Grateful for any reprieve from the chore of needlework, Mira dashed down the stairs, skidded across the small stretch of marble in the entryway, and flung open the door.
On the doorstep she found a liveried servant, a pale and haughty-looking young man wearing black and silver silks, his neatly rolled and powdered hair nearly blinding in the afternoon sun.
For an instant he appeared taken aback by the unconventional greeting, but he quickly regained his composure and cleared his throat. “Ahem. I have a package for a Miss Mirabelle Fitzhenry.”
Ah, Mira thought, another gift for Bella from another admiring suitor. She mustered up a thin smile for the man and, with a tight “Thank you,” accepted the small red box and the folded missive that accompanied it. Without further ado, the manservant turned on his heel and hurried the few short steps to the coach that stood waiting for him.
The housekeeper was in the habit of placing invitations and notes on a silver tray on the console table in the entryway until their recipients were at home to receive them. This afternoon, the tray overflowed with correspondence for Bella and Kitty, who were out shopping for clothing for the Blackwell house party. As soon as word had spread that a Fitzhenry girl was to marry the Blackwell heir, invitations had started pouring in.
The Ellerby family was infamous. Blackwell was a brazen rake, an out-and-out bounder, whose debauchery had barely abated as he aged. His father, Nicholas’s grandfather, had been a hard man, some would say he was downright evil, who had brutally betrayed any number of friends in his quest for political power. Somewhere along the line, there had been rumors that one of Nicholas’s uncles had gone mad and had refused to wear clothing—once coming down to a dinner party dressed only in red-heeled shoes and a neatly tied cravat—so that the family had been forced to lock him away at some remote property. The whole family was generally considered wild and unpredictable, and Nicholas had only aggravated the family reputation with his unconventional style, his unsociable personality, and the rampant rumors of murder.
So it was little wonder that people should be intrigued by the family brave enough—or greedy enough—to sacrifice one of their young on the altar of matrimony for the sake of the Ellerby fortune. Especially after what had happened the last time, to poor Olivia Linworth.
Aunt Kitty, of course, ascribed their newfound popularity to Bella’s beauty and charm.
Whatever the reason, the Fitzhenrys were now all the crack.
Mira stopped by the entry table, meaning to balance the red package on the toppling pile of invitations. As she did so, she happened to glance at the note tucked beneath the white satin ribbon.
Odd. The note was addressed to “Mira.” Not Miss Fitzhenry, or Bella, or even Mirabelle. No, it was addressed to Mira. Could it truly be for her?
Overcome with curiosity, she popped the seal on the note with her fingernail and, after a quick glance around to be sure she was alone, unfolded the paper. The missive was brief, written in a bold and elaborate script.
Mira,
I thought you might appreciate this.
Regards,
Nicholas
The package truly was for her. From Nicholas. A curious stirring of excitement made her feel light and fluttery, yet warm at the same time.
As she reached for the red box, her hand trembled ever so slightly in anticipation, but the movement was just enough to send the package and notes sliding to the floor.
Mira did not mean to read any of the notes as she bent to gather them, but the seal on one had already been broken, and the fall to the floor had caused the paper to unfold, revealing the script inside. Picking it up, she could not help but notice the words “Mira” and “wedding” and “Blackwell.”
A frisson of trepidation shivered down her spine. Since the note clearly pertained to her, she could not resist reading it.
Addressed to Uncle George, the page was covered with a frenetic scrawl, the letters and lines drawn close together so as to fit more on a single page.
Fitzhenry,
It would seem that, despite your best efforts to muck up this affair, we have a wedding to plan. It is important we strike while the iron is hot. Indeed, if it would not fuel further gossip, I would procure a special license and have done with this today.