Forever My Love (Berkeley-Faulkner #2)(7)

It took all of Alec’s concentration to be civil to Sackville, who noticed that something was wrong but declined to ask what. Luckily Sackville’s private pack of hounds kept the chase fast and aggressive, robbing the hunters of the necessity of making conversation. Alec’s shoulder ached slightly but gave him no real trouble. Every time he became aware of it, he could not help thinking of Mira’s hands slipping underneath his shirt, and the thoughts of her threatened to undo the cords of his sanity.

None of the women had decided to hunt today, a fortunate circumstance in that the hearty flavor of the chase was undiluted by any sight of feminine feathers or bobbing curls and bows. Whenever a woman was along, no matter how skillful, the men’s enjoyment of the hunt was diminished by constant awareness of her and concern for her safety. The ladies were back at the manor preparing to go for a country drive or pay visits to neighboring estates. They gossiped and played cards, dividing themselves into groups that the members would seldom stray outside of. Some groups were livelier, brewing mischief among themselves and casting aspersions on those not present to defend themselves. Others talked quietly of books and poetry, and more rarely of politics. Some talked of fashion, others of romantic interludes and adventures. The entire hunting party, now numbering about ninety, all included, would meet again in the evening for dinner. Afterward they would dance, put on small vignettes, sing or play instruments, and engage each other in games such as charades, chess, and cards. And so the pattern would be repeated each day for three weeks, until the men tired of the hunting and the women tired of the monotony, and they would all disperse to seek new parties and new activities.

Mira kept herself well-separated from everyone except the servants of the manor. She had managed to charm her way into a multitude of friendships with the

maids, the cook and housekeeper, the footmen, and even the stableboys. They all knew how she had originally come to Sackville Manor two years ago, and she suspected that they were kind to her because they suspected the real reasons for her position as Sackville’s mistress.

The guests of the hunting party and the servants they had brought with them were not so kind. She knew that Lord Sackville gossiped about her often, making certain that everyone was aware of her role at the manor. He did not mind that she seldom appeared in front of anyone; the element of mystery about her only intrigued the women and aroused the envy of the men that much more. And Mira did not mind Sackville’s gossip, for that was part of the bargain they had struck with each other. Part of his pleasure in her was the image that her presence in his house created.

She reveled in the hours of solitude granted her. Mira read voraciously from the well-stocked library. She had a liberal amount of time each day to take a perfumed bath and dress with care. Sackville had insisted on outfitting her with luxurious clothes, stipulating only that she please herself in the choices of design and materials. Mira had not settled on the fashionable style of dress, the washed-out pastels and icy colors that were all the rage—lavender, gray, yellow, pink. Instead she picked out vivid, exotic hues that suited her taste and coloring—brilliant red, peacock blue, emerald, violet, and even a black velvet gown that played up her dark eyes and the exotic cast of her features. She went on rides and walks by herself, occasionally accompanying Sackville on trips to the village and making him laugh with the tales of her adventures in France.

Most of her meals were taken in her turret room, a place so airy and exquisitely decorated that Mira sometimes felt as if she were living among the clouds. She

had been happy for the past two years, her pride undamaged by her label as Sackville’s woman. Until now.

Perhaps, Mira thought reflectively, I have let myself become too vulnerable. Perhaps I am not meant to find happiness in one place for too long. All of her life she had wanted to belong somewhere. Life had been constant change, constant moving. She had never sunk down roots anywhere. But now she had been here for the longest period of stability she had ever experienced. There was joy to be found in becoming familiar with one place and the people that surrounded her. There was peace in forming habits, in knowing when she would eat and sleep, in being protected. Of course, she was not completely happy—Mira could not deny that sometimes she was lonely. And today, after Alec Falkner had thrown those contemptuous words at hei, she had been unexpectedly disturbed. But wasn’t security always bought at a price? And wasn’t the contempt of one arrogant man worth the safety of being Sackville’s mistress? What have I done, she asked herself in confusion, to make Falkner hate me so?

Puzzled and upset, Mira made her way downstairs to the small music room and found that it was empty. Closing the door to muffle any sounds, she sat down at the pianoforte and began to play. In the past two years she had taken enough lessons to be proficient at a few simple melodies. Her fingers moved nimbly over the keys as she sang quietly. The song was from Touraine, one of her favorite places in France, and it usually lifted her spirits the moment after she struck the first note. But today it failed to bring her any pleasure. She was not aware as she played that the door opened, or that her performance was being observed.

“How entertaining,” a woman’s voice echoed slightly in the room, and Mira turned with a start to see someone in the doorway. She was very beautiful, her hair pale blond and her skin milky white, her age

somewhere between twenty-five and thirty. The woman was sumptuously dressed in a mint silk gown with black braiding, a sophisticated gown that suited her well. “So you’re Sackville’s… little treasure. All my husband has spoken of for the past day and night are the stories that Sackville has told about you, my dear.” Her voice was silky and sweetly pitched.