Forever My Love (Berkeley-Faulkner #2)(73)

“Are you absolutely certain,” Wilhelmina pressed, “that you have not met any young man who might have sent the books to you?”

“Absolutely,” Mira said firmly. As she felt someone’s eyes on her, she looked up and met Rosalie’s gaze. From the way Rosalie looked, acutely perturbed, it was clear that she had little idea of who had sent the novels. So far she had not asked Mira a single question about them.

“Lady Berkeley,” a maid’s carefully modulated voice interceded respectfully, and Rosalie was presented with a silver tray littered with calling cards and notes. There was little to do in the winter except to attend parties and pay calls to one’s neighbors, and so the arrival of this tray was regarded with a high degree of interest.

“Hmmnnn…” Rosalie said absently, scanning a pale blue card and smiling as the room quieted. “It seems that a sleighing party is being formed for this afternoon. Lord and Lady Stamford invite us to have hot punch at their estate afterward.”

Several murmurs of “It sounds delightful” and “What a splendid notion” were heard throughout the room, while Mira looked at Rosalie questioningly. Aside from mixing with the Berkeley family, she had been isolated from society parties and gatherings while the rumors of her connection with Sackville died down. Rosalie read the silent inquiry in her eyes and nodded slightly.

“I think it is a good idea,” Rosalie said aloud, and although she spoke in a general manner, Mira knew that the words were meant for her. She felt a flutter of excitement in her stomach. What kind of people would she meet? What would they say to her—would they ask her about Sackville… would they recognize heror know that she had reputedly been Sackville’s mistress?

They all departed to their rooms to begin preparations for that afternoon, and Mira tossed her clothes to and fro in her search for something to wear. The scarlet wool gown trimmed with sable would be perfect… but would the color be appropriate? No… since there were more than a few shadows on her reputation, it would not do to wear such a bold shade of red. Her pale beige gown… no, that color made her skin look sallow. Perhaps the blue? No, the material was not heavy enough, and she had no desire to take a chill. Frowning, Mira decided on the scarlet, and she rang for a maid to help her dress.

After her attire was completed, she buried her hands in a small sable muff and went downstairs, where many of the Berkeleys were already gathered. Small groups of four and five formed as the sleighs were being readied. Her steps slowed as she reached the bottom of the stairs, for she became uncomfortably aware that many people were staring at her. She wondered if it was her attire. Unlike the other women, she was not wearing a pelisse and concealing poke bonnet; instead she had donned a dark fur-trimmed cape with a hood that flowed softly onto her shoulders and draped in a soft, romantic style. She had no way of knowing that excitement had lent a fresh glow to her cheeks, and that the scarlet gown turned her eyes a dark autumn brown, and that suddenly, instead of a quiet and vaguely defensive girl, she was a strikingly beautiful woman.

“How charming,” Wilhelmina Berkeley said, her features pale with a touch of envy. “However, this is not a masquerade, Miss Germain. Your hood and cape are lovely, but do you really think you should wear that instead of more conventional attire? I’ve noticed your clothes before, many times, and they are very different from the proper—”I appreciate your concern,” Mira interrupted quietly, “but I am quite content as I am.”

“I am certain you are,” Wilhelmina said, her blue eyes resolute, “but if you insist on wearing something so different from the rest of us, you will be thought of as trying to secure undue attention to yourself. It is a sign of vanity, and since you and your appearance reflect on all of us, I would wish for you to keep from embarrassing us by displaying yourself in outlandish fashions.”

There was complete silence in the hall. Wilhelmina would not have dared to utter such criticism of any guest, especially Mira, had Rosalie been present. But since Rosalie and her husband were still upstairs, Mira found herself in the position of having to defend herself.

“I will wear what I please, Miss Berkeley,” she replied evenly. “And I trust that I will not embarrrass you today, for I have always heard that in England one’s manners are more highly regarded than one’s appearance. My manners, therefore, will be faultless.”

“Bravo,” came a voice from the top of the stairs, and they all looked to see Rand Berkeley escorting Rosalie down the steps. They were a handsome pair, for everything that was dainty and beautiful about Rosalie was emphasized by the blunt attractiveness of her husband. An aura surrounded Rand Berkeley, the kind that instantly commanded respect, for he was a man on whom power sat comfortably, a man who could treat the most grave matters with suitable seriousness or razor-sharp irreverence. His approval was something that everyone wanted; his disapproval was something that everyone feared. No one in his or her right mind would ever cross Rand. “Well said, Miss Germain,” he continued, his golden eyes gleaming. “I must apologize for my cousin. But, as any of us can tell you, when one is a Berkeley, he often finds himself in the position of apologizing for the caprices of his family.” ... ...Mira smiled gratefully at him, knowing that his words were a subtle warning to the rest of the Berkeleys. After this, none of them would dare say anything even remotely offensive to her. She rode in the sleigh with Rand and Rosalie, her manner becoming even more animated as the three of them exchanged quips, lingering on the subject of the Berkeley family until Mira laughed helplessly.