by Lynn Morris
The Cowper town house was sizable, but the ballroom was not large enough to accommodate over three hundred. Of course many people went to sit in the other principal rooms: the drawing room, the music room, the cardroom, the billiard room. Still, the crowds surrounding the dance floor were packed tightly, and Mirabella lost sight of Giles again after her dance with Lord Cowper.
Lord Trevor claimed her for supper, and the crowd began to file into the dining room. The dining room was only slightly larger than the ballroom, and thirty tables, seating ten each, made for very crowded seating. As everyone sorted themselves out, Mirabella saw that Barbara and Giles, along with Josephine and Harry, were seated together, and she and Lord Trevor joined them. Soon they were joined by Lord and Lady Jersey, Lady FitzGeorge, and Lord Southam. Mirabella didn’t see Denys Aldington in the crush. She sat by Josephine, and across from her were Giles and Barbara, while Lord Trevor sat at the head of the table.
The gentlemen helped the ladies fill their plates from the delectable dishes of veal, lamb, pheasant, and assorted salads and relishes. Mirabella nodded to a nearby table and said to Josephine, “Lewin has reached the pinnacle of London society, I see, dining with such august company.” Lewin was seated with Lord and Lady Castlereagh, Lord and Lady Cowper, Mirabella’s parents, and Count and Countess Lieven.
Josephine frowned slightly. “Yes, I know. From what I understand, there is much news from Spain, and of course Lord Castlereagh and Count Lieven have all the latest dispatches.”
To Giles Mirabella said brightly, “So is Lewin privy to more news than we humble reading public get from the newspapers, Giles?”
“If he’s been receiving dispatches from Lord Wellington, he’s said nothing to me about it,” Giles joked. “He’s a close old file, you know.”
The group talked for a while about the war, but as the supper progressed, as usual, they broke up into couples privately conversing. Mirabella noticed that Lord Southam, Lady FitzGeorge, and Lord and Lady Jersey all talked with animation at the end of the table. Josephine and Harry, and Barbara and Giles, began talking in low voices to each other. Lord Trevor said to her, “You know, the races at Ascot are in a couple of weeks. Do you and your family have plans to attend?”
“We’re not really very dedicated gamblers,” Mirabella answered. “We’ve only been once since I came out. I enjoyed the spectacle, but I was completely downcast that I lost four pounds on a mare that was named Donna Bella. I was certain I was fated to win.”
“Then you must come this year, and recoup your losses. I assure you I can advise you on a winner. My family has an estate in Berkshire that’s only a couple of miles from Ascot, and this year we’re inviting a party to come stay for the entire week. May I invite you and your parents to join us?”
“Well—I—I don’t know, I hadn’t thought of attending Ascot,” Mirabella replied vaguely. She was having trouble concentrating on Lord Trevor, for Barbara and Giles, heads close together, seemed to be having a soft-spoken, intimate conversation. It also came to Mirabella’s attention that Mr. and Mrs. Smythe, along with four other couples, were seated at the table next to them, which was situated very close. Mrs. Smythe’s voice, always strident, was steadily growing shriller. Several people turned to see who was speaking so loudly. Mirabella saw that Mrs. Smythe was addressing Sir Thomas and Lady Heron, an elderly couple who were both very hard of hearing.
Sir Thomas said crossly, “I cannot fathom what young people are about now, in my day it was considered rude to mumble and murmur in conversation. Are you talking to us, Mrs. Smythe, or whispering to yourself ?”
“I beg your pardon, Sir Thomas,” Mrs. Smythe bawled in his ear. “I was just saying that Sir Giles Knyvet has been very attentive to my daughter for some time now, we have every reason to expect a happy announcement soon. And of course our Harry is much caressed in Town, we’re certain that he’ll make a most fortunate match when the time comes, for he’s still young and can choose among the young ladies at his leisure.”
Mrs. Smythe’s words were such a shock to Mirabella that her ears began to ring and for a few moments she could hardly hear anything except an odd distant rumbling. Her eyes, wide and startled, were fixed on the couple across from her. Barbara’s face was lowered, and her cheeks were flaming. Giles’s amiable expression didn’t change. He leaned closer to whisper to her. Then he gently took her hand and threaded it through his arm, and they stood up. Giles nodded courteously to Mrs. Smythe, and they left.
Slowly Mirabella became aware of Josephine, who was half-turned away from her. She could see Harry’s face, and his expression was one of deep distress. He was talking in a low urgent tone, and Mirabella heard Josephine say, “It’s quite all right, Mr. Smythe. Do you know, I believe I’d like to get a glass of punch and go out onto the balcony for a few moments of fresh air. Could I interest you in accompanying me?” As they left, Mirabella saw Lord Jersey, and even Lord Southam, give them sympathetic nods. Rosalind and Lady Jersey looked vastly amused.
Lord Trevor said, “Poor old Knyvet, what a coil. But for any man that even looks Miss Smythe’s way it’s to be expected from that old harridan.”
Mirabella swallowed hard. “Is—is Mrs. Smythe simply imagining things, then, do you think? I know you’re friends with Giles, has he indicated to you any sort of—plans as far as Miss Smythe is concerned?”
Lord Trevor looked surprised. “You’re much closer to him than I. Knyvet’s not the sort of man to talk much about his personal life, at least to me. You two haven’t discussed it, I take it?”
“No, we haven’t,” Mirabella said dully. “We haven’t had much opportunity for private conversation lately.”
He searched her face and his eyes narrowed. “You seem upset, my lady. May I impose upon you and ask why?”
Mirabella took a deep breath and assumed a careless tone. “As you said, I am one of Sir Giles’s closest friends, and I like Barbara, too, very much. Whether it’s true or not, I hate to see them so humiliated.”
“I agree completely. And your friend Miss Rosborough, too, and Harry’s a good fellow, it’s a shame we can’t choose our parents, but then I suppose we’d all choose royal princes and princesses or at the very least dukes and duchesses, and there’s hardly enough of them to go around,” Lord Trevor said with a return to his usual high spirits. “So what about Ascot? You were about to accept my invitation, I hope?”
“First I must talk to my parents, I really have no notion of whether they’d care to attend or not.” Mirabella knew that her parents would accept or decline the invitation according to what she wanted. Just now Mirabella had no idea what she wanted. “I have no idea what invitations my mother may have already accepted for that week.”
“You know that London practically empties out for those four days. I don’t wish to impose upon you with arguments—but then again, perhaps I will. I’d really like for you to come. Please.”
Wearily Mirabella thought, London empties out for the races…but Giles certainly won’t go to Ascot. Maybe it would be better if I got away…oh, how I wish I could just go home! She reminded herself again that Josephine and Harry Smythe did seem to be growing close, and it would be horribly selfish of her to go home early and take her away from him. Finally she answered, “It’s so kind of you, Lord Trevor, and I shall certainly consider your invitation. I’ll speak to my parents tomorrow.”
Mirabella endured the rest of the evening with a sort of numbness. Resolutely she refused to look for Giles any longer; in fact, it was her desperate wish that she wouldn’t see him again. She caught a glimpse of him only once, talking to a group that included Lewin and Lord and Lady Cowper, and quickly she turned away. Lord Trevor importuned her to meet him in the park tomorrow. Mirabella said that as she and Josephine generally rode every day she would surely see him. He seemed frustrated at her impersonal answer, but said good night to her with his usual flirtatious grin.
She was subdued in the carriage on the way home, and Josephine and her parents no
ticed it. Lady Camarden said, “Mirabella, aren’t you feeling well? I haven’t been obliged to scold you once this entire evening, so surely something is wrong.”
Mirabella managed a smile. “Nothing at all is wrong, Mamma, may I not simply behave for one evening?”
“You may, but you rarely do.”
When they reached home, Mirabella said tentatively, “Josephine, would you care for a little talk tonight? Or are you too fatigued?”
“Of course not. A glass or two of your ratafia sounds very good after that rich supper,” she replied.
With her usual efficiency Colette soon had the two girls undressed and in their nightclothes. When Josephine went to Mirabella’s room, she was standing at the open window, looking out on the featureless night.
“I miss seeing the stars, don’t you?” Josephine said as she poured out her glass of ratafia and settled on the bed. “Sometimes here one can’t even find the moon, the pall over London is so thick.”
“It certainly is,” Mirabella agreed in a distant voice. She stood motionless for long moments with her back to Josephine. Then she arranged a smile on her face and turned. “I see you’ve helped yourself, you might at least have offered me a glass.” She poured out a generous portion of ratafia.
“I would have done, but the way you were staring outside so longingly, I thought you might have been about to go on one of your night wanders.”
“Not with you here to keep me company.” Then she added somewhat awkwardly, “Josephine, I know I don’t express it often—or perhaps ever—but you mean so much to me. You’re a good and true friend, and I thank you for it.”
“You’re very welcome, dearest, and I feel exactly the same for you. And so, why are we so solemn this evening? I thought it was a fine ball, although I must say that Lady Cowper does have a tendency to stuff us all in like sheep in a fold.”
“Yes, she’s so kind she dislikes limiting her guest list, she invites anyone and everyone, so her balls tend to be routs. But you did enjoy the evening?”
“Yes, I did. Didn’t you?”
Mirabella said with distress, “Oh, Josephine, how can you possibly be so composed after that horrid scene at supper with Mrs. Smythe? I know that you’re reticent about displaying your feelings, and I wouldn’t wish to intrude on you, but it’s obvious that Harry Smythe is in love with you, and unless I’m a complete dolt I think that you are attracted to him. You must be upset at those things his mother said.”
“I am attracted to him, yes,” Josephine said quietly. “But I barely know him. You may say it’s obvious that he’s in love with me, but he’s never made any overtures to me, so Mrs. Smythe only showed her own ignorance with that foolish speech tonight, which was obviously intended as a slight to me. You heard her, the entire tirade was utterly wrong, and I hate to use this word, but it was stupid.”
Mirabella became still and alert. “You don’t think that Giles is interested in Barbara, then?”
“Of course not. I mean, he likes her, I know, and enjoys her company, but he has no intention of marrying her.”
“How do you know?” Mirabella demanded. “Have you talked to him about her?”
“Well—well, no, I haven’t. But I just know that he’s not thinking of marrying her.”
“Has Lewin said anything to you about them?”
Josephine replied insistently, “Not exactly, but I’m absolutely certain that he’s not thinking of marrying Barbara Smythe.” She cocked her head and gazed hard at Mirabella. “Mirabella, you’re the one who sounds upset. Are you worried about Giles and Barbara?”
Mirabella averted her eyes and took a long sip of ratafia. When she looked back up, her face was settled into lines of amusement; the dimples even flashed. “Oh, I’m just being selfish, as always. Giles is my particular friend, and he hasn’t asked my permission to marry anyone, the scoundrel. Although I know that he’d be exactly like you, he’d be cautious, and want to get to know a lady thoroughly before he decided if he wanted to marry her or not. Anyway, regardless of what you think, dearest, it seems to me that he’s spending a lot of time with Barbara. You’ve been with the two of them more than I, at balls and parties. They do very well together, don’t they? They always seem to have much to talk about.”
Josephine answered carefully, “Yes, they have become friends, I suppose. As it turns out, Barbara has always longed to travel, and of course Giles loves to talk about his time in Portugal and Italy. She dislikes living in the north, it sounds rather depressing and hardscrabble, even though her family is wealthy. She longs to live in the south, in the country, and Giles can’t tell her enough about Knyveton and even farming in general. But Mirabella, I promise you that Giles is simply being kind to her, partly because he’s such good friends with Harry, and partly because he feels sorry for her because of her mother. Mrs. Smythe’s vulgar machinations have almost guaranteed that any young man interested in Barbara, unless he’s titled, will never get within two feet of her. And naturally the ones with titles don’t wish to come within two feet of her. Or I should say her mother.”
“Except for Giles,” Mirabella said lightly, “but then he always was courageous enough to face a woman like Mrs. Smythe. I don’t wish to talk about them any more. Let’s talk of something a little less thorny, such as you and Mr. Smythe. As I said, you’re my particular friend, too, and so I warn you that as soon as he speaks to your father, I fully expect him to come beg my permission to pay his addresses to you. You must tell him that.”
“I’ll do no such thing, and as you’ve already interrogated me about Mr. Smythe and Giles and Miss Smythe, it’s my turn to choose the topic. What about Lord Trevor Brydges? He was most attentive to you this evening. Am I correct in thinking that we’ve moved on to the last, although I still maintain the handsomest, man on your list?”
Mirabella sighed deeply, and for a moment her eyes were dark and shadowed. “Do you know, to tell the truth I’ve suddenly realized how fatigued I am. I think I can sleep now, and I know that you can, you’re so sweet to indulge me in these late-night talks when you could be asleep and dreaming of Mr. Smythe.”
Josephine rose and set her empty glass down. “I’ll be leaving you now. I fully expect that in the morning, after a good night’s sleep, you’ll stop talking such silly nonsense. If you don’t I’m going to refuse to speak to you at all. Good night, dearest.”
Of course Mirabella did not get a good night’s sleep. She felt odd. It was as if somehow, deep in the recesses of her mind, she had been dreading a sort of impending doom, and she supposed that she really had, deep down, known that Giles was falling in love with Barbara Smythe ever since the night at the theatre. Josephine had been vehement that it wasn’t so; but Josephine didn’t know Giles nearly as well as did Mirabella. To her, the affection that Giles held for Barbara, now that she was facing it dead-on, was perfectly clear.
Now that the fatal knowledge had become real, Mirabella felt only a sort of weary surrender. She would never marry Giles, and the thought was intolerable; but then the thought of the long years stretching ahead of her without marriage and family was equally intolerable. The dilemma went around and around in her head until she fell asleep from sheer mental exhaustion. On this night she had only one tiresome, monotonous dream over and over. She stood at the window, staring out into the black night, waiting for the dawn. In her dream it never came.
Chapter Nineteen
For the next few days Mirabella was in such a turmoil of emotions that sometimes she felt almost ill. She went through several stages. For one day and endless night she was depressed and it was an effort just to get out of bed and go about her day. Then she grew angry. She was angry at herself for being so stupid, angry at Giles for betraying her, angry at Barbara for entrapping him, angry at God for giving her such an overwhelming love for a man she could not have. Then she started praying in earnest, begging God to somehow work it out that Giles and Barbara would be estranged, and that he would come to her and realize that she was th
e right woman for him after all.
But Mirabella had been a Christian all her life, and she didn’t deceive herself for long. She had been demanding that the Lord “give” her Giles, and that was just as grave a sin as demanding that God give her riches or beauty or a son with blond hair and blue eyes and a genius for architecture. One did not order God; that was the first sin, the original sin, of pride. She humbled herself finally, and as she prayed in truth for comfort and strength, she found that she was comforted, and she did have strength. It was a strength that surprised her. Mirabella, with resignation and a certain small relief, knew that in her heart she wished Giles only well. She wanted him to be happy. If marrying Barbara Smythe would make him happy, then so be it.
All of this emotional wrenching about went on under the surface. Mirabella had been strictly brought up in all manner of deportment, as had every well-bred young lady. At all times a lady was expected to be graceful, with exquisite manners and etiquette, elegant, and poised. No highs or lows of emotion must ever be displayed in public: neither inappropriately high spirits, with too much laughter or smiling or especially, heaven forbid, giggling, nor melancholy or gloom. Josephine and her parents knew that something was bothering Mirabella. Her mother, and even her father, who normally was consumed with politics and the House of Lords and the war, often stared at her pensively. Gently Josephine tried to get Mirabella to confide in her, but skillfully Mirabella avoided any further mention of Giles, except carelessly in passing, and she determined that even at home, in private, she would work harder to hide her grief.
