to say,” she prodded with a look for her father who appeared to be every bit as angry as Mira felt.
“George is young and in want of guidance in this matter,” he said in a voice so even as to be positively ominous. “Let it not be forgotten, Your Grace, that my wife is your cousin on the Wembley side, and it is through her hospitality that you are seated at this table. Ginny, my love, I find that I must hurry if I am to keep my appointment,” he said as he rose and went to her side. “I regret that it is not I who shall be escorting the loveliest lady at the ball,” he added in low tones, whereupon he kissed her hand, bowed, and quit the room without a look or word for the rest of his family.
“Well then, shall we eat?” Lady Crenshaw chirped with a wave of her fork and a sparkle in her eye. Her sons turned to their plates with alacrity and betrayed no sign that they had observed the tight compression of George’s already too-thin lips. However, Mira did notice, along with the way the blood had drained from his face, his complexion now a hue somewhere between winding sheet-gray and curdled milk-white.
It seemed that lightening the mood was to be left to her. “Will the ball be very crowded, Mama?”
“I suppose it shall,” her mother replied. “It is the first of the season and sure to be a grand affair. Never fear, my darling, you will take very well, I am persuaded of that, and shall have many opportunities to dance,” she added, her face beaming.
“At least I might be assured of three dances, may I not?” Mira asked with a look for each of the young men seated at table. She reached into her drawstring bag and drew forth a dance card. “Isn’t it the cunningest little thing? It was included in the invitation. Do you not see, George?” she asked in a vain attempt to wheedle him into a semblance of good humor. “I shall give you first choice of the dances. I know that there are some of which you are not fond.” She placed the little book on the table and waited as he took a pencil from his breast pocket and wrote his name, not once, as she expected, but thrice.
“Why, George, that is most generous of you,” Mira said in her brightest voice. “However, by three, I had meant one for each of you.”
“It is customary for a gentleman to have the opening and closing waltz with his lady, as well as the March,” George replied in his usual top-lofty tones.
Mira bit her lip. Would there be a waltz left for Harry? She did so wish to speak with him and, to be sure, the waltz was the most promising opportunity for audible conversation.
“Well!” Stephen exclaimed. “She is as much my lady as yours, George, as no announcement of your betrothal has been made. It might seem a bit odd, in fact, should you claim three whole dances of an evening.” He withdrew his own pencil and scribbled in the little book, whereupon he passed it to Adrian, who scribbled his own name in turn and returned it to Mira with a wink.
Mira was gratified to see that he had crossed out George’s name and claimed the March for himself. Stephen had done the same with the last waltz. She had barely time to note this, however, before George pulled the card from her fingers.
“Am I to have only one dance with you then?” he demanded.
“There are many dances yet to fill,” she replied, suppressing an urge to snatch the card and allow him only the first waltz. “Why, there is the Quadrille and the Cotillion and a contradanse.”
George gazed at her with a narrow-eyed look. “I know what it is you are about. You are hoping to save the waltzes for Lord Haversham, are you not?”
“It would be odd should she not reserve a dance for him,” Lady Crenshaw interrupted. “He is one of her oldest friends. Besides which, this is Mira’s first official ball, and I won’t see the three of you cluttering up her dance card. There will be any number of young men vying for the chance to dance with her, and I, for one, will enjoy
“George is young and in want of guidance in this matter,” he said in a voice so even as to be positively ominous. “Let it not be forgotten, Your Grace, that my wife is your cousin on the Wembley side, and it is through her hospitality that you are seated at this table. Ginny, my love, I find that I must hurry if I am to keep my appointment,” he said as he rose and went to her side. “I regret that it is not I who shall be escorting the loveliest lady at the ball,” he added in low tones, whereupon he kissed her hand, bowed, and quit the room without a look or word for the rest of his family.
“Well then, shall we eat?” Lady Crenshaw chirped with a wave of her fork and a sparkle in her eye. Her sons turned to their plates with alacrity and betrayed no sign that they had observed the tight compression of George’s already too-thin lips. However, Mira did notice, along with the way the blood had drained from his face, his complexion now a hue somewhere between winding sheet-gray and curdled milk-white.
It seemed that lightening the mood was to be left to her. “Will the ball be very crowded, Mama?”
“I suppose it shall,” her mother replied. “It is the first of the season and sure to be a grand affair. Never fear, my darling, you will take very well, I am persuaded of that, and shall have many opportunities to dance,” she added, her face beaming.
“At least I might be assured of three dances, may I not?” Mira asked with a look for each of the young men seated at table. She reached into her drawstring bag and drew forth a dance card. “Isn’t it the cunningest little thing? It was included in the invitation. Do you not see, George?” she asked in a vain attempt to wheedle him into a semblance of good humor. “I shall give you first choice of the dances. I know that there are some of which you are not fond.” She placed the little book on the table and waited as he took a pencil from his breast pocket and wrote his name, not once, as she expected, but thrice.
“Why, George, that is most generous of you,” Mira said in her brightest voice. “However, by three, I had meant one for each of you.”
“It is customary for a gentleman to have the opening and closing waltz with his lady, as well as the March,” George replied in his usual top-lofty tones.
Mira bit her lip. Would there be a waltz left for Harry? She did so wish to speak with him and, to be sure, the waltz was the most promising opportunity for audible conversation.
“Well!” Stephen exclaimed. “She is as much my lady as yours, George, as no announcement of your betrothal has been made. It might seem a bit odd, in fact, should you claim three whole dances of an evening.” He withdrew his own pencil and scribbled in the little book, whereupon he passed it to Adrian, who scribbled his own name in turn and returned it to Mira with a wink.
Mira was gratified to see that he had crossed out George’s name and claimed the March for himself. Stephen had done the same with the last waltz. She had barely time to note this, however, before George pulled the card from her fingers.
“Am I to have only one dance with you then?” he demanded.
“There are many dances yet to fill,” she replied, suppressing an urge to snatch the card and allow him only the first waltz. “Why, there is the Quadrille and the Cotillion and a contradanse.”
George gazed at her with a narrow-eyed look. “I know what it is you are about. You are hoping to save the waltzes for Lord Haversham, are you not?”
“It would be odd should she not reserve a dance for him,” Lady Crenshaw interrupted. “He is one of her oldest friends. Besides which, this is Mira’s first official ball, and I won’t see the three of you cluttering up her dance card. There will be any number of young men vying for the chance to dance with her, and I, for one, will enjoy
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