Sally James (13 page)

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He did so, but made no attempt to dance with her. He led her across to join a group of their friends, and as she was soon asked to dance, she had, reluctantly, to leave him. She had the satisfaction of seeing he did not again dance with Miranda, but neither did he attempt to dance with her, and Araminta ended the evening in a decidedly brittle temper.

On the following day, she despairingly suggested to her mother that they should invite Denzil to their own country home for Christmas.

“Not until he has spoken for you, my love,” her mother said. “It would look too particular, and he would not care for that.”

“Then why not ask several more young people? Even Miranda!” she added desperately, but her mother still shook her head.

“It would be of no use, my child. He always goes to the Beverleys’ house. Lady Beverley mentioned last night they were travelling to Sussex later this week.”

“Then I have no chance! He will forget me, and that abominable little wretch will use all her time only too well. She enticed him into an anteroom last night, and when I interrupted them, I’ll swear he had been kissing her!”

Mrs Floode demanded an explanation, then looked anxiously at her daughter.

“I cannot think you were wise to go bursting in on them so. He will resent it. But never mind, it is not the end until we hear he is betrothed to her. Not even then, perhaps. You must have some new dresses for after Christmas, and some new bonnets. I saw just the thing that would suit you yesterday, and I asked Therese to keep it for you to try. We will pay her a visit this morning.”

Araminta, always ready to add to her already extensive wardrobe, agreed, and with the problem of selecting what she would like forgot Miranda for the time being. Her mother, more worried than she chose to reveal to Araminta, was considering how she might contrive to turn her fancy towards one of her other eligible admirers, for she was becoming less and less certain of Denzil, and so she did not at first pay much attention to Therese’s assistant who was dealing with them.

But by forcing herself to consider what coloured ribbons would best suit her daughter, and which bonnet would best set off the gowns she already possessed, she had to push these gloomy reflections aside.

Mademoiselle le Brun was, as usual, most helpful in suggesting just the right sort of trimmings to enhance the wearer rather than the hat, and today she suggested some draped gauze of gold over the brown bonnet Araminta was trying on. She fetched it and showed what she meant.

“Oh, how delightful,” Araminta enthused, and Mrs Floode turned with satisfaction to the milliner, grateful to anyone who could lighten her daughter’s spirits. Then she stiffened. Something in the milliner’s look, her expression, was familiar. Mrs Floode considered her closely, noting the fair hair and the big blue eyes, and a horrible suspicion crept into her mind.

Abstractedly she agreed to all the woman and Araminta decided, and when they eventually left the shop, Araminta looked at her in puzzlement.

“Are you feeling ill, Mother?”

“No, my child, but I need to think. Be patient until we reach home.”

More puzzled than ever, Araminta was silent, and followed her mother into the drawing room when they reached home, anxious to discover what ailed her. For a while Mrs Floode did not speak, then she nodded to herself, and turned decisively to Araminta.

“That woman? Did you notice anything odd about her?”

“What woman? That assistant at Therese’s?”

“Yes. Did she remind you of anyone?”

Surprised, for one did not notice shop assistants closely, Araminta shook her head. Besides, she had been far too absorbed in herself to notice anyone else.

“Think, child! She was exceptionally fair, and had big blue eyes with unbelievably dark, lashes. Can you not recall her?”

Araminta concentrated, then nodded. “I think so.”

“Do you not see a resemblance to someone you know well?”

Suddenly Araminta gasped, and looked incredulously at her mother. “You mean Miranda?” she breathed. “But it’s impossible! You mean they are related? They cannot be!”

“That is what I thought at first when their similarity struck me, but I have been thinking it out. There is some mystery about Miranda. No one knows what her birth is, or how she comes to be Denzil’s ward. What claim does she have on him?”

“He said he had heard of Therese,” Araminta recalled in agitation. “But he is only thirty, she could not be his daughter!” she cried wildly as this first suspicion came into her head.

“No, no, of course not. But he had a much older brother.”

“I did not know that,” Araminta said in surprise.

“They do not often mention him. He died in some sort of scandal, let me see, about eighteen years ago! It is possible! I wonder if it could be? If Miranda is his daughter and that woman’s? Could that be why Denzil is taking her about and introducing her to the
ton
? Perhaps the woman has some sort of claim on him. She could not have been married, or it would not have been kept secret, but it might account for Miranda being passed off as Denzil’s ward.”

“She was French too,” Araminta commented.

“What? How do you know?”

“I heard Therese call her Mademoiselle something.”

“Not de Lisle?”

“No, for I would certainly have remembered that. It was when we were first in the shop, and you were not paying much attention to what was happening.”

Mrs Floode smiled. “They have said Miranda’s father was French. How if it were her mother instead?”

“But these milliners often call themselves by French names,” Araminta objected. “Therese herself is no more French than we are.”

“That is true, but now I come to think of it, the woman had a slight accent.”

Araminta had been thinking hard. “Then if it is true, Miranda is his niece, and I have nothing to fear from her!”

“If it is true, no. And if he does not soon offer for you, I think I will hint to him that society would not look kindly on someone who tried to pass off a milliner’s brat as a well born girl, and get her married to an earl into the bargain! My dear, I do believe that after Christmas we shall be preparing your wedding clothes!”

Chapter Ten

The Beverleys and Miranda travelled to Larchwood, their estate in Sussex, two days after the ball. They saw scarcely anyone in the meantime, being busy with their packing. Denzil proposed travelling to Larchwood some days later, after paying a short visit to an old uncle who lived near Guildford, and left town without seeing Araminta again.

Apart from those which they had passed on the journey to London from Cornwall, Miranda had seen no large country houses, and she had never entered one. She was enchanted with Larchwood from the start, from the very first glimpse of it as they turned in between a pair of small square gatehouses, where a plump woman stood smiling to them. Before them stretched a long straight drive bordered with lime trees, a park to either side. The house was a long, low, simple building in the classical style, with a portico supported by four slender columns, and a flight of shallow steps leading to the front door.

Behind the white painted house the woods that gave it its name climbed a gentle slope as far as could be seen. Miranda gasped in wonder, and sat admiring the delightful vista as the travelling coach drew up before the portico. Judith laughed, and gently recalled her to her surroundings.

“Oh, I do beg your pardon, but it is so very beautiful!” she apologised, as she realised they were waiting for her to descend.

At that moment Judith’s three sons, who had arrived home earlier in the day from their school in Surrey, came whooping out of the front door to greet them, and Judith was almost lost from sight as they hugged her and all tried to tell her their news at once.

“Steady, boys, steady,” she laughed, and introduced Miranda to them. John, the eldest, was eleven, and he achieved a most creditable bow, imitated less successfully by his ten year-old-brother Geoffrey, while the youngest of the trio, eight-year-old Tom, contented himself with a shy smile.

They led Miranda into the house, and she was as delighted with the elegant interior as with the outside. When they had taken off their fur-lined cloaks and eaten a substantial collation, Judith bore Miranda off on a tour of inspection.

“I will show you the gardens tomorrow, though at this time of year there is very little to see. You must come and visit us at Easter, when they are truly glorious.”

Miranda nodded, though she was beginning to be concerned at the length of time she had accepted Judith’s hospitality. It was a matter she had not even considered when she left the island, in her excitement at escaping, and with her limited book-acquired knowledge of the world, but for some while past she had been telling herself that she ought to make some shift to provide for herself. She still wanted to discover what her family was, although, when she thought how they had treated her, now able to judge how abominable that treatment had been, she was unsure whether she wanted to go back into their charge. She wondered sadly what mistake there could have been, hoping desperately it might all be explained satisfactorily, but deep inside owning to herself there was unlikely to be an acceptable explanation. The alternatives were to support herself by sewing, at which she was talented, or becoming a governess, but she did not know how to set about this. When she had tentatively asked Judith for advice, Judith had seemed shocked and hurt at the very suggestion of her earning her own living. In the last resort she could marry, she supposed, and she knew that Richard’s offer would still be open, for he had made it plain he did not despair of her changing her mind. But she shrank from this course, liking him well enough but positive mere liking was insufficient. In her romantic reading, when girls fell in love, they were willing to abandon all to follow their lovers, and could not bear for a single moment to be apart from them. She sighed, knowing Denzil was the only man she could feel like that about, and then swiftly thrust the thought away from her, thinking of Araminta. She enjoyed Richard’s company, but it did not matter greatly to her whether she saw him each day or not for a month. Yet already she was pining for a sight of Denzil. But she was not allowed to indulge in these melancholy thoughts for long.

Judith, busy with preparations for Christmas, enlisted her help, and soon she was swept into the excitement of a family Christmas, the first, indeed, that she had ever celebrated.

Then Denzil arrived, and all was merriment. The men hunted twice a week, and once, when the hunt met at Larchwood, Miranda was able to admire the superb horses and their brightly dressed riders as they assembled on the half moon of gravel before the house.

The hounds milled about. The huntsmen and some very dashing looking ladies dressed in mannish riding habits drank the wine provided, then, the hounds called to order, they all streamed off in the direction of a nearby covert. Several times during that day Miranda heard the faint sounds of the horn, and the baying of the hounds, and she impulsively asked Judith if she would ever ride well enough to be able to join in.

“Denzil says you are making excellent progress, my dear. But you must be able to jump, so it will be some time yet. I am sure next year Denzil will allow you to go. I know he will look after you when he does think you are ready.”

Reminded of the future again, dismally convinced that by the following year Denzil would in any event be married to Araminta and no longer concerned with her riding lessons, Miranda became pensive, but in the excitement of helping Judith with preparations for a dance she was giving the following day was able to push her problems to the back of her mind.

Most of the local gentry came to the dance, and Miranda was greatly admired. There were one or two of their London acquaintances who lived nearby, but none of their particular friends, and Miranda found herself again answering discreetly put questions.

Denzil claimed her for a waltz, a dance she had not often danced in London, for it was still considered something of an immodest dance. For a few moments she revelled in the sensation of having Denzil’s arms tight about her, and swaying and gliding in time to the music, and they did not speak until Denzil asked her whether she was happy.

“Oh, indeed I am, Denzil! How can you doubt it! But I am worried at being a charge on you and Judith. Have you made any progress yet in discovering my family?”

“I have made enquiries, my dear, and I hope to have some more definite news when I return to town. But as for being a charge on me, that is nonsense. It was I that persuaded you to leave your island, and I am responsible for you. You do not have any regrets?”

“Not for one moment! But it will be awkward for you – I think it may already be somewhat difficult, for you to account for me. I mean to Araminta,” she added as he looked enquiringly at her.

“To Araminta?” He frowned slightly, and looked keenly at her. She thought she had offended him.

“I am sorry. I should not have said that. But you cannot pretend I am your ward for ever!”

“I do not intend to! Do not tell me there is no one else anxious to care for you,” he said, a teasing look in his eyes, and she blushed adorably. “If you have not already received a dozen offers, I’ll wager you soon will!”

“Not a dozen!” she protested quickly, and he gave a shout of laughter. “Why do you laugh?”

“How many?” he demanded. “I might inform you that it is the correct form for suitors to apply to the guardian first, but I can understand their not being able to restrain themselves from speaking!”

She chuckled, remembering Richard’s confusion when he had burst out with his proposal, but would not tell him what the joke was. She soon grew pensive, and he wondered bleakly which of her many admirers she was thinking of.

The rest of the time at Larchwood passed quickly. Miranda became fast friends of the three boys, and enjoyed the glimpses of family life offered to her, so much so she was rather reluctant to return to London when the time came. But once back in town the pleasurable round of parties was resumed.