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Authors: M. C. Beaton
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she was hurting badly and craved the marquess’s comfort and advice. She would change and go round to Grosvenor Square and perhaps catch him as he was leaving for the evening.
Somehow, to her, her masculine dress did not feel at all disgraceful in the evening, for London had that hectic nighttime feeling it always had in the West End as society set out to drink and dance and gamble the night away.
She had expected him to be there, perhaps just getting into his carriage or walking out to his club, but his house had a shuttered air. She walked slowly round to the mews at the back and shoving her hands in her pockets approached a loitering groom and asked him which was the marquess’s carriage. “Several of them,” said the groom. “Taken the closed one out tonight to the playhouse.”
Mira ambled off, feeling more miserable than ever. If she had gone to the playhouse with her family, then she might have had the opportunity of a few words with him. Still, she might be able to see him after the performance. She began to walk in the direction of Drury Lane.
She walked up and down the waiting carriages until she recognized the marquess’s tiger, Jem. He was lounging against a closed carriage, talking to a coachman. Mira crept around the far side of the carriage and opened the door. She crawled inside and gently closed the door behind her, wrapped a huge bearskin carriage rug about her, and lay on the floor. The time dragged on. There was the play, and after the play there would be a farce or a harlequinade.
The misery of the day overcame her, and she closed her eyes and fell asleep.
The marquess entered his carriage and then started in surprise as his foot struck the bearskin rug on the floor and it emitted a startled yelp. He pulled it aside, and in the flickering light of a parish lamp outside the carriage, he saw the white face of Mira Markham staring up at him.
“What are you about?” he growled. “Are you hell-bent on ruining yourself?”
Mira’s eyes filled with tears. “I am so miserable.”
“For heaven’s sake. Get out if you can without being seen, and wait for me at the corner.”
He waited impatiently until Mira had quietly crept out and shut the door behind her, and then he opened the trap in the roof with his sword stick and called to his coachman. “I have decided to walk. Take the carriage home.”
“Raining again, my lord,” called the coachman.
“Nonetheless I will walk.”
He joined Mira at the end of the street and put a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll find somewhere out of the rain where we can talk. I hope you have a good explanation for this scandalous behavior. Will your parents or the servants not miss you?”
“I said I had a headache, my lord, and left a dummy in my bed. They will not notice.”
“Thank goodness for small mercies. Just let us hope no one recognized you. Pull your hat down more over your face.”
Home-going carriages from the playhouse passed them. Lady Jansen looked out, recognized the marquess a little ahead walking in the rain, and debated whether to call to her coachman to stop and then offer him a lift. But her eyes sharpened as she saw the “boy” walking next to him. Surely there was something familiar about that lithe figure. The couple walked under a lamp as her carriage came alongside them. For a brief moment Mira turned her face up to the marquess’s, and Lady Jansen recognized her.
She leaned back in her seat and fanned herself vigorously. It was all too plain to her that the marquess was having an affair with the chit. Why else would he walk about London with her dressed as a boy? She must think what to do. She could not risk ridicule again. And the marquess had not proposed to Mira Markham, so that underlined the fact that his intentions were highly dishonorable.
There was yet hope… if she plotted and planned carefully.
Chapter Four
“Here, I think,”
Somehow, to her, her masculine dress did not feel at all disgraceful in the evening, for London had that hectic nighttime feeling it always had in the West End as society set out to drink and dance and gamble the night away.
She had expected him to be there, perhaps just getting into his carriage or walking out to his club, but his house had a shuttered air. She walked slowly round to the mews at the back and shoving her hands in her pockets approached a loitering groom and asked him which was the marquess’s carriage. “Several of them,” said the groom. “Taken the closed one out tonight to the playhouse.”
Mira ambled off, feeling more miserable than ever. If she had gone to the playhouse with her family, then she might have had the opportunity of a few words with him. Still, she might be able to see him after the performance. She began to walk in the direction of Drury Lane.
She walked up and down the waiting carriages until she recognized the marquess’s tiger, Jem. He was lounging against a closed carriage, talking to a coachman. Mira crept around the far side of the carriage and opened the door. She crawled inside and gently closed the door behind her, wrapped a huge bearskin carriage rug about her, and lay on the floor. The time dragged on. There was the play, and after the play there would be a farce or a harlequinade.
The misery of the day overcame her, and she closed her eyes and fell asleep.
The marquess entered his carriage and then started in surprise as his foot struck the bearskin rug on the floor and it emitted a startled yelp. He pulled it aside, and in the flickering light of a parish lamp outside the carriage, he saw the white face of Mira Markham staring up at him.
“What are you about?” he growled. “Are you hell-bent on ruining yourself?”
Mira’s eyes filled with tears. “I am so miserable.”
“For heaven’s sake. Get out if you can without being seen, and wait for me at the corner.”
He waited impatiently until Mira had quietly crept out and shut the door behind her, and then he opened the trap in the roof with his sword stick and called to his coachman. “I have decided to walk. Take the carriage home.”
“Raining again, my lord,” called the coachman.
“Nonetheless I will walk.”
He joined Mira at the end of the street and put a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll find somewhere out of the rain where we can talk. I hope you have a good explanation for this scandalous behavior. Will your parents or the servants not miss you?”
“I said I had a headache, my lord, and left a dummy in my bed. They will not notice.”
“Thank goodness for small mercies. Just let us hope no one recognized you. Pull your hat down more over your face.”
Home-going carriages from the playhouse passed them. Lady Jansen looked out, recognized the marquess a little ahead walking in the rain, and debated whether to call to her coachman to stop and then offer him a lift. But her eyes sharpened as she saw the “boy” walking next to him. Surely there was something familiar about that lithe figure. The couple walked under a lamp as her carriage came alongside them. For a brief moment Mira turned her face up to the marquess’s, and Lady Jansen recognized her.
She leaned back in her seat and fanned herself vigorously. It was all too plain to her that the marquess was having an affair with the chit. Why else would he walk about London with her dressed as a boy? She must think what to do. She could not risk ridicule again. And the marquess had not proposed to Mira Markham, so that underlined the fact that his intentions were highly dishonorable.
There was yet hope… if she plotted and planned carefully.
Chapter Four
“Here, I think,”
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