Her eyes widened, and finally she spoke. “I swear, Your Grace, on Sir Cinnamon’s tail, that from now on, I will do everything in my power to make you and my father proud of me. I will become a great lady…the greatest lady in theton. The next time you see me, you won’t know me. I’ll change everything I do and say. No more mischief, no more sneaking around…”
“No more racing about in the grooms’ castoff clothing?”
The incredulous, superior look she gave him at that question provided a glimpse of the lady she’d one day become. Wills was right. Blood would tell, but one-half of the blood flowing in Mina’s veins came from her mother’s line of the bluest-blooded aristocrats in England. He had no doubt Mina would become the finest lady in theton. She always succeeded at what she set her mind to accomplish.
* * *
June1831
Montcliffe Abbey
Bridget smacked Mina’s wandering fingers when they pushed side ringlets out of her eyes while her maid was trying to heat curl more of them to spill out beneath her elaborate hat. “I swear, Miss Mina. You’ve done your family proud with your manners and grace, but you’re definitely not a lady here in this room when I’m trying to make you presentable.”
Her apologetic, sorrowful glance back over her shoulder immediately mollified Bridget. In a lower voice, she whispered near Mina’s ear. “You know both your Papa and your Da are so proud of what you’ve become.”
Bridget several years ago had confided in Mina about the letters she’d been exchanging with John Taylor for years. She said she’d never intended to do so, but Mina had plagued her for months about the beau she’d assumed she was writing to every night.
She’d suspected their former former head footman at the Abbey might have been her natural father, but she’d never been certain until Bridget had told her about the letters. Ever since then, she hadn’t felt so alone, knowing she had a blood relative who truly cared for her. She was still close to her beloved Papa, Lord Rumsford, but somehow, the way he cared for her was not quite the same. But she still loved the viscount dearly.
Mina stared dreamy-eyed into the mirror. “I hope George and his new wife are happy. They seem like they’re in love. She turned abruptly to ask if Bridget thought they might be in love and narrowly escaped the sizzling curling iron Bridget kept placing back onto an iron trivet near the flames in the fireplace.
“Lah—if I get you ready to go down to your brother’s ball without setting your hair on fire, it will be a miracle.”
“Didn’t that happen to one of those mugwumps in that book you read to me when I was still in the nursery?”
“Yes, Miss Wilhelmina, it did.”
Mina’s thoughts turned pensive as she wondered what the night would bring. She hadn’t seen Julian in years. He rarely ventured back to Edgewood Estate from his London townhouse. His work in Lords with her papa had kept him busy as well as his never-ending search for the “proper wife.”
Over the years, whenever he’d whinged on and on about how hard it was to find the perfect woman, everyone in the room would roll their eyes. She could never get anyone to tell her why Julian was waiting so long to choose a wife.
Mina knew that someday a magical prince, or maybe a bear, would come to rescue her from the gray middle life she lived, almost as the de facto chatelaine of the Abbey. But Mina was a realist. If a rescuer never presented himself, she didn’t really mind the idea of spending the rest of her life enjoying the viscount’s fine stables and all the wonderful books in both his library and the one belonging to Julian at Edgewood. His estate manager, Mr. Beesley, still warmly welcomed her to join him there at any time.
Her father was in London whenever Parliament was in session, and her mother had never returned to the Abbey after she’d left for their London townhouse so many years before. Shehadmade an exception for the ball in honor of George and Anne’s nuptials.
Mina looked forward to the times in the late summer or early fall when Parliament was released and her father came home with his good friend, Sir Thomas. The two of them were happy in each other’s company, and she did not like to examine too closely why these two men had become her “family” for all of the holiday season straight through until Easter, after which Parliament would creak to life again. When they were in residence, the Abbey rang with laughter and the sounds of parties filled with their friends.
A sudden loud pounding at the chamber door broke into Mina’s thoughts. Bridget let in Lucy, who was so excited, she seemed to vibrate in the lavender satin gown their modiste had produced for her best friend.
Since this would be Mina’s official “coming out” in addition to a celebration of George’s marriage, Mrs. Phippen and Mina’s modiste had assured her the only color for her would be white. However, she had to admit the woman in London, who crafted all of her gowns from choices she plucked fromAckerman’sand measurements sent through the post, did exceptionally spectacular work with such minimal contact.
Without so much as a single “Hello,” Lucy simply blurted out her news. “Julian’s here.”
Mina instinctively gathered her skirts in preparation to slide down the bannister of the front staircase as she usually did to greet her old friend, but then she checked herself just in time. Who did he think he was to simply walk back into their lives without so much as a by-your-leave for the four previous years?
And then she nearly slapped herself in derision. He was Julian Jameson, eighth Duke of Montfort, who walked into sitting rooms, ballrooms, and gaming rooms, she’d wager as well, as if he were the most important person in theton. That was Julian. He’d never change. More importantly, the real reason she was annoyed with him was he’d apparently outgrown his need to attend her father’s annual fall masque dressed as a tall, clumsy bear.
* * *
Julian lingereda bit at the foot of the elegantly curved staircase in the Abbey entrance hall, before one of the tall, matched footmen discreetly pointed toward the entrance to the ballroom. He’d wondered for a moment where the exuberant Mina was and when she’d come whizzing down the front staircase bannister like the old tomboy he loved. The young servant snapped himself to his full height before taking Julian’s hat and cane.
Just as he was about to descend the open staircase to the ballroom, which swept across the front of the Abbey, he noticed a young woman who had beat him to the draw. She was dressed entirely in creamy white linen-lined lace, so delicate the sectioned, ballooning sleeves fell in soft folds rather than puffing out in unnatural stiffness. A fashionable white linen toque topped an impossibly intricate hairstyle with side ringlets cascading down, honey-blonde ringlets.
A perfect row of luminescent pearls adorned her slim neck and unfortunately drew the eye to an intense, frosty blue stare. The remaining virginal excess of white, flounced layers of her dress was rudely interrupted by an oriental shawl in deepest hues of blue and red the young woman wore draped over one shoulder and tucked into a wide, white lace sash.
She glided rather than walked down the steps, not rushing, nevertheless making steady progress toward the crowd below. Just then the family butler boomed out her introduction - “Miss Wilhelmina Tindall.”
George Tindall separated himself from the receiving line to walk to her side and place a soft, welcoming brotherly kiss on her forehead before drawing her over to greet his new wife. Julian was impressed, and it took a lot to impress him. George had just signaled to the high-in-the-instep,tonnishcrowd in attendance that this was his beloved baby sister, not the family scapegrace because of her birth.
