by Joan Smith
This ridiculous statement drew an easy smile from her. “Somehow I cannot see you living in a grotto, wandering through glades with a staff in your hand.” Fleeting dimples appeared at the corner of her lips to enchant him.
“How do you see me?”
“As a gazetted flirt, sir, and I am not interested, so pray go and direct your charms at some more credulous lady.”
“So you do find me charming, at least,” he said, with a triumphant smile.
“What I should have said was your 'wiles.' Some ladies might find them charming.”
“That ‘some ladies’ suggests you are not amongst them. And wiles’ suggests I am hiding a snare.”
She stared at him with her clear, green eyes and said, “Well, aren’t you? To save you time and effort, milord, I shall tell you quite frankly I am not interested in being your mistress.”
He shook his head sadly. “I am shocked that you would think such a thing, Lady Wetherby.”
“No, you’re not,” she replied calmly. “You are only shocked that I should say out loud what you’re thinking.”
“No, ma’am. Don’t dump your salacious imaginings in my innocent dish. You said what you were thinking. I was only thinking how green your eyes are, and how rose-like your cheeks are, and how I would like another glass of wine. More punch for you?”
“I don’t believe there’s time,” she replied, a little flustered at this sophisticated banter. “The music is beginning again.”
“A waltz! The angels are kind to me tonight. I was hoping our dance would be a waltz. Come.” He set their glasses aside, rose and took her hand to lead her to the ballroom, where he swept her into his arms and whirled her about the floor, light as a zephyr.
Miranda was afraid the dance would prevent her from keeping pace with his conversation, for neither was performed with such esprit in Surrey, but he didn’t talk while they spun around the floor, and so she was free to enjoy the magic of the music and the dancing.
When it was over, he held on to her hand tightly a moment before releasing it. “That was even better than I imagined,” he said softly. “Worth coming home for. May I have the honor of calling on you tomorrow, Lady Wetherby?”
Caution urged her to say no, for she was still convinced he wanted her as his mistress. But her instinct and inclination wanted to say yes. She hesitated a moment, with her lower lip tugged between her teeth.
He cocked his glossy head to the side and said jokingly, “I can supply references if you like.”
“I’m sure that won’t be necessary for anyone Lord Robert introduced me to. We are staying at Lord Croft’s house on Berkeley Square.”
“I look forward to seeing you again soon, Lady Wetherby. And now you must introduce me to your — better friends,” he said, with a teasing look.
Mrs. Hazard’s natural exuberance was subdued during this evening, her first foray into the world of high society. If Lord Bolton found her appearance odd, he was too polite to indicate it by as much as a blink. He asked Dorothy to stand up with him, which delighted Mrs. Hazard.
“A lord!” she cried, after they had gone to the dance floor. “I knew how it would be once we got our toe into society. It was kind of you to introduce him, Miranda.”
“It wasn’t my doing. He asked to meet you. I believe he is nothing else but a flirt, Mrs. Hazard.”
“He might flirt with a widow. You know how the gents feel they can make free with ladies like you and me, Miranda. But I doubt he would flirt with a single lady like my Dotty.”
Miranda didn’t feel Lord Bolton would be so overcome by Dotty’s indifferent appearance as to lose all sense of propriety and agreed with her. A gentleman Miranda had met a dozen years ago when she made her debut recognized her and came to claim her for the next set. Later, she and the Hazards sat at Lydia’s table for the midnight supper.
“I saw you waltzing with Maxwell, Miranda,” Lydia said. “What a charmer, but don’t lose your head over him. Max’s little affairs and flirtations keep us entertained here in London.”
“You must be talking about Lord Bolton,” Miranda said, as he was the only gentleman she had waltzed with.
“Yes, I must remember to give him his title,” she said, and explained the situation to her friend. “That is his stepmama he is sitting with now. She’s rather horrid, but Helen, the blond lady on his other side, is nice. She was his older brother’s wife. She’ll certainly make another match soon, she’s so lovely. Is she not?”
Helen was certainly the loveliest lady in the room as far as Miranda was concerned. She found it a little strange that Lord Bolton wasn’t flirting with her, but then he would have too much respect for his brother’s wife.
Miranda noticed that he stood up with Helen for the first set after supper, and behaved as indifferently as if she were his real sister. There was no air of flirtation on either side.
Mrs. Hazard was much of a mind to stay at the party until the last dog was hung, but when the guests began to leave, Miranda convinced her it was time to go. She didn’t speak to Lord Bolton again, but he was much in her thoughts, and she soon realized he was also in Mrs. Hazard’s.
They sat in Lord Croft’s Blue Saloon, sipping cocoa as they reviewed their first foray into society.
“What did you think of young Bolton, Dotty?” the mama asked. Her triumphant air left no doubt as to what she thought.
“He was very lively and charming. He said he’ll see me tomorrow.”
“Coming to call!” her mama squealed. “Did you hear that, Miranda?”
“Actually, he asked me if he might call,” she said, to alert Mrs. Hazard that it was not Dorothy he had in his eye, but Mrs. Hazard interpreted it in her own way.
“That was well done of him, to ask you for permission first, since he hadn’t yet met me. Very proper behavior, but we shan’t encourage him just yet.”
This last speech left Miranda in some confusion. “You think him too fast for Dorothy?” she asked.
“Nothing of the sort. I just don’t want to annoy his stepmama. Mrs. Harper, a lady I had a chat with, told me Lady Bolton wields a big stick in society. A bosom bow of Lady Hertford, who is close as inkleweavers with the Prince himself. She could make you or break you, and we don’t want to set her jaw against us before we get started. The thing is, you see, she has Bolton in her eye for the other Lady Bolton, the good looking one they call Helen. Those noble folks all stick together like a wad of dough.”
With a memory of Lord Bolton’s brash behavior, Miranda said, “I doubt he would be ruled by his stepmama.”
“No more he would, but that Helen is certainly a looker. What Lyle would call an Incomparable. We’ll just step cautiously at first till we get the lay of the land.”
“Actually, Lord Bolton asked if he might call on me,” Miranda said, “but I think he was only flirting.”
“You may depend upon it. If you are thinking of marrying again, you don’t want to waste your time with a fellow like that. At your age, my dear, you want to keep your eye out for a well-greased widower or older gentleman who will do the right thing by you. What of that dandified fellow, Hume? They say he is well to grass.”
“He’s a wicked flirt.”
Mrs. Hazard nodded pensively. “I like that in a man, providing he keeps it within reason. I’ve no use for one of those rakes who can’t keep his hands off the ladies, but a pretty speech, even if it is a wee bit naughty, is unexceptionable. Lyle was used to flirt with all the girls, until I clipped his wings. Did Hume mention calling?”
“No. That is — he said something about being my — our cicisbeo while we are in London. I didn’t encourage him.”
“We’ll invite him to our party. We must have a few dinners and routs. You will know how to set about it, what to serve and who to invite and all that. And tomorrow morning we’ll call in a modiste to see about some gowns.”
As Miranda lay in her elaborate canopied bed that night, she couldn’t sleep for thinking of Lydia’s party. The strain
s of the waltz reeled through her mind, and again in memory she whirled around the ballroom with Lord Bolton. She had never met anyone so dashing and handsome, and so dangerous to a lady’s virtue. Sir John’s more simple style had just suited a dean’s daughter. She had been perfectly happy with him, except for not having any children. She still wanted children. It was not too late . . .
Then she thought of her duties as Mrs. Hazard’s mentor and wondered how one set about throwing a grand party. Any party Mrs. Hazard threw would be on the grand scale. There would be invitations to write, food and wine to order, musicians to hire. She must ask Lydia how it was done. At length her eyelids fluttered down and she slept.
Chapter Four
Lord Bolton wasted no time in his pursuit of Miranda. He called at Lord Croft’s mansion on Berkeley Square the next afternoon, where he was welcomed with open arms by Mrs. Hazard, and with some reservations by Miranda herself.
“This is a magnificent house you’ve hired, Mrs. Ffoulkes-Hazard,” he said, glancing around the marble hail that spread like a lake around him as she met him at the doorway to the saloon. “You have certainly done yourself proud.”
“The three of us are floating around like tadpoles in a pond in such a huge place. I got lost on my way to the morning parlor,” she confided, as she led him into the Blue Saloon, where he greeted the other ladies.
Mrs. Hazard continued sharing her confidences as she showed him to a seat. “My late husband, Lyle, was used to say, ‘How are folks to know we’ve got the blunt if we don’t spend it?’ And there’s plenty more where this came from. It’s not my Dotty’s dowry I am spending, if that’s what you think.”
Lord Bolton accepted this outpouring with no visible change in his usual demeanor. Miranda cleared her throat, trying to signal Mrs. Hazard to stop, but the lady raced on.
“Twenty-five thousand on the nail head when she marries, and like I said, there’s more where that comes from. I might do something in the way of a house for her and whoever is lucky enough to nab her, if it should be necessary. Of course we’d expect the husband to bring more than a handsome face to the altar, eh Dotty?”
“Lord Bolton is not interested in all this, Mama,” Dotty said, peering to see if he was impressed.
“Rubbish. When gents come calling on a lady, they are always interested in the dowry. Am I right, or am I right, your lordship?”
“The dowry is certainly one consideration in any match,” he replied. “It comes right after beauty and breeding.”
Miranda gave him a sharp look. She suspected this was a jibe at his hostess’s lack of breeding, but he did not show any air of censure. “I’m sure your charming daughter will do well, ma’am, with or without that fabulous dowry,” he added.
“Do you think twenty-five too much?” she asked at once. “I wouldn’t want to give anyone the idea we are desperate, for we’re not trying to buy her a husband, I promise you. She is only twenty, and has had offers past counting, but not from the sort of fellow I hope to see her hooked up with. My Dotty went to a ladies’ private school.”
“I doubt any of her suitors will complain of an excess of dowry,” Lord Bolton said, with a charming smile at Dotty. His close examination to determine her true age was mistaken for admiration by the mama.
The smile was intended to reassure Dotty he was not shocked by her outspoken mama. As she had a proper education, he assumed she knew her mama’s conversation was outrageous. Dotty, however, did not seem in the least discomposed by it. She smiled back shyly, but with a flutter of the lashes that warned him she had misunderstood his little overture at friendship.
He felt the wise course was to gather up Miranda and escape, before he found himself entangled in an unwanted romance. “The day is so fine, I thought we might go for a drive, Lady Wetherby,” he said, looking a question at her.
“Miranda will be happy to play propriety,” Mrs. Hazard said at once. “Run along, ladies. I’ll have a look through the cupboards while you’re gone to see if the house has everything we need for our little party. You will come, of course, Lord Bolton. We'll let you know the date and time when we’ve decided.” It wasn’t a question.
Bolton cast a helpless eye on Miranda, who returned a mischievous smile at his predicament. “I will be happy to chaperone Dotty, ma’am,” she said, and went for her bonnet.
Dotty was not nearly so talkative as her mama. She took a narrow view of a young lady’s social duties. Mrs. Fisher had told her girls they were to dress appropriately to any occasion, always wear clean gloves, and behave with propriety. They were to memorize the current dance steps, accept compliments with a smile, and were to be deaf to anything in the nature of broad talk. Their musical education consisted of memorizing three pieces on the pianoforte. They were not to put themselves forward in an ill-bred way, and never to speak ill of anyone in public.
Mrs. Fisher had not stressed the importance of intellectual endeavors, reading, or conversation. Dotty saw her duty in that last respect as listening to others, and accepting compliments with a gracious smile.
“Where would you like to go, ladies?” Bolton asked, as he led them to the carriage.
Dotty looked to Miranda. “Does Hyde Park suit you?” Miranda asked her. “Or would you rather go to New Bond Street?”
“That would be fine,” Dorothy replied with an air of compliance that did Mrs. Fisher proud.
“Which one?” Lord Bolton asked.
“Whichever you like, milord.”
Bolton bit back his impatience and said, “But I would like to please you ladies.” The look he directed at Miranda was not much short of a glare.
“Hyde Park,” she said, and he spoke to his groom.
“I know Lady Wetherby has had a Season, but is this your first trip to London, Miss Ffoulkes-Hazard ?” he asked, when they had settled into the comfortable chaise.
“No, I have been here before,” she replied.
“Ah. Are you quite familiar with the city?”
“We used to attend the Christmas masquerade at the theater.”
“That’s nice,” he said, and waited in vain for more details.
“Miss Ffoulkes-Hazard was ten the last time she was in London,” Miranda explained.
He took the opportunity to switch conversational partners. “Unlike yourself, Lady Wetherby, who must have been ‘sweet and twenty’, or thereabouts. Do you notice much change?”
“As we arrived only yesterday, we have not seen much yet. The gaslight was a surprise. I had read of it, of course, but had no idea it was so bright and so beautiful. I noticed the roads into London were much busier than they used to be, and the smoke even worse.”
“The price of progress. The place is growing by leaps and bounds. I was away only two and a half years myself, and I noticed quite a difference in that short time. I gladly inhale the smoke, as it comes at a lower temperature than Spain’s clean air.”
“What campaigns were you in, in Spain?”
Bolton mentioned a few by name only, before turning the talk to more genteel aspects of Spain, like the food, the houses and music. Miranda asked some questions, and Miss Hazard sat, gazing out the window. They conversed almost as if she were not there, but Miranda was glad she was, for it kept Lord Bolton’s brash tongue in check.
Dorothy smiled and was polite and agreed to everything Lord Bolton said or suggested. She thought Hyde Park was very fine, and when he asked if she would like to get out and go for a little stroll, she said, “If you like.”
Miranda, with an apologetic glance at Bolton, said, “Yes, let us,” and he opened the door.
The trees were beginning to fade from green to yellow and brown but the grass was still green, the sky was blue, birds sang and a warm breeze welcomed them. Dorothy placed her hand on Bolton’s arm for the walk.
Lord Bolton was extremely frustrated, the more so as he could see Miranda was enjoying his predicament. The only way he could show his displeasure was by lowering his eyebrows at her when Dotty’s attentio
n was directed elsewhere.
A juggler was performing, with a small crowd gathered around him. Bolton managed a private moment while they stopped to watch it. He stood back to let Dotty in front of him for a better view. Her vague smile told him she was well amused with this simple display.
He turned to Miranda and said, “Did you do this on purpose, wretch?”
“No, but I am in London as the Ffoulkes-Hazard’s guest, and naturally I do as my hostess wishes.”
“I shall bring along a distraction for the young lady the next time. What sort of fellow does she like?”
Miranda looked at him from the side of her eyes. “She likes you, milord. But if you wish to bring along another fellow for me--.”
His mild oath was delivered in Spanish, but his tone left no doubt as to its nature. Her quelling stare brought it to a halt. “As I was saying, I prefer a gentleman, preferably one with a stable temper.”
He smiled through his chagrin. “Like this, do you mean? See how calm I am at your wretched stunt? Where can I find you this evening?”
“Why, truth to tell, I have no intention of being lost.”
“You will be at home?” he asked, biting back his impatience.
“I don’t know. If we are not invited out, then perhaps we shall go to a theater. We all like the theater.”
“How delightfully vague. Will it be Drury Lane, Covent Garden, the Coburg?”
“I’m afraid I have no idea.” The juggler bowed and passed the hat. Bolton tossed a coin in and Dorothy was back with them, to prevent Lord Bolton from any further queries.
They returned to Berkeley Square. “Am I invited in for a glass of wine?” he asked bluntly, when they reached the house.
“It is tea time,” Miranda said, looking a question to Dorothy.
“Yes,” Dorothy replied, “let us all go in and have tea.”
Bolton saw he must ingratiate Mrs. Hazard if his romance was to prosper. He was already running through his mind what gentleman he could introduce to the daughter, to free himself and Miranda from her spectral presence.
