by Lynn Morris
Mirabella smiled radiantly. “Sir, we are obviously in harmony of mind! We had already planned to attend Vauxhall on Saturday. Perhaps you would join our party?” She faltered at the reluctant look that crossed his features. Uncertainly she said, “But surely you didn’t mean—you cannot possibly have intended that I should accompany you alone?”
“Of course not,” he said firmly. “Naturally I included Lord and Lady Camarden in my invitation. It’s just this notion of a ‘party.’ I had hoped that we might have an opportunity to be together without hordes of people surrounding us.”
“Our party is hardly hordes of people. It’s my friends, Sir Giles, Miss Rosborough and Captain Rosborough, and Mr. and Miss Smythe.”
“What of Mr. and Mrs. Smythe?” he asked cautiously. “Smythe seems a tolerable sort of man, but I find Mrs. Smythe’s company unbearable for more than a few moments.”
It occurred to Mirabella that Lord Southam could not be longing for her company very dearly, if he was put off by Mrs. Smythe. Still she answered, “They were included in the invitation, of course. But Mrs. Smythe maintained that my parents, and of course Miss Smythe’s brother, would be quite proper chaperones. Mrs. Smythe said that she and Mr. Smythe found the social rounds fatiguing, and would like to spend an evening in quiet at home.”
“Is that so? Interesting. So, your party is seven, and with you and me would be nine. May I make a suggestion? My yacht is on the Thames, and it would be a great pleasure if you would allow me to take you all to Vauxhall on Saturday.”
“That would be splendid, Lord Southam, I can assure you that all of my party would be so happy to join you.”
He picked up her gloved hand and lightly kissed it, a rather bold gesture, but not completely unwelcome to Mirabella. “Then I shall be looking forward to Saturday, madam.”
Mirabella didn’t see him for the rest of the night.
* * *
Giles came to Mirabella for his promised dance, the last waltz. “My lady,” he said, bowing over her hand, “at last I can claim you.”
“Oh, I’m so glad to see you, Giles,” she said happily. “I’m so dreadfully tired, I feel that I’m in that dreamy sort of stupid stage, do you take my meaning? At least with you I can relax, and not feel that I must amuse you with my brilliant wit, or charm you with my ladylike grace.”
“You’re never obliged to entertain me, but I admit that even when you’re dreamy and stupid you’re still amusing and charming.” He took her in his arms, and they began the elegant, flowing, graceful dance.
Mirabella barely heard him, for she was thinking of what she had just said—with you I can relax—and contrasting it with how she’d felt the first time she had waltzed with Giles. Of course it had been her very first waltz, and she had been unaccustomed to men clasping her about the waist, and to dancing close to her while holding hands, and to resting her hand on a man’s shoulder. Still, the sensation of touching and being so close to Giles had been wildly uncomfortable, yet she hadn’t felt nearly so ill at ease dancing with Lewin only a few minutes later. The raw awareness of, as she had said, “embracing” Giles had lessened with further lessons, but still she was very conscious of his nearness when they waltzed.
What is this, exactly? she mused. I suppose it’s that I’ve never really been aware of Giles as a man. No, that’s silly, of course I know he’s a man. I just never have been so conscious of his physical presence, how I can feel the warmth of him, and I’ve always loved his scent, I wonder what it is, exactly? Something clean and citrusy and spicy, very understated. And his shoulders are muscular, but not bulky, just taut, his chest is broad, his stomach is perfectly flat, and why haven’t I ever noticed before how particularly nice his lips are? I noticed Lord Southam’s, and surely Giles’s lips are just as well-formed, perhaps even more so because they’re slightly upturned at the corners, as if he’s about to smile…
“…my mouth?” Giles asked.
“I—I beg your pardon?” Mirabella stammered.
“I asked why you’re staring at my mouth. Do I have crumbs, or, heaven save me, a wine mustache?”
“No, no, certainly not, I was just—I was—oh, never mind, as I told you, I’m so fatigued I’m in a staring stupid state. I beg your pardon. What about you? You look as fresh and energetic as when you first arrived, and I’ve noticed you’ve danced every dance, too. Aren’t you tired?”
“Not really. You have all of the choicest ladies of Town at your ball, every dance is a pleasure.”
“‘Choicest ladies,’” Mirabella grumbled. “You make it sound like a happy visit to the butcher’s.”
“How would you know anything about going to the butcher? Your dainty slippers have never graced a butcher’s shop in your life.”
“Very well, you win. The ladies on my guest list are the choicest in London. I noticed that you must think Barbara Smythe is especially choice, as you danced, in fact waltzed, with her twice. It’s really very chivalrous of you.”
“Not particularly. She’s charming, and a good dancer.”
“I know, but most men are so repelled by her mother that they never give her a chance. It’s a shame, because she’s so sweet, I simply adore her.”
“I do, too,” Giles said blithely.
“What!” Mirabella made a very slight misstep, and Giles automatically drew her closer to steady her, which for a moment Mirabella enjoyed very much, but it didn’t distract her from her shock. “You adore her! What—how can you say that? You barely know her!”
“Actually, I’m getting to know her fairly well. As you say, she’s sweet, she’s charming, and she can be quite interesting when you have the opportunity—”
“But you can’t say you adore her! That’s just—just—not right!”
“You said it first.”
“But I—but Barbara and I are friends! One might say one adores one’s friends without it meaning anything.”
“I see. I consider Miss Smythe a friend, too, so therefore I can say I adore her and it actually doesn’t mean anything. Also, since I’m your best friend, you must adore me much more than you do Miss Smythe, correct? Even though it really doesn’t mean anything, tell me how much you adore me.” He was grinning in an infuriating manner.
“Oh! You really are the most tiresome man. If I weren’t dancing with you I’d tell you to go away and leave me alone.”
“But you are dancing with me. So forget everything and everyone else and just dance with me, Bella.” He pulled her even closer, and squeezed her hand, lightly, warmly.
Mirabella found that the last waltz was the best dance of all.
Chapter Twelve
A merry party boarded Lord Southam’s yacht, the Fortuna, for the crossing to the south side of the Thames to Vauxhall Gardens. The yacht was luxurious, built for comfort and not racing. Since the crossing was so short, no deck chairs had been provided, but the party lined the sides with pleasure, watching the fleet of boats all heading for the Vauxhall water entrance.
Chilled champagne was served in fine crystal flutes. Lord Southam took two glasses and handed one to Mirabella with a small bow. Then he offered her his arm and took her to the prow. The wind was bracing, and warm. As they got farther from the city the air grew cleaner and clearer. Mirabella lifted her face and took a deep breath.
Lord Southam looked down at her with his enigmatic half-smile. “As always, you are lovely this evening, Lady Mirabella. I’ve heard women complain that such and such shade does not flatter them, but it seems that you can wear any of them and look beautiful.”
“I thank you, sir,” she said. “I suppose it’s because of my coloring. However, I’ve always said that white does not much flatter me, I look like a ghost. Although it’s still so fashionable, this year I determined I wouldn’t wear a white frock, except for my morning robes.”
Mirabella’s promenade costume was a deep rose color of jaconet muslin, trimmed with a creamy mint green. The high collar was delicate needlework, with three tightly gathere
d flounces around the hem. The long sleeves were tied with four grosgrain ribbons of green, in the Mameluke style. She wore a mint-green Vittoria cloak, which was short, actually made more like a shawl, trimmed with Spanish fringe. Instead of draping it around her shoulders and arms like a shawl, she wore it gathered and pinned up at her left shoulder by a peridot-and-pearl brooch. The only other jewelry she wore was small peridot drop earrings. Her bonnet was fetching: it was like a full cap, made of the mint-green jaconet, with a small bill. Delicate curls framed her face.
He nodded at the brooch. “I’ve noticed that you always wear modest jewelry. Your sapphire parure was somewhat of a surprise, but it was small and delicate, which suits you.”
“I should look preposterous with extravagant jewels. They would quite overwhelm me, I think.”
“I find it amazing that a woman has sensible taste concerning jewelry. Most women’s view is that the larger, the more ostentatious, and the more expensive, the better. Do you know, I’ve been thinking that I have seen some blue diamonds that would become you very well.”
“Oh? I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a blue diamond, except the crown jewels, of course. Where did you see them?”
“They were my mother’s,” he said lightly. “I hadn’t seen them for years, as they’ve been in storage since my mother died eleven years ago. Just last month I sent all her jewelry to be cleaned. I had quite forgotten how exquisite they are. Like you. But see here, I’m neglecting my guests, let’s rejoin them.”
The crossing was accomplished in a half hour. There was some confusion at the gate, for everyone knew that the admission was three and sixpence. Lord Southam said, “I’ve already made arrangements for my party, lords, ladies, and gentlemen, so we may go straight through.”
They entered into the wide leafy walks, with stately elm, sycamore, and lime trees towering over them. Lord Southam, with Mirabella on his arm, led them straight to the Grove, the large rectangle that held the Temple, a fantastical open-air structure built in the elaborate Moorish style, with much cutwork and topped with spires and pinnacles. The second story held a full orchestra, with a balcony for singers. The orchestra had already started performing, and the gardens were filled with the strains of a Mozart concerto. Already a crowd strolled around, usually couples, most of them finely dressed.
Rows of supper boxes, small open-fronted dining rooms, lined the colonnades and piazzas. Lord Southam had reserved a supper box that directly fronted the Grove. “This is my usual box,” he said as the group took their seats at a long table covered with a fine white damask cloth. “I reserve it for the entire evening, so that I and my party may have a comfortable place to rest.” Normally the supper boxes were rented by the hour.
As the entire point of having an open-air supper box was to see and be seen, no one wanted to sit with their back to the Grove, so they arranged themselves all along one side of the table. Lord Southam was at the head, Mirabella was by him, then Miss Smythe, Giles, Josephine, Harry Smythe, Lewin, and Lady Camarden, with Lord Camarden at the foot of the table.
“Before we go see the sights, I’d like to invite you to try some of my arrack punch,” Lord Southam said. “I mix it myself, with my own recipe, including a secret ingredient that no one has been able to guess. Will you join me?”
They all agreed to partake, and Lord Southam went to a sideboard at the back of the box. An enormous silver bowl held a fragrant clear liquid, and small assorted colored bottles held juices and spices. “This is the true Batavian arrack, fermented from coconuts on the island of Java. One lime and one lemon, very thinly sliced, have been dissolving in it for twelve hours. Now I add sugar syrup, both white and burnt, nutmeg, cinnamon, and my secret ingredient, and stir.”
“It sounds delightfully exotic,” Mirabella said. “I’ve never had arrack punch before, I understand it’s a heady drink.”
“Yes, Batavia arrack is a strong spirit. And the punch is so rich that most people limit their indulgence,” Lord Southam said. “Once I had a guest, a lady whose name, of course, I shall never mention, who drank three glasses, and she became somewhat incapacitated. I viewed the entire incident as my personal responsibility, and deeply regretted it. I hope you ladies will understand that I recommend only one small glass.”
“Oh? What of the gentlemen?” Mirabella asked. “Do you limit them also?”
“The gentlemen can take care of themselves,” Lord Southam said dryly. “But I would not view kindly any man who overindulges in the presence of ladies, as I’m certain every man here feels.”
Lewin said, “Then I shall certainly watch my imbibing tonight, my lord. After witnessing your pugilistic skills at Jackson’s, I shouldn’t want to offend you to the point that you felt bound to challenge me to a boxing duel.”
“I’ve seen you sparring, Captain Rosborough, and I think you would be a worthy opponent,” Lord Southam said. “If you like, perhaps I might handicap myself in some manner.”
“Unless your lordship tied your hands and feet together, I don’t think I’ll venture it,” Lewin answered.
Giles said, “Perhaps if you were blindfolded also I might take up the challenge. Miss Smythe, do you know of the pugilistic sport?”
“I have heard that it consists of gentleman striking each other, sometimes quite brutally. I fear that I utterly fail to understand the attraction,” she said, blushing a little.
Josephine said, “I cannot comprehend it either, Miss Smythe. I think any lady with any sense at all is mystified at the sight.”
Barbara’s cornflower-blue eyes grew wide and alarmed. “Miss Rosborough, you’ve actually seen a pugilistic competition?”
“Oh, yes, and so has Lady Mirabella. When we were children, Sir Giles and my brother would mark off a square for a ring and proceed to try to hit each other. It always deteriorated into a pushing and shoving match until one of them fell down.”
Lewin said with satisfaction, “I always won. And remember, Josephine, once I did manage to land a good punch and blacked Sir Giles’s eye.”
Giles said, “That was only because we were both falling down and my face fell on your fist. The hiding my father gave me hurt much more than my black eye.”
“Your father punished you for fighting?” Barbara asked.
“No, he punished me for losing,” Giles replied. “After that I hadn’t much taste for boxing with Lewin.”
Harry Smythe said brightly, “For my part, Captain Rosborough, I’d like to try my hand with you. I’ve been practicing, you know, and I think I could best you.”
“I accept the challenge, sir,” Lewin said. “Shall we say Monday at Jackson’s?”
“Done,” Harry said.
Barbara sighed. “Brother, I predict that on Monday you’ll be the one falling down.”
As Lord Southam stirred his concoction, the party spoke of the gentlemen’s varied pugilistic skills, then the talk turned to other sports, hunting, and fishing. Mirabella noted with approval that Lord Southam, who was barely acquainted with Lewin, Josephine, and Harry and Barbara Smythe, took pains to include them in the conversation and make them feel at ease.
At last the arrack was mixed, and Lord Southam poured their glasses and served them, then took his seat by Mirabella. “A toast,” he said, lifting his glass. “To the four loveliest ladies at Vauxhall tonight.” The men said heartily, “To the ladies.”
Mirabella took a very small sip of the punch, but as soon as she had inhaled the strong fragrance, she sneezed not once but twice. “Please pardon me, oh dear,” she said, woebegone.
Giles grinned mischievously. “Sorry, Southam, but she’s ferreted out your secret ingredient. Cardamom.”
Mirabella sighed. “It’s true, I’m afraid. Cardamom always makes me sneeze.” She darted Giles a wicked glance and said, “But I shouldn’t have told your secret, sir, I have more discretion.”
“Everyone knows you sneeze at cardamom, the secret was out,” Giles replied.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. and Miss Smythe d
idn’t know,” Mirabella argued.
Lord Camarden said, “Mirabella, Giles, if you think we all came here to listen to you two squabble, you are much mistaken, we hear enough of that at home. Southam, I compliment you on your arrack, it’s fortifying and the taste is pleasing on the tongue.”
Lord Southam nodded, then said to Mirabella, “Please forgive me for inflicting respiratory distress upon you, my lady. And now I must find another secret recipe that won’t make you sneeze.”
“That’s very kind of you, sir, kinder than our Monsieur Danton,” Mirabella said, sniffing a little. “It enrages him that I have this odd reaction to cardamom, which is one of his favorite spices. He has accused me of imagining it, and keeps making dishes with it, thinking I won’t notice.”
“And do you?” Lord Southam asked.
Lady Camarden said, “Once we had lamb with a sweet sauce, and Mirabella sneezed so much that I was obliged to dismiss her from the table. It was really quite embarrassing, with Lord and Lady Liverpool there.”
“I did try to hold the sneezes back, Mamma, but all I succeeded in doing was a sort of deep hiccupping into my napkin,” Mirabella said plaintively. “It fairly made my ears ring.”
“Your ears and your nose were very red,” Giles commented.
Lady Camarden said severely, “Giles, stop baiting her, she’s outrageous enough as it is. Come, Camarden, let’s take a stroll before the Chinese acrobats perform.”
All of the party decided to promenade. Josephine was arm in arm with Harry Smythe and Lewin; Giles and Miss Smythe slowly walked down the Grand Walk, and Lord Southam offered Mirabella his arm. “Is there any particular attraction you’d care to visit?”
“Whenever I come here I always want to see the statue of Handel,” Mirabella answered.
