The Dreadful Debutante (12 page)

“And what if I marry?”

“Your husband may admire your wildness before marriage, but after marriage he will expect you to be correct in all things.”

“Would you?”

“Ah, yes, I am as bad as the rest. I would expect my wife to be a gracious hostess and run my household for me.”

“Sad! Let us not talk of the future. There is only today. What are we going to do?”

“We are shortly going to find a comfortable inn on the river and eat and drink something, and then we shall see.”

She lay back and stared up at the sky. Her coat fell open, and he turned his eyes away quickly from the young swell of her breasts and looked out across the river. “Your family will be well on their way,” he said.

“Yes,” she said idly.

“Do you often think of Lord Charles, or has that dream gone?”

“It went, just like that. He was so very stuffy, lecturing me on my behavior. I realized we had both changed. I amused him as a child and when he, too, was younger. I thought of him romantically for only a little. He will be happy with Drusilla.”

Not while he is busy falling in love with you, thought the marquess, but remained silent. He wondered how Lord Charles was coping with the absence of Mira.

Charles was leaning gloomily against the side of the barge, watching the greenish water of the upper reaches of the Thames slip by. He thought that Mr. and Mrs. Markham had been cruel to leave their younger daughter, who was not feeling well, alone in a houseful of servants with no one really to care for her. He had demanded angrily why the physician had not been sent for and was not reassured by Mrs. Markham’s placid reply that young girls were subject to megrims occasionally and should be left in peace and quiet to recover.

The more he thought about Mira, the more he longed to leap from the barge, make his way back to London, and find out how she was. No wonder she had behaved so badly, pushing Drusilla into that fishpond. He often felt like pushing her himself. What was beauty if the character that went with it was shallow and vain? And yet he had been stunned by her beauty and willing to sacrifice his army career to possess it. Although society’s laws were very strict and all young ladies were supposed to be chaperoned at all times, a certain leeway was given to engaged couples and a blind eye turned to the stolen kiss. And so he had had a few moments alone with Drusilla. Eager to reanimate his brief love for her, he had taken her in his arms and pressed his lips to hers. She had stood there, passive and docile in his arms and totally unresponsive, and the moment he had released her, she had said severely, “There is time enough for that sort of thing when we are married. Have you written to your regiment yet?”

Behind him on the black-and-gold barge a band was playing. He should be the happiest man on earth. But here he was, wondering and wondering if he could find some way to make Drusilla break the engagement. The trouble was that despite her beauty no other man seemed to be pining for her. Certainly, were she free, she would soon find suitors, but she was not the sort to inspire passion, to inspire some man to court her while she was engaged to another.

The Marquess of Grantley seemed intrigued with Mira. Charles frowned suddenly. He had felt very uneasy about the gossip that Mira had dressed in boys’ clothes and acted as the marquess’s tiger. He had not told anyone of her visit to his lodgings. But surely it followed that dressing up and acting as a tiger was just the sort of thing Mira would have done. He suddenly wanted to talk to her about it, that minute.

She would be alone for the rest of the day. Perhaps if
he
was to complain of illness, he could hire a carriage and horses at Hampton Court and drive back to London to see how she went on. He persuaded himself that his motives were to protect her and to find out if she had really gone out with the marquess on that race.

Drusilla and her parents joined him. “You are very quiet, Charles,” complained Drusilla.

“I am feeling very ill,” he said, and knew as he said it that he had decided to escape.

While Charles was planning his escape back to London, Mira and the marquess had found a pleasant little inn by the river. They were seated at a table in the garden, eating cold meat pie washed down with porter.

“Would it not be wonderful to live like this the whole time?” said Mira.

“Endless holiday? You would soon become bored, my sweeting.”

“I was thinking more of freedom from society’s restrictions. It does not affect you, my lord, for you are a man.”

“You noticed?” His eyes mocked her, and she said severely, “You know exactly what I mean. On the face of it the ballroom is a pleasant and romantic place, but when I am tired, I see it for what it is—a cattle market, with us, the debutantes, the placid cows, waiting for a buyer. We really have no say in our futures. We dare not choose a husband—or rather be chosen—if our parents do not consider him up to the mark.
You
can leave it all and go riding or forget about the whole thing and return to your estates.”

“Fretting about your lot is going to spoil the day,” said the marquess. “You eat so much! Do you plan to lie down on the grass afterward and sleep?”

She laughed. “Not I.” Her eyes fell on a rowing boat tied to a stump beside the river. “I would like to take that boat out.”

“Can you row or even swim?”

“Neither, but you could teach me to row.”

He looked doubtfully at the rapidly moving water. “The current is quite swift here, and the boat looks leaky.”

“Oh, do let us try!”

“You are an impetuous child, Mira. Finish your food and we will see.”

During the following days the marquess was to think ruefully that he must have been possessed by temporary madness. Had he not agreed to Mira’s request, then all might have been well.

But as it was, he gave in and asked the landlord if they might hire his boat, and soon Mira was being given her first instruction in rowing. At first it all seemed easy, for they were going with the current, but when the marquess suggested they turn about and head back, Mira found she could not cope with the strength of the river.

“We will need to change places,” said the marquess. Mira clumsily shipped the oars and got to her feet.

“Careful,” he warned. “Perhaps you should crawl forward.”

A barge had passed them on the river, and as Mira got to her feet, the swell from it hit the rowing boat, which lurched and catapulted her into the water. “Help!” spluttered Mira.

He dived overboard and swam to her. “Don’t struggle,” he shouted. “Put your arms around my neck.” Gasping and terrified, she retained enough presence of mind to do as she was told, and he swam with her to the shore, dragging her up the bank as soon as he had found a footing.

“Stay there,” ordered the marquess. “Let us hope that wretched boat has stopped somewhere.”

Dripping wet, Mira sat down on the bank and waited. After what seemed an age the marquess came round the bend of the river, rowing strongly. He pulled in to the shore and ordered her to get in. “Fortunately the boat was caught under the overhanging branches of a willow,” he said. “Now let us get back to that inn and get our clothes dried. You have lost your hat. Let us hope that landlord is blind!”

At the inn Mira stood behind the marquess while he explained the accident and requested a bedchamber where they could wait until their clothes had been dried.

The landlord rushed to accommodate them, for he had heard Mira call the marquess “my lord.” It was not often that members of the Quality arrived at his out-of-the-way inn.

Rough towels were supplied, and Mira went behind the shelter of the bed hangings to take off her wet clothes and towel herself dry. She emerged, wrapped in a blanket, to find the marquess sitting in an armchair, also wrapped in a blanket. When the landlord reappeared, the marquess handed him their wet clothes.

“I’ll get the girl to hang these in the garden, my lord,” said the landlord. “There’s a stiff breeze, and what with the hot sunshine, they’ll be dry in no time at all.”

“And let’s hope they don’t shrink,” said the marquess after he had left. Mira sat on the floor, huddled in the blanket. He was sharply aware that she was naked under it. He got to his feet, went to a table in the corner, and picked up a pack of cards.

“I shall play you for vast sums of money,” he said lightly. “That way we can pass the time until our clothes are dry.”

A weary Mr. Diggs arrived at the inn. He was so tired and thirsty, he no longer cared where Mira and the marquess had got to. He ordered a pint of shrub after seeing to his horse, took his drink out to the sunny garden, and sat down with a sigh of relief. He would soon be too old for work like this, he thought.

He glanced idly around. At the side of the inn, a clothesline was stretched between two trees, and as he watched, a little maid came out and began to hang up clothes. Then he slowly put down his tankard and sat up straight as he watched those clothes as they were pinned out on the line, one by one.

He rose and walked around to the back of the inn. He had been so tired, he had stabled his horse without paying any attention to the other mounts. This time he immediately recognized the Arab Mira had been riding.

Mr. Diggs went into the cool darkness of the inn and hailed the landlord.

“I have reason to believe that there is a scandal here in your inn to be uncovered, landlord,” he said, “and if you help me, there is gold in it for you.”

The landlord listened to the tale of Mira and the marquess with his eyes popping. “Sounds like a right fairy tale to me, sir,” he said, scratching his head. “I mean, young ladies don’t ride around like boys. I don’t want no trouble. What if you’re telling lies?”

“Where are they now?” demanded Mr. Diggs, mentally damning all yokels.

“There in my best bedchamber, wrapped in blankets and waiting for their clothes to dry.”

“So? So did you not notice she’s got hair like a woman?”

“Got it in a pigtail, but a lot of men still wear their hair that way.”

“Look, fellow, there is money in this for you. I need a written statement from you, and I will pay you five gold guineas for it. Go abovestairs and ask them if they would like a fire if you have not already lit one.”

The landlord hesitated, but five guineas seemed like a fortune to him. He went upstairs while Mr. Diggs waited impatiently.

When the landlord entered the room, Mira and the marquess were sitting on the floor, playing cards. But the room was in half darkness, for the curtains were closed.

“What is it?” demanded the marquess sharply.

“I was wondering whether you would like me to light the fire, my lord?”

“No, go away, and don’t come back until our clothes are dried.”

“Dark in here,” commented the landlord. Before the marquess could protest, he had crossed the floor and jerked open the curtains. Sunlight flooded the room. The landlord turned and stared down at Mira, who bent her head quickly over her cards.

“Get out of here!” shouted the marquess. The landlord beat a hasty retreat.

He went downstairs and joined Mr. Diggs in the tap. “You’ve the right of it,” he said heavily. “I got a good look at her. Such goings-on in a respectable inn!”

“Look, fellow,” said Mr. Diggs, “what is your name?”

“Giles Brand.”

“Well, Mr. Brand, if you want to earn your money, fetch quill, ink, and paper, and I will tell you what to write.”

“Damn!” said the marquess, throwing down his cards. “I want to get out of here. I don’t trust that fellow. I’ll swear he opened those curtains to get a better look at you. Why on earth did I agree to this expedition?”

“You suggested it,” said Mira in a small voice.

“Let us hope we escape with our reputations intact. At least he does not know who we are.”

Mira brightened. “Of course he doesn’t. How much money have you won from me?”

“Thousands and thousands. It is as well it is pretend money. You would never make a gambler.”

Mira stood up and went to the window, the large blanket trailing behind her. “How long now before our clothes dry, do you think?”

“I think we should get them back and put them on, whatever their condition, and get out of here. I do not like that landlord’s behavior.”

The marquess went to the door, opened it, and shouted, “Bring up our clothes. Never mind if they are still damp.”

When the landlord came up with the clothes, the marquess scrutinized him, but Mr. Brand had been warned by Mr. Diggs not to evince any more curiosity in the pair in case they found some way to cover up the scandal—by which Mr. Diggs really meant he did not want this wealthy marquess bribing the landlord to silence and hoped that the landlord did not realize that he stood to gain more money from the marquess than he could ever get from him. The marquess was reassured. There were no suspicious looks here.