The Dreadful Debutante (8 page)

She leaned back in her seat and fanned herself vigorously. It was all too plain to her that the marquess was having an affair with the chit. Why else would he walk about London with her dressed as a boy? She must think what to do. She could not risk ridicule again. And the marquess had not proposed to Mira Markham, so that underlined the fact that his intentions were highly dishonorable.

There was yet hope… if she plotted and planned carefully.

“Here, I think,” said the marquess, entering a coffeehouse in the Strand. Mira crunched across the discarded oyster shells on the sawdust-covered floor and followed him to a table in a shadowy corner.

The marquess ordered coffee for both of them. His eyes looked black behind the stump of a candle that burned in its flat stick on the tabletop between them.

“Now, Miss Mira,” he said, “begin at the beginning and go on to the end.”

“Charles took me driving today.”

There was a silence.

“Go on,” prompted the marquess gently.

“He told me he is to propose to Drusilla tomorrow. He told me to mend my ways. Worse than that—”

“There’s worse?”

“Yes, he loves Drusilla so much that he is selling out. He will probably buy a property near us in the country, and he will be my brother-in-law.”

“My opinion,” said the marquess, “is that Lord Charles has probably grown and changed since the days of your childhood into a rather pompous man. If you keep on searching for the easygoing companion of your youth, you will continue to be disappointed.”

“It is so very hard to take,” said Mira in a low voice. “I know I am behaving disgracefully, but I had to talk to
someone.
”

The great Marquess of Grantley gave a wry smile. He was not used to hearing himself described as “someone.”

“You are going to have to be very brave,” he said, “and put it all behind you and concentrate on trying to enjoy this Season. If you try very hard, pretense will soon become reality.”

“Another thing disturbs me,” said Mira. “I did not like lying to my parents or ridiculing Mrs. Gardener. I first had a feeling that such a tattle-tale deserved it, but she only spoke the truth as given to her by that Lady Jansen.”

“I am afraid the fault was really all mine.” The marquess poured more coffee. “I told the story of our adventure to amuse my mother. Lady Jansen was present. I should have known it was too good a piece of gossip to remain unspread. I am sorry I had to lie and encourage you to lie as well, but your reputation was at stake.”

“I think Lady Jansen is a despicable woman,” said Mira fiercely, “and yet you took her in to supper and appeared well pleased with her.”

“I was, and I have forgiven her,” said the marquess. “She is a lady of good sense.”

“I do not think spreading dangerous and malicious gossip a sign of good sense!”

“Your sex
will
gossip.”

“Not I! If you told me not to tell anyone something, then I would not!”

“You are not typical of your sex, my chuck. Young society ladies do not venture out at night dressed as boys.”

“Well, you cannot know that,” retorted Mira, all mad reason. She waved an expansive arm. “This coffeehouse could be full of them.”

“That I doubt, Miss Mira. You are an original. Are you sure you can return home without being observed?”

She tugged a large key out of her pocket. “I took the spare key to the back door when I left.”

“When you finish your coffee, I suggest I take you home. Do you feel better?”

“Somewhat. Not much. If I were in the country, I would take my mare, Sally, out of the stables and ride and ride.”

He hesitated and then said, “If you are very sure your absence will not be discovered, I could lend you a mount, and we could go for a night ride.”

Those green eyes sparkled. “I would like that above all things.”

“Then I rely on you to keep quiet about it.”

Mira surveyed him with a quaint haughtiness. “You do not need to tell
me
to keep quiet. I have my virtues, my lord.”

His eyes shone with amusement. “Are you a very good rider?”

“I am accounted so. There is no need to find me a quiet lady’s mount.”

“Then we will take some exercise. You will need to walk home with me while I change into riding clothes. Fortunately for you I am an indulgent master and do not have my servants waiting up for me—the house servants, that is. I will need to rouse the head groom to saddle up for us.”

London had changed back to an exciting and wonderful place in Mira’s eyes as they walked together through the rain-washed streets. The rain had ceased to fall, and a tiny moon, a hunter’s moon, was riding high above the jumbled chimney pots.

When they reached his house in Grosvenor Square, he produced a door key, opened the door, and ushered her in. “You had best come upstairs with me,” he said. “I had a young nephew staying here, and he has left some of his clothes. I may be able to find something to fit you more suitable for riding than what you have on. Your clothes are still damp.”

He was amused to sense that innocent Mira saw nothing odd about being unchaperoned in his home. He led her into a bedchamber, lit the lamps, and searched in a large press in the corner and then threw a riding outfit on the bed. “Change into that and meet me downstairs.”

Mira changed into the clothes after stripping off and rubbing herself vigorously with a towel. She put on the clothes, which fitted her well, plaited her frizzy hair, and taking a bone pin from the pocket of the damp coat she had discarded, skewered the plait on top of her head and then put a curly brimmed beaver on top of it. She surveyed herself in the glass. She had tied a cravat in a simple style. She thought she looked the very picture of a young gentleman.

When she went down to the hall, he was changed and waiting. “Good,” he said, looking her up and down.

They walked round to the mews, where he roused the groom and asked for two horses to be saddled up.

Soon they were riding together sedately out of Grosvenor Square. “Where to?” called Mira.

“The parks are closed. We take the Great West Road again. Go easily on the gravel, and we will swing away across country after Knightsbridge. Look out for footpads.”

After Knightsbridge they set out across the open fields. Then he called, “Now!” and they both spurred their horses.

Mira felt the magnificent Arab he had lent her surge under her. Under the moon they rode with the wind whistling in their ears. Mira felt she could ride forever. London was in the distance, London with its peculiar society and its grim laws, London with heartless Charles.

He finally slowed to a canter and then a trot, reining in finally on top of a rise. A pale dawn was spreading across the sky, and the first birds were beginning to twitter.

“Better?” he asked.

“Much better,” said Mira, leaning forward and patting the horse’s neck.

“We had better return. Your servants will soon be awake.”

As they rode easily back to London, he talked of his home in the country, of improvements to the land, and then said, “I may decide to return and forgo the rest of the Season.”

“Wait a little longer,” said Mira. “I need your help a little longer.”

He had dismounted. He reached up and lifted her down from the saddle. She was pressed against his chest. He suddenly felt a spurt of anger at her sheer indifference to his masculinity, and before he could stop himself, he kissed her full on the mouth. Sheer shock kept her still until he released her.

“That is to teach you a lesson,” he said, standing back. “Be careful in future of treating men as friends. London can be a wicked place.”

Mira backed away from him, her hand to her mouth. “So I have found out,” she whispered. She turned and ran away. He stood for a long moment, hearing the clatter of her feet on the cobbles, and then he shrugged and tried to put her out of his mind, tried not to tell himself that he had behaved cruelly and badly. He could still taste her lips, young and sweet and full. He swore under his breath and called loudly for his groom.

Mira managed to gain the privacy of her room, unobserved. She carefully took off the clothes he had given her, wondering in a numb sort of way if she would ever have the courage to return them to him or to face him again. She washed and changed into her nightdress and lay down on the bed after having taken the dummy out. She lay on her back, very still, and stared up at the bed canopy. The sounds of morning London filtered into the room, carriages, street cries, footsteps, dusters flapping from windows as the maids went about their work, and the occasional clatter of an iron hoop, bowled along the pavement by a child.

That kiss had changed everything. Unlike Sleeping Beauty the kiss had awakened her to a difficult world of reality. A child had slipped out to meet the marquess the night before, and a woman had returned. This was the day Charles was coming to propose to Drusilla, and she felt… nothing. She turned abruptly over on her side and fell asleep, not waking until two in the afternoon, when she was roused by the maid, who told her coyly that she had to put one of her best gowns on and make herself ready for a family celebration.

When she entered the drawing room, she was not at first aware of Charles and Drusilla standing holding hands in front of the fireplace but of her father. Mr. Markham was surveying her with an odd half-questioning, half-anxious look in his eyes.

“Wish your sister every happiness,” said Mrs. Markham. “She and Charles are to wed.”

Mira went forward and kissed Drusilla on the cheek. “I hope you will be very happy.” She then curtsied to Charles. “It is a pleasure to welcome you as a member of the family.”

It was prettily done, but Mira was still turning over the events of the night before in her mind and so was not aware of Drusilla’s startled and petulant look of surprise. Drusilla had been looking forward so much to scoring over Mira that Mira’s calm acceptance of her engagement took all the excitement out of it, and for the first time Drusilla began to wonder uneasily if she really wanted to be married to Charles. And what had happened to little Mira, accepting a glass of champagne and looking very much the mistress of herself and her emotions?

Charles talked about how he planned to sell out of the army and discussed a “tidy property” near their own in the country that he had his eye on. And Mira, drinking and listening to him, could no longer see him with the eyes of love. He seemed a staid man, middle-aged before his time, and rather pompous.

“We are to attend the Freemonts’ ball in Kensington tonight,” said Mrs. Markham with satisfaction, for to have one daughter engaged so early in the Season was a triumph, and although the announcement would not be in the newspapers until the following morning, Mrs. Markham intended that people should know of her triumph as soon as possible.

Mira hoped the marquess would not be at the ball. He had suddenly become a stranger to her, an incalculable man rather than a friend. But he had given her good advice, and she would take it. If she married someone, say, like young Mr. Danby, then she would have an establishment of her own, her own horses and dogs, and children. Children! She had not thought of children before. If she had children, she could teach them to ride. If she had girls, she would not produce another Mira. She would train a daughter to be a young miss from the beginning. And a son? Her eyes grew misty with dreams.

Charles, glancing at her, was arrested by the transformed glow on her face. How odd Mira was, he reflected. He had always accepted the Markham family idea that Mira was the plain one, and yet she seemed to have a strange, almost fey beauty. He found himself reluctantly remembering her courage and humor. Mira would never have expected you to leave the army, said a treacherous little voice in his head. He turned quickly and looked down at the beauty that was Drusilla Markham. He would be the envy of every man in London.

The marquess took Lady Jansen out for a drive that afternoon. The fact that he found her company unexciting and undemanding soothed his guilty soul. Damn Mira and her wild, unconventional ways. He realized his companion was asking him whether he meant to attend the ball in Kensington that night. Damn Mira again! She would be there, and how on earth was he going to approach her? He had, he admitted to himself ruefully, enjoyed her easygoing friendship, and now he had shattered that.

“You have not replied?” admonished Lady Jansen, tapping his arm playfully with her fan.

“I am sorry. I was daydreaming. Yes, I will be there.”

“And Miss Mira?”

He gave her a sharp glance. “I believe so. Why do you ask?”

“I wondered whether I ought to beg her forgiveness.”

His face cleared. He found himself liking her very much.

“I do not think that at all necessary. It is better the matter be forgotten.”

She gave a little laugh. “Nonetheless I should never have repeated such a story. You may trust me now. I could not bear such shame again.”