by Lynn Morris
She shrugged. “Perhaps, perhaps not. In truth, I just never met another man who would have allowed me my independence, and with the spirit of adventure that John had. I just couldn’t contemplate making the compromise.”
Mirabella looked crestfallen, and quickly Lady Dorothea continued, “But that was me, Mirabella. You must make allowances for vast differences in temperament, and the desires of the heart.”
“But that’s just it, Aunt, I don’t even know the desires of my heart,” Mirabella said passionately. “It seems to me that I may in truth not have any, that I never will.”
Quietly Lady Dorothea said, “‘The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?’ I know that Jeremiah was saying that since Adam and Eve, we are all born to sin and are inclined to separate ourselves from God. But think about it. The heart is deceitful, yes. And the only person your heart can deceive is yourself.”
Mirabella said, “Oh dear, now you have given me too much to think about. I was convinced that you would solve my problem for me, but here I am with only more questions.”
“Surely you didn’t think I would decide whom you should marry. I, of all people, despise arranged marriages,” Lady Dorothea said tartly.
“Mm. Sometimes I think it might be easier if I allowed Mamma to arrange my marriage. But then again, I’ve decided to arrange it myself.”
“So I understand. But you’re not allowed to ask me any more questions tonight, Mirabella, you’ve been quite meddlesome enough. I, however, have a question for you.”
“I suppose I do owe you at least that.”
Lady Dorothea said lightly, “You’ve spoken of your affection for Josephine, for Lewin, for Honora, and you’ve confessed your secret longing for Mr. Rosborough. What about Giles?”
“Giles?” Mirabella said, surprised. “Why, I should think that would be obvious to you. He’s my dearest, best friend. He’s like—like—my old banyan.” She plucked at her dressing gown. “I’m so comfortable with him, I trust him, I know I can always rely on him.”
“That sounds suspiciously like ‘I take him for granted.’”
“Not exactly. It’s more that I know I can depend on him, as I know I can depend on Josephine and Lewin and my parents and you. I know that Giles and I will always be close friends.”
“Will you?” Lady Dorothea asked intently.
With a touch of impatience Mirabella said, “Of course we will. I can’t imagine anything that could cause us to be estranged from one another.”
“Can’t you? Has it not occurred to you that perhaps this theoretical husband of yours may object to his wife having a man as her closest friend?”
“Nonsense. I would never marry a man who wouldn’t allow me to stay close to my oldest friends. I may not wish to have a husband who will let me ride all over, shooting up the country, and dashing off willy-nilly all over the world, as some ladies do, but I won’t have a tyrant who would try to control my life. I shall add that to my list of requirements. My theoretical husband will not be the sort of man who would try to control my life.”
Lady Dorothea nodded thoughtfully. “And Giles’s theoretical wife? I can’t imagine that there are many women who wouldn’t be insanely jealous of you.”
“Oh, fie. Giles would never marry that sort of woman, just as I would never marry that sort of man.” Mirabella’s eyes lit up. “I have it! Josephine would never be jealous of me. I shall tell Giles to marry Josephine.”
“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled,” Lady Dorothea rasped. She took the last sip of ratafia and handed the glass back to Mirabella. “This sleeping potion is finally taking effect, I find. It really is wonderful, perhaps I can persuade Madame Danton to brew up some for me to take back to Tirel House.”
Mirabella picked up the tray and her candle. Slyly she said, “If you would move into the Dower House, as we have all begged you to do, you could have all the orange ratafia you want, whenever you want.”
Crossly she said, “I’ve told you to stop badgering me, child. Go to bed.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Mirabella stopped and turned back at the door. “One kind of love I do know all about. I love you, Aunt Tirel.”
“And I love you, dearest. Good night, and sleep well.”
“I think I will, now. Good night.” Mirabella smiled sweetly. “And thank you. From my heart.”
Chapter Four
Farewell, thou latter spring; farewell, All-hallown summer,’” Mirabella repeated softly as she opened the window to the cold November morning. Yesterday had been as balmy and pleasant as Saturday, but today the late-autumn weather had arrived. A gust of chill wet wind made her shiver. Quickly she closed the window, threw on her banyan, and jumped back into bed to pull the down comforter up to her chin. A maid had made up the fire about an hour ago, but the room was still frigid.
Colette came in with Mirabella’s breakfast tray of tea and toast. “Rrrr, it is too cold,” she complained. Muttering in French under her breath, savagely she stoked the fire to a low roar. “Does ma dame wish to have fresh hot bricks for the feet?”
“No, this hot tea will warm me,” Mirabella answered. “I’m not going to be in bed that long. I’ve slept late already.”
“Bah, for the fine my lady it is not late. It’s barely dawn.” Long ago Mirabella had given up on trying to correct Colette for answering back.
“But it’s late for the first day of fox hunting season. And in a way I’m glad it’s turned up cold, for now I can wear my scarlet pelisse.”
Colette’s eyes grew round. “O ciel! Ma dame does not tell me of the scarlet pelisse! Now I must hurry and go ready her!”
Mirabella thought she heard a whisper of “Malediction!” as Colette bustled into her dressing room, and she called after her, “Yesterday it was too warm to think of it, Colette, I’m certain it will be fine. And I’ll want my black velvet top hat.” Clucking and murmuring sounded from the dressing room, with a final sulky, “Oui, ma dame” thrown in as a sop.
Last year Mirabella, delighted by the new style of the military look for riding habits and pelisses, had ordered a red velvet pelisse of the same shade as the gentlemen’s hunting coats. Trimmed in black velvet, it had wide lapels and braided velvet cords trimming the sleeves and hem. As an added whimsy, instead of the usual frog closures of the military style, she had brass buttons made, such as the men’s hunting coats had, embossed with a fox’s head. Her top hat was the same shape as a man’s, but smaller, with a red velvet band and another of the brass fox buttons anchoring a spray of white swansdown. The pelisse was formfitting, so the dress she wore was of plain white linen, with a jabot of lace at the throat.
Hurriedly Mirabella finished her toast and tea, and went into her dressing room. Originally this had been another bedroom, but when Mirabella came out of the schoolroom her parents had converted it. Entirely covering one long wall were two floor-to-ceiling walk-in oak wardrobes. Between them was an intricately carved rosewood chiffonier with ten shallow drawers holding her underclothes. By the fireplace were two plump settees and a tea table. A hearty fire snapped in here, and the room was warmer than her bedroom.
Colette had put the scarlet pelisse on one of the four mannequins, which were made exactly to Mirabella’s measurements. Busily she was brushing it. When Mirabella came in, she said with triumph, “A-la, what do I say? She has two loose buttons.”
“I’m sure you’ll be able to set them in plenty of time. While you do that I’ll take my hair down.” Mirabella’s hair was thick and healthy, but it refused to curl at all unless it was set overnight in curling rags. She hated them, but as Grecian curly tendrils were all the rage, she submitted to it.
With her customary quick efficiency, Colette thoroughly brushed the pelisse and top hat, repaired the two buttons, splendidly arranged Mirabella’s hair, and dressed her. It took barely an hour, and Mirabella was glad, for as she dashed out the door she could already hear the baying of the hounds. It was time for the “lawn meet,” when the
ladies bid good-bye to the men going on the hunt. Mirabella cared nothing for fox hunting itself; in fact, when she thought much about it she felt sorry for the fox. But she did enjoy the lawn meets, for not only was it a grand event for the huntsmen, her mother had made it a tradition that the ladies have a celebration, too.
The Camarden hound kennels, far from being a series of pens, were a grand structure as fine as the stables, built of the same mellow gold brick as the Court, with three dozen separate stalls. Just by the kennels was another Tudor remnant, the old banqueting house. This was a simple long rectangular room with enormous fixed tables with benches running the length of them. It had been somewhat decayed from disuse, but Lord Camarden had repaired it and installed two massive double doors in the front. When they were opened, it was like a three-sided pavilion. Inside the servants set up tea and coffee and of course the traditional stirrup cup.
The guests had already gathered when Mirabella arrived, and the houndskeepers were letting the dogs out of the kennels. Most of the men were already mounted, but some were in the banqueting house, mingling with the ladies and sipping tea or coffee, or his lordship’s fine port, as they chose. As they always were, the dogs were so excited they ran frisking into and out of the banqueting house, and all around the horses, under them and between them, panting and barking importantly. Mirabella loved the hounds; she thought that if only people could enjoy their lives as much as did they, the world would be a happier place.
Mirabella saw Josephine, and ran to her immediately. They kissed, as they always did as a greeting. “Oh, Mirabella, you look simply stunning,” Josephine said, her dark eyes dancing. “So you’re riding to hounds today, I take it?”
“No, I’m only a poor poseur. I know that I look very much like my father as Master of the Hunt, and I admit it was done purposely.” She looked Josephine up and down. “You are a picture yourself. The pelisse exceedingly becomes you.” Mirabella was glad to see that Josephine was wearing a blue pelisse, trimmed in brown grosgrain ribbon arranged in a fleur-de-lis pattern, that she had given her a month ago. It was going to make her later request of Josephine much easier.
About thirty people milled around, with twenty or so huntsmen and half that many ladies. With the commotion of the dogs, the stamping, neighing, and snorting of the restless hunters, and the loud babble of conversation in the pavilion, it was almost impossible to conduct a conversation at normal speaking levels. Mirabella pulled on Josephine’s hand to lead her outside. The sun was shining but a raw north wind blew. Josephine pulled her collar more tightly around her neck. “It’s so warm and I adore the color. Thank you again, Mirabella.”
“How many times have I asked you to stop thanking me? It’s embarrassing, as if I were making some great sacrifice. Once I got this pelisse I’d never wear that one again. So. Let me see who is here, it’s such a rout I’m having difficulties sorting everyone out. My father, of course, splendid in his scarlet coat.”
Lord Camarden’s dress was generally very conservative, even drab, although he was always well tailored. But he loved wearing his scarlet huntsman’s coat with the black lapels and four brass buttons.
With amusement Josephine said, “And there is my pappa, splendid in his huntsman’s garb and dashing hat.” Mr. Rosborough always wore the somber black clergyman’s coat and vest, with black stockings and old-fashioned buckled shoes. He also wore the shallow-crowned, wide-brimmed clergyman’s hat. As it had a tendency to fly off when he was jumping over stiles and hedges, he anchored it with a long white muffler that bent the brim down over his ears, and was tied under his chin.
Mirabella giggled. “He is such a dear! And there is old Squire Eldridge, huffing and wheezing along on his fat old mare. I do declare, Mr. Eldridge’s girth almost matches hers. Oh, wonderful, Pappa loaned one of our hunters to Mr. Fairman. He’s such an avid hunter, but his gelding died just a few months ago, and it’s my understanding that he hasn’t been able to purchase another yet.”
“Lord Camarden is kind to lend him a horse,” Josephine answered.
“Not really, he has fourteen, and he can hardly ride all of them at once. In fact, I see about another half dozen of ours he’s loaned out. Oh dear, I see my brother Philip, I didn’t even know they had arrived. Have you seen Clara?”
“Yes, I spoke with Lady Reynes. Apparently they arrived very early this morning.”
Mirabella sighed. “I’m sure she noted my tardiness. Come along with me, I’ll go find her and make my obeisance.”
Mirabella’s sister-in-law was a disciplined, humorless, stiff woman. Mirabella had often wondered about her brother’s marriage. Philip was, in fact, rather staid and boring, but he wasn’t completely bereft of a sense of humor and generally was a low-key, unexcitable man. Clara seemed high-strung and tightly wound. Mirabella had the vague impression she was a product of overbreeding, for on both of her parents’ sides were numerous marriages to cousins. Then again, marriage to first cousins was not at all uncommon, and the offspring weren’t necessarily brittle icicles.
Lady Reynes was sipping tea and talking to Giles and Lewin. As Mirabella and Josephine neared, they caught the last of an imperious observation she was making. “…patch on your sleeve is very distinctive, Captain Rosborough, I don’t believe I’ve seen that particular insignia. Pray, what does it signify?”
Lewin looked extremely uncomfortable. He answered courteously, but rather evasively, “I received this after the Siege of Badajoz, my lady. It is an insignia that was awarded to many men after that battle.”
“Oh, yes? I read of that great victory, in April, was it not? And what do the initials stand for? The V and the S?”
Rather loudly, rudely interrupting the conversation, Giles said, “Lady Mirabella, Miss Rosborough. Good morning to you ladies.” He bowed deeply, as did Lewin.
Mirabella always curtsied to her sister-in-law. She had learned early on that if she extended this sign of deference to Clara it thawed her a bit. Mirabella observed that, as always, the frostiness in Clara’s eyes lessened, and her thin pinched nostrils relaxed. Clara was not an unhandsome woman, but her features were somewhat sharp.
Clara said, “Good morning, Mirabella. You look well, I must say. That hue is a bit startling, but it does flatter you.”
“Thank you, Clara. As I’m sure you observe, I have shamelessly copied the huntsmen’s scarlet coats. I’ve heard that bolder colors are coming into fashion this year, so perhaps it’s not so awfully daring.”
“Perhaps not,” Clara said with an unmistakable air of disbelief. “In my opinion it’s a risk for young unmarried ladies. But I know you dress as you like, regardless of the dictates of Polite Society.”
Mirabella’s ire rose, but strictly she stifled it. Somehow Clara always managed to make her feel as if she were slightly indecent. Smiling sweetly, she asked, “Did you bring Alexander with you, Clara? How I long to see him.”
“Yes, we did bring him, although I objected, for children shouldn’t be exposed to these falling damps. Philip insisted, however, for he says that you and your parents would wish to see him.”
“And so we do,” Mirabella said. “He’s a delightful boy.”
The Master of Hounds blew a short blast on the fox horn, and the dogs went wild. All of the gentlemen left the banqueting house and mounted up.
Clara said with distaste, “It’s always seemed to me to be somewhat common for the ladies to serve the stirrup cup.”
“It’s a tradition that dates back to Queen Elizabeth,” Mirabella said. “When she was visiting here, the countess herself served the queen and her courtiers, and Queen Elizabeth thought it was such a charming gesture that she appointed her as one of her ladies of the bedchamber. The Tirel ladies have done it ever since then.”
“Yes, Philip has told me of that story,” Clara said shortly. “It’s just a legend, of course.”
Mirabella resisted the urge to argue with her sister-in-law. The “legend” was, in fact, documented. Queen Elizabeth herself had writte
n a short proclamation that because of Dorothea Tirel, Lady Reynes’s correct and deferential grace in serving her the stirrup cup, it pleased her to appoint the Countess of Reynes as first lady of the bedchamber. The document was one of the most prized in the Camarden Court library, and indeed the third Lady Reynes, Dorothea, had been noted as one of Elizabeth’s ladies.
It occurred to Mirabella, not for the first time, that Clara was jealous of the Tirel lineage. The current Lady Reynes was the granddaughter of an earl on her father’s side, and the daughter of a baron, but neither family had anything like the long and distinguished history of the Tirel family. Henry V had awarded William Henry Tirel the first barony in 1415, after he distinguished himself at the Battle of Agincourt; Henry VIII had awarded John Philip Tirel, the sixth baron, an earldom after the 1513 Battle of Tournay. The marquessate was a relatively new patent, awarded to Mirabella’s grandfather, General Lord Reynes, by George III after he displayed strong leadership in the Seven Years’ War, and showed conspicuous gallantry in leading a cavalry charge in the Battle of Minden. When Mirabella thought on these things, she was very conscious of the privilege, and obligations, of her family.
As the ladies went outside, followed by the servants bearing trays with silver cups, Josephine said to Mirabella, “I wouldn’t wish to argue with her ladyship, but I find that the ladies serving the stirrup cup is a charitable tradition, in accordance with the charity that your father displays with the entire fox hunt. He invites anyone in the county who can attend, he loans out his hunters and saddle horses to those who need them, and the marchioness herself serves the stirrup cup. There she is, serving your steward, Mr. Fairman. I think that it all shows a greatness of mind, and much generosity.”
Gaily Mirabella said, “You always think the best of people, Josephine. I’m not displaying greatness of mind, I’m just having fun.” She had noted that Giles and Lewin were riding Camarden hunters. She was glad; it was difficult for Giles to accept favors.
