Miranda’s timely arrival had been a godsend.
Daniel had invited her knowing there was a very good chance she wouldn’t appear. But Miranda hadn’t disappointed him. She’d accepted his invitation.
Daniel had breathed a sigh of relief when he’d seen her—even though she’d been dancing the first dance of the evening—his dance—with Patrick Hollister. And he’d breathed an even bigger sigh of relief when she’d agreed to waltz him out of the ballroom. Making their way across the lawn without being seen had been trickier, but their luck had held, and he and Miranda were nearly home free.
But luck was fleeting and theirs seemed to have run out as they approached the long line of vehicles parked along both sides of the street and came face to face with Lord Espy exiting his coach.
After coming face to face with the man, Daniel couldn’t ignore him. He was acquainted with Espy. The viscount was one of Lord Bathhurst’s secretaries and was often called upon to act as liaison between Bathhurst and the Prime Minister’s government. Daniel couldn’t pretend he hadn’t seen or heard him, couldn’t pretend that Lord Espy was addressing someone else. Not when it was quite clear that Daniel was the only gentleman within hearing and that Lord Espy had directed his greeting to him.
“Evening, Espy.” Daniel returned the greeting, hoping that by doing so, Lord Espy would refrain from attempting f
urther conversation.
“Lovely night for a party.”
“Quite.” Daniel nearly groaned aloud. He focused his attention at a point above the other man’s shoulder, on the rather ornate lanterns decorating the coach. His short, clipped answer was designed to send a message to Espy to take the hint.
But Espy seemed bent on conversation and took no notice of Daniel’s one-word reply. “I didn’t expect to see you here this evening.”
“Why not?” Daniel asked. “I attend the duchess’s gala every year.”
“And the duchess’s annual gala far outstrips all the other events of the season. Mayfair is packed with partygoers, and the whole of London is buzzing with excitement. I believe the party is just getting under way.” He stared at Daniel. “I would have arrived at the appointed hour myself, but I lost precious time waiting for my brother to dock his ship. Still, I made it in good time all the same. Couldn’t outstrip you, of course, but the night is still quite young, and I vow it was impossible to think of missing the duchess’s gala. Surely you aren’t leaving already? It’s such an honor to receive an invitation that I eagerly await its arrival every year …”
Miranda gave a low, almost inaudible snort.
Daniel clenched his teeth so hard a muscle in his jaw began to tic. He should have known Miranda wouldn’t go unnoticed for long. She stood a head or more taller than most of the other women present, and that and her auburn hair made her instantly recognizable. And asking her to remain completely quiet was like asking the stars not to twinkle at night.
“Great Jupiter!” Espy exclaimed, staring at the front of Miranda’s gown. “Pardon my language, my lady, but your gown! Is anything amiss? Are you injured?”
“Nosebleed,” Miranda announced to Lord Espy, snatching the handkerchief Daniel held clutched in his fist and hastily covering her nose and mouth with it. “My family has long been prone to nosebleeds, and I’m afraid I suffered a rather severe one while dancing with His Grace.”
Lord Espy gave Miranda a sympathetic smile.
“And he kindly offered to see me home,” she continued, the handkerchief muffling her words as she stepped closer to Daniel.
Lord Espy stared at Daniel, aware that the Duke of Sussex had gallantly refrained from embarrassing his companion by introducing her while she was indisposed, but Espy recognized her nonetheless and admired the duke for his forbearance. Everyone who was anyone in the ton understood that there was no love lost between Daniel, Duke of Sussex, and Miranda, Marchioness of St. Germaine. Although no one knew what had caused their enmity, the duke and the marchioness had been thorns in each other’s sides for years. Their public disagreements and verbal sparring matches were the stuff of legends and no doubt quite capable of provoking a massive nosebleed. And probably no less than the marchioness deserved. Rumor had it that she was never invited to the Duchess of Sussex’s annual gala, but resorted to sneaking in like a common gate-crasher. And it was said that the duke had had the unenviable task of escorting her off the premises on more than one occasion.
“A shame,” Espy clucked his tongue, “for you to miss the grandest party of the season, my lady.”
“Indeed,” she murmured.
“And a disappointment for you as well, Your Grace,” Lord Espy continued.
Daniel focused his gaze on the older gentleman, amazed to find that the other man honestly imagined he regretted missing his mother’s party for any reason—especially for an indisposed companion.
What Daniel regretted was the fact that Espy obviously didn’t understand his true measure as a gentleman.
Miranda wasn’t indisposed. He was. But Miranda was proving to be an exceptional actress, and Lord Espy had believed her story. If the reverse had been true and Miranda had been indisposed, Daniel would have gladly volunteered to see her safely home from his mother’s party or from any other social function without a single hesitation or regret. “Quite.” Daniel understood, even if over half the members of the ton did not, that the people attending them were always more important than the functions. “If you’ll excuse us, Espy,” Daniel replied firmly, taking hold of Miranda’s arm and gripping it harder than he intended in an effort to steady himself. “I’m sure the lady would like to be on her way.”
Miranda nodded.
“Yes, of course, Your Grace.” Espy stepped aside to allow them to pass. “Please remember me to your lovely mother, Lady St. Germaine.”
Miranda stared at Lord Espy over the top of Daniel’s handkerchief, bristling at the older man’s audacity in using her name when Daniel had quite purposefully not introduced her. Miranda braced herself against Daniel’s weight in an effort to maintain the fiction that she was indisposed instead of him.
“Since I am sure you understand how the young lady might find her condition to be somewhat distressing and …” Daniel continued.
“Mortifying,” Miranda corrected, her words muffled by the handkerchief.