Read Online The Dreadful Debutante by M. C. Beaton - Free Book Online
Authors: M. C. Beaton
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marquess had said about moral courage and not focus on petty things, like how the damp air would make her wretched hair even more frizzy.
Charles talked politely of this and that as he drove her to the Park. She tried to tease him in the old way, but he appeared not to hear what she was saying or he chose not to. When they reached the Park, he bowed to various acquaintances and friends, and Mira fell silent. But when they were making the round for the second time, he said, “The reason I asked you to come with me, Mira, is because I wish to talk to you privately.”
Her mercurial spirits soared. She turned shining eyes up to his face. “Oh, and I have longed to be private with you, dear Charles,” she said.
But he went on in a flat, even voice. “The fact is this, Mira: I am about to propose marriage to Drusilla. I worship her and can think of no greater happiness in life than that she should be my bride.”
A spot of rain fell on Mira’s cheek. It felt like a tear. She found her voice. “I hope you will be very happy, Charles.”
“I hope so, too. Now your sister is a gentle creature, delicate as a flower. She has told me how worried she is about your behavior. You must try to be supportive to her, Mira, and put your hoydenish ways behind you. There is still a boldness about you that can do nothing but displease. I am sure you will not mind my speaking to you like this, for I have always regarded myself as an older brother to you. Try for a little more maidenly modesty. And do not take the flattering attentions of Grantley too seriously. He was merely amusing himself by bringing you back into fashion. I notice he did not dance with you last night. There are plenty of young men at the Season more of your age.”
“The marquess is not much older than you, Charles.” Mira bit her lip to fight back the tears.
“But too worldly and experienced and sophisticated a man for a child like you, Mira. It is threatening rain. So I am soon to be your brother-in-law, Mira. Think of that!”
And Mira did think of it all the way home as her poor head ached and the alien and hostile world of London lay all about her. She realized that despite Charles’s interest in Drusilla, she had hoped and dreamed that he would marry
her.
Before they reached home, she said in a small voice, “I cannot see Drusilla as an army bride, Charles.”
He smiled complacently. “Nor I. Such a gentle flower must not be bruised by a barracks life. I am selling out.”
Perhaps it was that simple statement that made Mira suddenly realize how ridiculous her dreams had been, for Charles had loved his life in the army, and here he was, prepared to sacrifice everything for the love of Drusilla.
She thanked him politely for the drive. He said he would not accompany her indoors but would probably see her on the following day after he had proposed to Drusilla—and, hopefully, he said with a shadow of his former boyish grin, been accepted.
Mira curtsied low and then ran up the steps. She went straight to her room, slumped in an armchair by the window, and stared unseeingly in front of her. She wished now that the gossip about her had stuck and that she had been banished to the country. There she could ride and go on walks and talk to the townspeople.
They were to go to the playhouse that evening. Mira knew that Charles would have asked her parents’ permission to call the following day to propose to Drusilla and that they would talk of little else during the evening, and so she roused herself to call the maid and say she had a headache. Then she allowed the maid to undress her and put her to bed.
But she lay awake, listening to the sounds of the house and then the sounds of departure. When she heard the family carriage drive off, she roused herself from bed. She manufactured a dummy of herself from the bolster, a cushion, and a nightcap. She had sworn never to wear masculine clothes again, but
Charles talked politely of this and that as he drove her to the Park. She tried to tease him in the old way, but he appeared not to hear what she was saying or he chose not to. When they reached the Park, he bowed to various acquaintances and friends, and Mira fell silent. But when they were making the round for the second time, he said, “The reason I asked you to come with me, Mira, is because I wish to talk to you privately.”
Her mercurial spirits soared. She turned shining eyes up to his face. “Oh, and I have longed to be private with you, dear Charles,” she said.
But he went on in a flat, even voice. “The fact is this, Mira: I am about to propose marriage to Drusilla. I worship her and can think of no greater happiness in life than that she should be my bride.”
A spot of rain fell on Mira’s cheek. It felt like a tear. She found her voice. “I hope you will be very happy, Charles.”
“I hope so, too. Now your sister is a gentle creature, delicate as a flower. She has told me how worried she is about your behavior. You must try to be supportive to her, Mira, and put your hoydenish ways behind you. There is still a boldness about you that can do nothing but displease. I am sure you will not mind my speaking to you like this, for I have always regarded myself as an older brother to you. Try for a little more maidenly modesty. And do not take the flattering attentions of Grantley too seriously. He was merely amusing himself by bringing you back into fashion. I notice he did not dance with you last night. There are plenty of young men at the Season more of your age.”
“The marquess is not much older than you, Charles.” Mira bit her lip to fight back the tears.
“But too worldly and experienced and sophisticated a man for a child like you, Mira. It is threatening rain. So I am soon to be your brother-in-law, Mira. Think of that!”
And Mira did think of it all the way home as her poor head ached and the alien and hostile world of London lay all about her. She realized that despite Charles’s interest in Drusilla, she had hoped and dreamed that he would marry
her.
Before they reached home, she said in a small voice, “I cannot see Drusilla as an army bride, Charles.”
He smiled complacently. “Nor I. Such a gentle flower must not be bruised by a barracks life. I am selling out.”
Perhaps it was that simple statement that made Mira suddenly realize how ridiculous her dreams had been, for Charles had loved his life in the army, and here he was, prepared to sacrifice everything for the love of Drusilla.
She thanked him politely for the drive. He said he would not accompany her indoors but would probably see her on the following day after he had proposed to Drusilla—and, hopefully, he said with a shadow of his former boyish grin, been accepted.
Mira curtsied low and then ran up the steps. She went straight to her room, slumped in an armchair by the window, and stared unseeingly in front of her. She wished now that the gossip about her had stuck and that she had been banished to the country. There she could ride and go on walks and talk to the townspeople.
They were to go to the playhouse that evening. Mira knew that Charles would have asked her parents’ permission to call the following day to propose to Drusilla and that they would talk of little else during the evening, and so she roused herself to call the maid and say she had a headache. Then she allowed the maid to undress her and put her to bed.
But she lay awake, listening to the sounds of the house and then the sounds of departure. When she heard the family carriage drive off, she roused herself from bed. She manufactured a dummy of herself from the bolster, a cushion, and a nightcap. She had sworn never to wear masculine clothes again, but
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