Alex barely managed to speak through his stifled laughter. “She does seem to be headed in that direction.”
They all watched Mirabelle make her way efficiently through the crowd. When she reached Lady Thurston, a strangled sound issued from Whit’s throat and he set off toward the two women without a backward glance.
Alex laughed at the sight.
“Mirabelle won’t really—” Sophie began.
“No, she won’t,” Evie replied. “She loves Lady Thurston like a mother and wouldn’t upset her for the world, certainly not just to spite Whit. She just wanted to make him squirm.”
“I’d say she succeeded rather nicely,” Sophie commented.
“Yes, she did,” Evie agreed. “She manages to best Whit on a fairly regular basis. It bothers him no end, and amuses the rest of us even further. If you’ll excuse me, I had better make certain they stay clear of each other for a while.”
Sophie waited until Evie left, then turned to Alex. “Is there a particular reason those two are so angry with each other tonight?”
“Not just to night, Sophie, every night, and every day between those nights. They’ve never gotten along.”
“Really? Why ever not? She’s best friends with his sister and cousin, and his mother likes her. I like her. What’s not to like about her?”
“Don’t work yourself into a snit. I like her too. Just don’t ask Whit for a list of her faults, it’s bound to prove extensive.”
“And imagined,” Sophie scoffed.
“Now, to be fair, Mirabelle gives as good as she gets.”
“Perhaps,” she allowed. “It seems odd, though, that they shouldn’t get on together.”
“Not so unbelievable if you know the story behind it.”
“Do you know the story behind it?” she asked.
“Of course, everyone does. It’s no secret.”
Sophie thought about that for a moment. “Well, then we wouldn’t really be gossiping about our friends if you told me, would we?”
Alex gave her a winning smile and Sophie’s heart lurched in reaction. She really, really needed to get a hold of herself. Or at least learn to keep her eyes trained on the floor.
Alex chuckled. “You really are an original, and a higher compliment I cannot think to pay.”
“Oh, well…thank you then,” Sophie mumbled, feeling awkward and a little letdown. She could certainly think of a few compliments she’d rather hear from him.
Alex took her arm gently. “You’re quite welcome. Come, are you thirsty? I’ll procure us some champagne, we’ll have a seat out on the terrace, and I’ll regale you with all the sordid details of Whit and Mirabelle’s story. How does that sound?”
“If you’re sure they wouldn’t be upset.”
Alex led them to the refreshment table and handed her a flute. “I promise you they won’t mind at all. In fact, both would be more than happy to relate, at length, every nuance of that fateful afternoon, but their views are decidedly skewed. You require an objective narrator.”
“You.”
“Oh, yes. I was there, you see.”
“I feel as if we’re about to discuss the details of some horrid crime to which you were witness,” she said as he took her arm and led her outside.
“The players in this particular drama would probably agree with that description, but really it was not so very bad. They’re just too stubborn to admit it. Ah, this should do.”
The terrace was large and well lit with a few people sitting or walking about. He led her to a relatively secluded bench at the far end that afforded them a degree of privacy.
He took a drink of champagne and cleared his throat dramatically.
“The theatrics are unnecessary,” she laughed.
“Yes, most pleasures are. Now behave, I’m trying to begin an epic tale here. It requires a certain degree of concentration.”
“Yes, of course, terribly sorry.”
“Quite all right…. Where was I?”
“You hadn’t yet begun.”
“Ah, yes. It was the summer of…well, I don’t remember what year it was, but Whit and I were seventeen and here at Haldon Hall on holiday from Eton.”
“That would be 1798.”
“Beg your pardon?”
“You were seventeen then, and you’re one-and-thirty now, so the year was 1798.”
“Right. Yes, 1798 it is, or was, rather. Whit and I were home on holiday and Lady Thurston was having a house party. Quite a few people attended, including a very lovely young woman by the name of Sarah Wilheim. She was about our age, perhaps a year or two younger and an absolute angel to behold. Glorious locks of golden spun hair, eyes the color of the sky, and a bosom a man could—”
“I quite understand, Alex. She was attractive.” She scowled at him.
He winked.
Her heart lurched again.
“She was a vision,” Alex continued. “And Whit fell for her like a rock. As it happens, Mirabelle’s guardian, her uncle, lives but two miles from Haldon Hall and she was more often here than not, as is still the case. That summer she was just a tiny mite of a girl—couldn’t have been more than eleven.”
“Ten, and Kate would have been seven.”
“Excellent. May I continue?”