by Lynn Morris
“Not at all, I’d much prefer to have a pleasant, companionable sort of love. I’m much too lazy to exert all of my energy in sighing over some hopeless inconsolable longings. But enough of these heavy musings, I’m already growing weary of them. Do you have any plans to go to the theatre soon? I know there are several productions this Season that are particular favorites of yours.”
“And how would you know my favorites, sir?” Mirabella asked archly. “Surely we don’t know each other that well.”
“We don’t, but I’d very much like to remedy that,” he said slyly. “So I asked Knyvet, for I know that he’s one of your favorites, too. He told me that you prefer Mozart, particularly the comedic operas, and I know that Così Fan Tutte is playing at Drury Lane and Le Nozze di Figaro is at Covent Garden. I’m sure you’re going to see them.”
“So I am: we’re going to attend Così Fan Tutte next Friday, and Le Nozze di Figaro on Saturday in a fortnight. Do you plan to attend either of them?”
“Both of them,” he replied with a devilish air, “if I can throw myself upon your mercy and beg a seat in your box, my lady.”
“Lord Trevor, I know very well that you have family boxes at both royal theatres and so you have no need of begging for good seats. But since I have a generous, pitying nature, I will invite you to join us in our box.”
“For both operas?” he demanded.
“Yes, for both operas.”
“I shall count the hours to Friday next.”
“You should not undertake such an onerous duty,” Mirabella said severely. “If you are distracted, you will make a muddle of your tailoring repairs, you likely will not be able to tie your cravat to perfection, your breeches will remain too short, and you will be so engrossed in your numerical calculations that you will lose your Four Horse Club race.”
Affecting anguish, Lord Trevor said, “No, no, such tragedies I could not bear. Let us just say that I shall be looking forward with pleasure to Così Fan Tutte on Friday.”
Smiling, Mirabella said, “And so shall I.”
For Mirabella, the other four courses of dinner were enjoyable. Lord Byron’s topics were livelier now; he told her of his love of sport, including boxing, and of his friendship with Gentleman John Jackson. He asked her to tell him of her favorite pastimes, and seemed interested when she told him of her prosaic, peaceful life at Camarden Court. He did, however, engage her in some discussion as to whether most people could find joy in such quiet, uneventful surroundings. He used for his argument her love for the Season, and Mirabella was hard put to explain the apparent dichotomy between her love for country life and her love for city life, and to convince him that she could likely be happy if she never came to Town for the Season again. He was so incisive that she came away from the conversation unsure she would be happy never visiting Town again.
Lord Trevor was his usual amusing self, telling her of the latest gossip among the ton, including Lady Jersey’s newest faux pas, telling the venerable old Lady Melbourne that she should avail herself of Floris’s newest anti-wrinkle preparation. He also regaled Mirabella with stories of a party at Carlton House, when the prince regent, who had grown very fat, was so amused at some sally of Lord Alvanley’s that he almost fell out of his chair, causing hysterical consternation among the gentlemen-in-waiting.
After a dessert course fully as lavish as one of Madame Danton’s, Rosalind rose and announced that the ladies would withdraw and leave the men to their port. They went to the drawing room and gathered all together in a companionable group on the sofas and settees.
Rosalind asked Mirabella, “How did you find Lord Byron as a dinner partner, Mirabella?”
“Fierce and intimidating,” she replied lightly, “and intriguing and charismatic. I’m truly quite fatigued, mentally at least. Please don’t leave me alone with him again, Rosalind.”
“Stuff and nonsense, you don’t fool me in the least with all your missish airs,” Rosalind scoffed. “I know you’re one of the few young ladies that could hold his interest for more than four or five seconds.”
“I believe he was only interested in engaging me in a serious conversation because of your shameful informing, Rosalind,” Mirabella said playfully. “He told me that you had told him that I was no great admirer. However, I’m happy to say that I hurriedly worked through Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage last week. I believe I was able to string together one or two sentences concerning it that made some sense.”
There followed a general discussion of Childe Harold, with the ladies offering their views of it. Naturally the topic turned to Lady Caroline Lamb and her sad antics, and other gossip about Lord Byron. He was rumored to be now having an affair with the Countess of Oxford, who was fourteen years older than Byron.
The ladies abruptly cut off their conversation when the men joined them in the drawing room. Rosalind said, “As I promised, Lady Mirabella will grace us with some music.”
One end of the long drawing room held a pianoforte and a harp. Instead of rows of side chairs for an audience, Lady FitzGeorge had arranged comfortable settees and wing chairs around the musical instruments. As the guests seated themselves, Mirabella said, “I and my friends, Miss Rosborough and Sir Giles, have been practicing a trio from Così Fan Tutte, and I’m anxious to perform it. Josephine, Giles, please join me?”
Neither Josephine nor Giles had any coy false modesty, so with a will they joined Mirabella. Giles sat at the pianoforte, and Mirabella said wryly, “Sir Giles so excels at the piano that I flatly refuse to accompany myself when he’s present, he quite puts me in the shade.”
Giles made a half-bow to her and played the opening bars of the poignant “Soave Sia il Vento,” “Gentle Is the Wind,” only five lines that conveyed heartbreak because a loved one has left. Mirabella sang in her sweet soprano, Josephine in a soft mezzo soprano, and Giles in a clear, strong tenor.
When the aria ended, the applause was enthusiastic. Mirabella made as if to sit down, but Rosalind said sternly, “Mirabella, you did promise me, and one aria will not suffice. Please continue. Miss Rosborough, you have a lovely voice, if you should know any other duets, or trios, Sir Giles, it would give us great pleasure to hear them.”
“You’re very gracious, Lady FitzGeorge, but ‘Soave Sia il Vento’ is my sole claim to a repertoire for public performance,” Josephine said easily. “I, too, should like to hear Lady Mirabella.”
Mirabella made a small curtsy in acknowledgment and said to Giles, “Shall we lighten the mood somewhat? Please play ‘Piercing Eyes.’”
With an innocent air Giles said, “I should much prefer another of Haydn’s canzonets, I have such fond memories of it. If you please, Lady Mirabella.” He played the first few bars of “The Mermaid’s Song,” winking slyly at her.
She made a very small momentary face at him, then sang the song that she had sung on that oddly warm and glowing All Hallows’ Eve when she had so ignominiously fallen into the stewpond.
Come with me, and we will go
Where the rocks of coral grow.
Follow, follow, follow me.
Come, behold what treasures lie
Far beneath the rolling waves.…
She sang the short song through twice, occasionally darting exasperated sidelong glances at Giles. When she finished, the applause was quite as keen as before.
Lord Byron, seated in a wing chair just by where Mirabella stood, said, “If Sir Giles can make requests, then so shall I. I know that ‘Voi Che Sapete’ is one of your favorite arias, my lady, so I’m certain it must be in your repertoire. Since I’ve discerned that you are averse to songs and tales of despair and heartbreak, I thought you might have pleasure in performing a lighthearted air.”
Mirabella thought she could actually see a slight sparkling of amusement in Lord Byron’s eyes, and she smiled. “Then ‘Voi Che Sapete,’ please, Sir Giles, for my Lord Byron.”
Mirabella thought she saw an unhappy shadow cross Giles’s face, but it was so quickly replaced by his bla
ndly pleasant expression she told herself she must have been mistaken. She sang the aria from Le Nozze di Figaro, the full theatrical version, which was almost five minutes long. Although it was not coloratura, it was still demanding. When Mirabella finished she refused to sing any more. Laughingly she said, “If I sing much longer I shall be croaking a hoarse tuneless alto.”
Lord Byron rose and bowed deeply to her. “That would be a tragedy of despair and heartbreak indeed. The sirens were dangerously beautiful creatures who lured sailors to their deaths with their enchanted songs. I can sympathize with them, my lady, for when you sing I would almost wish to follow you ‘far beneath the rolling waves.’”
Giles had come to stand by Mirabella, and he said innocently, “I cannot recommend it, sir. If you didn’t drown, you would certainly get wet and cold and likely be subject to a tongue-lashing to boot.”
Mirabella gaily took Giles’s arm and furtively pinched it, hard. Giles’s mild expression didn’t change, but he blinked furiously several times. Mirabella said, “Sir Giles, it’s rude to speak of private jokes to persons who cannot participate in them. Sir, I assure you he hasn’t lost his senses, he’s merely referring to a silly incident that happened—er—long ago.”
Lord Byron cocked one eyebrow. “Long ago? When you were children, growing up together, perhaps?”
Uncomfortably Mirabella replied, “Um—no—that is, it was some time ago.”
Giles said, “Some long time ago.”
“Ah, I see,” Byron said, glancing quickly back and forth between Giles and Mirabella. “Well, in spite of the inscrutability of your warning, Sir Giles, I’ll make sure that I never follow Lady Mirabella beneath the rolling waves. Aside from a stubborn desire to avoid death, I intensely dislike being wet, cold, and subjected to tongue-lashings.”
Rosalind joined them, and slipped her arm through Lord Byron’s. “Who would dare to give you a tongue-lashing, sir? I shall put a stop to it immediately.”
“I have had a narrow escape, but the danger is now averted,” he said gravely. “Now, what is this you tell me of your new faro table? Are we to have some cards?”
“Certainly, we’re all repairing to the cardroom now,” she said.
The cardroom, like the rest of Lady FitzGeorge’s town house, was luxuriously furnished and decorated. The gaming tables were of rich mahogany, the chairs overstuffed and comfortable, the upholstery, wall hangings, and draperies of plush red velvet with gilt embroidery. Along one wall was a massive sideboard, attended by two footmen, that held all manner of refreshment: champagne on ice, several kinds of wine, sherry, port, brandy, tea, coffee, chocolate, lemonade, and fruit ices.
The guests sorted themselves out according to their gaming favorites. Lady FitzGeorge, Lord Trevor, Denys Aldington, and Lord Byron wanted to play faro; Lord and Lady Cowper and Lord and Lady Camarden decided on whist; Josephine, Lewin, Giles, and Mirabella wanted to play one of their favorites that they’d played many times at Camarden, a board game called Pope Joan. The players bet on different compartments on the board: Queen, Matrimony, King, Ace, Game, Nine, Jack, and Intrigue.
The chairs and tables had to be shifted about somewhat to accommodate the various games. While Rosalind and the gentlemen were attending to it, Mirabella got a cup of tea and sat down on a settee. Denys Aldington joined her.
“My lady, hearing you sing is like partaking of ambrosia and nectar, the food and drink of the gods,” he said ardently.
Mirabella reflected that Lord Trevor must be correct; such dramatic praise sounded much more like Lord Byron than Denys Aldington. “You are too kind, sir,” she said rather automatically.
“I found your rendition of ‘Voi Che Sapete’ especially moving. I cannot agree with Byron, instead of a lighthearted song I find it especially poignant and full of passion.” Mirabella had sung in Italian, but Denys quoted in English:
I have a feeling full of desire,
That now, is both pleasure and suffering.
At first frost, then I feel the soul burning,
And in a moment I’m freezing again.
Seek a blessing outside myself,
I do not know how to hold it, I do not know what it is.
I sigh and moan without meaning to,
Throb and tremble without knowing,
I find no peace both night or day.…
Isn’t that the very portrait of love’s deepest longings?”
Mirabella replied, “Perhaps for some it may be, I suppose. But you’ve left out the next line, which says to me that the lady is merely indulging herself in sentimental romantic delusions: But even still, I like to languish.”
He frowned. “But surely you cannot discount such fervent expressions of love.”
Mirabella smiled. “Since they are not part of my experience, I must indeed discount them, for myself at any rate. Come, sir, you are very solemn this evening, and I won’t have it. Tell me, do you enjoy the opera?”
With an effort at lightening his expression, he replied, “Indeed I do, and the theatre, also.”
“Just this evening I’ve decided to invite friends in our box next Friday for Così Fan Tutte. Would you care to join us?”
“Thank you, I would love to, madam,” he said, and for once his expression was happy and his eyes shone with pleasure.
The tables were arranged, and now the group gathered at another sideboard attended by the butler. On it were three great silver bowls and a large leather-bound book with gilt-edged pages. The bowls held gambling fish, the markers used for placing wagers. The fish could be as simple as small pewter rectangles, but Lady FitzGeorge’s markers were elaborately carved, realistic-looking fish made of mother-of-pearl. They were of different sizes: the smallest fish was worth one pound, the next size five pounds, the largest ten pounds. Each guest checked out their desired markers and entered them in the book. After play was over, as at the most fashionable gentlemen’s club, White’s, the guests entered their wins and losses.
Mirabella, Josephine, Lewin, and Giles were the last to check out their counters. Giles said to the solemn butler, “We are making a slight alteration in the denomination of the markers.”
“Certainly, sir. How do you wish to value them?”
“They are each valued as a fish. The largest are pike, the next are tench, and the smallest are perch. Each of us will take four of each.”
It was, to say the least, an outlandish request, but like all superior butlers for the haut ton, he showed absolutely no surprise at the vagaries of the nobility. “Yes, sir, I shall record it as Lady Mirabella Tirel, Sir Giles Knyvet, Miss Rosborough, and Captain Rosborough each withdrawing four pike, four tench, and four perch.”
Josephine and Mirabella giggled as they returned to the table where their board game was set up. “He didn’t even blink,” Mirabella said with delight. “One would think everyone bets fish.”
They sat down at the table and Josephine complained, “It’s hardly fair, you know. I’m the only one who doesn’t fish, I don’t know how I shall ever pay my gambling debts.”
“Mirabella can teach you to fish,” Giles said. “It’s quite an adventure, fishing with her.”
“Shush!” Mirabella hissed. “You promised you wouldn’t tell anyone in London that I fish.”
“I’m not telling random persons in London, I’m telling Josephine and Lewin. You see, all of that fun about ‘The Mermaid Song,’ it so happened—”
“Oh, Giles, do be quiet, I’m never singing that song again as long as I live,” Mirabella said crossly.
Lewin grinned. “But I would like to hear the story. It concerns the day that you and Giles came into the conservatory as wet and dripping as drowned wraiths, does it not?”
Mirabella made a face at him, but she didn’t object as Giles continued, in a discreet low voice, to tell Lewin and Josephine about Mirabella’s dunking. He told it whimsically, theatrically exaggerating the danger and his part in rescuing Mirabella from a horrible death.
As they played, t
he four went on talking of homey little doings at Camarden, of the stewpond, of the rescued fawn Dolly that now refused to return to the deer park, doggedly following the stablemen around, and who had become a much-beloved and -indulged occupant of the stable. Josephine told them of a letter she’d had from her father, telling of how well the Neary brothers were doing: they had not only worked diligently at stocking and landscaping the village stewpond, they also were working hard in the cattle barns for a wage, and were conscientiously farming their allotment. The four friends discussed other tenants’ and cottagers’ doings, births and deaths and engagements and marriages. They talked of Mirabella’s plans to try to raise some orchids, those most delicate and exotic flowers, in her conservatory. It occurred to Mirabella that she was having as much fun now as she had at any glittering, lavish diversion that she had attended in London.
The gaming lasted for three hours. Although Josephine and Lewin had some small winnings, Mirabella and Giles took the prize pots.
Giles won the large pot from the Matrimony compartment.
Mirabella won the Intrigue.
Chapter Sixteen
As it was a Law of London Ladies’ Fashion that they wear their most opulent gowns and jewels to the theatre, Mirabella happily chose her birthday gown, with her magnificent sapphires, for the opening night of Così Fan Tutte. Josephine again wore the emerald-green satin gown, and for tonight Mirabella persuaded her to wear one of her tiaras, a small circlet of gold with tiny pearl insets, and Mirabella’s pearl necklace.
As they surveyed themselves in Mirabella’s full-length cheval mirror, she said complacently, “We look stunning.”
Josephine replied, “Don’t we? I think we should wear these to church when we get home. Everyone would be ‘astonied,’ as it says in the Bible.”
“I just hope the gentlemen are astonied,” Mirabella said.
“Ah, thou wouldst devise an ambushment for the young men,” Josephine said, her dark eyes gleaming.
Joining the game, Mirabella intoned, “Shalt not take them with my eyelids, nor let my lips drip as the honeycomb.”
