A Kiss from the Heart (15 page)

“Can't smell a darned thing!” he replied. “I have had seventeen doctors attend to me and none of the blighters can find what is wrong!”

But as he held forth about the inefficiency of the medical profession, once again, Miranda was not paying attention.

Lord Brookfield was staring down the table at her with an expression of smugness and triumph that seemed to say ‘so you thought you had escaped me? I warned you, I would come and find you!'

Miranda shivered in her satin evening dress and looked away with her cheeks burning.

‘I just cannot believe he is here!' she wept silently. ‘How can I protect myself? Oh, I am in so much danger!'

“My dear, you are looking quite pale. Shall I call your father over?”

Sir Peter gave Miranda such a concerned look. He could see even with his poor eyesight that the girl was shaking from head to foot.

“And you have hardly touched your
poussin
– ”

“I do rather feel a little unwell,” admitted Miranda, trying to catch her father's eye.

Sir Peter called over the nearest footman.

“Sir George's daughter is most unwell. Would you please inform him at once? He is the gentleman with the moustache at the end of the table.”

The footman bowed and hurried down the line of diners to where Sir George was sitting.

“I must apologise to you, Sir Peter, if I have appeared rude this evening,” said Miranda.

“Hush! Look, here is your father now.”

“Miranda!” cried Sir George. “What ails you?”

“Father, I need to go home at once. May I speak with you outside?”

Sir George looked puzzled, but he offered Miranda his arm and she arose from her seat.

In a flash the Earl was beside him.

“Miranda! Whatever is the matter?” he implored her anxiously.

“I feel a little unwell. Papa is taking me outside for some air.”

“But there is a string quartet after dinner. It would be a shame for you to miss it. I had hoped that you would do me the honour of sitting with me.”

Silently she laid her hand upon the Earl's arm and it was as if he had received a jolt of lightning. Feeling her dear warm hand upon him caused his blood to pound.

“You must allow me to see you to your carriage!”

“No! I shall be quite all right with Papa.”

Outside in the hall, Miranda began to cry.

“Papa – Lord Brookfield – he is
here
!”

“What do you mean?” asked her father, feeling sick to his stomach.

“He was at the dinner table,” answered Miranda, miserably wringing her handkerchief between her fingers. “As a guest of the Templeton's!”

By now, the diners had begun to trickle out of the dining room towards the ballroom.

Miranda could hear the sounds of the string quartet tuning up their instruments.

“Of course you must go at once,” said Sir George. “Take the carriage and have it return to pick me up later. Shall I have Stringer call the Police?”

“What could they do?” she sobbed, dabbing at her eyes. “It is not as if he has done anything wrong. He has merely eaten dinner in the same room as me and that does not constitute a crime. Now, please return and enjoy the rest of your evening. The music is about to begin and the Countess will be unhappy if you leave her for too long!”

Sir George kissed her farewell and then strode off towards the strains of music emanating from the ballroom.

A few moments later a footman brought Miranda's cloak and she waited in the hall for the family carriage to be brought to the front entrance.

As she had her back to the dining room, she did not see Lord Brookfield snaking his way towards her.

He was upon her before she realised it and had grabbed hold of her wrist so tightly that it brought tears to her eyes.

“Stop!” she cried.

But there was no one else around. The sounds of the string quartet wafted over the air and she knew that he had chosen his moment well.

“So, you thought you could get away from me, did you?” he snarled, holding her wrist in his iron grip. “How stupid you must think I am if you did not believe that I would follow you here! Miranda, you have underestimated me!”

“Stop, you are hurting me!” she pleaded.

“Silly fool!” he spat, pulling her towards him.

“I say, is everything all right here?”

The Earl's voice came ringing down the hall.

Stringer had informed him that one of his guests was leaving early and he wanted to investigate the reason.

Lord Brookfield swiftly let go of Miranda's wrist, but seemed quite unperplexed to have been caught, as it were, red-handed.

“Everything is well,” he responded. “Miss Whitby slipped on something and I managed to catch her. I do hope that I have not hurt you with my rather rough attempt at rescue, Miss Whitby?”

The tone in which he spoke told Miranda that he would not expect any protest from her.

Terrified of what might happen should she blurt out what had really transpired, she simply concurred.

“Yes, that is correct. Please return to your guests, Robert, my carriage should be here in a moment.”

The Earl hesitated.

He looked first at Miranda and then back to Lord Brookfield.

There was something unreal about the atmosphere between them that gave him cause for concern.

“If you are quite certain – ” he replied, taking Miranda's hand.

“Yes, I am.”

He kissed the silky satin of her evening glove and wished he could tear off the buttons and cover her wrists with kisses.

Ashamed of having such craven thoughts, he turned on his heel and left.

“Miss Whitby, your carriage is waiting.”

Stringer loomed close by as if to protect her.

He did not like the look of this interloper one bit! One minute a stranger and the next wheedling his way into the family!

“Come, I will accompany you, miss,” offered Stringer and Miranda gratefully followed him to the door.

She did not look back, but moved quickly towards the open carriage door that awaited her.

All the way back to The Grange, she could not stop crying.

‘I thought I had managed to escape from him and now he has followed me here! First thing tomorrow, I must inform the Earl about what happened in London and throw myself on his mercy. I can only hope he will help me and protect me!'

*

Lord Brookfield made his way back to the ballroom just as the string quartet was finishing the first half of the performance.

He clapped politely as he stood at the back of the room and noticed with a smirk that the Earl appeared to be very much engaged with Lady Waterton.

Or so it appeared at first glance.

“You have ignored me all the evening,” she pouted, unfurling her Chinese fan and waving it vigorously in front of her face. “I am broken-hearted!”

“Lady Waterton, no offence is meant. It is simply that I have been occupied with my guests, some of whom I have not seen for five years or more.”

“But I am your guest too,” she continued to press the matter. “I was hoping that we would spend some time alone this evening. Instead I find you have been chasing after that Whitby girl. What a fuss she caused at the dining table!”

“She felt a little unwell and asked for her carriage. I don't see how that constitutes creating a fuss,” retorted the Earl with irritation rising in his throat.

“I fail to understand why you concern yourself with such a dull little thing,” said Lady Waterton waspishly. “I have seen the lovesick eyes she casts at you and it is quite plain that the poor child has developed something of an infatuation for you. As if you could view her in that light – the very idea!”

Lady Waterton laughed a brittle laugh and then snapped her fan shut. Her eyes now glittered with the challenge she had thrown at him and she was fully confident that he would join in the joke and agree with her.

“I have known Miss Whitby since we were both children,” snapped the Earl, trying hard not to lose his temper. “And I do not see what is so outrageous about the idea that I might return her feelings! She is no child, Lady Waterton, she is only a few years younger than I.”

Her face was a look of utter astonishment.

“But surely you would not consider her – ”

“What, as a potential sweetheart or wife?” he spat, as he turned his fury upon her. “And why should I not? Because she is not
you
?”

There was no stopping him now, all the resentment that he had felt over the past weeks while Lady Waterton swanned around his home as if she was about to inherit it herself, boiled over.

He lowered his voice.

“Do not think for an instant that I don't know what you and Mama are up to,” he growled through gritted teeth. “I am well aware that she invited you here with the sole intention of you ensnaring me. Well, I am afraid that you are to be sorely disappointed, madam. Is there anything I could say to convince you that I do have not the slightest interest in you or what you are saying? Or are you deaf as well as unable to take a hint when one is dropped?”

Lady Waterton's mouth fell open and her bosom heaved.

A slow flush of scarlet started up her neck and spread across her cheeks. Her eyes darted back and forth and it was all she could do not to behave like a common trollop and spit in his face.

“Well! I have never been so insulted!” she cried, shaking with humiliation.

“Then I suggest you depart from Ledbury Hall at your earliest convenience in order to protect yourself from further insult!” he added in a voice like ice.

Unable to contain her temper she brought her silk-gloved hand smartly up and smacked him squarely across the face.

He did not react, but took the blow with composure.

“I am leaving here at once!” she shouted, jumping up and storming across the ballroom. “I have no intention of staying under this roof a moment longer!”

The Countess stared after the furious woman and then tried to disperse the tense atmosphere by signalling to the quartet to begin playing again at once.

With a glare at her son she left the room to follow Lady Waterton to offer her apologies.

He watched his mother's back with a sense of bitter triumph and then left the room as well.

Whilst he had removed the cause of his anger, he knew that he would now be in deep trouble with his Mama.

But it had been Lady Waterton who had caused a rumpus by slapping his face publicly and whom he felt owed him an apology for such a loss of face.

He was not prepared to climb down.

‘Women, eh?'

Lord Brookfield had insinuated his way over to where the Earl now stood and clapped him on the back.

“A fine-looking woman but I could never stand one with a temper!”

He did not reply, but looked at Lord Brookfield searchingly. His heart was thumping as he recalled the scene in the hall and his earlier words which might have created the allusion that he was now on intimate terms with Miranda.

“Quite an evening, eh, Templeton,” continued Lord Brookfield archly. “And such a pity that Miss Whitby was taken ill and had to leave early. I had quite forgotten that you were such old friends until your mother mentioned that you grew up together as children.”

“We were indeed great friends,” he replied coolly.

“Then I am even more surprised that she has not yet told you how she and I were sweethearts in London!”

He paused for a moment waiting for some reaction from the Earl, but could not discern anything underneath the inscrutable gaze that held his own without wavering.

“In fact most of my friends assumed that we would be married,” he rambled on, twisting the knife in slowly. “And then she dashed-well disappeared! Of course I put it down to a dose of last minute nerves. An announcement was to be made any day and she must have got cold feet.”

The Earl forced himself to control his emotions.

Even though his head was now telling him that what Lord Brookfield was imparting could well be no more than fabrication, something made him uncertain.

Miranda had never disclosed why she had returned to Malvern that summer, when she had not been expected back for at least another six months.

And the scene he had witnessed in the hall that evening had made him uneasy about what their connection might be –

But any chance that he might have had to discover more was now dashed when he suddenly saw his mother bearing down on him with a face like thunder.

Even at a distance he could tell she was furious.

Lord Brookfield noticed as much and quickly made his escape, leaving the Earl alone in the hall.

“Robert!” she scolded in the same tone that she had used to admonish him when he was a child. “You will go to Lady Waterton at once and apologise for your shocking behaviour! She is threatening to leave.”

“Mama,” he now riposted, returning her steely blue gaze, like for like. “I don't care a fig if Lady Waterton leaves, in fact, I shall welcome it!”

“I can see that in spite of appearances, you have not changed as much as I had hoped. You are still foolish and wilful and what is more you have ruined all my plans! I suppose you will tell me that you prefer that little tomboy Miranda Whitby to a fine lady such as Florence Waterton!”

“Actually, Mama – I do!” he replied, moving away to pick up a drink from a passing footman.

“
Well
!” she snorted as he walked back towards the ballroom sipping from his glass.

The evening wore on uneventfully. The Countess was forced to leave the proceedings at one point to say her goodbyes to a still furious Lady Waterton, who informed her that even if her son were the last man on earth, she would not consider him as a suitable marriage partner!

“I do not blame you, my dearest friend,” she said, with a dramatic sniff. “It is as if his position has suddenly gone to his head. I shall return to London tonight and write to you again soon. I do hope that you will come and visit me. I shall not be returning again to Ledbury Hall.”