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skidded across the veranda, chasing Lord Alec, who had no doubt started it, yelling like a tribe of
heathens. They dodged from tree to barren tree, leaped the evergreen parterres, and tackled each other
like overgrown schoolboys without their coats on, snowballs whizzing back and forth. At first she thought
it was the twins against Robert and Alec, but she soon realized it was every man for himself. All the
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while, the duke s big watchdogs leaped and barked all around them, tails wagging, and tried to catch the
snowballs in their jaws.
Without warning, Alec let out a war cry like a Highlander and charged Lucien, diving on him. As they
went tumbling onto the snowy ground, Robert foiled Alec s victory by stuffing snow down the back of his
shirt; Damien, laughing, came to his youngest brother s rescue in turn, flattening Robert with a ready
swipe of a kick to the back of his knees. The duke went down with a yelp; then the others scrambled.
The snow flew once more, and the skirmish moved off around the corner of the house, where Miranda
could no longer see.
She blinked in astonishment after they had gone. Had her eyes deceived her? Either it was Christmas
bringing out the naughty children in them or they were all perfectly mad, she thought, her eyes twinkling,
but she felt her heart lift with joy. As she raised her gaze to the night sky, she made a wish upon a star
that she could win Damien s love and always be a part of this family.
Withdrawing silently, she went back to her own room and curled up contentedly in bed, feeling safer and
more cared about than she had since her parents had been alive.
Holland House in Kensington was a grand Jacobean manor of dark brown brick edged with white
piping. It was festooned for the Christmas party with candles, ribbons, and bows. From the distance of
the surrounding park, Miranda thought it looked like an elaborate gingerbread palace. Her red satin
ballgown had been delivered a mere hour before it was time to climb into the Hawkscliffes town coach
to go to her very first ball.
As the coach rolled up the lantern-lit drive, Damien and the duke argued idly over the political leanings
of their hosts, for Lord and Lady Holland were leaders of Whig society, while Damien was a staunch
Tory. Fortunately, members of the opposing parties were quite willing to socialize together, for they were
still united by their exalted rank in the world.
As the gleaming black coach glided to a halt before the busy entrance of Holland House, Miranda
glanced at Damien and thought him unbearably handsome in his full-dress uniform. Her heart raced in
equal parts joy and dread of making some blunder as he assisted her down from the coach, then
escorted her into the grand entrance, with the duke and duchess of Hawkscliffe a step ahead of them.
Scarcely able to believe she, the erstwhile rebel of Yardley School, was actually going to a real Society
ball, Miranda clung to Damien s arm and hid her giddy lightheadedness. Wide-eyed and on her best
behavior, she filed into the crowded entrance hall, where the guests had converged in great cheer. They
were calling out greetings to each other as they handed off coats, hats, and wraps to the footmen. Some
of the ladies had sat down on the bench by the wall and were exchanging their sturdy, warm shoes for
dainty dancing slippers, while liveried servants offered each newly arrived guest a cup of
delicious-smelling soup or negus, so they might warm themselves from the elements before ascending,
red-nosed, to the ballroom.
Miranda allowed one of the Hollands footmen to take her fur-lined pelisse and the luxurious muff that
Lord Alec had given her for Christmas, then followed the duchess s lead, accepting a dainty cup of soup.
She took only a few nervous sips before nodding her agreement that they go up to the party directly.
Above the music from the chamber orchestra and the din of the gala in progress, they were announced
to the gathering as they entered. In all her nineteen years, Miranda could remember no prouder moment
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than walking into the sprawling ballroom on the arm of her distinguished guardian.
Garlands of evergreen boughs adorned the long gallery, and sprigs of mistletoe hung from every carved
doorway and glittering chandelier. Beyond the windows, flurries floated to earth like the sugar coating
that sparkled on the magnificent plum cake, enthroned on a crystal dish in the center of the heavily laden
refreshment table.
With Hawkscliffe and Damien in tow, the duchess led Miranda over to their hostess, a heavyset woman
with dark curls and brilliant eyes that gleamed with sharp wit. As they approached, Miranda was
astonished to overhear Lady Holland telling another guest how she and her husband had sent jars of jam
and crates of books to Napoleon on Elba as a Christmas present. Incredulous, Miranda glanced at
Damien in question. He did not notice her glance, but she knew that he had heard the woman s boast, for
he bristled as he sauntered over.
When Lady Holland turned from her guest to greet them, the duchess presented Miranda to her.
Miranda curtseyed and thanked the baroness for allowing her to come. The baroness gave her a cursory
glance, nodded, and engaged the Hawkscliffes in conversation just as Lord and Lady Lucien came
weaving through the crowd toward them, hand in hand.
After the newlyweds had greeted their hostess, the four of them drifted away from the small, laughing
crowd around Lady Holland. The twins were mobbed by people who gathered around and greeted
them. Alice seemed to know everyone, too. Miranda stood beside Damien, trying not to look too visibly
uncomfortable. It would have been an easy matter to strike up conversation with some of the people she
was introduced to in rapid succession, but she was terrified of accidentally treading upon some rule of [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]