That Kind of Woman (15 page)

Through the door, he heard a commotion down the hall. First a door slammed, then came the sound of Barbara Henley pleading with her daughter to let her in. He started to investigate, then thought better of it. At the moment, he simply wasn’t up to any more turmoil. Instead, he waited for Barbara to give up and for the hall to go silent again before returning to his quarters.

His trunk still stood in one corner, where he had set it when he had first come to stay at Danford over a year ago. Hauling it next to the bed, he opened it and placed the book in the bottom. Next to that, he carefully nestled a small silver snuffbox. He had bought it in London, rather fancying the design, but he had never taken to snuff. Now, it held a lock of George’s hair, one he had taken shortly after George’s death.

His grief and the urgency of the situation rose like bile in his throat, but they didn’t hamper years of habit with regard to clothing. He packed each piece meticulously and piled them neatly atop the treasured mementos.

The hall outside erupted into another flurry of activity. More pounding on Miranda’s door followed by a forceful pounding upon his own.

“Who is it?” he called.

“Andrew,” came the curt reply.

Why couldn’t these damned Carringtons leave him alone? “I’m packing. I assure you, I will be out before dark.”

He could have sworn he heard something blasphemous filter through the door just before it opened.

Reggie raised his eyebrows with haughty disdain, concealing his mourning as he had concealed his love. “Honestly, Lord Danford, I realize you are no longer extending me your hospitality, but is a little privacy so much to ask? No wonder the poor girl has locked herself in her room.”

Andrew hadn’t been looking at all well since he had arrived home, but now he looked worse, as though he might not be long behind George at death’s door.

“One question,” Andrew said, the pain in his voice raw and acidic. “Did you sleep with her?”

“Good God, man! She is my best friend’s wife! How can you even ask such a thing?”

“I’m asking!”

It was the final straw for Reggie. He had been treated like an intruder, challenged to a duel, kicked out of the house that had become his home, all in the shadow of the greatest misery he had ever known! He slammed shut the lid of his trunk and propped one booted foot on top of it, pinning Andrew with an indignant glare.

“Your lordship,” he began with a nasty sneer, “I am fully aware that you have never liked me. I have no idea why that is. I have never done anything to you, and I’ll have you know that while you were in Spain,
I
was the one providing help and comfort to
your
brother.” Andrew took a breath, clearly bracing to lodge a protest, but Reggie plowed on. “I’m not asking for your gratitude, but damn it, I’ll have an ounce of respect!

“As for Miranda, she is my friend, and she was a greater wife to your brother than you will ever know. That you would dare accuse either of us of betraying a man we both loved is the most despicable, most disgraceful, lowest …”

With each insult Reggie uttered, Andrew grew more and more pale. He finally leaned against the doorframe, closed his eyes, and swore under his breath. Reggie stopped his tirade and took a harder look at the new earl.

“Good God, you didn’t ask Miranda this ridiculous question?” he gasped.

Andrew nodded sickly. “In front of everyone downstairs.”

Reggie hissed in disgust. “I’m quite certain I’m overstepping my place here, but you, my lord, are an idiot! What in God’s name were you thinking?”

Andrew gazed at him, and gone from his eyes were the anger and accusation. In their place was a haunted look. The look of a man terrified of the very truth he sought.

“Why were you planning to get married?” he asked. “If you both loved George so much, why rush into an alliance before he was even dead?”

“Did she tell you that?”

“No. I overheard a conversation.”

Reggie relaxed a bit, stepping out from behind his trunk. “Ah, so that’s it. I couldn’t imagine why you would have come so absolutely unhinged over that snippet of conversation on the porch. You’ve been nursing this a while then, have you?”

“Answer me.”

Almost without being aware of it, Reggie glanced in his dressing mirror and smoothed a wrinkle from his jacket. “It was Randa’s idea, actually.”

“But why?”

“She’s terrified,” Reggie explained.

Shaking his head in confusion, Andrew asked, “Of what?”

“You really are an idiot,” Reggie chided, more gently this time. “Don’t you know what it was like for her before George?”

“Well, I suppose London was rather hard for her.”

A cynical smile tugged at Reggie’s lips. “‘Rather hard’? She was damaged goods the moment she was born. The ladies of the
ton
looked at her and saw a woman who overshadowed their shallow, vapid daughters and tempted their errant husbands. She paid dearly for the sin of being beautiful, and talented, and only halfway well connected. Scores of men made it quite clear the only talent she had in which
they
were interested was demonstrated in the bedroom, not the music room. Well, I do not look at her that way, and she knows it. She knows she is as safe with me as she was with her husband.”

Finally, Andrew nodded in understanding. “Of course. Where else was she to go?”

“Where indeed?”

“Will you marry her, then?”

“That was the conversation you intruded upon just a while ago. In a word, no. There are a number of reasons marriage between us would be a very poor idea. I was trying to explain that to her.”

“But you just said she is terrified, that she has nowhere else to turn.”

“I should think she would be able to turn to her husband’s family. Unless, of course, she is not good enough for them.”

Andrew didn’t reply. He stood up straight again, the tortured look on his face only intensifying. It was on the tip of Reggie’s tongue to order the pompous snob from his room when another thought occurred to him.

“Or is there some other reason you don’t want her to stay here? One that has more to do with you than with her?” he asked.

“God help me, Reginald. I never meant to hurt her.”

“It’s a bit late for that, old boy. Give her some time. Let her calm down.”

Andrew shook his head. “You have no idea. She’s inconsolable, and she won’t speak to anyone. Go to her. She’ll listen to you.”

Reggie shook his head cynically. “I doubt it.”

*

Her hysteria had settled down into a few intermittent sobs and a great deal of indignant sniffing by the time Reggie called softly from outside Miranda’s door. She opened it to find him carrying a snifter of brandy in each hand.

She accepted the glass he held out to her but set it on her dressing table without drinking from it. A trunk sat on the bedroom floor, its lid open, a jumble of gowns inside. She stalked over to it and crammed in the fabric spilling over the side.

“I’m going with you, Reggie,” she pronounced firmly. “And that’s final. Or at the very least, I will hire my own coach to London and book my own passage on the same ship as you. I am not spending one more night than I have to in this wretched country!”

“You’re going to ruin those gowns, dear,” he chided, picking up the glass of brandy and handing it back to her. “Take a sip and slow down. Once you’re calmer, I’ll even help you pack if it will spare that velvet.” He nodded to the wad of skirt at the top of the pile.

She sniffed loudly, and another storm of tears threatened. “You’re not going to try to talk me out of it?”

“Would it do me any good?” he asked. When she shook her head violently, he said, “I thought not.”

With one hand, he pulled the dress he had referred to from the trunk and hung it carefully in the wardrobe. He took a swallow of brandy from the snifter he held in the other hand. Wrinkling his nose, he commented, “A little bitter, don’t you think?”

She took a sip of her own and had to agree. An acrid aftertaste marred the liquor’s mellow flavor. “Somewhat.” She moved to set the glass down again, but Reggie stopped her.

“Let’s drink it anyway. We could both use it, and I doubt either one of us wants to face the crowd downstairs just to fetch a new bottle.”

Miranda nodded and took another drink. “You have no idea what a relief this is. I was fully prepared to throw an absolute temper tantrum if you suggested I stay in England. I hate this dreadful place, and I hate that horrid man downstairs!”

“Well, Randa, I don’t suppose we can really blame him for jumping to conclusions.”

“I can’t believe you’re accepting all of this so calmly.”

“I’ve grown accustomed to things being less than ideal in my life. We both have, haven’t we?”

She set the glass down again and wrapped her arms around his waist, leaning her head on his chest. The fabric of his jacket was soft, and his shirt smelled of starch. “And I can’t believe you’re listening so patiently to my whining. Oh, Reggie, I’m so sorry about how this has been for you.”

Reggie sighed, resting his chin on top of her head. “I’m ashamed to admit it, but I’m rather glad it’s you having to deal with all the public grieving. I’d never hold up under it.”

“I’m not sure I’m any better at it,” she said, pulling away from him to search for a handkerchief as fresh tears began to spill.

Reggie pulled a linen square from his pocket and handed it to her. “You’ll be fine, Randa. You just need a little time, some distance from the life you’ve been leading.” He paused, his face betraying his struggle with his emotions. “I wonder if you will ever know what you mean to me, Miranda. Have you any notion of the magnitude of the gift you gave to George and me?”

She waved the handkerchief in a dismissive gesture.

“No, really, I think I would have gone mad if I had learned of his death in passing and I had not been with him.”

“It wasn’t as if I went unrewarded, Reggie. If you and George were only kind to me out of gratitude, you masked it well.”

He embraced her again, squeezing her close. “Never say that, Miranda! I swear to you that we both loved you deeply. Ah, damn, I gave you my handkerchief and now I’m crying!” A small, sheepish laugh escaped his throat.

Miranda looked up at him. “Don’t, Reggie. We’ll still have each other.”

Reggie gently took her face between his hands and wiped the tears away from her eyes with the pads of his thumbs. “You will always,
always
have my love, Randa.”

She closed her eyes and basked in the tenderness of his gesture. Wasn’t this what love was—kindness, warmth, unconditional acceptance? She had done just fine without passion.

He cleared his throat, dropped his hands, and gestured to another dress in the trunk. “Take that silk out of there, too, darling. It is a mess.”

She sighed. “How will I get any distance if you have me unpacking?” Then she gave him a narrow, suspicious look. “You
are
planning to take me with you, aren’t you?”

“I’m only trying to spare your wardrobe. You don’t want to travel looking like a ragamuffin.”

“I don’t know why I’m bothering with these,” she replied. “I’ll be in black for a year, anyway.”

“You look lovely in black.” He raised his glass and said, “Here’s to new beginnings, dear. For both of us.” His voice shook, despite the hopeful sentiment.

Miranda sniffed delicately into her glass. “This really isn’t good brandy,” she said.

“Toss it back quickly, then,” Reggie advised. She drained her glass, and he took it from her, setting it back on the dressing table. “There now, that will make you feel much better. What you need is a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow you’ll have a whole new perspective.”

“Tomorrow? But we’re leaving tonight, aren’t we?”

“The widow can hardly leave right after the funeral,” Reggie answered.

She furrowed her brow in thick confusion. For some reason, she couldn’t seem to keep up with the direction of the discussion. “But Andrew said that you must leave tonight.”

“Ah, yes, well, he granted me a stay of execution, so you mustn’t hold this against him, but he was right. I must leave tonight.”

Miranda reached out to steady herself against her dressing table. It seemed as if the stress and agony of the last few weeks came crashing in at once, and the room began to spin.

“Hold what against him?” she asked. “Are we leaving tonight or tomorrow? You’re not making any sense.”

“Lie down, dear,” Reggie said, leading her gently to the bed. “You’re very tired.”

“Yes, I’m exhausted all of a sudden.” She knew she should be worried. She didn’t feel at all like herself, but a soft, warm sensation seemed to flow through her body, dragging her down into its enveloping comfort. “Reggie?” she whispered.

Pressing her back against her cool pillow, he leaned close to her, his lips right against her ear. “I have to go, darling, and we won’t see each other again. But thank you for everything you’ve done and for all your love and understanding.”

In a dizzy, disoriented way, she knew something terrible was happening. Reggie. He was leaving. Without her. “No, wait,” she sighed. “What’s going on?”

“It’s just a bit of George’s laudanum. Not much. It won’t hurt you. Good-bye, Randa. God bless you, and may you find your happiness.”

“No,” she protested weakly.

“One more thing. Try not to hate Andrew. He’s in love with you.”

And then he was gone, swallowed by a blanket of dreams.

When she finally dragged herself from the heavy sleep that had weighed her down, Miranda was ravenously hungry, though her mouth tasted like moldy cheese. Groggily, she sat up and surveyed her hopelessly rumpled mourning gown. Why on earth had she slept in her clothes? She kept a crystal decanter of water on her bedside table, along with a glass, and she used them to rinse her mouth and take a long, cool drink.

Concentrate, she told herself. There was the funeral and then that terrible row with Andrew. She glanced over at the trunk that still sat on her floor, but it was empty. She had been packing to leave with Reggie.

Reggie! He had drugged her and left without her!