided against it. Those wonderful eyes of hers might light up with gladness.

The weather after the miserable preceding two weeks had turned fine and warm. The long windows at the end of the supper room were open, and balmy air blew in, sending the candle flames streaming.

“Shall I get a footman to close those windows?” asked the marquess.

Mira shook her head. “I love fresh air, any fresh air, even London air. I have been feeling cribbed, cabined, and confined of late.”

“Have you forgiven me for that kiss?”

She blushed and pleated a fold of the tablecloth between nervous fingers. “I suppose so. But it was wicked of you to make fun of me.”

“I was not making fun of you. I forgot myself. But I enjoyed riding with you.”

Her eyes shone. “I wanted to ride again, even in the Row, but Mama said it was not suitable and I must put my wild ways behind me. But I find it hard to let so much of my old self go. I feel if I could have just one more day of freedom, I could face the idea of settling down with equanimity.”

The warm air flowed about them. The marquess felt a tingling of excitement. “Are you bored with all this?” he asked, and waved a hand, encompassing London’s finest and Gunter’s catering.

“Oh, yes.”

“Perhaps we could arrange something.”

“Such as?”

He thought quickly. He knew that what he was about to suggest was, in the words of Lady Carolyn Lamb about Lord Byron, mad, bad, and dangerous. But he said it nonetheless. “Has your family been invited to go tomorrow on the Earl of Hardforth’s barge outing?”

“Yes, we are to join the barge quite early and sail up the Thames to Hampton Court. It will take all day.”

“You could plead a headache and join me. Put on those riding clothes I gave you, and we could ride out of London and be free.”

Her heart beat hard. “You will not do anything like… like…?”

“Kiss you? No, my sweeting. I will lead that Arab you liked so much to Hyde Park toll and meet you there. Now what time?”

“Ten,” said Mira. “At ten in the morning. They are not due to return until late.”

“Make sure the servants do not see you leave!”

“Be assured. I will tell them not to disturb me at all. I will lock the door of my room behind me.”

“Will you leave by the back door?”

“No. As soon as they have all left, our servants will go to their own hall for tea. There will be no one about. I can slip out by the front door.”

He looked at her doubtfully. “I fear I am leading you astray.”

“Just one day of freedom will not matter. No one will find out, and after it I will be an even more correct young lady than before. Tell me, if Mr. Danby is such a bad prospect, whom do you recommend?”

His eyes roamed about the room. “There is Mr. Jessop, who is young, wealthy, and has already had two dances with you.”

“I did not notice him particularly. Which is he?”

“The tall young man four seats away from your sister, with thick brown hair and a plum-colored silk coat.”

“Ah, yes, he pressed my hand rather hard in the promenade. I fear he is too forward.”

“The devil he did!”

“Who else?”

“There is that young baronet, Sir Giles Parry. He is quiet and good.”

“And dull.”

“You have become hard to please, Mira Markham.”

“Perhaps I shall be a spinster after all. That would not please my father.”

“From what you have told me, your whole young life has been devoted to trying to please your father.”

“I think he has become fond of me,” she said wistfully. “I hope so.”

The marquess stopped himself with a conscious effort from saying that he thought Mr. Markham a most unnatural parent.

“Be very careful you are not seen,” he warned.

After supper Mira’s next dance was with Charles. It was a waltz. She wondered as she danced with him why it was that she should no longer feel anything for him. Perhaps it was because he had chosen the role of cross elderly brother. She was dreamily looking forward to her day of escape on the following day and hoping the ball would not go on very long so that she could get a few hours’ sleep when Charles interrupted her thoughts by saying, “You are looking very beautiful tonight, Mira.”

She looked up at him, her eyes glowing with simple pleasure at the compliment. “Why, thank you, Charles!”

“If I had known… but no matter. You seem to be close to Grantley.”

“He is a friend, as you once were, Charles.”

“You hurt me, Mira. I am still your friend.”

Mira laughed. “Pooh, you think I am a silly little girl.”

His hand holding hers tightened. “You have become a woman, Mira, an intriguing and attractive woman.”

“Thank you,” she said, looking every bit as uncomfortable as she felt. “You are holding my hand too tightly, Charles.”

“I beg your pardon,” he said miserably.

Mira wondered what had come over him. Then she thought he had probably drunk too much. Gentlemen behaved strangely in their cups.

But she was glad when the dance was over.

The marquess was dancing with Lady Jansen, a fact that made Mira cross. Lady Jansen had spread gossip. The marquess should ignore her, not dance with her as if she were the only woman in the room!

But she comforted herself with the thought of that outing tomorrow and then realized that if she was to pretend to be ill and have a headache, she should start pretending right away.

Mrs. Markham was sympathetic. She wanted to leave the ball herself, also anxious to get some sleep before such an indecently early start in the morning. Drusilla was glad to leave as well. She was disappointed in Charles. She expected adoration from him—uncritical adoration at all times.

Mira was glad to pretend she was feeling unwell because it saved making conversation on the road home. But when Mrs. Markham came to see her as she lay in bed and showed rare signs of motherly concern, Mira felt a pang of guilt but assured her mother if she could forgo the barge trip and have a quiet day in bed, then she would come about.

Mrs. Markham agreed, not only because she believed Mira to be ill but because she was increasingly worried about Lord Charles’s manner toward Drusilla and his evident growing interest in Mira. A romantic day on the river was just what Charles and Drusilla needed.

As soon as her mother had left, Mira got out of bed and searched in a trunk at the bottom of the press, where she had hidden the riding clothes. She would lock the door and take the key when she left, just to be safe.

She slept and woke and slept and woke, listening all the time to the harsh voice of the watchman marking off the hours.

Then she heard the house come awake and Drusilla’s voice raised in complaint as she berated the maid. Mrs. Markham came in, dressed for the expedition. Mira pretended to be asleep and lay with her eyes closed until her mother had left. Then she got out of bed, washed, dressed in the riding clothes, and sat down in front of the mirror on the toilet table to tie her cravat. It was rather tired-looking, not having been laundered or starched since the last time she had worn it.

Mr. Diggs was at his post in St. James’s Square early the following morning. He had been excited by the footman’s news that the marquess was prepared to let a gambling debt of five thousand pounds go in order to secure a dance with Miss Mira. He debated whether to watch the marquess’s house and then decided on the Markhams’. He knew of the barge expedition and planned to follow the family party on horseback to London Bridge and then ride to Hampton Court and study them there.

He saw Lord Charles arriving, the carriage being brought round, and then the Markhams and Lord Charles setting out. His eyes sharpened. No Mira. As they drove off, he wondered whether to follow them but decided to wait. Perhaps Mira was going to use this opportunity to slip off and see her lover.

He was just wondering whether he ought to go and try to question one of the servants when the front door opened and a slim youth scampered down the stairs. It was only when the “youth” reached the corner of the square and turned and looked cautiously back that he saw those green eyes. He had nearly missed her. Lady Jansen said she had been dressed as a boy in Covent Garden.

He swung up into the saddle and began to follow her.

At Hyde Park Corner he saw with a feeling of triumph the tall figure of the Marquess of Grantley standing beside the toll holding two horses. He eyed those horses. They were magnificent, but the marquess surely would not drive them hard along the gravel surface of the Great West Road, if that was the way he meant to go.

He saw the way the couple greeted each other like conspirators, and then Mira sprang nimbly up on the back of the Arab.

Mr. Diggs set off in pursuit, glad that they were taking an easy pace. But after Knightsbridge, the marquess shouted something, and they set off across the fields. Diggs spurred his mount, but there was no way he could catch up with them. He wondered what to do. He needed corroborative evidence. His own word would not be enough. They could both deny the whole thing.

But Mira could not be absent a whole day without the servants’ knowing. Perhaps she had pleaded sickness and locked the door of her bedchamber. So if he returned to St. James’s Square claiming to have a message for her that she must receive from him personally, the game would be up.

But would it?

All Mira had to do would be to admit that, yes, she had been lying but that she wanted to be on her own for a day.

Perhaps if they stopped somewhere, at some inn, he could catch up with them. He set off again in the direction they had taken.

The marquess and Mira were sitting on a grassy bank above a wind of the River Thames. “I did enjoy that,” said Mira, stretching her arms above her head to the blue sky. “I must find a husband who will let me ride
ventre à terre.
”

He laughed. “I will tell your future. You will become a respectable matron in no time at all with children in the nursery. You will become plump and placid and go on calls to the neighboring gentry, and you will be very strict with your daughters, always suspecting them of getting into the same scrapes you got into yourself.”

“Not I. I would like freedom.”

“I do not think you are going to get it, such is the lot of women,” said the marquess. “Or you will stay a spinster and be expected to behave until your parents die. Then the money will go to Drusilla’s son, and you will have a small competence. You will travel abroad with your sketchbook, just another English spinster with a sketchbook, lonely and awkward and unable to go for wild rides, for you will have stiffened up with genteel activity.”