Kate leaned forward and grasped her hand. “You don’t have to go, you know. If you’d just tell Mother you want to stay, she’d see it done.”
Mirabelle turned her hand over and gave her friend’s a squeeze. Lady Thurston would no doubt try. Unfortunately, according to the terms set out in her parents’ will, Mirabelle’s guardian received a yearly stipend of three hundred pounds, until she reached the age of seven-and-twenty, provided she spent a minimum of six weeks every year under his roof. Mirabelle assumed it was a precaution taken to ensure she wasn’t simply shipped off to the poor house. Good intentions that had done more harm than good.
“I know, but my uncle would make it so difficult, and I won’t bring that sort of battle into your home.”
“How much longer until the will runs out and you’re ours for good?” Evie inquired.
“Not long, less than two years.”
That knowledge had played a key factor in her decision to purchase a new gown. She would no longer need her paltry savings of eighty pounds after her twenty-seventh birthday. Her parents had evidently decided that if she hadn’t managed to land a husband by that age, it was likely she never would, and then her inheritance of five thousand pounds—currently a dowry—would be hers to do with as she pleased.
It would please her very much, she thought, to have a house of her own—where people would come to visit her for a change.
Her musings were interrupted when Thompson, the butler, entered the room.
“The Duke and Duchess of Rockeforte have arrived,” he informed them before wisely stepping aside as the three women made a dash for the door.
Three
The duke and duchess—better known to their close friends as Alex and Sophie—were, in Mirabelle’s opinion, the most delightful couple in all of England. She could see the pair now through the open front doors as they descended from the carriage—a markedly handsome man handing down a beautiful and obviously pregnant young woman.
Mirabelle had known Alex since childhood. His mother and Lady Thurston had been lifelong friends, and when a young Alex had been left orphaned, Lady Thurston had opened her doors and her heart to him and had become, in essence, a second mother. He was as tall as Whit, but a bit broader in the arms and chest. His hair was a rich coffee color, and his eyes a misty green that once had a wariness about them, but were now filled with laughter.
Mirabelle had made Sophie’s acquaintance less than two years previously, but they had become the fastest of friends in a matter of days. She was a fascinating woman, having traveled the world for years before she married Alex, and been involved in any number of outrageous adventures along the way. Her hair was a dark mahogany and her eyes a crisp blue, which, like Alex’s, usually shone bright and happy. Just now, however, they were snapping with irritation.
“While I’m sure numbness about the hands is a widely held complaint amongst women in my condition,” she was saying in a tone simply dripping with sarcasm, “I find that I am miraculously unaffected. Please hand me my reticule.”
“No.”
Mirabelle may not have recognized the language Sophie responded in, but she could fathom the content well enough. Curses had a sort of ring about them.
Sophie broke off when she caught sight of the group from the house. What followed was not the ton’s usual round of stilted greetings. There was no formality here as the women laughed and embraced, speaking over each other in their excitement. It was, Mirabelle thought, the way of family—of sisters and brothers.
The newcomers were ushered into the house with a great deal of noise and movement. Boxes and trunks were hauled from the carriage and into the hall, a maid was called to take coats and hats, and refreshments were offered in the parlor.
“I’m sure Alex would prefer to take his tea with Whit,” Sophie interjected before Alex could speak.
“I would, in fact, but only if you’ll promise to sit down while you take yours.” Alex grinned at his wife and planted a brief and gentle kiss on her cheek. It was an easy affection Mirabelle supposed he probably indulged in several times a day, but there was a sweetness to it that had her wondering, as she had a time or two in the past, what it might be like to know that sort of love. It was a thought she quickly pushed aside. Love was reserved for the beautiful, the lucky, and the incurably romantic. She wasn’t even remotely qualified.
Sophie pursed her lips at her husband. “Sitting is the usual way of taking tea.”
“So it is, but as the usual way and your way so rarely coincide—”
“I’ll sit,” Sophie ground out.
“Excellent. Is Whit in the study?” Alex asked Thompson.
“He is, Your Grace.”
Sophie rolled her eyes at Alex’s retreating back before walking into the parlor and—true to her word—taking a seat in an overstuffed chair.
“Would you like something to eat?” Evie asked as Kate poured tea.