The Dreadful Debutante by M. C. Beaton Read Free Book Online Page A

him shyly. “Will you dance with me at the opera ball?”
     
    He hesitated. He had not intended to attend the ball after the opera. “I am sorry,” she said quickly. “That was forward of me. How can you find a bride if I keep making demands on you?”
     
    “I am sure a dance with you will not stop me from looking at other pretty ladies,” said the marquess. “Very well. One dance. But you must try to attract some beaux.”
     
    “I think if I cannot marry Charles, then I would rather not be married at all,” said Mira.
     
    “May I point out to you again that you are not in love with Lord Charles.”
     
    “How can you tell?”
     
    “Love is not all gladness and happiness, my innocent; it can be a type of suffering. Were you in love with Lord Charles, you would have gone to the Park, longing for every moment you could have a sight of him, hoping against hope that he would notice you or that my presence would make him jealous.”
     
    “Then you have been in love?”
     
    “At my great age it would be a miracle had I not been.”
     
    Mira wanted to ask him whether he had actually been in love with his wife, something she had quickly learned in her short stay in London was highly unusual. Marriage was a trade, your fortune to match my fortune, your lands to join my lands. Love had little to do with it. He was not
that
old, about somewhere in his early thirties, or so she had overheard her mother saying.
     
    They drove back in amicable silence. He was just helping her down from the carriage when the Markhams’ butler approached them. “If you would be so good as to step upstairs to the drawing room, my lord. My master is desirous of a word with you.”
     
    “Now what’s this about?” the marquess asked Mira.
     
    “Perhaps Drusilla, who was behind us, saw us driving in the opposite direction of the Park and reported it to Papa.”
     
    His face cleared. “Oh, that is of no moment. There is nothing shameful about driving a lady about London in an open carriage. We have done nothing we ought not to do.”
     
    But when he walked into the drawing room behind Mira, he stared about him, suddenly worried. Drusilla was there, as was Lord Charles. Lord Charles was looking stern, and Drusilla had an air of gleeful anticipation. Mr. and Mrs. Markham had stern faces.
     
    “Pray be seated, my lord,” said Mr. Markham. “We have just received some distressing news.”
     
    “If it is distressing news, I prefer to stand in order to hear it.”
     
    “As you will. We have received a report that you went on a curricle race to Sands Hill and that Mira here, dressed in boys’ clothes, acted as your tiger.”
     
    Before Mira could speak, the marquess said with chilly haughtiness, “And you
believed
this?”
     
    “My lord, I could not do else. It was a most reliable source.”
     
    “Namely?”
     
    “Mrs. Gardener.”
     
    A look of contemptuous amusement crossed the marquess’s handsome face. “Mrs. Gardener is the most malicious gossip in London.” He assumed an air of patient reason, like a weary parent talking to slightly backward children. “My attentions to Miss Mira have, you must be aware, caused a certain amount of jealousy. I have never heard a more ridiculous story.”
     
    He received help from an unexpected quarter. Drusilla, sure now that the story was all lies, was still smarting over Mrs. Gardener’s description of how she, Drusilla, had been humiliated at the ball by assuming the marquess wished to dance with her when the invitation was for Mira.
     
    “
I
never believed a word of it,” she said.
     
    “But it is such an
elaborate
story,” said Mr. Markham, still plainly puzzled. He swung round to Mira. “Is there any truth in this rumor?”
     
    “I wish there were,” said Mira ruefully, and the marquess could not help but admire her acting ability. “I should like that above all things, to masquerade as a tiger. But did you go on a race, my lord?”
     
    “Yes, Miss Mira, and