Never a Bride (4 page)

Mirabella did everything possible to keep her father’s bedroom from looking and feeling like a sickroom. She brought in fresh flowers every other day, and she insisted the windows be opened each morning. She wouldn’t allow his medicine bottles to be left on the night table by his bed.

“I’m trying to get through the
Times,
but I don’t know why I bother. There’s seldom anything worth reading in here except the reviews of the latest plays. I always get a chuckle out of those clever writings. When I get better, we’re going back to Drury Lane to see another play.”

Her spirits lifted. If he was talking of going out, maybe it meant that all the medication he was ingesting was making him better. “That sounds wonderful, Papa. As soon as you’re feeling up to it, we’ll make plans. Everyone is talking about a new satire that is playing now.”

Bertram folded the paper and laid it on top of a stack of other London newspapers. “There’s a scandal about the Lord Mayor, and everyone’s complaining about the heat when summer is not even upon us yet. I’d much rather read the poetry you write.”

She smiled. “But it’s not nearly as clever or interesting as what’s written in the newsprint. Would you like for me to bring you a book from the library? You’ve only read that new book of poetry by Lord Byron one time.”

He placed his index finger on his closed lips for a moment. “Actually I read it twice before I sent it down to the library.”

“You’re a sly one,” she said, pulling and tugging on the bedcovers, smoothing out every wrinkle. “Shall I bring it up anyway—or something else?”

“No, no. I’ll get Newton to bring up something for me later tonight. No need for you to worry with it or with the blankets.” He gently pulled the end of the covers out of her grasp.

Mirabella put a mock expression of surprise in her face and placed her hands on her hips. “When would it be a worry for me to do things for you?” She bent and kissed his forehead, then plopped on the edge of his bed and smiled at him. “I do believe you look better today, Papa. You have more color to your cheeks and there is a sparkle in your eyes.”

Her father chuckled. “Dear girl, you’ve said the same thing every evening for the past two months, and I’m still not strong enough to walk down the stairs by myself. Do you ever give up?”

“Never.” She smiled at him. “And I say it today and every day because it’s true,” she insisted, knowing she was fibbing, but it was the only way she knew to keep up his spirits. She was sure he’d be doomed if he ever gave up hope of getting better.

His green eyes glinted mischievously. “Then I must be the healthiest looking sick man in all of London.”

Mirabella laughed. “Oh, Papa, I’m so happy when you feel good enough to tease me. You know, I still think one of the things that keeps you so weak is all the medication the doctor gives you.”

“Hmm.” He fingered his gray beard as he thought about what she’d said. “It is a lot, but I’m sure the man knows what he’s doing. He’s up on the latest medications. Now, tell me how many parties you attended last night, who you saw and who you danced with.”

He always changed the subject whenever she mentioned his illness. She knew he didn’t want her to be upset by his declining health, but how could she not be? She loved him. He was all she had now that Sarah was gone and Aunt Helen had left for their country home in Kent.

“Uncle Archer and I attended three parties. We stayed so long I felt quite distressed that I kept him out late.” She didn’t want to talk about anyone in particular that she’d danced with. The less she told her father about the parties, the better. She didn’t want him suspicious of anything.

She would have loved to tell him about the gentleman she met on the street, but she couldn’t share that meeting with anyone, not even her trusted maid, Lily. That man had intrigued her so that she hadn’t been able to sleep last night for remembering everything they said to each other. Maybe she would have shared it with Sarah were she still here, but no one else.

Mirabella didn’t understand the thrilling sensations that had washed over her when the gentleman had smiled at her, when he had touched her hand and when he had looked deeply into her eyes while questioning her about why she was out alone. She would keep those memories for herself and remember how he talked, how he looked, how he smelled, and how he tasted when her lips touched his skin.

“I’m sure the lateness of the hour didn’t bother Archer. He’s always been something of a night owl.”

He placed one finger under her chin. “Tell me. Are you doing all right without Helen in the house?”

“Oh, yes, Papa. I miss her, of course, but I understand why she needed to get away to the country during the Season. I miss Sarah most of all.”

“It was absolutely wretched what happened to the poor girl. Dying in her sleep like that while still so young.” Her father paused and cupped Mirabella’s cheek. “I know how desperately Helen wanted to make a match for her ward and see her happily wed. But with her being so plain, and that problem with her eye, it was almost an impossible task from the beginning.”

Mirabella’s heart grew heavy. Sarah’s appearance belied the sweet, devoted person she was inside. Anger and frustration coiled tightly inside Mirabella, remembering how helpless she’d felt when she’d been told of Sarah’s death. If only Sarah had come and talked to her and told her what had happened. Mirabella could have helped her.

In her diary, Sarah had written she was afraid Mirabella’s father would throw her out on the street, so she couldn’t bring shame to his house if he learned she was with child. Mirabella would have never let her father do that to Sarah. She could have gone to their home in Kent to have her baby, and lived there with her child.

Mirabella’s thoughts drifted to the past, to when she was ten and heartbroken because her mother had died of consumption. Her father had asked his maiden sister, Helen, and her ward, Sarah, to come live with them. Sarah was older than Mirabella and had a problem with one of her eyes. The lid drooped to the point of covering her eye. But that didn’t keep Sarah from being a wonderful person. Mirabella loved her and always treated her like a sister.

Sarah made her debut two years before Mirabella, but after five London Seasons not one young man had shown an interest in making a match with her. Sarah was doomed to spinsterhood. They both knew it was because of her eye and the fact that she had only a meager dowry.

A month before the Season started, Sarah took a dose of laudanum and went to sleep. She never woke up. Mirabella was horrified and saddened. The physician agreed that Sarah died from a weak heart, so there would be no hint of scandal on the family.

A few days later, Mirabella discovered the truth. While putting away Sarah’s things, Mirabella found a diary and discovered that Sarah had been meeting a gentleman late at night whom she called Prince Charming. They became lovers and soon Sarah discovered she was pregnant. When the man refused to marry her, Sarah became despondent and took her life.

The pages in the diary held few clues to the despicable man’s identity. Mirabella knew only that he was a well-known, eligible gentleman, shorter than the average man—and he had a wide, raised scar on the right side of his neck just above his collarbone. Sarah had also written that she had danced with him more than once last Season. That information had allowed Mirabella to make a list of possible suspects from Sarah’s dance cards.

Mirabella couldn’t bear the thought of such an unscrupulous man passing himself off as a gentleman and living the rest of his life without consequences. Keeping this knowledge to herself for fear he’d leave Town should he know anyone was looking for him, she devised a way to find him and discreetly expose him to Society as an unconscionable man. A few chosen words passed around Town would see to it that he would be shunned by every respectable household. Pushy mamas of the
ton
wouldn’t allow their innocent daughters near a man who might violate them.

If Sarah hadn’t been so desperate for a man’s love, Prince Charming would never have succeeded in seducing her. Mirabella never wanted to be in that position. If her fiancé never returned to claim her, so be it. Love couldn’t be that important. She was content to live as a spinster in her father’s house.

Bertram touched Mirabella’s cheek with a cupped hand. “Let’s not talk about that anymore. It’s too upsetting for you. We have something else to discuss. I’ve heard nothing from Lord Lockshaven since sending him an ultimatum more than two months ago. I want you to know I’m committed to breaking the engagement if his son hasn’t returned by the end of the Season.”

Mirabella turned her thoughts from Sarah. “I think our engagement was over before it started, Papa. I never told you, but that day years ago when the earl and his son were here, I was eavesdropping outside the library.”

He smiled. “I suspected as much. You were always a bright child, always wanting to know everything that was going on. I never had the heart to reprimand you.”

“I heard him say he’d be an old man with gray hair before he returned to claim his bride. I know he meant it, Papa. I never saw his face, but I heard conviction in his voice.”

He nodded. “I’ve come to the same conclusion. That is why we won’t wait any longer. I can’t wait any longer.”

Mirabella’s chest tightened with alarm. She knew her father believed his time to be short, but she wouldn’t allow herself to agree with him. “Papa, I’m happy here with you. I’m content to be alone. You know I don’t want to marry and leave you.”

“Poppycock. It’s what daughters do.”

“Not all young ladies marry.”

“All daughters as beautiful as you do. Now, I want to hear no more foolish talk about remaining unwed.”

At the sound of a knock, Mirabella turned. Lily stood in the open doorway clutching the hem of her damp apron. Her pristine appearance and chipmunk cheeks always made Mirabella feel like smiling.

“Pardon me, sir.”

“Yes, Lily?”

“Miss Bella’s wash water is poured.” She turned her attention to Mirabella. “I know how you hate for the water to get cold.”

“Thank you, Lily.”

“You run along and pamper yourself. We’ve had enough talk for one day. Be sure to come and let me see how lovely you look before you leave.”

“I will, Papa.” She kissed his cheek, and then left the room.

The last thing Mirabella wanted to do tonight was go to more parties with her uncle. She would much rather have dinner upstairs with her father and later read to him, or play a game of whist, cribbage or speculation unless—unless she could see the handsome man with the shiny brown eyes. She wondered if they would ever meet again.

Mirabella walked into her room and closed the door. She loved her private chamber with its floral-printed walls and luxurious bedcovers. The yellow velvet draperies reminded her of a day filled with sunshine. Her dark wood furniture added a measure of distinction to the feminine decor. She slipped her lace fichu off her shoulders and turned her back to Lily so her maid could unbutton the bodice of her muslin morning gown.

Mirabella chided herself. What did it matter about the stranger? She would never see him again or her phantom fiancé. Sarah had to be her only concern.

“Lily, what are you doing on your day off?” Mirabella asked.

The maid stopped her task and looked around her mistress’s shoulder at her. “I don’t get in trouble, Miss Bella. You know I’m a good girl.”

“Of course I do.” Mirabella tried to sound casual. “I wasn’t scolding. I was just wondering if you still helped your sister at that
place
down on Fortenberry Street.”

Lily went back to work on the buttons. “Hannah Jack’s Tavern? Every week. And if my mama, God bless her soul, doesn’t quit having babies to feed, I’m likely to be there the rest of my life.”

Mirabella slipped her arms out of the long-sleeved bodice and turned for Lily to unlace her corset. “What exactly do you do there?”

“Whatever they tell me to do. I scrub floors, wash dishes, whatever I’m told to do.”

“Do you ever see any of the men who go there?”

“Of course I do. It’s a place for gentlemen,” Lily said, sounding a bit perturbed as she pulled on the strings of the corset, but suddenly stopped. Her hands jerked to her portly hips and her brows drew together in a frown. “Why are you asking me these questions? Are you going to ask me to put on a man’s shirt and neckcloth again so you can practice slipping your finger down the collar of the shirt?”

Mirabella felt color rise to her cheeks. Lily had grumbled for days about that; but without practice, how else was Mirabella to learn to check the neck area just above the collarbone quickly? Due to practicing on Lily, Mirabella was quite adept at the task, which saved her valuable time.

“No, of course not.”

“You shouldn’t be doing things like that, Miss Bella. It’s not natural.”

“Oh, Lily, don’t fret so. I’m merely curious about what happens at a tavern or a gentleman’s club, or at a bathhouse.”

“Bathhouses? Where did you hear about such?”

“I read everything that comes into this house, and I also listen to the servants talk.”

“Proper ladies like you shouldn’t be curious about such places. And you shouldn’t be wondering how to get your finger down a man’s tight neckcloth, either. Are you planning something improper?”

“It wouldn’t concern you if I was, but I’m not.”
Not right away.
“Now, tell me about when men play billiards and cards at their clubs and in taverns. Do they take off their cravats and collars and get more relaxed?”

Lily didn’t take her gaze off Mirabella’s face. “Sometimes, but not often.”

“Do they look at you when you are there?”

“No. I don’t look at them, and they don’t look at me.”

“How do you know they don’t look at you if you don’t look at them to see them not looking at you?”

“One, because those are places for gentlemen to act like gentlemen. Two, there are other places for a man to go if he wants to look at servants. Three, the way my upper lip is twisted out of shape no man wants to look at me.”