Oh dear! Did she still have a dowry? Not that it mattered when it came to Mr. Spencer. No doubt she frightened him off with her shocking words. If she ever had the privilege of dancing with him again she would apologize and then stitch her lips together. Never utter another inappropriate word or ask a shocking question.
Her parents always said her mouth would be her undoing. Now she understood. Think before you speak had been drilled into her from an early age. How had she forgotten tonight with Mr. Spencer? Easily, she’d found him fascinating and utterly handsome and when she became nervous she forgot that important lesson.
From the moment she spied him, walking across the room, his eyes on her, she knew her life would never be the same. Mayhap, not because she would eventually marry the man. Because, for the first time in her seventeen years, her insides awoke and sizzled at the very idea of being with a man. Even if she didn’t know what being with a man meant? She wanted it. With him. With Mr. Stuart Spencer.
Sadly though, she didn’t believe he would marry someone like her. Someone who couldn’t hold her tongue, and she mentally crossed his name off her list as well as his cousins. Another reason to cross them off came down to age. Most wealthy gentlemen didn’t marry until at least thirty and they were but twenty-five. Who was left? Three men reputed to be rogues of the worst kind. Lord Thomas Seabrook, eldest son of a duke, Baron Norwich, only son of an earl and Lord Edward Worthington, only son of an Marquess. Rakehells of the foulest kind.
As of yet, she’d not had the fortune or misfortune of making their acquaintance. Not to mention, all three of them were hardly twenty. Not exactly the age men considered marriage.
No, they were crossed off her list as well while they sowed their wild oats, gambling, drinking, and whoring.
At least she didn’t say any of that out loud. She had an addiction to gothic novels which fueled her unladylike thoughts. Thoughts she could keep to herself, her speech was another thing entirely.
Too bad her mouth escaped her control. She rather liked Mr. Spencer. He didn’t dress like a dandy, which she preferred. In her mind, how could she take a gentleman seriously when he wore a salmon or chartreuse colored greatcoat, waistcoat, or breeches? No. She’d learned long ago dandies were not to her taste. Handsome looks were an asset, but not something she needed in a husband. Kindness was a necessity as patience and a sense of humor were as well. Because she spoke her mind before thinking, a sense of humor topped her list. Money and wealth might top her parents’ list, but if she wanted a nice, happy life, her husband must laugh and laugh aplenty. Or at least laugh with her when she made a faux pas. Which to the horror of her parents, she did often.
As her thoughts drift back to Mr. Spencer, she had to admit he was most handsome with his dark hair and bluish-green eyes. At times they appeared green and other times blue. How odd, yet she’d found them mesmerizing.
She spoke the truth when she told him he danced gracefully. He did indeed. They were well matched in that respect since she could admit to herself she was indeed a fine dancer. More than fine, quite competent as was he.
His voice, a deep baritone, caused her skin to tingle in a good way, not like nails on a board in the schoolroom.
Too bad she ruined what they might have had with talk about men sleeping with men. She saw the blood drain from his face at her words. No doubt if the waltz hadn’t concluded when it had, he would have bowed off, embarrassing her and her parents. Oh well, nothing to do about that now. It was in the past. As was Mr. Spencer.
“Miranda,” her mother’s voice interrupted her musings, “Please let me see your dance card. It should be full with names by now.”
She reluctantly handed it over.
“Tsk, tsk, this will not do. Come with me while I introduce you to the gentlemen on our list. We can’t have you sitting out dances, you will get the reputation of a wallflower. And no daughter of mine will be reduced to wallflower status.”
“Yes, Mother.” She sighed as she wondered if she could somehow break her leg, now, rescuing her from those men on the list.
The next hour passed in a blur of introductions and dances with strangers. Several of whom had horrible breath and sweaty hands even through their gloves and hers. And most of these men were not on the list. Torture, it was pure torture to keep a smile plastered on her face and partake in polite conversation. A time or two she shocked her partner with her candid words. One gentleman blushed profusely. Really? Am I that horrid and embarrassing when I speak my mind?
Once, she found herself dancing a waltz with Lord Thomas Seabrook, who practically ignored her and if she wasn’t mistaken appeared to be in his cups. Oh, he was handsome, and debonair, but not for her. He wasn’t even out of university. Why her mother had his name on the list was crazy.
And contrary to what her mother suggested, she would not try to ensnare any man into marrying her. He either wanted to marry her or he didn’t. Simple as that.
Besides, she could not, in good conscious, compromise herself for the sake of her parents, nor would she do that to anyone else. Why should they suffer because of her father’s bad judgment when it came to managing his finances?
Oh, she knew entrapments happened and often. But not to her. She could never forgive herself for deceiving someone. For luring him out into the gardens on a warm, dark night such as this. Letting herself be caught with her lips on his, or worse, his hand on her bosom. In her mind, the lips she kissed belonged to Stuart Spencer. Her arms went around her waist as she shivered in awareness. Awareness of what, she wanted to know.
Not far from where she stood now, near the refreshment table, a deep voice drifted her way enhancing her already over-aware senses. Mr. Spencer was in deep conversation with his cousin, she presumed the man to be his cousin as they resembled each other. She could only surmise as she had yet to be introduced to him. An oversight on her mother’s part, no doubt.
Plucking a cup of punch off the table, very carefully so as not to get a drop of the pink liquid on the fingertips of her pure white gloves, she sipped it while pretending to listen to her closest friend Lady Beatrice Stone prattle on and on about dancing twice with Lord Frances Herman. A bore of a man in her opinion, not that Beatrice cared about her or anyone else’s opinion. She looked smitten with the bore.
“Beatrice, surely you are not setting your sights on Lord Frances already?”
Her friend blushed which answered the question. “Why not. He is handsome and witty. Why I nearly peed myself laughing while we waltzed.”
“No reason. The Season is just beginning, you don’t want to find yourself betrothed so soon you miss the rest of it.” Surely her friend wasn’t in love already? Love at first sight? Please, some people were so gullible to believe in such a farce.
“Is not the point of a Season to find a husband?”
Sometimes Miranda wondered how she and Beatrice ever became friends. They couldn’t be more different. Perhaps that’s why the friendship worked so well.
“I believe you are right. And if Lord Frances is who you want, then I’m happy for you.”
Beatrice leaned close to her ear and whispered, “I see who has caught your eye and he is most handsome.”
Miranda blinked and to her horror, blushed.
“Did you think I didn’t notice you waltzing with Mr. Spencer? Nor the way you were just eyeing him like candy the whole time I was talking to you. Which was so rude, did you even hear a thing I said?”
No...I mean yes...sorry.” She should have known. She’d never been able to keep secrets from Beatrice. Lowering her voice she said, “He is very handsome and appears nice enough.”
“But...”
“But, you know me. I may have said a thing or two that shocked him during that most scandalous dance called a waltz. Which I cannot believe my parents let me participate in. Most debutantes are not allowed to waltz. It’s unseemly intimate.”
Beatrice shook her head and frowned. “You might as well tell me what you said? I’ll find out soone
r or later.”
“You don’t want to know.”
“That horrible?”
“Well, I shocked even myself after I uttered the words. And I’m quite convinced Mr. Spencer was too. Because really, how could he not when I asked if his cousin, William, preferred the company of men.”
Beatrice gasped and covered her mouth. A confused expression crossed her face. “I don’t understand?”
Good, Miranda thought.
Lord Sebastian and the Scottish Lass Page 18
