She flicked at the seat with a gloved finger, as though the leather was old and cracked instead of supple and gleaming.
The vehicle drew to a halt, and the footman opened the doors, letting in a swath of sunshine. Miss Davenport stood immediately and stepped out, clearly accustomed to considering herself first and foremost. Both Miranda and Miss Trelling hung back, allowing Lady Davenport to step out behind her daughter.
“Have you been to Abbotsbury often?” Miranda asked.
“Yes,” Miss Trelling said, dipping her bonnet so that it shaded her face. “My brother is interested in ornithology, and I accompany him to keep him out of trouble. The west dock at the lagoon is rather rickety.”
Miranda nodded. Although he was a gentleman of two and twenty, Miss Trelling’s older brother was not particularly suited to make his way in the world. He had always been a distant, meticulous kind of fellow. Quite the odd duck, Miranda’s father called him. Considering the young man’s interest in birds, the description was apt. Not that she would say as much to Miss Trelling.
They exited the carriage to find the rest of the party gathered by the water. The Havenses other vehicle had transported Lady Edgerton, Lady Montfort, and the two Montfort daughters, Amelia and Charlotte. Edward had ridden his own horse, lucky fellow, accompanied by Charlie. The two of them were directing the footmen in unloading Lady Edgerton’s picnic provisions.
From the number of baskets and parcels, it looked as if she had been planning to equip an expedition to the Continent rather than a jaunt down the coast of Dorset.
The soft June air smelled of green grass – with a pungent overtone of bird offal. Of course, the presence of hundreds of white swans bobbing on the water and clustered on the shore had an olfactory as well as visual impact. Miss Davenport sniffed and brought her kerchief to her nose.
“Heavens,” she said. “How very – picturesque.”
“Don’t worry,” Charlie said, passing by with a tablecloth bundled in his arms. “The picnic will be upwind – and you’ll get used to the smell.”
Miss Davenport looked faintly horrified at the thought, and Miranda could not check her smile.
“Come along,” Lady Edgerton said. “We shall view the swans first.”
She picked up her skirts and headed for the small dock jutting into the shallow lagoon. The birds did not seem at all vexed by having a number of people moving toward them. A few hoarse whistles disturbed the air, and one swan entered the lagoon, its neck gloriously arched, but the majority remained unperturbed.
“Look at the cygnets,” Miss Trelling said. She gestured at three bits of soft gray fluff peeking from beneath their mother’s wing. “Of course, you don’t want to approach them. Swans are quite defensive of their young.”
Charlie and Edward joined them, having finished conveying the last of the supplies from the carriages. Further west, the footmen bustled about, preparing the picnic. Miranda wondered if there would be pickled eggs, and what the swans might think of that.
“Oh, my,” Miss Davenport said, stumbling gracefully and clutching at Edward’s arm. “The ground here is not terribly stable, is it?”
Clever of her, to have maneuvered close enough to catch her quarry’s arm before ‘losing her footing.’ The girl was certainly scheming. Watching her left a sour taste in Miranda’s mouth.
“Allow me to assist you,” Edward said, as if it had been his intention all along.
“Miss Trelling?” Charlie appeared beside the shy young woman and, with a flourish, offered his forearm. “We wouldn’t want you to turn one of those pretty ankles on this rough terrain.”
“Oh…” Miss Trelling hesitantly placed her hand on Charlie’s arm. “Thank you Char – er, Mr. Price.”
They had known Viscount Trelling and his family for simply ages. Miranda had never quite determined if Charlie harbored a special tenderness for Henrietta Trelling, or if he was simply being kind.
Without an escort of her own, Miranda folded her arms and marched ahead to the ruffled water. The grass under her feet was lumpy and tussocked, but certainly not hazardous enough to warrant grabbing helplessly on to a gentleman’s arm.
The blue sky was echoed in the lagoon, and the hills rose along the side like a rucked-up green-and-brown blanket. Off the end of the dock a swan spread its wings and, with a great beating and splashing, began to ascend. Its feet trod the water and then the huge white wings lifted it into the sky, the air whistling rhythmically through its feathers.
Miranda stepped onto the weathered boards. Partway down, a loose plank see-sawed under her foot, and she quickly moved away from the edge – the rickety dock Miss Trelling had mentioned.
“How very rustic!” Miss Davenport said as she and Edward approached. She still clung like a limpet to his arm. “Why, you look perfectly at home here, Miss Price. How pleasant this must be for you.”
Edward frowned down at Miss Davenport’s ornately decorated bonnet, but said nothing.
“Indeed,” Miranda said. “I’ve always thought fresh air and sunshine helped combat the sickly look I’ve observed so often in Londoners. After some time, it will work its wonders on you as well, Miss Davenport.”
The young lady sniffed, then turned pointedly away. Charlie and Miss Trelling joined Miranda on the dock, and her brother shook his head.
“You’re a rascal,” he said to her in an undertone.
“I can’t help it.”
“Well, try. She’s a guest, after all.”
Miranda refrained from pointing out that the Davenports were not her guests. It was simply impossible to bear Miss Davenport in silence – although Miss Trelling seemed to manage well enough. Indeed, Miss Davenport had turned her attention to the other young lady.
“What an interesting color your gown is,” Miss Davenport said. “Is mud-brown the fashion in the country? I had no idea.”
A flush bloomed on Miss Trelling’s cheeks, but she said nothing, only stared down at the weathered boards beneath their feet.
Charlie cleared his throat, and Miranda raised her brows at him. Was her brother going to say something after just scolding her for doing the same?
“Things are different in London,” he managed.
Disappointment folded around Miranda. Was no one going to stand up to the horrible Miss Davenport?
“Oh my, yes.” Miss Davenport laughed – a sound that rang artificially over the water. “A change is so refreshing. For a short period of time, that is. One wouldn’t want to become accustomed to the country. As soon as the ball is over, Mother and I will be returning to Town. With a happy announcement, I hope.”
She squeezed Edward’s arm, her eyes bright with greedy expectation.
Miranda’s gaze slipped to Edward. How could he possibly be contemplating marrying this girl? She was everything dreadful.
He stared across the water, his expression distant.
“Well, Miss Davenport, while you are here, I encourage you to immerse yourself in the experience,” Miranda said. “After all, many peers enjoy repairing to their country estates for part of the year. Oh, look!” She stepped closer to the edge of the dock and made a show of glancing at the empty water. “The most lovely little sight – a cygnet perched just behind its mother’s neck. Do come see, Miss Davenport.”
With a toss of her head, Miss Davenport let go of Edward’s arm and came to stand beside Miranda.
“Where? I don’t see anything.”
“They went around the corner. Perhaps if you lean forward a bit…”
Miranda lifted her right foot, where she had been pinning down the loose board Miss Davenport stood on. The wood tilted, and Miss Davenport let out a shriek.
“Help!” she cried, teetering on the edge.
She flailed, grabbing hold of Miranda’s arm. Edward lunged to catch them, but it was too late – Miss Davenport tumbled off the dock, taking Miranda with her.
They hit with a splash. The water was cool, and muddy this close to the shore, with a few bits of white d
own curling on the surface. Miranda landed on her side, her hand touching the smooth slime at the bottom before she righted herself.
“Help! Help!” Miss Davenport cried.
Another splash signaled Edward’s entry into the lagoon. He caught Miranda’s elbow, and with his steady support, she got her feet under her and stood. The water came to just above her knees, and her gown clung wetly to her. A rivulet ran down her cheek. She wiped at it with her soggy glove, which did not improve matters.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “Your shoulder?”
She lifted her shoulders in a quick, exploratory shrug. “Well enough.”
“That was a foolish thing to do.” He let go of her arm. “Stay calm, Miss Davenport,” he called, making his way to where the young lady persisted in flailing about.
He managed to pull her to her feet, only to have her shriek again and throw herself at him. The two of them tumbled back into the water, and Miranda began to laugh. What a comedy of errors. She supposed everyone in the lagoon deserved what they had gotten.
From the dock, Charlie grinned at her. Miss Trelling’s lips twitched, then opened out into a wide, genuine smile.
“I hope the leeches haven’t grown too large yet,” Charlie called down.
“Leeches?” Miss Davenport screeched.
She seemed to be trying to climb up Edward, who gallantly stood his ground. The continual racket of Miss Davenport was upsetting the swans. A dozen of them took to the air, adding to the din with their splashing take-offs and thrum of vibrating wings.
Miranda waded to shore, her boots squelching uncomfortably with each step. Edward followed, bearing Miss Davenport in his arms.
Lady Edgerton hurried up, with Lady Davenport right behind.
“Edward,” his mother said, “is everyone well?”
“Get them off!” cried Miss Davenport, waving her legs wildly beneath her sodden skirts. “The horrid things, remove them at once!”
Edward stumbled the last few feet and dumped her onto solid ground.
“There are no leeches,” he said. “Compose yourself, Miss Davenport. We are unharmed, Mother – if a bit damp. I believe Miss Davenport would like to return to the carriage.”
“My poor girl.” Lady Davenport went and laid her arm around her daughter’s shoulders. “What a dreadful accident. How did it happen?”
“Miss Davenport was immersing herself in the country experience,” Miss Trelling said. There was a definite spark of humor in her eyes. “They were admiring the color of my gown, and thought to apply it to their own. The bottom of the lagoon seemed a suitable choice.”
Charlie laughed outright at that, and even Edward looked about to smile.
“I don’t find it amusing in the least,” Lady Davenport said. “Come along, darling.”
Miss Davenport stopped her sniffling long enough to shoot Miranda a dagger-edged glare. Their acquaintance had just been elevated to a new level of enmity.
***
Three days later, Lady Edgerton hosted a dinner party. The long table was decked with snowy linens and gold-edged plates. Candelabra set at close intervals added a warm glow, though pale evening light still seeped in through the Palladian windows lining the side of the dining room.
Miranda was relieved to be seated far down the table from Miss Davenport – even though it placed the young lady next to Edward. Still, it was none of her concern whom he chose to court. She took a sip of champagne, the bubbles tickling her nose, and watched Charlie, who was seated beside her, flirt with Miss Trelling on his other side.
Was he in earnest, or simply entertaining himself by making Miss Trelling blush and laugh? She’d hate to think her brother had become a rake – though if he had, it was likely Edward Havens’s fault.
Miranda looked to the head of the table, surprised to find the earl watching her. Their eyes met, held, and a curious, breathless sensation shivered over her. Then Miss Davenport patted his shoulder, and he turned to her in reply.
For the next five minutes Miranda shot covert glances at him, between bites of the poached fish on her plate. He did not look her way again.
After the servants had removed the last course with a quiet clinking of plates and cutlery, Lady Edgerton stood and clapped her hands twice.
“Attention, dear guests,” she said. “We will be observing the more informal country tradition of repairing to the drawing room – ladies and gentlemen together – for some entertainment.”
“No sitting about swilling port,” Miranda said to Charlie.
“A pity. I was hoping to discuss the gruesome details of pheasant hunting with the other gentlemen.” Her brother gave her a cheerful smile. “At least I have pleasant company.”
He did not mean herself, of course. Instead, he held his arm out to Miss Trelling. And then the scoundrel offered his other arm to the older Montfort daughter, Amelia, on the way out of the dining room. Miss Davenport was, as usual, clamped onto Edward’s side.
Being one of a half-dozen young ladies with only two gentlemen in attendance was becoming rather tiresome. Miranda hesitated at the dining room threshold. If she snuck off to look at account books in the study, would anyone notice? Behind her, the servants blew out the candles, gray tendrils of smoke scrolling into the air.
“Miranda!” Her mother paced back down the hallway from the direction of the drawing room, a determined look in her eyes. “There you are.”
No escape now. Miranda let out an invisible sigh.
“Yes. Here I am.”
In West Dorset. Forever.
Which, if she could spend all her time at Wyckerly studying mathematics, would not be such a bad thing. It was only the intrusion of rakish earls and scheming misses that made her want to run away.
The drawing room at Edgerton Manor was decorated in warm red and ivory. Velvet-upholstered chairs and divans were arranged into comfortable groupings. Charlie was ensconced between Amelia Montfort and Miss Trelling on a low sofa. The older ladies, along with Miranda’s father, sat in a cluster of chairs near the corner. Edward had taken an armchair, and Miss Davenport occupied the chair next to it. The nearby divan stood empty, and Miss Davenport’s face held a hint of disgruntlement, as though she had expected to settle cozily beside Edward there, and he had thwarted her plans. The back half of the room was dedicated to musical instruments: a pianoforte, a harp, and an assortment of flutes – some of which looked completely unplayable.
Miranda took a seat on the divan near Edward. Miss Davenport shot her a narrow-eyed glance, and then pointedly pulled her chair an inch closer to Edward’s.
“Now that we are all assembled,” Lady Edgerton said with a nod at Miranda, “it is time for the entertainments to begin. I know this group holds many and diverse talents, and one could not find a more agreeable audience to perform in front of. Who would like to go first?”
There was an uncomfortable silence, and then Charlie jumped to his feet.
“I shall recite some poetry,” he said. “Lord Byron should do nicely.”
The Montfort girls let out identical sighs – clearly the poet was high in their romantic estimation.
Charlie strode to the center of the red-and-white patterned carpet and struck a pose – one arm cocked before him, his chin jutting up in what was likely meant to be a heroic fashion. He cleared his throat and began.
“She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.”
From the corner of her eye, Miranda saw Miss Davenport smooth back her raven-dark hair with one hand and send Edward a wide-eyed glance – no doubt implying she was also the “best of dark and bright” referenced in the poem. He gave no sign that he noticed her preening, and a small, unworthy gladness kindled in Miranda’s chest.
Miss Trelling, she observed, was blushi
ng prettily, her gaze fastened on Charlie, her eyes shining.
“And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!”
Miranda suspected Miss Davenport’s heart was far from innocent, and her days were certainly not spent in goodness. As for a mind at peace? She herself was decidedly not possessed of one.
Charlie finished with a flourishing bow, and the younger ladies applauded with great vigor.
“Thank you, sir,” Lady Edgerton said. “That was a most agreeable diversion. Since you were the first to grace us with your talent, you may select the next performer.”
“Hm.” Charlie folded his arms and made a show of looking the guests over.
His gaze landed on Miss Trelling, who blushed even more deeply and gave her head the slightest of shakes. Either the young lady was too painfully shy, or she had no party piece to perform in company. In a rather gentlemanly move, Charlie let her go. He continued to circle the room.
“I choose… Miss Davenport,” he said.
“Oh my.” She gave an artificial-sounding giggle and rose from her chair. “I believe I shall play upon the harp this evening. Lord Edgerton has remarked that my rendition of ‘The Minstrel Boy’ is particularly memorable.”
She bestowed a simpering smile on Edward.
“Indeed,” he said. “I still recall your performance at the Forsythe’s musicale some months ago.”
Miranda’s brows rose. Was Miss Davenport truly such an accomplished musician? She shot a look at her brother, whose mouth had the tucked-in expression that meant he was smothering his laughter. Interesting.
Miss Davenport seated herself at the harp and played a glissando. The notes rang true and clear through the room, a waterfall of sound. She plucked out a simple introduction, then opened her mouth and began to sing.
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