Tempting Fate Page 5

  “That was quite the loveliest thing you have ever said to me,” she replied with a sniff, clearly unfazed by his threat. “The first part, I mean, and so I forgive you for the latter, which I know to be an empty threat as you could never handle the girls on your own.”

  “I am most certainly capable—”

  “And I love you too,” she continued as if he hadn’t been speaking at all. “You do know that, don’t you? I sometimes worry I don’t say it enough, or too often as if it’s a trifle.”

  Whit came out from behind the desk and placed an affectionate kiss on her cheek. “You needn’t worry on either score.”

  She sighed happily. “Excellent. Now go sit down. I have something important to discuss with you.”

  “Mother—”

  “Would it further my cause if I brought up the subject of an heir on a daily basis?”

  “No.”

  “I didn’t think so. Oh, well. As it happens that’s not why I’m here.”

  “Why are you here? Not that you aren’t welcome.”

  “Delighted to hear it. Now sit.” She withdrew her hand and used it to make a little shooing motion.

  Ever the obedient, if somewhat harassed, son, Whit returned to his seat and gave her a pointed look. She wasted no time.

  “It is time you set aside your differences with Mirabelle.”

  Whit was on guard immediately. “Has she said something to you?”

  That wasn’t like the imp, he thought. She had never before complained to his mother about their arguments. She threatened to on a regular basis, but she’d never actually gone through with it.

  “No,” Lady Thurston replied, her eyes narrowing. “Should she have?”

  Whit thought it best not to answer that. “I’m surprised by the request, that’s all.”

  She gave him a long look before replying. “It is not a request, Whittaker,” she stated coolly. “In my presence, the two of you may play nice for my benefit, but I am not a fool. All the ton knows of your adversarial relationship.”

  Whit scowled. “I should think people would have more interesting matters to discuss.” At least by now, he silently amended. The animosity between Mirabelle and him was old hat.

  “Aside from poverty, oppression, and injustice, there is no matter too insignificant for the ton not to notice,” Lady Thurston replied wryly, “and an earl’s obvious animosity toward a young unmarried woman is always good gossip. I have left you two to your little squabbles because it does you good to lose your head from time to time, and because Mirabelle doesn’t appear to suffer unduly from it, but—”

  “What do you mean by ‘unduly’?” Whit cut in. “I have never—”

  “Raised a hand to her? Publicly humiliated her since becoming an adult? Yes, I know.”

  “The same can hardly be said for her,” he replied, recalling several injuries he’d incurred at her hand.

  She gave a small nod. “I’m aware of it. It’s another reason I’ve been reluctant to intervene. In your passion to become the antithesis of your father, you occasionally become a trifle self-righteous. I do admire you, Whit, but it’s not healthy to have the fawning respect and admiration of every human being that crosses your path. Mirabelle is good for you.”

  “She broke my nose,” he informed her with a grumble.

  “Did she?” She sat up straighter in her chair with unabashed interest. “Did she really?”

  “Twice.”

  Lady Thurston thought about that for a moment. “Care to tell me why?”

  Whit barely stopped himself from grimacing. The first time had been with a billiards ball more than ten years ago—in retaliation for an extremely lewd comment he made when Mirabelle had interrupted a round of serious imbibing with his friend Alex. The second time had been for attempting to lock her in the library during a house party.

  Whit shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I will admit, there were some extenuating circumstances.”

  “I thought there might be. You lose your head with her from time to time. It’s good for you.”

  Whit frowned at her assessment. He didn’t want to lose control around the imp. He didn’t want to lose control at all. He’d worked to remedy the scandals his father had caused, and also the financial straits in which the man had left the family. Whit had worked too hard to ruin things with a rash temper.

  The Thurston earldom was one of the oldest and least respected titles in the country. No one could even remember why the Cole family had gained an earldom, but anyone caring to do the least bit of research would find that not a single generation had done a thing to further the family name. The Thurston earls had been an assorted lot of cheats, rakes, and wastrels, with the family fortune ebbing and flowing dramatically while their reputation remained unerringly low. His late father had carried on the tradition with great fervor—drinking, sporting, throwing lavish parties, and finally dying in a duel over a woman who was not the Lady Thurston.

  To the ton, however, the newest Earl of Thurston was everything a peer of the realm should be: honorable, charming, handsome, loyal, levelheaded and, thanks to a great deal of hard work and a little good luck, respectably wealthy. Whit cultivated that image diligently, encouraging his sister and cousin to do the same. He was determined that future generations would be proud of their name.

  His resolve to be the perfect gentleman, however, was occasionally forgotten when he was in the company of Mirabelle Browning. He’d always known it to be the case, but he hadn’t realized people still paid any attention to their little disagreements. They’d been at it for years, and he’d never tossed her out of the house or ruined her good name (despite his threats), and she’d never cast aspersions on his honor or his status as a gentlemen (in public, at any rate.) The worst of their disagreements occurred in private, and the smaller public insults w ere no more dramatic than the usual barbs traded amongst the ton.

  But if people were talking, then it needed to stop.

  “Come to a decision, have you?”

  Whit blinked as he came out of his musings. “My apologies, I was lost in thought.”

  “No apology necessary, I am pleased you are giving serious consideration to what I have said.”

  Whit nodded absently. “I’ll speak with the…with Miss Browning. I’m sure we can come to some understanding.”

  “Excellent,” Lady Thurston replied. She stood to take her leave but was stopped short of the door by Whit’s question.

  “Why bring this up now?”

  She turned to give him her full attention. Never one to sit in the presence of a standing lady, Whit was on his feet behind the desk, his brow furrowed thoughtfully as he fiddled with a quill. “Why have you kept quiet all these years, only to speak up today?”

  “She was wearing a new gown today. That small but significant change, along with several others, leads me to believe she may finally be looking to acquire a husband.”

  Whit set the quill down and stared at her. “A husband? The imp?” he managed to choke out.

  “Yes, a husband,” Lady Thurston replied. “She is a woman after all, not wealthy, and in case you have not noticed, there are very few options open to us when it comes to securing our means of support.”

  “I always thought she’d choose to be a governess, or someone’s companion.”

  That wasn’t really true. He hadn’t thought much on it at all, to be honest. He had always just assumed Mirabelle would remain unmarried, that she would forever be about the London town house and Haldon Hall. During one of his more fanciful moments he had imagined the two of them, old and grey, seated before the fire in the front parlor and taking swings at each other with their canes.

  “Well, she won’t,” he heard his mother say, and it took him a minute to work out that she was speaking of Mirabelle’s possible career as a governess and not her aim with a walking stick.

  Because he could think of nothing else to say, he settled for a simple, “Are you certain of this?”

  “Not at
all. It is merely a guess, but in the event that it is true, I will not have her chances ruined by hostility between the two of you. It is time she had a family and home of her own.”

  She has a home and family here.

  The thought was no less vehement for having come unbidden, and the force of it rendered him momentarily stunned. Uncomfortable, he set it aside. “I’ll not stand in her way.”

  “Of course you won’t, dear.”

  Whit nodded and watched his mother leave. A new dress. That was the difference he’d been unable to identify that morning. As a general rule, Mirabelle wore rather drab colors of indeterminate material and unremarkable cut. This morning she’d been wearing something light and flowing. Had it been purple? He couldn’t remember. What ever it had been, it had been unlike her.

  As was the blue satin he’d seen in her box. Then again, perhaps such undergarments were the new rage in ladies’ trousseaus. How the devil should he know?

  He turned the quill over with his fingers, unaware that he was scowling.

  Was she really looking for a husband?

  Probably not, he decided. Mirabelle had been on the marriage mart for years now and had never shown the least interest in catching a husband. Her new wardrobe must be a result of something else.

  Whit mulled over the possibilities in his head for awhile before giving it up and deciding simply to ask her when he informed her of their new truce. And as he had some idea of where she could be found at present, he decided now was as good a time as any to do just that.

  Mirabelle made the short walk from her room to Kate’s, blissfully unaware she was the topic of conversation in another part of the house.

  She had decided after dinner that it was time to address the ridiculous issue of spying with Kate. With that purpose in mind, she checked to make certain there was light coming from under the door before knocking softly. She was answered with a moderate-sized crash of what sounded like a chair hitting the wooden floor, followed by a great deal of indecipherable noise and movement. As it was Kate’s room, Mirabelle wasn’t the least surprised by the sound of furniture being knocked over, but the rest was a mystery.

  “Kate?” she called quietly against the wood. “Kate, are you all right?”

  There was a moment of complete stillness from inside and then the sound of footsteps and the clack of the bolt being thrown back. Kate’s face, when it finally appeared, was flushed, distracted, and just a little bit annoyed.

  “Why didn’t you say it was only you?”

  Mirabelle’s brows rose. “Who else were you expecting?”

  “I don’t know,” Kate answered, peeking her head out to look down the hall. “Whit, I suppose. He came nosing about last night. And there’s that new friend of his, Mr. Hunter. I didn’t care for the way he was staring at me over dinner.”

  Unable to stop herself, Mirabelle looked over her shoulders. “Do you really think a guest would be so bold as to show up at your door?”

  “I suppose not. I…did you get a clear look at him?” Kate asked, pulling back. “Did he seem at all…familiar to you?”

  Mirabelle pictured the handsome, dark-haired man who’d sat farther down the table from her. “Yes, I saw him, and no, he didn’t seem familiar.” She grinned wickedly. “Although, he seemed rather interested in becoming familiar with you.”

  Kate merely snorted and peeked around the corner again. “The interest isn’t returned.”

  “Are you going to let me in, Kate, or shall we drag a pair of chairs out and enjoy the fine hall air while we eat the biscuits I know you secreted from the kitchen? It’d be almost alfresco.”

  “Hmm. What? Oh!” Kate smiled sheepishly and stepped back, closing and locking the door after Mirabelle. “I’m sorry, Mira. I’m a bit distracted.”

  “Yes, I gathered as much.”

  Mirabelle took in the familiar room with a glance. It was something of a mess, as was usual. Gowns, gloves, and bonnets had been neatly tucked away, but there were papers littering the desk, piled in toppling stacks and sticking out from drawers. The bed was unmade—the pale blue counterpane twisted and pulled back as if Kate had crawled in, tossed and turned for awhile, and then crawled back out again. Books had been piled haphazardly next to the bed and on the window seat. The desk chair was overturned, a hairbrush had been knocked off the vanity, and for some inexplicable reason, there was a teacup on the floor.

  “Where’s Lizzy?” Mirabelle asked, looking into the empty adjoining room where Kate and Evie’s abigail usually slept.

  Kate stepped across the room and righted the chair. “She wasn’t feeling quite the thing and asked to sleep in Evie’s room where the light wouldn’t bother her.”

  “Is she all right?” Mirabelle inquired. She was rather fond of the girl, though the maid was always after fussing with her hair and clothes.

  “Just a touch of the headache,” Kate assured her. “I brought her a powder earlier in the evening and she went straight to sleep. I expect she’ll be fully recovered by morning.”

  Mirabelle nodded and wandered over to poke at the papers on the desk. “What is all this?”

  “Music,” Kate answered. “I’m composing.”

  That certainly made sense, she thought. Although…

  “There’s quite a lot of it. Are you working on several pieces at once?”

  “No, strictly speaking, it’s the same piece.”

  “Is it?” She looked over the piles of paper again. “Are you having difficulty? Is that why you’ve been up so late?”

  “No I…” Kate’s hands tugged on her dressing gown—a telling gesture of nerves. “It’s a symphony.”

  Mirabelle’s mouth dropped open. “A symphony? Truly? You’ve mentioned the possibility before, but…” She gazed at the papers. She was always just a bit in awe of Kate’s musical talent, a bit amazed at the magic and beauty her friend could create with such incredible skill. And now a symphony. pleasure and pride bloomed, and quick to follow were excitement and delight. She laughed and threw her arms around her friend. “Oh, but this is wonderful, Kate!”

  “Do you think so? It’s not proper, not really, for a lady to—”

  “Nonsense,” Mirabelle snapped, pulling back. “That’s complete and utter nonsense, and well you know it. You’ve been given an amazing gift, Kate, and it’s only right that you should use it to the best of your ability. The notion that a woman of your skill, your talent, should deny her abilities in the interest of making a few small-minded individuals more comfortable is preposterous, I’d go so far as to say blasphemous. Why would God have given you such a gift, if He hadn’t wished for you to use it? If Evie hears you speaking this way—”

  “Well, good Lord, Mira.”

  “I…I’m ranting a bit aren’t I?” She let her hands drop from where they’d been gripping Kate’s shoulders.

  “A bit,” Kate agreed.

  “Sorry.” Mirabelle dragged herself over to sit on the edge of the bed. “It’s been something of a long day.”

  Kate crossed the room to sit beside her. “As your ranting was in defense of my work, I won’t hold it against you. How did you know I’d been up late? I don’t recall mentioning it.”

  “You didn’t,” Mirabelle admitted without hesitation. “Whit mentioned it and—and this is part of my very long day—I agreed to spy on you.”

  “Did you?” Kate asked, looking more intrigued than offended. “Did you really? How did he manage to acquire your cooperation?”

  “He blackmailed me.”

  “Oh, he did not,” Kate laughed with a playful poke to Mirabelle’s shoulders.

  “He did, and quite effectively too. He cornered me—metaphorically speaking—in Benton and threatened to upend the contents of my box—the one I’d only just brought from Madame Duvalle’s—in the middle of the street.”

  Kate’s eyes grew round with a kind of excited horror. “Did he know what was in it?”

  “Only in a general sense.”

  An odd and very sus
picious sound emerged from Kate’s throat. “He blackmailed you into spying on me by threatening to expose your unmentionables?”

  “It’s not funny, Kate.”

  “No.” The sound came again, louder this time, and accompanied by a loud puff of air. “No. I’m sorry, you’re right.” A slightly less than delicate snort escaped. “Absolutely right.” Her lips twitched violently. “Not in the least funny.” After a snort, a hiccup, and a noise that put Mirabelle to mind of sheep, Kate erupted into fits of laughter.

  Mirabelle crossed her arms and waited for the storm to pass.

  It took some time.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Kate choked out eventually. “I’m terribly sorry.”

  Mirabelle felt a corner of her mouth quirk up involuntarily. “No, you’re not.”

  “You’re right, I’m not. At least—not very. It’s just so ridiculous”

  “He could have ruined me,” Mirabelle pointed out.

  “He wouldn’t have done it. Surely you know he wouldn’t have done it. It’s just the sort of harmless bullying brothers do.”

  Thoughtful, Mirabelle picked at the counterpane. “But he’s not my brother, is he?”

  Six

  Mirabelle left Kate’s room feeling quite a bit better than she had all evening. Nothing could lift the spirits quite so quickly as a middle-of-the-night laugh with a dear friend.

  And nothing could send them plummeting with the same speed as the sight of Whit’s lanky frame lounging against the wall in the darkened hallway.

  “Just the imp I wanted to see,” he said softly, and straightened.

  “Have you been waiting for me?”

  “Of course not,” he answered, just fast enough to tell her he’d been doing exactly that. “But since you’re here…”

  As quick as you please, he had his hand under her elbow and was leading her away.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she whispered with a frightened glance down both ends of the hallway.

  “Escorting you to my study.”

  She stopped walking. “We most certainly will not be going—”