With one of his affable grins her brother bowed and disappeared in the direction of the nearest refreshment table. She might have found his information about the expected arrival time for the MacTaggerts helpful, but he had no cause to know that. At least she could put Aden MacTaggert from her thoughts now, though she had no idea why she kept conjuring him, anyway. Perhaps it wasbecause he should look as odious on the outside as a gambler was on the inside, and he simply didn’t. Annoying man.
A group of her friends had begun forming at one end of the room, but for the moment she remained content to observe, and to look for more yellow chiffon gowns. At least Mrs. Allen had cut the two dresses differently. While Lady Caroline’s boasted half sleeves and a straight neckline, her own had a gathered waist, short, puffed sleeves, and a deep, rounded neckline her mother had deemed “nearly scandalous.” Miranda liked being in the “nearly” category. It made her feel a little daring while never earning her more than the occasional raised eyebrow from the powdered wig-wearing set of elders.
“Here you go,” Matthew said, handing over the brimming glass of orange-colored liquid.
“Thank you.” She took a sip.Oh, good heavens.Lady Gaines had clearly been experimenting with her culinary creations again. Orange and… Oh, crushed marigold? Miranda put her hand over her mouth to keep from spitting it out. The marigold explained the dark, vibrant color, but in that concentration, it was unbearably bitter. “Sweet angel of mercy,” she gasped. “That would curl the wallpaper.”
“Would it? Hand it over,” her brother demanded.
Giving it back to him, eyes watering from the bitterness of it, she pulled a handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed at her eyes. Lady Gaines must have decimated an entire field of marigolds. No doubt their hostess had been attempting to find the perfect orange color rather than bothering over the taste of the concoction.
He tasted it himself, because of course he would. With a grimace he put it on the tray of the nearest passing footman. “With a pint—or a gallon—of vodka added, I imagine it would be nearly tolerable,” he commented, thencleared his throat. “You are dancing this evening, aren’t you?”
“Of course. I missed the last three grand balls tending Aunt Beatrice and the babies. They are darlings, and I don’t begrudge them a moment of the weeks spent away from London, but it is nice to be back again. And to not find dried porridge in my hair.”
When Matthew didn’t respond to that she glanced over at him, to find his attention on the doorway. Lord George Humphries stood giving his greetings to Sir Eldon Gaines and his wife Lady Harriet, but her brother’s gaze was on the tall man in the naval captain’s uniform beside Lord George.
“Who is that?” she asked, taking in the deep-set eyes beneath a prominent brow, the narrow, thin-lipped mouth, and the long, straight, down-angled nose in between. With short, upright brown hair to complete the ensemble, in profile he looked rather like a crested bird of prey, a blue-dressed falcon grown too large for perching in trees.
“Hm?” Matthew started a little as he turned to look at her.
“Who is that with Lord George?” she repeated.
“Oh. It’s his cousin. Captain Robert Vale. He’s been in India for a time.”
That would explain why she didn’t recognize him. Lord George and her brother practically lived in each other’s pockets, after all, and at three-and-twenty this was her fifth Season in London—yet her first sighting of this species of falcon. “Is he here on leave, then, or—”
Matthew offered his arm. “Come on. I’ll introduce you.”
“That’s not nec—”
“Come on, Mia.”
When she put her hand over his sleeve, he seemed…stiff, his muscles tight. For her easygoing brother to be tense about anything immediately seemed odd. He’d recently been introduced to his fiancée’s three towering Highlander brothers, after all, and Father said he’d barely batted an eye. And they’d suggesting drinking and brawling as a get-acquainted ritual. “Matthew,” she muttered, “what is—”
“Captain Vale,” he said over her protest, stopping before the two men. “My younger sister, Miranda. Mia, Captain Robert Vale. George’s cousin.”
The captain, hat beneath his arm, swept a bow before he took her hand and bent over it. “Miss Harris. I’ve heard a great deal about you. So glad we could finally meet.”
He had a falcon’s eyes, as well, light-brown with a hint of amber, and a direct, unblinking gaze—almost as if she were a rabbit he’d just spied. Of course, his predatory appearance wasn’t his fault, and he spoke mildly enough, but even so she retrieved her hand the moment she could politely do so. “Captain. Matthew says you’ve been in India,” she said anyway, because her brother seemed to like him. “Are you here on leave?”
“No. I’ve retired,” he returned. “I’m deciding my future, as it were. I have friends and business connections in India, but it’s a very… warm place. I prefer a cooler clime.”
“I imagine itwouldbe quite warm. Were you not on the water, though?”
He lowered his head a little, eyes still on her. “It’s warm on the water, as well. Not quite as hot and humid as it is inland, however.”
“Mia, give Vale a waltz, won’t you?” Matthew put in abruptly. “Help welcome him home.”
She would have preferred not to, and Matthew needed to have his foot trodden upon for even makingthe suggestion, but she’d been trapped into it now. “Certainly.” Summoning a smile, she retrieved her dance card and pencil from her reticule and handed them over to the captain.
“The third one’s a waltz,” Matthew pointed out helpfully, reaching over her shoulder to gesture at the appropriate line.
As the captain wroteValein a neat hand on the appropriate line, Miranda abruptly wished she’d joined her friends when she’d had the chance. All the dances on her card would have been taken, or at least the two waltzes, but instead she’d decided to look for yellow dresses. Dash it all.
Hopefully Captain Vale could dance adequately, because she didn’t wish to have her toes crushed. And hopefully he could carry on a polite conversation, because nothing was worse than standing face-to-face with someone and attempting to carry on a chat by herself. Still smiling, she retrieved her card. “I’ll leave you three to chat,” she said, giving a shallow curtsy. “I see my friend Helen, and I promised her a moment.”
It was a lie, of course, but Vale clicked his heels together. “There is nothing more important than honoring a promise.”
