Once Upon a Wallflower

Mira nodded sympathetically, then waited for George to continue. An uneasy silence stretched between them.

“What can I do for you, Uncle George?” Mira prompted gently.

“Yes, well, now.” He paused, and Mira was afraid she would get nothing out of him other than nervous interjections. But suddenly he blurted, “The messenger has arrived.”

Mira blinked. “What messenger?”

“The, um, the messenger from London. With the certification of the banns. You and Ashfield can be married now.”

“Oh.”

“Blackwell wants to have the marriage solemnized tomorrow morning.”

“Oh.”

So her time was up. Mira would have to decide once and for all whether she would go through with the wedding. There would be no more delays, and whatever she decided now would be irrevocable. She felt faint.

“Yes, well, um…” George muttered.

“There is more?”

“Yes.”

Mira watched in amazement as George took a deep breath and drew himself up. He was taller than Mira had realized. And with his features drawn into an expression of earnest dignity, George was almost handsome.

A pang of emotion rocked Mira as George’s resemblance to her own father came into focus.

“Mira, I…” George cleared his throat and fixed his gaze somewhere over Mira’s left shoulder. “I want to apologize for placing you in this situation,” he continued. “You are my own brother’s only child. And I, uh, I loved my brother very much.

“I have not always done right by you. I know that. But I want to make amends now. I cannot just stand aside and see you marry a dangerous man, especially to cover my own debt. I want you to take this.” George drew his hands from behind his back. He held a leather sack in one hand and a velvet sack in the other, and he offered them both to Mira.

Dazedly, she reached out to accept them.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much ready,” he said with a nod toward the leather satchel. “Never do. But that’s all the coin I have, and it should be enough for you to find a coach back to London or to wherever you wish to go. The other is a necklace. Belonged to your grandmother. Kitty doesn’t know about that one. I was saving it for you.” George blushed. “If you sell it, it should fetch enough to set you up in a small cottage somewhere. And I will do my best to send along more money when I can.”

Mira struggled to find something to say, but she was too stunned for words.

“So.” George heaved a great sigh, as though he had just climbed a steep hill. “So now the choice is yours. I cannot offer you a life of luxury, but if you can tolerate a bit of genteel poverty, you do not need to marry Ashfield. It is up to you.”

Mira swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Thank you, Uncle George. But what about your debt to Blackwell?”

George colored deeply, but he waved his hand dismissively. “A matter between gentlemen. I will handle that. Nothing for you to worry about.” It was not a convincing lie, but Mira was touched by his effort.

“Thank you,” she repeated.

“Yes, well, I should be going. Your Aunt Kitty wants me to go hunting with Blackwell and the other men. Hate guns, I do. Terrible shot. But appearances and all.” He inched toward the still-open door, but paused on the threshold. “I suppose I will see you at dinner. Everyone will be going on to the Midsummer festivities later,” he added, his voice heavy with meaning. After giving Mira one last long, searching look, George slipped out the doorway and began ambling down the hall.

She watched him go, still trying to digest this turn of events. When he disappeared from sight, she leaned into the door to close it, but before she could swing it shut, Nicholas appeared as if from thin air and raised his hand to halt the door’s momentum.

Startled, Mira jumped back and let out a little yelp.

“Good morning.” Nicholas made his way into the room without waiting for an invitation. After their intimacy of the night before, she supposed he was entitled to that presumption.

Careful to conceal the bags George had given her in the folds of her skirt, Mira moved slowly toward the blue velvet settee. She was not yet ready to see him. She was still too unsettled, too unsure of her own heart and mind. She needed to sit down. “Good morning, Nicholas,” she managed, the words clumsy in her mouth.