Sally James (14 page)

* * * *

Denzil had other matters to be concerned with. Before leaving London he had employed a man, an ex-jockey who had performed various services for him on various occasions, and was very quick and intelligent, to discover what he could about Mademoiselle le Brun. On his return this man came to report to him, and informed Denzil that the milliner lodged in a room in the city, never seemed to go out, and appeared to have no friends apart from the other women she worked with, but outside her working hours had almost nothing to do with even them.

“I made up to one of the girls there, and she’s going to find out about when she came, and such like. A week more, Sir Denzil, and I s’pose I’ll have some more to tell.”

“Good. Try to discover if she ever talks about where she was born, or lived as a child, and when she came to London.”

“Right.”

He went off, and Denzil told Judith of the progress so far made when she called on him the following morning.

“I think we had best delay making the woman known to Miranda until we have discovered more. It may be only a few more weeks.”

Judith agreed thankfully, for she had not relished this task.

“What did Devoran want with you?” she asked, having met that young man leaving Mount Street as she had herself arrived.

“Oh, what I expected to happen much earlier. He came to ask my permission to pay his addresses to Miranda.”

Judith looked at him curiously, but he seemed perfectly composed. “What did you say?”

“What did you expect me to say, Judith? I wished him well, said he had my permission to court her, but there would be no pressure put on her by me. Though I left him in no doubt I thought it a good match for her.”

“Did you tell him anything about her?”

“Not about the mystery, but I warned him she had no fortune.”

“And what did he say to that?”

Denzil smiled sardonically. “What do you think a rich man, young, passionately in love, but in control of his own considerable fortune and with no cares in the world would say? He began elaborating on the marriage settlements he proposed making for her!”

“But what if he asks her, and she accepts him, and then when he is told her story he wishes to retract? That would hurt them both.”

“I am aware it could, and would have been prepared to tell some other suitors to wait until I knew Miranda’s mind. Then I could have refused my permission to avoid embarrassment. I can scarcely tell every importunate young man the whole story, or it would soon cease to be a secret. But in Devoran’s case I believe there is no need for concern. He is head over heels in love, and his family is not so stiff as some. They would accept Miranda for what she is herself, not for who her parents are. If she wants him there will be no difficulties.”

“Do you think she wants him?” Judith asked quietly.

“I! How should I read her mind? She seems contented in his company, and spends a great deal of time talking to him whenever they meet. I am sure they would deal excessively well together, and Tom is a kind fellow!”

* * * *

Judith refrained from comment, but reminded him they were engaged to go to the theatre that evening, and invited him to dine with them beforehand.

They arrived at Drury Lane and found their way to a box on the second tier. The play was to be
Othello,
which had been Miranda’s choice, for she knew Shakespeare well, and loved to see the noted actors of the day, the Kemble family and Edmund Kean in particular, bringing these plays to life for her. She decided to forget her problems for the time, since there was nothing she could do about them, and enjoy the evening.

Before the play began she looked with interest round the five ranked tiers of boxes and the huge auditorium with the crowd in the pit, fewer tonight for the tragedy than when there was a melodrama being staged. There were several people she knew, and she saw Tom Devoran on the far side of the theatre, looking in her direction. She smiled at him, and in the first interval he hurried round to her box and made himself pleasant to Judith, before turning to Miranda and asking about her visit to the country. He remained when the play began again, and watched Miranda as she concentrated, enthralled, on the actors. He was more in love with her than ever, he told himself, as he noted her delicate complexion, the curved cheek turned towards him, her tip tilted nose, and the red lips slightly parted as she followed the development of Desdemona’s fate.

In the next interval he persuaded her to walk in the corridor outside with him, and she paced slowly along, seeming to wish only to comment on the play, in particular Kean’s performance. As they turned to retrace their steps she saw Lady Carstairs, who had been behind them, and smiled briefly. Then she noticed it was not Mr Crabbe who was this lady’s escort, as when she had previously met her, but a tall, floridly handsome gentleman, rather portly, who carried himself with extreme dignity.

This man appeared to have been speaking harshly to Lady Carstairs, for she seemed flushed and uneasy, but she saw Miranda and returned the smile, at which her companion glanced across at her. For a moment his step faltered, and then, breathing deeply, he spoke curtly to Lady Carstairs, and she stopped before Miranda.

Miranda had been reluctant to further her friendship with the lady since learning of the quarrel, but there was no avoiding this meeting, for they were hemmed in by the crowd of strollers.

“Miranda, may I present you to my husband, Sir Henry Carstairs. Henry, Miss Miranda de Lisle.”

Miranda smiled and extended her hand, her eyes on his face. So this was the man who was trying to help the climbing boys, she thought, studying him with interest.

She saw his eyes narrow suddenly as her name was pronounced, and a perplexed look come into them, but he spoke calmly to her.

“I am sorry not to have met you before, but I have been out of the country, and only returned yesterday,” he said politely. “Where are you living? I do not recall any de Lisles in town?”

“I stay with Lady Beverley,” Miranda replied, and again his eyes narrowed.

“Lady Beverley? How interesting. Is she a friend of your parents, or a relative, perhaps?”

“A friend of mine,” Miranda said evasively, not caring for this catechism.

She smiled at him, and then turned to Tom. “We ought to return to her now, Tom, she will be anxious.”

“Of course, Miranda. Your servant, my lady, Sir Henry.”

* * * *

Smoothly Tom conducted her away, and acidly commented when they were out of hearing that Sir Henry was a prosy old fool, more inquisitive than an old dowager! He then asked her if she would be at home the next morning, and whether he might call upon her. Since he had been in the habit of dropping in at Green Street unexpectedly in order to take her for rides, she was surprised at this sudden formality, but before she could demand an explanation, they were back at the entrance to the box, and he pointed out that the next act was about to begin.

“May I come?” he whispered at the door, and she nodded. Grinning, he whispered a farewell, and left to rejoin his own party.

The Earl hurried round to Green Street early the following morning, too impatient to wait any longer, and requested Parsons to announce him to Miss de Lisle. Miranda received him in the drawing room where she had been engaged in trimming one of her gowns with new ribbons. She looked up with a smile when he was announced, and laid down her sewing.

“Good morning, Tom. Will you have some wine?”

“No. No, I thank you, Miranda. I – I have something of importance to say to you!”

“Goodness, what is it?” She started up in alarm. “Tom, you look so serious! Has there been an accident?”

He stared blankly. “No, of course not. Why the deuce should there have been?”

She relaxed, but he remained standing before her. She looked enquiringly at him and patted the seat beside her invitingly.

“Pray will you not sit down?”

Instead of accepting the invitation, he suddenly flung himself to his knees before her and clasped her hands.

“Oh, my lovely, adorable, charming Miranda! You must know how dearly I love you, and have done since first I set eyes on you. Denzil has agreed, and so I am asking you to be my wife!”

He gazed anxiously up into her eyes, and she was unable for a moment to speak.

“Denzil has agreed?” she then asked in a small voice.

“He said I might ask you,” Tom explained. “And that you should make up your own mind. Miranda, my darling precious Miranda, I beg you, say you will!”

“Tom!” She laughed slightly, tremulously. “I – I do not know! I cannot think! But I do wish you would get up and not kneel there, it looks so ridiculous! Do sit down, please!”

He grinned, and rose, but managed to retain one of her hands in his as he sat down beside her, looking imploringly at her. Tentatively his other hand slid round her waist, and as she did not object, he held her close.

“Miranda, I beg you. I am sorry I have startled you by asking so abruptly, but please will you think it over and give me an answer soon? Will you, my beloved?”

She shook herself slightly and threw off her abstraction, then turned to him, gently disengaging herself from his embrace.

“I am sorry, Tom, to appear so stupid. Yes, you did startle me. I like you a great deal, indeed I do, but I had not thought, I have not even considered, the possibility of marriage to you! In any case, I have no money. What would your family say to your marrying a penniless girl? Your mother could not like it! And besides, I – “ she hesitated, choosing her words carefully “I am not from a well born family.”

“What do either of those things matter?” He dismissed her objections scornfully. “I have money enough, and have no need to marry a fortune! And what does it matter what your family are? It’s you I want to marry!”

“Many people would think it mattered a great deal,” she said slowly.

“I pay that no heed! Do you love me? Even a little? That is what is important. I could make you happy, Miranda, I swear! Please say yes!”

“I – oh, Tom! No, I must wait! This is no thing to be decided suddenly. I had not before considered it. I do like you, a great deal, I promise. But I do not know if I love you. Please give me time to consider?”

He had to be satisfied at this outcome, consoling himself that as she had not rejected him outright she would eventually accept him. Seeing she had some regard for him, he was convinced it would turn to love, if it was not that already.

“I shall not hurry you, my dearest Miranda, but I shall be impatient, you may imagine!”

They fell silent, feeling the awkwardness of introducing a different topic of conversation, and Miranda was wondering forlornly whether Denzil had encouraged Tom to make his declaration because he was tired of being responsible for her.

* * * *

The embarrassing silence was not of long duration, however, for soon Araminta was announced.

“Miranda! And Tom! I had not expected to find anyone else here so early!”

Tom looked ill at ease, and guiltily moved further along the sofa where he had been sitting close to Miranda. Miranda was flushed, and Araminta narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. So that was how the wind lay! Such a feeling of fury possessed her that she had great difficulty in fighting it down sufficiently to ask Miranda whether she was going to a concert to be given in a few days time.

Miranda for a moment could not recall the event, but then nodded.

“Yes, I believe Lady Beverley has tickets.”

“Good. I was hoping you would be there. I have seen nothing of you since you returned to town.”

She turned to Tom, making light conversation, but all the while lashing herself with the bitter suspicion that this former admirer of her own, whom she had so disdainfully rejected, seemed to have consoled himself remarkable quickly. It added to her fury that he also had fallen under the spell of the girl she considered her rival for Denzil’s affections. She did not pause to reflect that if the Earl of Devoran succeeded in winning Miranda, the girl would no longer be a threat to her own hopes. The desire to hit back, to injure both of them, was strong, and more powerful than reason. When the Earl took his leave, and she noted the imploring glance he gave to Miranda as he held her hand in his for longer than was necessary, she clenched her teeth together, determined to carry out immediately the half-formulated plan that had occurred to her.

Chapter Eleven

“I came also to ask for your help, Miranda,” she said as soon as they were alone. “I wish to choose a new bonnet, and Mama is a little indisposed. Will you come with me to Therese’s and help me?”

Miranda agreed, and fetched her pelisse and a fur-lined bonnet. On the way to the milliner’s Araminta was unusually silent, but Miranda did not notice, being fully absorbed in thinking of this proposal she had received.

Araminta had previously been unsure whether contriving a meeting between Miranda and Mademoiselle le Brun would achieve anything, but now she was so consumed with jealousy and anger she did not care whether her mother’s carefully laid plans were ruined or not. She must do something at once.

Therese hustled forward to greet them, and Araminta asked to see Mademoiselle le Brun, who was summoned.

Miranda had her back turned inspecting some feathers when the woman came in, and only looked up at the hat Araminta held when she was asked for her opinion.

She turned to smile at the milliner, and her smile froze on her lips as the woman gave her an incredulous glance, retreated a step with her arms flung up as though to ward off a blow, and then sank fainting to the ground.

* * * *

Therese turned to see what the commotion was, then bore down upon her swooning assistant, but Miranda was already kneeling beside her. Observing the scene with detached interest, Araminta produced a vinaigrette from her reticule, and Miranda took it and waved it under Mademoiselle’s nose while Therese offered advice.

“Allow me, Miss de Lisle. I will raise her. What caused her to faint, I wonder? Marie! Jeanette! Come and carry Mademoiselle into the back room!”