by Joan Smith
“There will be no duel,” she said. “If you persist in this foolishness, Alfred, I will never speak to you again.”
The sneering grin of anticipation that flashed across Bolton’s face made Alfred realize how little he relished meeting this veteran, who had killed only God knew how many men in the Peninsula, at dawn with a pistol pointed at his heart.
Bolton’s grin faded as quickly as it had come. His face was deathly pale, but showed no expression whatsoever. “I’m sorry, Hume,” he said in a quiet voice. “I didn’t realize you were engaged to Lady Wetherby. My apologies to you both.”
“Accepted,” Hume said with a great mental sigh of relief. He reached out and gave Bolton’s hand a quick shake to seal the dangerous rift.
Lord Bolton bowed and strode proudly from the room without a backward look.
“Well now!” Mrs. Hazard exclaimed, smiling from ear to ear. “I fancy this means you will be staying in London, Miranda. Engaged, and not breathing a word to me, sly puss. Let us go and spread the word.”
Helen emitted a loud moan from the sofa. Miranda wished Helen would recover, so that she herself might have the pleasure of fainting on to the sofa. What had she done?
“My congratulations to you, Alfred,” Mrs. Hazard said. “You have got yourself a real treasure here.”
“I know it well,” he said, smiling triumphantly and seizing Miranda’s hand in a crippling grip. “All of London will be jealous of me. I want to shout it from the rooftops. Come, my dear. Let us tell our friends.”
Miranda wanted to disillusion him, but not in front of Mrs. Hazard and Helen. It would be too humiliating for him to be publicly rejected, and especially after wanting to fight a duel to defend her honor.
“Let us not tell anyone tonight, Alfred,” she said weakly. “I am feeling shaken. I shall go straight up to my room, if you will pardon me. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
She made a brief curtsy and fled. As she reached the hallway, she saw Bolton had got his cape and was leaving. He didn’t look back, but in the quick glimpse she had, his face had the grim, frozen aspect of a death mask. Her only solace was that it had not come to a duel at least.
Chapter Fifteen
Knowing that sleep would be impossible for her that night, and knowing how miserable her waking thoughts would be, Miranda took a dose of Lyle’s sleeping powder and didn’t awaken until nine o’clock the next morning. As memories of the preceding evening washed over her, she wished she could draw the coverlet over her head and stay in bed for a month. But she had to tell Alfred how she felt before he announced to the world that they were engaged.
How could she face him? It would be easier on her — and it might be kinder to him — to write a letter, and let him receive the news in privacy. He would no doubt insist on talking to her, but at least he would know her feelings beforehand. It would be just a matter of explaining and apologizing. She got out of bed, got dressed and went belowstairs.
She thought the Hazards would be at breakfast discussing last night’s party, but she learned from Samson that it had lasted until after two o’clock, and the ladies were still in bed. The servants were bustling about with brooms and dusters, with beeswax and turpentine, restoring order to the house.
She was surprised to discover that she was ravenously hungry. While she flipped through the post and read a letter from her housekeeper at Hornby Hall — vicar had suggested a stain glass window in honor of Sir John — she ate her breakfast alone, gammon, eggs and toast. When she had finished, she took the morning journal to the saloon to check that her engagement to Hume was not in the notices.
It was a vast relief to see it wasn’t. With luck, no one outside their own tight little circle would ever hear of it. She went immediately to the desk in the corner and began her letter to him. She pondered over what words to use to soften the blow. “I am honored that you should choose me,” “I will always remember your kindness,” “I am sorry if I caused you one moment’s pain.” It all sounded banal and insincere, and so it was.
It was Hume who should be apologizing to her. Why should he think she had accepted him when she did not say so? He had a good opinion of himself, even for a wealthy man. Did he not realize he was old enough to be her papa?
As to remembering his kindness! The sooner she could forget all about him, the better. And furthermore he had very likely caused her a good deal more pain than she had caused him. Really it was too bad of him to announce in front of Bolton and Mrs. Hazard and Helen that they were engaged. She squashed up the letter she was writing and tossed it into the wastebasket.
Angry with the world, she wrote a stiff note reminding Hume that she had never agreed to marry him and was sorry, but she did not feel they would suit due to the disparity in their backgrounds. She trusted he was clever enough to realize this was a polite way of saying she did not care for him.
Completely absorbed in her chore, she paid little heed when the door knocker sounded. It was too early for callers. Someone’s servant was probably dropping off a thank you bouquet after last night’s party. Even when she heard Samson’s footsteps approach the saloon, she felt no qualms. He often offered her tea when she was writing letters downstairs. She sealed up the letter to give Samson for delivery by a footman.
But when he cleared his throat nervously and announced, “Lord Bolton to see you, milady,” she came to sharp attention. Her first baleful glare as she leapt up from her chair was for Samson, who ought not to have shown Bolton in without notifying her first. Her second glare was for her caller.
Her instinct was to demand that he leave, but something in his expression stopped the words in her throat. It was the sad, uncertain way he looked at her, almost as if he were at a funeral. And he was pale, with dark smudges beneath his eyes revealing either a sleepless night or a bout with the brandy bottle, or both. He looked much as she felt, and when she greeted Bolton, her voice was more than polite. It was almost gentle, with much of the same sadness as he felt himself.
Samson breathed a sigh of relief and left. He knew he had done wrong to show his lordship in, but a golden boy! Such a large bribe was the stuff of butlers’ legends. One had never come his way before.
“I’m glad I found you alone,” Bolton said. He didn’t sit down, and Miranda didn’t think to ask him to. She remained standing by the desk. “I have come to apologize. Why didn’t you tell me you were engaged to Hume? Why did you let me prattle on, making my offer, when you were already engaged?”
Her anger began to seep back at his accusing questions. Give these London gentlemen an inch and they took an ell. “Because I was not engaged!” she retorted sharply.
She watched as Bolton’s sober expression shifted with lightning speed through confusion, to hope, to anger. “What do you mean, not engaged? You didn’t deny it when he told me.”
“It happened too fast. The idiot challenging you to a duel. It would be just like you to accept! I didn’t want you killing each other on my account.”
“But — you love him? You do plan to marry him?”
“Love him!” she cried. “I despise the man. I have just this minute written him a letter telling him I won’t marry him.” And what business was it of Bolton’s in any case?
His smile, as he gazed at her, was not far from gloating. “Well, well, well,” he murmured. “One can hardly blame him for being mistaken in the matter. He has virtually lived in your pocket the past weeks. Naturally a lady is permitted to change her mind, but this surely sets a record for fickleness.”
“Never mind grinning like a monkey. This is half your fault, Bolton, and if you were a gentleman, you would help me instead of laughing at my predicament. If you hadn’t been pestering me to be your mistress, I would never have given Hume the time of day.”
“Mistress!” he howled. “I never said mistress. Dammit, I love you. I want to marry you.”
He waited for her squeals of joy, which did not come, although she did feel a surge of triumph at the words. Still, a gentleman ought n
ot to use such language in front of a lady. Especially when they were discussing love and marriage. Her deference to all their whims had got her in a pickle, and she did not mean to continue in that way.
She had feelings too, and it was time they were taken into consideration. “That’s not what you told Dotty,” she said. “You said you would never marry a widow.”
“I never said anything of the sort!”
“You certainly did! Dotty wouldn’t have the wits to make up something like that. It was the day we called on Lady Bolton, and you took Dotty to see the picture gallery.”
His brow furrowed with the effort of memory. “I recall her speaking of — Good God, I didn’t mean you! We were talking about Helen.” His graceful hands fanned the air as they did when he was excited. “Dotty was praising her beauty, wondering how I had not fallen in love with her. Good lord, how could you think I meant you?”
“You didn’t say Helen. You said ‘I would never marry a widow.’”
He batted her objection away with an impatient hand. “One can hardly name names in a discussion of that sort. It is more discreet to stick to generalities. I don’t remember my exact words, but I certainly didn’t mean you. And is that what you thought? That I was badgering you to be my mistress?” He gave a little laugh to show he took all this in good part, then added ironically, “I am flattered at your assessment of my character, Lady Wetherby.”
Miranda wasn’t in the mood for levity. “I knew virtually nothing about you, milord. We had just met. But I knew enough of gentlemen of the ton to know such a view was not only possible but quite likely.”
He moved closer, with a certain light in his eye that caused her to step back, putting a chair between them. “Have you never heard of love at first sight? Love that comes like a lightning bolt out of the blue and knocks you flat on your back?”
“Yes, and I have heard the moon is made of green cheese, too, but some stories are hard to swallow.” She blushed, for she knew all about love at first sight. The lightning bolt had struck her as well. “As I said, I hardly knew you,” she finished lamely.
“But you know me better now, Miranda,” he said, in a softly insinuating tone, drawing a step closer. She stepped back.
“Yes indeed. I know that you are as conceited as Alfred Hume,” she replied, and watched as his expression turned to confusion. “You could not conceive that a lady who scarcely knew you would not jump at the chance to marry you. You behaved in a childish, boorish manner, sulking and spying on me out of the corner of your eye. You hadn’t the courage or honesty to tell Mrs. Hazard you were not interested in Dotty, but used her as an excuse to be near me.”
“I was thinking of you! I feared Mrs. Hazard might take a pet and treat you badly if she knew.”
“Well, you didn’t know her very well either, did you? You do her a great injustice to hint she would behave so poorly.”
“Miranda,” he said in a wheedling tone. “Now that you know my intentions are honorable --”
“An honorable gentleman does not court another man’s fiancée, milord. At the moment I am engaged to Mr. Hume.”
“Then I shall have to do something about that. You said if I were a gentleman, I would help you be rid of Hume. I will gladly help you. Give me the letter. I’ll deliver it in person this minute. And then, I shall return.” The glow in his eyes hinted at his meaning.
She handed him the letter. “Thank you, milord. I would appreciate your taking the note to Hume, but you need not return today. I expect Alfred will call, and it would be embarrassing if you two should meet.”
‘‘We are likely to meet a dozen times a week in future.”
“Yes, but today it would be particularly embarrassing and unpleasant for me. As no one else ever seems to think of my feelings, I must do it myself.”
She waited, wondering if Bolton would balk at this. She was trembling inside, for she knew she was trodding on his pride and patience, perhaps even risking his love. But a love that only took and did not give was not the sort of love she wanted. He stared at her for a long moment before speaking.
Bolton had always admired Miranda’s gentleness, her womanly deference, that reminded him of demure Spanish ladies. Those flashing eyes now betrayed a hint of Spanish passion and pride lurking beneath the prim exterior. He found this new, independent, demanding Miranda even more fascinating. She put him on his mettle.
A slow smile began at the corners of his lips and spread slow as a sunrise up to his eyes.
“Quite right, my dear,” he said. “I shall do myself the honor of calling on you tomorrow after this matter is cleared away.”
He bowed and left, and Miranda sank weakly onto the desk chair. She was trembling but proud of herself. She didn’t know where her courage had come from, to say aloud all the petty things she had been thinking.
John had spoiled her. He always put her comfort and convenience first. It was her way to think first of those she was close to, but if it was not reciprocated, then one soon became a doormat.
She sat, thumbing distractedly through the journals, expecting a call from Hume at any moment. The Hazards came down to breakfast at ten-thirty and she joined them for coffee. Tired with her life of pretense, she told Mrs. Hazard exactly what had happened last night, and what she had done about it.
“If that is what you want, then good for you!” Mrs. Hazard said. “A woman would be a fool to shackle herself to someone she actively dislikes. As to young Bolton, you’re wise to start out as you intend to go on. It’s like making a medicine bottle. You have to set the pattern while the glass is hot. So you’ll not be rushing back to Hornby right away?”
“I shall wait a few days,” Miranda said.
The ladies spent the next hour overseeing the packing up of leftover food to send to a local orphanage. They had a few callers in the early afternoon. Miranda found her nerves growing taut as time dragged on and still Hume did not come, or even send her a note.
At three, Jeremy West arrived, brandishing an afternoon journal. “My compliments, Mrs. Hume,” he said, handing the paper to Miranda, with the announcement circled.
She read it and felt ill. “But I told him I would not marry him,” she said, looking from one to the other, then back to the journal in disbelief.
Jeremy’s eyes opened wide in astonishment. “Not marry him! But why not? He is rich as Croesus. Anyone would leap at the chance. He has more blunt than anyone in London, outside of the Hazards.” As he realized what he had said, he looked guiltily at Mrs. Hazard, to find her sharp eyes narrowed to slits. His face turned beet red. “Not that that matters,” he added, and uttered a foolish, nervous laugh.
“Thank you for bringing the journal, Mr. West,” Mrs. Hazard said. “I’ll have to ask you to run along now. We are pretty busy counting all our money,” she added.
Jeremy blushed and bowed and made a dozen disjointed speeches about seeing them soon, then he left.
“You were right, Miranda,” Mrs. Hazard said. “He is only after the blunt.” She turned to Dotty, who was looking sullen. “There’s better fish than that gudgeon in the sea, Dotty,” she said. “And other ladies than Lady Bolton to help you with your presentation. Lord Peter’s sister has as well as offered. She’s a widow with no daughters and would enjoy it, she says. A duke’s daughter, and she was married to an earl as well. That was her son you were standing up with for the quadrille, Dotty.”
“I thought Lord Anscombe was ever so handsome,” Dotty said pensively. “He says all the gentlemen are jealous as green cows of Jeremy.”
“And he is not a younger son either, “ Miranda said, to urge this romance forward. But her immediate concern, of course, was the announcement of her betrothal to Hume.
“What are you going to do about it?” Mrs. Hazard asked. “You’ll have to send in a denial, eh? A retraction or some such thing. The sooner the better, I should think.”
“Yes. But why did he do it? Bolton took my letter to him early this morning. There should have been ample
time to cancel the notice.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he did it in spite to make you look like a jilt,” Dotty suggested. She was newly awakened to gentlemen’s treachery after Jeremy’s gaffe.
“It would keep others from offering, for the present at least,” Mrs. Hazard added with a meaningful lift of her eyebrows and creasing of her forehead.
Miranda felt in her bones that Mrs. Hazard had hit on the truth. Hume was so petty he had done it to delay an engagement to Bolton. It would be too farouche to announce a new engagement within days or even weeks of jilting a suitor. She wrote up a retraction and sent it off that same afternoon.
Mr. Hume did not call, so she could not quiz him about it. After a visit to the Ladies Bolton, where he learned of Jeremy’s awful error, Hume sent a chilly note saying he agreed completely that he and Lady Wetherby did not suit. He twisted her phrase “disparity in our backgrounds” to imply that she was too hopelessly provincial for one of his exalted taste. Not a word about the announcement in the journal.
She had to wait until evening to learn how it had come about. Lord Peter took the ladies to a do at his sister, Lady Anscombe’s, house in Pall Mall. Miranda’s first impulse was to remain at home, but as she recalled that she had forbidden Bolton to call, she felt she might meet him there without bending her principles. He was a friend of Lord Anscombe.
Bolton was there, and he rushed up to her as soon as she entered the room.
“I’m glad you came,’ he said. “I have been wanting to talk to you, but after your injunction against visits, I was afraid you’d set the dogs on me.”
“We don’t have any dogs with us,” she said.
“I was speaking metaphorically. You saw the announcement in the afternoon journal?”
“Yes, what happened this morning?”
“I gave Hume your note. He was furious, but trying to make a joke of it, you know. He asked how I came to be delivering it. After the fracas last night, he could be in no doubt of my interest in the matter. I mentioned that at least the engagement had not been announced, and he said he had just sent a footman off with the announcements. I suggested he have the notices recalled before they were printed. He agreed.”
