Chapter Seventeen

M irella looked into the mirror, pleased with the gown the maid had chosen for her. Mama also nodded her approval.

“You certainly know how to wear a gown, my dear. Come, let us go downstairs before your suitors come calling. You need to see the many bouquets which have been arriving all morning.”

They started down the corridor, Aunt Matty joining them.

“Oh, isn’t it exciting to have a young person in the house and gentlemen calling,” her aunt declared. “I have just come from the drawing room, and it is filled with the most beautiful flowers.”

Georgie had told Mirella that suitors would send elaborate floral arrangements to her once the Season began. The larger the arrangement, the more the gentleman’s interest in her supposedly was. She couldn’t help but wonder what Lord Bridgewater’s flowers would look like.

Her feelings were mixed regarding the marquess. On one hand, she was certainly aware of the physical attraction which lay between them. He was also intelligent and entertaining to be around. She had thought to keep him at arm’s length, even when the waltz began last night, but somehow she kept wanting to give him another chance. That was why she had asked if he planned to visit her today, and she had been pleased when he answered in the affirmative.

They entered the drawing room, and she exclaimed, “Oh! It is like entering an indoor garden.”

On every surface, she saw gorgeous arrangements of flowers. Their sweet fragrances filled the air. The room was an array of color. It overwhelmed Mirella to think all these beautiful bouquets were for her.

“It is quite lovely,” Mama said. “We should go about the room and see which gentlemen have been thoughtful enough to send you flowers.”

Before each arrangement sat a card, and Mirella picked up the first one, reading the name of the suitor who had sent that particular bouquet.

“There are so many,” she observed as they stepped to the second one.

“And quite large,” Aunt Matty noted.

“I recognize most of the names on these cards,” she said as they strolled about the room, examining each bouquet as she noted its sender. “There are a few, however, which I am unfamiliar with.”

“That means you have admirers you have yet to meet,” Mama informed her.

Two maids entered the drawing room, one carrying an arrangement that dwarfed her. The other maid held one which was small and artfully arranged, with a unique combination of flowers in it. The servants set down the flowers and placed the cards in front of them.

Mirella worked her way around to these final two offerings, opening the card to the larger of the two, recalling the earl she had danced with as she saw his name. Then she picked up the final card and opened it, realizing the mistake she had made.

“I am sorry, Mama. These are for you. From... Lord Bridgewater.”

She handed the card to her mother, and Aunt Matty peered over Mama’s shoulder as both women read it.

“He is a clever one,” her aunt said, smiling broadly. “Sending flowers not to you, but to your mother.”

The gesture puzzled her. She did not understand the reasoning behind him doing so. His bouquet was also outshone by all the others. Still, she liked the mixture of flowers in the arrangement.

“I will be certain to thank Lord Bridgewater when he stops by today,” Mama said.

James and the captain entered the drawing room, Sophie with them.

“Are you ready for all your callers?” Sophie asked, her eyes bright. “Looking about the room, I see that you will have many of them visiting with you today.”

“And we will be here to see if they are worthy of you or not,” James inserted, crossing his arms over his broad, muscular chest.

Mirella looked from him to the captain, who now mimicked his friend’s stance, and couldn’t help but laugh. “The two of you are quite intimidating. It will be interesting to see how many of them you scare away and how many pass your imaginary test.”

Powell opened the door, announcing the first callers of the afternoon, and Mirella became swept up in her duties. She recognized most of the gentlemen who came through the door and tried to spend a few moments alone with each of them before they departed. All the while, she was conscious of new arrivals, disappointed each time when Lord Bridgewater’s name was not declared.

The afternoon grew late, and the number of callers finally thinned. She knew that teatime would be at hand soon—and still no appearance by the Marquess of Bridgewater. Her disappointment turned to anger. She should have known not to count on him. Her resolve firmed, deciding she had been right all along to want to have nothing to do with him.

Then she heard the butler announce his name, and Mirella focused on the last two gentlemen before her, giving them her full attention and ignoring this last arrival. Even as she smiled and nodded, appearing interested in what the pair had to say, she was aware of the marquess and his location in the room.

The two gentlemen she spoke with took their leave, and Lord Bridgewater came toward her. He bowed and took her hand in his, raising it to his lips and brushing a light kiss upon her fingers. A sizzle of awareness rippled through her.

“You decided to call rather late, my lord,” she said sternly. “It is almost time for calls to end.”

“My apologies, Lady Mirella. I found I had unexpected business to attend to with my solicitor. I came straight from his office. Did you entertain many suitors this afternoon?”

She waved a hand around. “Judge for yourself, my lord. The bouquets are an indication that I most certainly did. Thank you, by the way, for sending one to Mama. I am certain she will tell you how appreciative she is of it.”

His gaze pinned hers, causing a rush of warmth to race through her.

“I thought it important to acknowledge the mother who brought such a remarkable lady into Polite Society,” he told her. Then his face grew serious. “We must speak about something important, my lady.”

“What?” she asked, her heart beating rapidly.

Surely, he was not about to offer for her. And if he did—what would she say?

Mirella did not love him. At least, she did not think she did. All she knew was this pull between them. An attraction was not enough for a marriage, though. She needed the love which might spring from that attraction before she would even consider wedding a gentleman.

She felt herself blush, feeling foolish because she doubted the marquess was about to propose marriage to her, yet that had been her first thought.

James appeared at her elbow, along with Sophie. Greetings were exchanged, and Sophie smiled rightly at Lord Bridgewater.

“We were about to take tea, my lord,” Sophie said. “Would you care to join us?”

“Thank you for the invitation, Your Grace,” Lord Bridgewater replied. “I would be happy to do so.”

They crossed the room and took seats, and the marquess said to her, “We must speak after tea ends. It is urgent.” He paused. “And private.”

“Certainly, my lord,” she responded, wondering what might be so pressing, something that could not be said in front of others.

Again, she prayed that he would not offer marriage. Her head told her she must immediately turn him down if he did so. Her heart, on the other hand, remembered those incredible kisses—and might tempt her to say yes.

They were a lively group at tea, talking about last night’s ball and the upcoming events during the next week. Lord Bridgewater indicated he would be attending all of them. She vacillated on whether she was happy to hear that or not. Mirella still was having trouble deciding whether or not she wanted to be around the mercurial marquess. So many decent gentlemen had called upon her today. None seemed to hide his interest in her. Yet Lord Bridgewater swung back and forth, totally confusing her.

She decided she would hear him out before making any decision regarding him.

“It has been delightful spending this hour with you,” the marquess told the group. “I appreciate your kind invitation, Your Grace. I will see you all this evening.”

As he rose, Sophie said, “Mirella, why don’t you walk our guest out?”

“Of course,” she responded, coming to her feet and accompanying Lord Bridgewater from the drawing room.

She knew what her sister-in-law did, trying to give the pair a few precious moments alone.

They moved down the corridor and before they reached the stairs, he halted.

“I must speak with you now,” he insisted. “Not in the foyer where a footman will be on duty. What I have to say to you is private, my lady.”

Her heart thumped against her ribs as she composed herself. “Yes, my lord?”

He took her hands in his and smiled at her, but she saw the sadness in that smile.

“I think every day of that moment at the top of Helm Crag,” he said earnestly. “About those kisses we shared. That entire day with you is the highlight of my life.”

A chill ran through her. “I, too, have thought about that day fondly,” she told him.

Angst filled his face. “That memory is one I will forever cherish, Lady Mirella. You must understand that. But I cannot give you false hope. I will no longer be calling upon you. I will never ask you to dance with me again. I cannot do so—because I am soon to be betrothed to another.”

It was the last thing she had expected him to say to her. Hurt immediately filled her. Mirella felt herself start to tremble, and his hands tightened about hers. She could not stand the sight of him, much less tolerate his touch. Quickly, she jerked her hands from his and took a few steps back, needing to put distance between them.

“Then why on earth did you lead me on, my lord?” she asked angrily. “Why are you speaking so fondly of kisses between us?”

Sadness filled those gray eyes. “Because that memory is the happiest moment of my life, and I will never be that happy again. Goodbye, Lady Mirella. I will see myself out.”

He turned away, moving down the stairs.

When he reached the landing below, she called out to him. “Lord Bridgewater.”

He paused on the landing, not looking up.

“Who is to be your marchioness?”

Slowly, his head came up until their gazes met. “Miss Jacinda Bowles.”

They looked at one another a long moment before he looked away and hurried out of sight.

Mirella had known the answer. Somehow, she had known it all along. Perhaps he had even known he would offer for Miss Bowles before he even came to Grasmere last year.

Yet he had kissed her. Made her come alive. Caused her to feel things she had never experienced before.

It made more sense to her now, his rapid departure from Benbrook. The marquess had been tempted by her and had had to leave in order for their feelings not to grow stronger for one another. Why he had asked her to dance last night, though, still bothered her. In his mind, it possibly had been his way of saying goodbye to her.

She would always have that waltz. Those kisses.

They would be all she ever had of him.

Somehow, she managed to keep the tears at bay until she reached her bedchamber. Entering it, she locked the door before falling on the bed, pressing her face into the pillow to muffle her sobs. As she wept, Mirella’s broken heart finally spoke its truth.

She loved Lord Bridgewater.

And he could never be hers.