Regency Engagements Box Set

by Charlotte Fitzwilliam

  Lady Mirabell’s mind played the day of her coming out party like an opera, as it had for the last several days. There had been singing, dancing, and merriment just as she had always imagined. It was the perfect day, and she could still remember the laughter of her sister, Lady Marjorie, ringing in her ears. Lady Marjorie’s bright smile for the little bit of time she could be there. Lady Mirabell had taken her presence for granted, even knowing that she was feeling ill. Lady Mirabell had thought it was nothing, they all had, but then the fever got worse. Lady Marjorie was bedridden, and, within two weeks, she was gone.

  Lady Mirabell had never done so much crying over something or someone in her life, and then it had all dried up, turning into this outer numbness she was displaying now as she refused to make eye contact with her parents. How they had kept it together, she had no clue, nor did she want to know. It made her angry sometimes, to see them going on with life as if her sister had never been there.

  Being only nine months apart in age meant that they were like best friends; inseparable for all their lives, and now Lady Mirabell was meant to live her life alone, without her beloved sister. At least she got to live. That was the biggest unfairness of it all. Lady Mirabell was granted the ability to be well, to live, to not catch this horrible fever that took her sister from her, while Lady Marjorie had been laid to rest only a year after her own coming out. What could Lady Marjorie have accomplished had she been the one sitting there in the coach on her way to Bath instead?

  Lady Mirabell leaned back, annoyed at the sunny weather she saw no matter where the carriage took them. It did not even rain on the day the family said goodbye to Lady Marjorie. It did not make any sense at all that no one but herself could be so affected by a beautiful life lost. It made morbid thoughts come to mind that made her feel as an insane person might.

  Death consumed her daily musings whether she wanted it to or not, and sometimes it got sad or disturbing, like what it might be like when she died. Who would mourn her? Who would miss her? Would the world be forever changed, or would it never remember she was even there?

  Lady Mirabell closed her eyes, knowing the best thing to do was either to sleep or to pretend to be asleep, so she did not have to converse with her parents at all if they tried to pry anything else out of her. She just was not ready to be alright, and she certainly did not want to tell them all these feelings and thoughts she had. It just felt wrong to pull them away from their own path of healing as much as it hurt to be alone in her grief. She was nearly an adult, would be expected to be a wife and run a household soon. So she needed to find a way to heal herself.

  However, when Mirabell closed her eyes, she could see Lady Marjorie there behind the lids. She was always there, with her white gloves and pink dresses, her glamorous looks that Mirabell never could look quite right in. Lady Mirabell remembered her golden hair and the way it flowed down her back, a trait she bore because of their father and his mother, unlike Lady Mirabell’s more bland features that she inherited from her mother. Marjorie always lit up a room just by walking into it, and she never wanted for suitors, even though she turned down so many.

  Marjorie was all about true love and finding just the right man. Lady Mirabell always accused her sister of reading too many books about love, creating false hope for an unattainable love, but now she wished she could take those words back, as Lady Marjorie would never get her true love, and Mirabell did not believe she deserved one.

  Somehow, Lady Mirabell was able to fall asleep but soon found herself being jarred awake by a shaking of her knee. She blinked her long lashes open to see her mother was the one waking her, and the coach had stopped. They must have arrived in Bath.

  “We are here,” Lady Burkett said to her in a delighted tone. She wished she could be so cheery.

  As Lady Mirabell climbed out of the coach, the hand of the driver was there to help her step down. She could not deny the beauty of Bath with its exquisite architecture and lush parks or the fresh smell of salt in the air. Mirabell understood why people might come there to heal or to get away, but she did not know how it could heal a heart that was missing a piece for all eternity.

  Mirabell followed her mother and father into a large home, which was similar to the sort of estate a family of high stature would own, but not much smaller than their country estate. It was light brown on the outside with windows stretching up three stories high. It held several large chandeliers, the latest style of furniture, and many large rooms. Mirabell recalled that this home belonged to her aunt and uncle on her mother's side, the Baron and Baroness of Luthe, who were happy to let them use it while they were away in London.

  Mirabell stepped through the threshold to find something stylish but well-worn on the other side of the black door. The sitting room and kitchen were both on the first floor with a narrow set of stairs leading upwards. Lady Mirabell grabbed ahold of the redwood banister, noticing how its gorgeous frame had a small chip on the outer edge as she slid her hand along on the way up. The rest were bedrooms on the next floor, as her aunt and uncle raised many more children than her parents had. She did not venture to the barren third floor, which would be cold and mostly bare as the servant's quarters. Instead, Mirabell went to pick out her room for the duration of their stay.

  True to her nature, Lady Mirabell chose a room full of a soft yellow, the color of the canary, and hoped that such a cheerful color would rub off on her emotions.

  Mirabell sat down on the bed, a glint of sunlight streaming in from the open curtain and tried to hold back tears she had believed to be dried up.

  3

  Lady Mirabell was still in her white nightdress with embroidered pink flowers when she stared at the food she had in front of her with complete indifference. Eggs and seasoned potatoes sat perfectly on a robin's egg-blue, china plate. Her orange juice sat untouched, and the silver fork and knife sat snuggly close to the delicate plate on the bedroom tray. Her nurse had even garnished the tray with a pink rose in an attempt to lift her spirits, which of course did not succeed.

  Mirabell held the fork in her hand and lifted a piece of spiced potato to her lips. She placed the fork inside of her mouth, but she could not chew. She pulled the fork away, and she could only feel the dryness of her mouth and the pain in her chest as teary-convulsions started in her body. She could not eat for her sadness. She had felt much the same about most of the meals she had for the past week, eating as little as possible.

  Mirabell was well aware that she was moping and that it was not healthy. She spent much of her time since her arrival in her room anyway, turning down activities and trips around town with her mother and even eating some meals in her bed instead of coming down to eat with her parents. She was supposed to be healing, but she did not know how some fresh air and new scenery was going to do that for her. Besides, it felt wrong to smile, to have fun, to meet new people when Lady Marjorie could no longer do those things with Lady Mirabell.

  With a miserable sigh, she forced herself to take in a few more bites of her breakfast before setting it aside for the maidservant to come to clean up. She stood up from the bed and got dressed for the day, choosing a ruched eggshell dress. Her light brown hair she tugged up into a tight but pretty knot at the top of her head, sighing at her reflection in the mirror.

  Lady Mirabell had never considered herself to be a magnificent beauty, as Lady Marjorie had inherited the appealing features, but as Lady Mirabell stared into the eyes of the young woman wearing the same dress as she was, she hardly recognized herself. Her skin was sallow, and her eyes were eerily dark, tired. She had not even noticed how much she had deteriorated since her sister's passing, and at times it had felt as though her soul had passed with her sister’s. Mirabell straightened her shoulders in a halfhearted attempt to appear more presentable, although she failed miserably in doing so, before going to the stairs.

  However, she paused near the bottom, being silent and still as she heard her mother and father discussing something, something about her.
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br />   "I do not know what to do with her, darling,” Lady Burkett’s concerned voice traveled along the hallway to where Lady Mirabell stood. “We have brought her to the perfect place to find peace and move on. Coming to Bath is not working. She has not even stepped one foot off of these grounds!"

  "Give her some time, my dear, she has lost a beloved sister," her father, Lord Burkett coaxed.

  "And I have lost a beloved daughter,” Lady Burkett sighed dramatically. “I know that she would want me to be healthy and continue on because I can. I do not understand why someone so young and beautiful, newly out in the world, cannot find something or someone here to preoccupy her mind.”

  “We all grieve differently, and they were close. She is young. This is her first great loss,” Lord Burkett explained, but she could hear the pain in both their voices, pain she was causing. “It is our great loss as well.”

  That was the last feeling any of them needed now, and a pang of guilt washed over her. She was a burden to them. Her sadness was a burden, and she refused to allow that to happen any longer.

  Mirabell went back up the stairs quietly, wanting to retrieve her brown coat and bonnet, securing them around her person. She slipped on her shoes and readied herself to face her parents with a deep breath. She would not fake a smile, but she would wipe the frown off her face and the constant depressing water from her eyes. She would appear to be better, for their sake, and leave the house. She would at least try to do what they wanted, even if she knew she would accomplish nothing. She glanced briefly at the stack of letters which stood on her dressing table, and she pursed her lips briefly.

  Throughout the past month, letters came for her from the Earl of Dunkirk, whom she had been acquainted with since she was a young girl. Lord Dunkirk had been a good friend to her, and at one stage Lady Mirabell’s fondness for him blossomed into something she did not quite understand at the time. She had convinced herself that it had been nothing more than an infatuation and that it could not possibly have been love. She was much too young to be in love with a young man, but as she recalled the feelings she had back then, it had most certainly been love after all.

  Lord Dunkirk was a wonderful young man, and they had spent many days together, with Lady Marjorie. Lord Dunkirk resided with his mother a few townhouses away from Lady Mirabell's family’s townhouse in Bristol, and he was the epitome of a gentleman. His broad shoulders, and tall stature, paired with his attractive, good looks, his penetrating green eyes and the thick dark brown curls on his head caught the attention of every young woman in Bristol. Mirabell was convinced she did not stand a chance against the likes of all the other beautiful young women, but somehow Lord Dunkirk preferred her company to others.

  Perhaps Lord Dunkirk had felt sorry for her, as she did not have many friends, or perhaps he was in love with Lady Marjorie, which was even better an explanation.

  Mirabell glanced at the letters, which were all still unopened, as she had not had the courage or the strength to open and read them. She was not certain what words were on those pages, and feared it would only make matters worse for her. She most certainly did not need that. Turning away, attempting to push the letters, and the thoughts of Lord Dunkirk from her mind, she left her chambers and inhaled sharply through her nose.

  Lady Mirabell came back down the stairs, making her presence known this time as she came into the parlor to find her mother and father sipping tea, clearly still emotional from the conversation they had been having about the only daughter they had left. They had lost many children in childbirth, and only two girls had survived. They had endured many years of pain before this new loss.

  She would not let on that she had heard them.

  “Oh, Mirabell, my dear. Good morning,” Lady Burkett greeted in surprise.

  “Good morning,” Lady Mirabell greeted her mother in return, perhaps a little demurely, but it was more acceptable than the silence she had been giving both her parents for some time now. She would have to be brave to end that and ensure that at least their suffering could be over. “I think I might like to go into town today and see more of Bath.” The words were more mechanical, she thought, as she tried to make herself sound more like the woman she was before her sister fell ill. It was harder than it seemed, almost as if someone else had since possessed her body.

  “What a wonderful idea! I know of the perfect person who would love the honor of escorting you through Bath,” Lady Burkett beamed with enthusiasm, relief in her eyes as she glanced at Lady Mirabell.

  “And who may that be, Mother?” Mirabell asked as she sat down.

  “We corresponded with him before we arrived; your uncle’s nephew.”

  Fear struck Mirabell at the mention of a man joining her, but she did not dare show it to her mother. In all honesty, Lady Mirabell did not want any company; just solace, but it would certainly make her mother overjoyed to see her with such a man. She had never met her uncle’s nephew, but she knew he was a duke, as he had been mentioned several times in passing just before her coming out. He had been invited, but for an unknown reason had been unable to attend. “I will have a coach take you to him at once. He is not far.”

  Mirabell nodded a thank you, not trusting her lips not to betray her and let her mother in on the fact that this did not make her pleased. She did not like it that he had a place on her family tree, albeit that it was a distant branch. Although it was a custom within the peerage that someone related by marriage was perfectly acceptable to marry, close acquaintances to Lady Mirabell would have scoffed behind her back at such a marriage. In fact, she had witnessed them laugh at similar unions.

  Lord Burkett cleared his throat, and Lady Burkett glanced at him, her excitement fading slightly at the stern expression on his face. “Are you not forgetting something, my dear?” Lord Burkett inquired.

  “Indeed, how callous of me,” Lady Burkett answered, her cheeks coloring up from slight embarrassment. “I will ask Ms. Nora to be your chaperone. A young woman such as yourself cannot be alone in the company of the duke. What would people say?”

  Mirabell looked up at her mother’s theatrical comment and watched as Lady Burkett pranced down the hallway towards the kitchen.

  Lady Mirabell was no stranger to her mother’s theatrical and overly-dramatic behavior, and could not believe she found it comical at one stage when she was younger. It now only seemed a bit excessive and tiresome to her now, but she still maintained her composure, as to not upset her mother and father. Mirabell had promised herself that she would be better, if not for her own sake, but for the sake of her mother and father.

  Mirabell strolled politely next to the Duke of Granger, closely but not touching, as he walked her through the city and rambled on about the history of the buildings or of the people he knew. Ms. Nora followed closely behind them, keeping an eye on both of them, but not interfering with their conversation.

  The Duke was a kind man, though he clearly thought much of himself in a way that did not directly endear him to Lady Mirabell. She had to admit that he was a very desirable suitor by his title alone, though his years were much more than hers. Though, it was not unlike the times to be romantically involved with a man much older than oneself. She was certain that was what her mother meant by getting them together.

  Lady Mirabell listened but said nothing, surveying his grand gestures with his arms and his bright smile, though it seemed plastered on, and not quite reaching his eyes. The duke had a deep voice; he was short in stature and a bit portly, although not completely overweight. He dressed quite well in red and black, accenting his other dark features including his eyes and hair, which was long and stylish for the era. He carried with him a cane, for style, she was certain, as he did not need it as a walking aid at all. He often used it to point something out to her.

  If this meeting had occurred before the loss of her sister, Mirabell would have laughed about it with Lady Marjorie in a playful way, whether she meant to court the man or not. She had once loved the attentions of both boys
and men, and often led them on a wild goose chase after her heart and affections, which she would never give. It was all in fun, and her sister had always playfully reprimanded her for it.

  Mirabell felt a little bad for the duke as he had to put up which such glum company though, but he was too polite to point it out. Lady Mirabell, however, could always be counted upon.

  “Your Grace,” Mirabell said quietly, as a silence fell between them. “I wish to apologize if I may seem grim and detached. I am very much enjoying your company.”

  “I am most certainly delighted to hear that. I began thinking my conversations are tedious and tiresome to you,” the duke answered.

  “No, not at all, sir,” Mirabell said with a forced smile. “As you may be aware, my sister passed away recently, and it had been rather difficult for me, for our entire family, in fact.”

  “That is entirely understandable, my lady. Losing a family member, particularly a sibling, is a terrible tragedy. Were you and your sister close?” The duke spoke in a steady and kind voice, which meant much more than Lady Mirabell would ever be able to properly express to him.

  “Indeed, we were. Our ages differed only with nine months, and we spent every moment of every day together. Marjorie was older than me, but it never seemed that way. In our eyes, we were the same age, and it had been that way our entire lives. We experienced everything together,” Lady Mirabell answered sadly.

  “You feel as though a part of you is missing now,” the duke pointed out, but it was not at all a question. He sounded well aware of what it was like to lose someone who meant such a great deal to them.

  “Indeed,” Mirabell answered simply, but did not inquire whether he had experienced the same thing.

  “Was she as beautiful as you, my lady?” the duke asked and glanced at her.

  Mirabell’s cheeks colored up slightly, and she lowered her gaze with a shrug of her shoulder. She did not respond very well to compliments, especially not lately, as she felt she did not deserve to be called beautiful. According to Lady Mirabell, one could not be beautiful if a dark cloud hung over their head, keeping the light from shining on the parts of them which are truly beautiful. “Our features were very different, as Marjorie resembled my father’s side of the family, and I resemble my mother’s side of the family.”