Once Upon a Wallflower (17 page)

“So? You and Lord Ashfield have scarcely known each other longer than I have known Jeremy, and you two seem quite taken with each other.”

“Really?” Mira’s heart fluttered in her chest at the thought, but she forced her attention to Bella’s predicament. Mira took Bella’s hand in her own. “Bella, even if that is true, Lord Ashfield and I are much older than you and Mr. Ellerby. We have the advantages of maturity, we know our minds perhaps a bit better than you do.” She did not add that Jeremy was rumored to be turning into a rake to rival his father, or that his affections were fickle at best.

Bella pursed her lips. “Nonsense,” she said. “Jeremy is the same age as you. And I may be younger than you are, but I have certainly been out more in Society and I know more about men.”

Mira was struck dumb. Bella was correct. She had neatly turned Mira’s own logic against her. Mira had not realized that her cousin was capable of such rational argument.

“Well, then,” Mira said slowly, “let us assume that you and Mr. Ellerby are in love. What, pray tell, is the problem with that?”

Bella’s face crumpled again. “He does not have any money! Ashfield stands to inherit. Lord Blackwell is completely indifferent to Jeremy and has made no offer to establish some sort of livelihood for him. And Lady Beatrix does not have a great deal of money to pass on to Jeremy. He will only have an allowance, and even that will depend entirely upon Ashfield’s generosity. And Ashfield
hates
him.”

Bella grasped Mira’s hands tightly, desperately. “Maman has told me to stay away from Jeremy, that he is not a suitable husband at all. Maman and Papa rely upon me marrying well. If I do not, they might end up in debtor’s prison.”

Mira frowned, skeptical.

“Truly,” Bella said, “Maman told me so. She said that I must marry a wealthy man, even if he has no title. If I do not, whatever happens to Maman and Papa will be all my fault, and she will never speak to me again.”

Poor Bella, the whole family’s fortunes resting on her delicate shoulders. Mira had never considered that Bella was as constrained by Society’s expectations as she herself was. Life offered them each so few real choices.

Extricating one hand from Bella’s grasp and using it to gently cup her flushed cheek, Mira tried again to sooth Bella’s nerves. “You only need to give this some time. Perhaps with a bit of persuasion, Aunt Kitty might be brought around. Or, perhaps Mr. Ellerby and Ashfield will manage to work out their differences—after Mr. Ellerby is made to realize that Ashfield did not kill Olivia Linworth. If they settle their differences, then Mr. Ellerby’s financial future will be more secure.

“Or,” she continued, more cautiously, “perhaps in a month or two either you or Mr. Ellerby will have realized that your love was only a temporary infatuation.”

Bella’s eyes welled again with tears. “But I do not have a month or two to sort everything out. I only have a few days!”

“Why is that? I know you will be returning to London soon. But Blackwell keeps a townhouse there, and, if he is serious in his intentions, Mr. Ellerby could come to town to court you.”

“Oh, Mira, it is more complicated than that. I need your help, but you must swear yourself to secrecy.” Bella’s eyes blazed with an intensity Mira had never seen there before.

With some reluctance, Mira agreed. “I promise you I will keep your confidence. Whatever you say to me now, I will not tell a soul. But,” she added, raising a cautioning hand, “I cannot swear to help you until I know what you plan.”

Bella’s voice dropped to an urgent whisper. “Jeremy has asked me to elope with him. This Friday. Everyone will be attending the Midsummer festivities in Upper Bidwell, and Jeremy assures me that it is a wild affair. We will slip away, and no one should notice we are missing until we are miles and miles away.

“We have everything figured out,” Bella continued in a conspiratorial whisper. “Jeremy will stay behind that night, and, after everyone leaves for the festival, he will go into town to get a coach from the livery. That way we will be harder to track. I will go to the festival, so that no one suspects anything, but then will sneak back in the midst of the evening. We do not need much help. But I am afraid to leave my luggage in my room, for fear that Maman or Lady Beatrix will get suspicious or will see me leave and will look for me there. I need someplace to hide my bags and myself until Jeremy gets the coach. You could let me hide them here, couldn’t you?”

Despite the note of giddy terror in Bella’s tone, a tiny smile toyed with the corners of her lips. Mira knew that she stood little chance of talking Bella out of this hare-brained scheme. Still, as the closest thing Bella had to an older sister, Mira felt an obligation at least to point out the pitfalls of Bella’s plan.

“Bella,” Mira began slowly, holding her cousin’s eyes with her own and hoping Bella could see her sincerity. “I know that the prospect of an elopement must seem like a grand adventure. And I know you and Mr. Ellerby are in love, but I do not think you should rush into anything. First, as you said, you risk upsetting your mother. And I know you would not wish to do that. But you should also give your relationship with Mr. Ellerby an opportunity to develop, to be certain that your passion for one another does not burn hot, but short. Believe me, if I had a choice, I would prefer to get to know Ashfield better before I wed him. I simply do not think it wise to wed without the benefit of time or your mother’s counsel.”

Bella’s expression turned dark, her gaze sharply calculating. “Are you going to tell Maman?”

Mira sighed. “No, Bella, I promised you I would not tell anyone.”

“But you will not help me.”

“No, in good conscience, I cannot.”

Bella’s temper broke, and she leapt from the settee. “I should have known you would not help me, even though I hardly asked you to do a thing. You have always been envious of me. Always. Because I have a mother and because I am beautiful and because I have prospects while you only have your books. And now I have a dashing man, who is handsome and witty and wonderful, and you are stuck with a scarred, crippled…loutish…
murderer
!”

Her face scarlet and her hands clenched at her sides, Bella continued in a voice seething with anger. “Well, you have left me with no choice. I shall marry Jeremy with or without your help. And if Ashfield will not provide Jeremy with a generous allowance, I will simply have to see that Ashfield is finally arrested and tried in the House of Lords…and then he will hang, and Jeremy will inherit.”

Mira grew chilled as the blood drained from her face. But Bella was not done.

“You think I am just a silly twit, but I know how the world goes on, and I have friends. If I have to, I will see Lord Ashfield swing. If I do not have any money to give to Maman and Papa, I am sure I can convince one of them to swear out an information against Ashfield. Better to risk Blackwell’s wrath than go to debtor’s prison. And then you will once again be the poor relation, the penniless widow. And you will be at my mercy!”

Bella turned on her dainty heel and dashed from the room.

Mira was stunned.

There was little likelihood that Bella could make good on her threats, succeed in having Nicholas arrested and tried when Blackwell seemed bent on protecting him. Though perhaps when Blackwell died… If the memory of the murders had not faded too much. If Jeremy, out of anger over Olivia’s death and desire for the title, assisted Bella’s cause. Still, the prospect was remote, and Mira was sure that Bella would forget her threat as soon as she calmed down.

Bella’s fury was reason enough for alarm, though. She might now be so set in her decision to marry Jeremy that pride alone would force her to go through with the elopement, and, as troublesome as Bella had been, Mira had no desire to see her cousin make a foolish mistake with her life.

Olivia Linworth had thought it a great lark to elope at Midsummer, and look what had become of her.

With renewed resolve, Mira stood and began the process of dressing for dinner. She now had yet another reason to solve the murders posthaste, and she did not have the luxury of hiding in her bedchamber, sulking. For all she knew, Jeremy was the murderer, and Bella was planning to disappear with him.

If any progress was to be made with the investigation, Mira would have to brave another dinner with the Ellerbys.

Mira’s gaze settled on the empty chair across from her, the place set for Nicholas. He had not made an appearance yet. He probably would not. It made sense that he should stay away from Jeremy until the younger man’s temper had cooled, but Mira could not help feeling a bit abandoned.

Trying to ignore the Reverend’s latest bawdy tale, Mira turned to study her cousin. Bella sat across from Jeremy, gazing at him as though he were the most fascinating creature on earth. But every now and then, she would interrupt her mooning to shoot a narrow-eyed look of simmering fury at her mother. Mira wondered if there had perhaps been another confrontation over the suitability of Jeremy Ellerby as a husband. Whatever the reason, Bella’s emotions were obviously still running hot.

“Miss Fitzhenry.”

Lady Beatrix’s voice, though not overly loud, seemed to explode across the table, instantly silencing the Reverend.

Oh, please, not again, Mira thought.

Bracing herself for another scene, Mira leaned forward in an attitude of respectful attention. “Yes, my lady?”

“No, dear, the
other
Miss Fitzhenry.”

“Oh,” Mira said, leaning back in puzzlement and admitted relief.

With one final quick glance at Lord Jeremy, Bella turned to the woman she would have as mother-in-law.

“Miss Fitzhenry, your mother tells me that your first Season has been a rousing success. That you have secured several suitors.”

Bella flushed with obvious pride. “I could not say whether I have been a success, my lady,” she said, her tone clearly indicating that she both
could
and
would
say she was a success if only modesty permitted. “But I have very much enjoyed myself.”

“I would imagine you have.” Lady Beatrix’s silky tone only thinly veiled the insult behind her words, but Bella’s eager expression did not waiver.

“Your mother mentioned that you were particularly hopeful of bringing a certain gentleman up to scratch. A Mr. Penrose, wasn’t it?” Lady Beatrix’s eyes were wide and guileless.

The color drained from Bella’s face, and her mouth fell open in silent horror. She looked first to Jeremy, who merely quirked an eyebrow at her, and then to her mother, who showed no expression whatsoever.

From the far end of the table, Lord Delby, one of the newly arrived guests, spoke up. “Penrose, eh? Decent chap.” Delby, an avid snuff-taker, paused to emit a loud, wet snort. “A bit dim, perhaps, but rich as Croesus. I heard he had his sights set on some gel, but never heard a name.”

“Um. Yes, well,” Bella stammered. “Mr. Penrose has been most gracious. But I’m sure we are only the most casual of acquaintances. If he holds a
tendre
for me, he has never said so.”

“Oh, my dear, there is no need to be modest,” Lady Beatrix persisted. “I heard the young man followed you like a lapdog. It seems he is quite smitten with you. A girl of your…experience could not help but to notice such open adoration.”

“And why should he not adore Miss Fitzhenry?” Blackwell intoned from the far reaches of the dining table. “I am certain that a girl as fresh and lovely and
young
as Miss Fitzhenry must have scores of adoring admirers.” Blackwell leered at Bella, his gaze a hot, brief caress, before turning mocking eyes on his wife.

Lady Beatrix narrowed her eyes in contempt. “My lord, I am certain some men have more discerning tastes.”

Blackwell lifted an eyebrow in acknowledgement of his wife’s barb.

“But,” Lady Beatrix continued, sighing heavily, “I suppose young, beautiful girls who smile just so, well, they will have young bucks falling all over themselves.”

Bella looked as though she might be sick at any moment. As the rest of the party seemed content to watch her squirm, Mira knew she had to intervene. At the same time, however, she could not pass up the opportunity to warn Bella once more to take matters with Mr. Ellerby more slowly.

“My lady,” Mira said, “I imagine you had a gaggle of suitors yourself before you wed Lord Blackwell. I am sure you can sympathize with Bella’s predicament.”

Lady Beatrix leveled a coolly assessing gaze at Mira. “And which predicament would that be, Miss Fitzhenry?”

“Knowing which of your suitors is honorable. Which have noble intentions and which base,” Mira replied. “For beautiful women, such as yourself and Bella, the problem is not attracting attention but knowing which attention to return. And, of course, knowing how to draw the line between being polite to a gentleman and encouraging him. So I…I suppose, really, there are two predicaments.” Mira paused to look down at her plate. “Perhaps,” she suggested quietly, without looking up, “perhaps you have some advice to offer Bella?”

When Lady Beatrix did not immediately answer, Mira risked a glance at the woman. The Countess of Blackwell seemed to be looking directly into her soul, her expression intent and vaguely troubled.

When Lady Beatrix finally spoke, her voice was distant, distracted. “Miss Fitzhenry should remember that both sexes can be fickle in the extreme. Both will sometimes make empty promises. And both are capable of the most brutal and intimate betrayal.” Her gaze slipped around the table as she spoke, resting briefly on each of the dinner guests. Except her husband.

Mira risked a glance at Blackwell. His heavy lids drooped over his eyes in boredom, and his mouth was set in a thin expression of contempt.

Beatrix paused to clear her throat. The harsh set of her features softened as she looked down at her dinner plate. “And she must realize that sometimes the dream of love is more compelling than the reality. Only time can distinguish the real from the imaginary. And time can be a cruel ally.”

The words were poignant, and Mira sensed they carried a depth of meaning. They also echoed Mira’s earlier admonition to Bella. Mira looked to gauge her cousin’s reaction, but apparently the message was no better received coming from the lofty Lady Blackwell as from Mira herself. Bella’s mouth was set in a mutinous line, and she fixed her gaze firmly on her salt cellar.