Page 59 of Refining the Debutante
“Miss Bartley,” Captain Grant said upon arriving by her side. He maneuvered himself in front of her and Hannah and grinned with satisfaction.
“Oh, Captain,” Miranda said in a falsely cheerful voice. She could not even encourage the one man interested in her because of her lingering feelings for Ethan and her concern for Jane, and now he had her trapped. She thought quickly. “You know my friend Miss Hannah Roderick.”
Captain Grant bowed his head to acknowledge Hannah. And then a plan came to Miranda’s mind.
“I assume you would like to dance with Miss Hannah, so I will just slip over and see to Lady Callister’s well-being.”
The captain’s mouth fell open, but he recovered quickly. Like a true gentleman, he turned to ask Hannah to favor him in the next set. Miranda made a quick dash to Lady Callister’s side, relieved for her own sake but sad to have to brush off someone as nice as Captain Grant.
“This is not a footrace,” Lady Callister said. “It is a dance. When you are finished circling this room, I do hope you will give some young men the pleasure of partnering you.”
Miranda laughed lightly. “I cannot ask a gentleman to dance, now can I? And not a one desires to ask me.”
Lady Callister scowled. “They cannot catch you. I saw the whole thing, so do not deny it.”
Miranda bit her lip to hide her smile. The music stopped, and the dancers lined up for the next reel. Hannah beamed across from Captain Grant, her smile as undemure as they came. Her happiness made Miranda’s trickery worthwhile indeed.
“All right, I admit it,” Lady Callister said, watching Hannah. “That was well done.”
“Yes,” Miranda said, “but what will Jane say? She will not speak to Hannah the rest of the night.”
Lady Callister chortled. “If Lady Gibson were here, she would see to Jane’s manners. A letter might be in order.”
“I do not think that is necessary,” Miranda said. How could she explain to Lady Callister that it was she who was behind Jane’s ill behavior? “I hate to worry Jane’s parents. I think she will be more herself when she is with her mother again. Did you not say she will return to London soon?”
“Next week. Though, I find it silly the family wants to spend the entire month of December and the holidays in such an overpopulated, gloomy place instead of at home, in peace.”
“Next week?” She thought she would be able to torment herself by seeing Ethan a few more times before his inevitable departure. Disappointment gripped her heart.
No, no, no.
It was Hannah she would miss and the opportunity to win Jane over again.
Lady Callister looked at her oddly. “What is going on in that head of yours?”
A loud crash prevented Miranda from responding. There was a clamor amongst the dancers, who now were bunched together instead of in their lines, and the music stopped.
Lady Callister grabbed Miranda with her strong, bony hand and propelled her forward. “Go see what has happened.”
Miranda hurried over to find Hannah and Miss Withers on the floor. Miss Withers’s white gown was drenched in red sherry, her face contorted with shock and disgust.
Hannah’s sweet face crumpled with tears, and she stood and fled before Miranda could reach her. Captain Grant moved to help Miss Withers stand.
“This is disgraceful. Look at me!” Miss Withers cried.
It was easy to feel sympathetic for Miss Withers. Her dress would never be the same, and clearly the woman was humiliated. Miranda found herself wondering what Lady Callister would do. Just like she had with her tenants, Lady Callister would assess the problem and then find a way to alleviate it.
Miss Withers’s problem was her dress. She needed a new dress and quickly. Miranda swallowed back any thoughts that argued against helping her. Miss Withers wasn’t the enemy, not really. Miranda had never given the woman an honest chance.
She hurried over, ignoring the whispers and stares. “Fetch some towels,” Miranda said to a footman. “Send a maid to mop this up and then another one to my room, please.” She touched Ethan’s arm. “Find Hannah.”
“Of course.” He nodded, appearing grateful for direction.
Miranda turned to Miss Withers. “Come with me.”
“I really should leave straightaway,” Miss Withers said once in the passageway. Distressed, she wiped at the stain, but her efforts made it worse.
“And end your night prematurely? Nonsense,” Miranda said. “There is much fun to be had, and you would be sorely missed.” She believed what she said to be true, even if she herself would not miss her. Together, they went up the stairs and around the corner to Miranda’s room. Once inside, Miranda guided Miss Withers to her closet and waved for her to choose from its contents.
