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The feathers waving on her head restricted her movement, unlike Mira, with her garland of flowers, who could spring through country dances, her head moving this way and that. She tried to copy Mira’s liveliness of step but succeeded only in looking awkward.
     
    She felt that Mira had somehow tricked her, had deliberately set out to outdo her, and plotted revenge.
     
    The following day Drusilla’s amour propre was further damaged by the servants, who had all learned of Mira’s success at the ball, and Drusilla treated Betty, the maid, very highly and threw the hairbrush at her, for Betty had dared to chatter on about how well Miss Mira had looked.
     
    After she had dismissed the maid, Drusilla sat and thought. Mira deserved to be hurt for all her scheming, and the way to hurt Mira was through Charles. If she, Drusilla, could work Charles up to giving Mira a really blistering lecture, then Mira would be unhappy, and an unhappy Mira would lose that strange radiance she had so lately acquired.
     
    And as Drusilla sat and thought about Mira, in Grosvenor Square, the marquess was also thinking about her. He was contrasting her with the lady present, who was everything Mira was not. His mother was visiting him, and the dowager marchioness had brought a “young” friend with her, a certain Lady Jansen. Lady Jansen was in her late twenties and a widow. She was calm and elegant, exquisitely gowned, and had no doubt been brought round, the marquess reflected cynically, to see if she could catch his eye. His mother was a tireless matchmaker on his behalf and constantly bemoaning her lack of grandchildren. But for the first time he had to admit he was interested. There was something very soothing in this lady of good sense, who was nearer him in years than the young misses of the Season. She had brown hair fashionably dressed in one of the new Roman styles, large pale blue eyes, a straight nose, and a small mouth. She had a generous bosom hoisted up high with a bodice, but then that was the fashion. Her husband, he learned, had died of cholera three years before.
     
    “I saw you at the ball last night,” said Lady Jansen, “paying court to all the pretty young girls.”
     
    “Had I seen you, Lady Jansen,” said the marquess gallantly, “I would have had eyes for no other.”
     
    “That little chit with the green eyes is Mira Markham, is she not?”
     
    “Yes.”
     
    Lady Jansen gave a light laugh. “I was surprised to see her being asked to dance even once after her rowdy behavior toward her sister. Do you know, my lord, that she pushed her sister into a goldfish pool?”
     
    “I am aware of that episode.”
     
    “I am surprised her mother did not send her packing to the country. She is ruining her beautiful sister’s chances. The Markhams’ vouchers to Almack’s have been refused.”
     
    “They will survive,” said the dowager marchioness. “Those patronesses are becoming much too haughty. They are turning down so many people of note that if they are not careful, one will gain a cachet by being refused.”
     
    “What did you think of Miss Mira?” pursued Lady Jansen.
     
    “I found her very refreshing,” replied the marquess. “In fact, I am to take her driving this afternoon.”
     
    “Is that wise?” demanded his mother sharply. She was a small woman and rather fat but still had a commanding air. “Mira Markham has disgraced herself, and I do not see why you should go out of your way to bring her into fashion.”
     
    The marquess laughed. “She is a hoyden, and she amuses me. I will tell you something, but you must promise not to tell anyone else.”
     
    Both ladies swore they would not breathe a word.
     
    He told them about Mira’s acting as his tiger. Despite her shock and disapproval the dowager marchioness could not help laughing. “I cannot but admire such courage in a girl,” she said when he had finished.
     
    “Exactly,” said the marquess. “So I am doing one more favor for