Philip had explained the importance of the last piece of information to those visiting the palace from London in previous centuries when they traveled there predominantly by barge. Knowing the high water helped with speed of arrival and also made sure the return trip didn’t put a barge near London Bridge during times of its greatest tidal ebb. Doing so would risk the barge being swept into the starlings when the Thames height might differ by six feet on either side of the bridge.
“You’ve heard the saying,” Philip had reminded her. “London Bridge is for wise men to pass over, and for fools to pass under.”
Miranda continued with her description for her cousins.
As for architecture, I preferred the sections by Sir Christopher Wren with the perfect symmetry of his Fountain Court and all its columns and the elegance of the south front, with its colorful red brick and white trim and windows. I wish you both could have been with me.
Instead, she’d toured with her well-rested aunt and the rather subdued Lord Mercer. On her part, Miranda had fallen directly asleep to awaken bemused by what had taken place the night before. The brandy had certainly relaxed her, but also had put her into a mischievous, careless state. She couldn’t imagine why else she would have behaved as boldly and recklessly as she had.
She’d held Philip’s arousal in her hand!
All day long that thought had passed through her mind, making her glance often at him, distracting her from Hampton Court’s tapestries and gardens. Recalling how he’d put his head back and spent onto the floor beside them, she was shocked at what she’d done but glad to have pleased him the way he had for her on the day of the boating incident.
When he had dropped her and Aunt Lucinda off at home by dinnertime, she’d wished they could have had a single moment alone, although what she wanted to tell him or to hear in return, she had no idea.
“Thank you, Lord Mercer. I had a perfect time,” was all she’d said while Aunt Lucinda looked on.
His cheeks had seemed to darken. He nodded and bid her good evening.
Sighing, she’d watched him leave, keenly aware once again that he had wanted to end their arrangement before they had gone to the races. Perhaps at the next ball, she might make him tell her why or whether he had changed his mind.
WHEN THEY ARRIVED AT the ball, the difference in Philip’s behavior became apparent. He found two chairs by the edge of the great room, one for her and one for her aunt. And then, he had promptly abandoned them. Or at least, Miranda felt it thusly, for he didn’t even ask for the first dance as an escort should.
In the carriage, he had not engaged beyond niceties. Miranda considered it fortunate the ride between her home and the exclusive Hanover Square wasn’t terribly long.
“Lord Mercer is in a tweague over something,” Aunt Lucinda said, as they watched him stride across the ballroom and out of sight.
Miranda shrugged. She couldn’t tell her aunt anything about what might be bothering him and, therefore, said nothing.
“There you are,” Lady Harriet said, approaching with Lady Emily and her brother, Lord Beaumont, who was often her chaperone. “I love your dress! It is divine. Isn’t her dress divine?” she asked her friend.
“Absolutely,” Lady Emily concurred. Lord Beaumont looked bored as usual.
“Where is your escort?” Lady Harriet asked after all proper greetings had been given and received.
“I’m afraid I do not know,” Miranda confessed.
“But the first dance will start soon,” Lady Emily said. “Has another man asked you yet?”
“No, but I needn’t dance every dance,” she pointed out.
“Notevery,” Lady Harriet agreed, “but the first. Especially if you are to secure a husband in the short time left. Brother!”
“What?” Lord Beaumont asked.
Miranda thought their tone nearly always sounded as though they were cross when speaking to one another.
“Do you have wool between your ears?” Lady Harriet demanded.
“Most probably,” Lord Beaumont said. “Better than having it stuffed down the front of one’s bodice.”
Lady Emily gasped, and Miranda looked at her aunt, hardly believing a brother would say such a thing about his own sister. Yet Lady Harriet merely rolled her eyes at her brother’s rudeness.
“Brother, dear, is that the best you can do? Are you going to behave like a gentleman and dance with Miss Bright or stand here like a churl?”
Miranda had no desire to dance with the sullen, insolent man and hoped to divert him.
“What of Lady Emily?”
