by Lynn Morris
The dance ended and Denys took her hand to escort her off the dance floor. Mirabella said, “Oh, my word, there were so many couples dancing I think that dance must have lasted a half hour. By chance, sir, are you engaged for the next dance?”
“No, my lady, I am not. May I have the honor?” he politely asked.
She smiled. “You mistake me, I beg for no partner just now, I’m out of breath as it is. I was just wondering if you would be so kind as to sit with me for a few moments as I recover.”
“Nothing would give me greater pleasure.” He escorted her to a settee and sat beside her. Mirabella opened her fan and indulged herself in the little breath of cool air it gave her.
“Do you know, Mr. Aldington, tonight I was having grave reservations about these long sleeves, and now I know why I took a dislike to them. It’s very close in here, and they’re not helping at all, and it’s only April; well, almost May. I’ve forgotten how stifling London can be. I tell you here and now you’ll see no long sleeves on me from here on out.”
“I’ve very sorry you’re uncomfortable, my lady. I must say, however, that in that gown you’re a vision, and I’ve noted that the most fashionable ladies in Town are sporting the new long sleeves. You look very stylish in them.”
“You notice ladies’ fashions, do you, Mr. Aldington?” she asked, plying her fan flirtatiously. “What an unusual trait in a gentleman who doesn’t have a bevy of sisters to continually plague him with the topic. But speaking of sisters, I hope I do not intrude on your privacy, but I have lately been thinking much of darling Charlotte. How does she fare?”
He brightened somewhat. “I’m thankful to say that she’s better. Our physician recommended that she take the waters at Bath. He and my mother are there with Charlotte, and my mother writes that she seems comfortable and relaxed, and is eating and drinking more.”
“That’s wonderful news, I’m so happy for Charlotte and your family,” Mirabella said sincerely.
“You are too kind, my lady. Such generosity of heart is a rare treasure,” he said, then in a low ardent voice continued, “‘As fair in form, as warm yet pure in heart, / Love’s image upon earth without his wing, / And guileless beyond Hope’s imagining!’”
The quote sounded vaguely familiar to Mirabella, but she couldn’t quite place it. Lightly she said, “Sir, such effusive compliments are overwhelming, I can hardly imagine an appropriate response, so I will simply say thank you.”
Without giving him an opportunity to reply, Mirabella went on talking gaily, reminiscing about the walks in the gardens and down to the lake at Harpendon House with Charlotte. He remained languorous, his eyes heavy-lidded, his expression one of slight melancholy. Mirabella wondered if something else was weighing on him, and she thought she might ask Giles, as he and Denys Aldington were good friends. As they talked, however, it occurred to Mirabella that there was a hint of artifice about Denys’s demeanor. She dismissed the thought, for she had always known him to be a man without guile.
As the next country dance commenced, Mirabella saw that Lady FitzGeorge had no partner and was speaking with Lady Cowper. She excused herself and made her way toward them through the throng.
However, Lady Jersey practically popped up in front of her, grabbed her arm, and propelled her into a corner. “Mirabella dear, finally I’ve found an opportunity to speak to you. Have you been avoiding me? Surely not, we’re such good friends, and you know that I would never berate you for jilting Southam, but I simply must know why you would do such a foolish thing. He’s one of the prime catches in England, even though he is merely a viscount but still, he’s so deliciously rich! Why, practically every woman of any consequence whatsoever has tried to snag him, and he’s managed to evade every single one, but here he just dropped right into your lap and you turned him away and broke his heart, hardly anyone has seen him for the last few weeks. The story has become something droll in Town, for it’s said that Southam paid thirty thousand pounds for a kiss, and he’s not the kind of man that could abide being laughed at, no matter how—”
Normally Mirabella would never consider interrupting anyone, but she was so aghast that she blurted out, “Sally, stop! What are you blathering on about? This—this is awful, it’s so insulting both to me and to Lord Southam, how could you possibly repeat such mean, tawdry gossip?”
Lady Jersey was neither insulted nor abashed; her eyes glinted with mischief. “Most gossip is generally based in truth, my dear, as you well know. Are you saying that you didn’t turn down Southam? Or that this expensive kiss never happened?”
Mirabella said stiffly, “I’m not saying anything at all, it’s no one’s concern. Where did you hear this nonsense, Sally? Surely not from Lord Southam.”
“Of course not, he’s always been a gentleman of the utmost discretion, one can never find out any good tidbits about him, which is why it makes this tale so priceless,” she scoffed. “As for exactly where I heard it, I hardly know, you know how it works, one talks to so many people every day, stories just circulate in the ether and one hears them.”
“Well, stop repeating this one, I beg you,” Mirabella said angrily. “I declare, if I knew who started spreading these rumors I’d challenge him or her to a duel, and gladly shoot them.”
“How odd you should say that, there was some vague mention of a duel, but apparently it didn’t involve Southam, no one quite knew the circumstances, and it never came to be,” Lady Jersey said with frustration.
“That’s likely because it’s a lie, just as what you’ve said is so distorted as to be a thousand miles from the truth,” Mirabella retorted. “Please, Sally, I’m so distraught, I need to sit down for a moment and calm my nerves.”
Lady Jersey took her arm again and led her to an armchair. “Of course, dear Mirabella, I’m sorry I’ve upset you, I had no such intention, I honestly believe that in a way it’s rather a coup for you, to have spurned such a man as Southam, but there! Since you find it so distressing, I promise I shan’t utter another word about it. Here’s the waltz I’ve promised to Lord Harmond, the poor old thing does dodder about, but he’s so dear I could hardly say no.” She patted Mirabella’s hand and left her alone.
Mirabella fanned herself vigorously, grateful for the mildest breath of air in the hot crowded ballroom. Why on earth should I be shocked? This is Town. I’ve always known the rule that Everyone knows Everything about Everyone Else. It’s just that this is the first time I’ve been the Everyone Else…well, since I was seventeen, I suppose, but then I didn’t realize how damaging the gossip could be. But now I should have known! Oh, poor Lord Southam, how embarrassed he must be! I must, I must apologize to him…
Mirabella wondered if that might be the correct course; perhaps the best thing to do would be to never mention it to him. With irritation she thought that again, or still, her dealings with Lord Southam confused her. She determined, however, that she would treat him with the utmost courtesy the next time she met him, no matter how cold he was to her. As for the gossip, she mentally shrugged. The damage was apparently already done. She must forget all about it, or if she couldn’t forget, at least refuse to dwell on it.
After a few moments she managed to regain her composure, and again went to speak with Lady Cowper and Lady FitzGeorge. Lady Cowper said, “Mirabella, here is a triumph indeed. Rosalind has snagged Byron for her dinner party next week.”
“However did you manage that?” Mirabella asked with surprise. “I’d heard that he wasn’t accepting any invitations, that he’s off brooding all by himself.”
“I have my ways,” Rosalind said mischievously. “He was reluctant, but I named off the guest list, and when he was certain that I wasn’t including Caro Lamb he accepted. And Lady Cowper is one of his favorites, everyone knows.”
“I admit I’m a great admirer, as is everyone else in London,” Lady Cowper said.
“Almost everyone,” Mirabella said lightly. “I’m afraid that I couldn’t finish Childe Harold. Now I shall have to purchase an
other copy and brush up on it if I’m to have dinner with the great man himself.”
“You didn’t care for Childe Harold?” Lady Cowper asked. “I thought it was sheer genius, I’ve never read such vivid and emotive verse.”
“Yes, so everyone says,” Mirabella said. “It must be that I’m too shallow to enjoy the writhings of a tortured soul. However, I promise I shall try to lower myself into the dismal depths before your party next week, Rosalind.”
“Just don’t make yourself so woeful that you can’t sing,” Rosalind said severely. “I’ve promised everyone that you’ll be our musical entertainment.”
“Very well, I shall try to keep myself from sinking into such dejection that I’m unable to sing.”
Mirabella danced with Lord Trevor, and found him devilishly charming as always; then she danced with Lewin, who had met Lord Wellington and had found him to be an approachable, even personable gentleman, which had astounded Lewin. Then she had her waltz with Harry Smythe. “Your friend Miss Rosborough is a most charming, amiable girl,” he said, beaming.
“Yes, she is,” Mirabella agreed. “She’s very pretty, too.”
“I believe she’s one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen,” he said artlessly, then hurriedly added, “As are you, Lady Mirabella.”
“You’re very kind, sir,” Mirabella said with amusement.
The second waltz was Giles’s, and Mirabella was glad to see him come claim her. “You and Lewin have been so scarce these last weeks, I was beginning to think that you might be angry with me. You’re not, are you?” she asked.
“I am not. Should I be? Have you done something wicked?” he teased.
“Mm, let me think. I suppose I have, although you couldn’t know of it. I was jealous of Josephine this evening because her frock is prettier than mine.”
“Yes, I had noticed that.”
“Scoundrel,” Mirabella said affectionately. “Now you’ve promised to attend my breakfast tomorrow, you will be there, won’t you?”
“I will be there. I wouldn’t miss one of your famous alfresco breakfasts for the world.”
* * *
Mirabella’s alfresco breakfasts were a favorite with the haut ton. One reason was that Mirabella made clear to everyone that the breakfasts were for young single ladies and gentlemen, and she and her parents were of such prominent standing that any young ladies she invited were able to attend under the chaperonage of Lady Camarden.
Another reason for their popularity was Monsieur and Madame Danton. They set up two large, shallow grilling pans on the sideboard in the garden loggia. These “stoves” had been specially designed by Monsieur Danton. They were a variation of the warming pans used for breakfast dishes, but after much trial and error, Monsieur Danton had added several candles to bring the pans to a temperature hot enough to cook eggs. The couple took special orders from each guest for an omelet, and made them fresh and hot right there.
Monsieur Danton was a tall, thin man with flashing dark eyes, a prominent Gallic nose, and sparse dark hair. Madame Danton was short, and was as pretty as Colette, but without Colette’s demeanor of sparkling humor. As they adjusted the candles under their pans and tested them by dropping small bits of butter on the cooking surfaces, they spoke together in low tones in French. Two footmen stood by to attend to serving beverages to the guests.
Mirabella had invited Josephine, Lewin, and Giles, of course. She had also invited Barbara and Harry Smythe, Lady FitzGeorge, Denys Aldington, and Lord Trevor Brydges.
“I apologize that the gentlemen outnumber the ladies,” Mirabella said as they all took their seats. “I did invite another young lady, but she had a previous engagement.”
Rosalind, sitting between Harry Smythe and Lord Trevor, smiled. “I’m afraid it’s all my fault. You invited Lady Margaret, didn’t you? My stepdaughter Lady Chandos disapproves of me, you see, and won’t allow Meg to come under my disreputable influence.”
“Oh? What infamous thing have you done to deserve this censure?” Mirabella asked lightly.
“I’m certain that Lady Chandos could give you any number of examples of my scandalous behavior. But the latest indiscretion is all Lord Trevor’s fault. He persuaded me to dance three times with him at Lady Sefton’s ball. Lady Chandos demanded to know if we were betrothed. When I told her certainly not, she was obviously appalled.”
Timidly Barbara said, “But is that so very scandalous, Lady FitzGeorge? I thought that such strict rules of conduct didn’t apply to widows.”
“I thought that, too, Miss Smythe,” Rosalind said cheerfully. “But apparently Lady Chandos disagrees.”
“I forgot to ask Lady Chandos’s permission before leading you down the dastardly path of dissolution,” Lord Trevor said slyly. “Naturally I take full responsibility, and will mend my ways, my lady.”
Rosalind said, “How I hope not.”
With amusement Giles said, “I wouldn’t worry that Brydges will reform, ma’am. The ladies are much too enthralled with that rakish charm.”
Lord Trevor grinned. “Can’t help it, you know, take after my mother, she always cuts a dash. Ain’t it amusing, how that works? My brother is just like my father, as dull as ditchwater. He’s going to be the prime staid boring earl.”
Mirabella asked curiously, “It doesn’t bother you, being the second son, Lord Trevor?”
“Bother me? Not at all, the opposite, in fact. I can be the carefree, swaggering younger son without being saddled with all the work and worry. I tell you if I had to sit in that dreary House of Lords day after day, I’d go full-moon lunatic,” he said cheerfully.
Rosalind said slyly, “That is all too true, Lord Trevor, you can barely sit still anywhere for any length of time. Lady Camarden, I must commend Monsieur and Madame Danton. Just looking at this table is a feast in itself.”
Monsieur Danton turned and bowed; Madame Danton murmured, “Merci, ma dame.”
“There you see it,” Lady Camarden said. “They do understand English, except when I’m speaking to them.”
The table was laden with ingredients for the omelets. There were six kinds of cheeses, four kinds of mushrooms, assorted sautéed vegetables such as tomatoes, celery, leeks, onions, and sweet peppers, crumbled bacon, shredded ham, and one of Monsieur Danton’s specialties, tiny cubes of sirloin braised in herbs, pepper, and red wine until they were falling-apart tender. All kinds of bright fresh fruits graced the table, along with elaborate platters of candied fruits and sugared flowers, such as roses, carnations, nasturtiums, and lemon and orange blossoms.
Much discussion ensued about the relative merits of all the kinds of omelets that could be produced from the array of ingredients. Barbara said, “I’m quite bewildered, everything looks so delicious. But all I can think of is how much I’d like to eat the flowers. Do you suppose I could have a flower omelet?”
Monsieur Danton muttered darkly, “Une fleur omelette! Mais non, hèlas!”
The guests were amused, and Barbara blushed deeply. Giles said warmly, “I forbid you to be embarrassed, Miss Smythe. Countless times I’ve witnessed Lady Mirabella strip one of Madame Danton’s cakes of all of the flower garnishes without touching a single crumb of the cake.”
“That’s very true, Miss Smythe,” Mirabella said complacently. “I love edible flowers, especially when Madame Danton makes them, they are heavenly. And there is something decadent about eating flowers, which of course makes it all the more pleasurable, does it not?”
Lady Camarden said, “Mirabella, don’t tease the child. I see that Monsieur Danton is beginning to look impatient, are we ready to place our orders? Miss Smythe, if you wish to have a flower omelet, I will brave Monsieur Danton’s ill temper and order one for you. But I really think you might try the ham, Stilton cheese, and either the black or white truffles as you prefer. And you may eat as many of the flowers as you like without anyone believing that you’ve fallen into debauchery, regardless of what my cheeky daughter says.”
The guests placed the
ir orders, and Monsieur and Madame Danton went to work with their usual quick efficiency. As the diners waited for their omelets they snacked on the fresh bread with butter and fruits. Barbara shyly signaled the footman serving; he placed several flowers on her plate and she ate them with relish.
Giles asked, “And so, Miss Smythe, are you feeling particularly corrupted?”
“Perhaps a little, sir, but I refuse to let it deter me,” she answered with a smile. “Here, I shall take three more of these orange blossoms, they are simply marvelous. Harry, don’t you dare tell Mamma, she is adamant that I eat entirely too many sweets, and will end up as fat as Lady—” She put her hand over her mouth, her blue eyes wide and alarmed.
Rosalind laughed softly. “Miss Smythe, you really are delightful. Don’t worry, all of us here can think of several ladies that would suit your mamma’s example.”
“So true,” Lord Trevor said slyly. “Of course the first to come to mind is Lady—”
“That will do, Lord Trevor,” Lady Camarden said. “If you young people don’t start behaving yourselves, I’m going to have every dowager in London chaperone the next breakfast.”
“That would be a shame, my lady,” Lewin said. “For my part, I find it perfectly refreshing to have conversations with young ladies that don’t consist of the state of the weather or the latest fashion in frocks. I have finally comprehended that those topics are the only ones approved by most mammas.”
Denys Aldington said rather heavily, “That’s been your experience, has it, Captain Rosborough? I’ve found that this Season, much as last Season, the young ladies have a somewhat more literate, informed conversation now.”
Lewin said gravely, “Ah, yes, the Lord Byron craze. I stand corrected, many young ladies do discuss Childe Harold passionately.”
“It has proven to be a most influential work,” Denys said. “I found it to be quite a revelation, a new and brutally honest insight into the Peninsular War, indeed, into the brutality and waste of all wars.”
