That Kind of Woman (17 page)

“We’ll miss you here, of course,” Andrew was saying. “Emma will miss her music lessons.”

Miranda frowned. “I hadn’t thought of those. Keep her practicing. She can come to visit and we’ll play together then.”

Andrew swallowed hard, and she could see his Adam’s apple bob under his cravat. “She’ll like that. We are your family here, Miranda. Please, believe me.”

Family, she thought to herself. It seemed that it was to be the one thing that would elude her for the rest of her life. Did he know what treasure he possessed? A troublesome daughter, a prim and portly stepmother, an irresponsible half-brother, all wondrously underfoot and in the way. Was she simply to content herself with an occasional daughter on loan? Would she live her life a maiden aunt?

What had been for her mother a mere “miscalculation,” Miranda wanted most in all the world.

The next two days flew by in a whirlwind of activity. The solicitor arrived and Miranda discovered that, in addition to the return of her dowry, George had settled her with a generous inheritance. More than enough to live on indefinitely if she were careful. An enticing draw for a new husband, if she chose to use it that way.

As soon as it was announced that Miranda would be moving into the townhouse, Emma had come to her with wide, tearful eyes and melodramatic sighs.

“You
can’t
leave, Randa,” the girl had pleaded. “Grandmama knows next to nothing about music, and it’s my life’s
passion
now, thanks to you!”

“There now, dear,” Miranda had replied, refusing to be taken in, “passion and practice will stand you in good stead. And your father has promised you can come visit in the spring. We can play then, and go shopping, and do all sorts of fun, frivolous things.”

“But I want you here! Danford will be so dull without you.”

“Henry will be here, and he’s always amusing.”

Emma pouted. “Henry’s furious that you’re taking the townhouse. He fully expected it to be his bachelor’s quarters. But Grandmama says he’s next in line and must learn to behave like an earl.”

Miranda smiled. “I have no doubt your father will keep him in line.”

“That’s what Henry’s afraid of. And what if Father succeeds, and he turns Henry into some stuffy army commander like himself?
Two
men bossing everyone around and spoiling everyone’s good times!”

Miranda’s heart softened a little. Despite all her crocodile tears, Emma was telling the truth about her worries. She lifted Emma’s chin in her hand.

“You and Henry have a thing or two to teach your father. He must teach you both to take responsibility for yourselves and your actions, but you must teach him to be a little more irresponsible. When he’s out checking on the tenants and their farms, challenge him to a horseback race. And make sure he loses a generous sum to Henry at cards every once in a while.”

Emma clasped Miranda’s hand tightly in hers. “Oh, stay and make him be nice to us! Or I could come with you now! That’s it!” Emma’s face came alive. “There’s no need to wait until spring. I’ll only be in Father’s way anyway!”

“Oh, you are a clever imp!” Miranda exclaimed. “How many times did you practice that in front of the mirror? No, no! No blushing! You have a very real talent for the stage.”

“Well, it isn’t all an act,” Emma replied. “I only had to rehearse twice, and I wouldn’t have had to at all, except that I wanted to make sure I did it just right.”

“Well, it was very good.”

“Was it?” Emma giggled. “I really will miss you, Randa. I can’t wait for spring.”

“I feel exactly the same way, darling. And as for your father, just be glad he’s at home now. Try not to fight with him.”

“
You
try it! Father gets into fights with everything that moves!” Emma pouted and reluctantly left Miranda so she could continue packing.

*

Although the library door stood ajar, Miranda tapped on it lightly before she entered the room. Andrew sat at George’s desk, looking back and forth between several sheets of paper arranged around a ledger book.

“Mr. Malfrey said you wished to speak with me,” Miranda said, and Andrew’s head snapped up at the sound.

“Yes. Thank you. I thought George had told me everything I needed to know, but I’ve just stumbled across these.” He gathered up the papers and handed them to her.

She scanned them quickly. “Oh, yes, I remember this. He made several investments in a clay mine. The income is modest, and the account requires almost no oversight. I imagine he just forgot.”

“Clay.” Andrew scratched his head. “Well, why doesn’t it say so? There’s only the name of the operation here, no indication of what it does.” He sounded far more irritated than the situation called for.

Handing the papers back to him, she replied, “He wasn’t involved in the actual running of the place. He made the investment to help out a family friend, as I recall.”

“Which friend?” Andrew barked.

Miranda drew back a little. “I don’t remember. I’m sure George’s secretary, Colbert, knows, and he’ll be back tomorrow.”

Andrew stood and came around the desk. Then he leaned against it and scrubbed his hands over his face. “I’m sorry. I-I’m a little anxious. Suddenly I have this whole estate to manage, and I cannot ask George for guidance if I run afoul.”

She nodded her understanding. “Colbert can fill you in on anything you need.”

“I suppose. You knew what it was, though. You and George must have spoken about such things.”

Miranda nodded again. “We spent many hours in here.” She walked over to the worn velvet couch and ran her fingers over its back. “I would sit here with a book, and George—well, he talked more to himself than to me.” She smiled at the memory. “I would sigh and tell him I simply couldn’t concentrate when he talked like that, and he would say, ‘So sorry,’ and then go right on doing it.”

Andrew chuckled. “Why didn’t you take your book elsewhere?”

With a shrug, she replied, “I liked the company better than the story most of the time.”

“I hated it when Caroline would get lost in a book,” he said. “I would tease her and pester her until she gave up and put it away.”

“It is a wonder she put up with you,” Miranda chided with a grin.

Andrew’s own smile widened. “I always made it up to her.” Realizing what he’d said, he blushed slightly. “Forgive me. I seem to be doing that all too much, letting whatever strikes my mind slip off my tongue.”

“No need to apologize,” she assured him. She looked down at the couch and thought of herself sitting there, bantering back and forth with George. Then she imagined Andrew plopping down beside her, doing his best to distract her from her reading. How might he do such a thing? Would he blow softly upon her neck and send shivers down her spine as the mere thought did? Would he purposely block the light until she looked up to chide him, then lean forward and capture her mouth with his? Would she playfully push his hands away until he pinned hers above her head so that he could make love to her at his leisure?

“Those memories help you through,” Andrew said, and she looked back up to him, blushing herself.

“What?”

He straightened and walked to the window, looking out over the snow, hands clasped behind his back. “Those stolen moments together. It hurts to think of them right now, but in a little while, you’ll take them out and treasure them. I did, anyway.”

“Did?” she asked.

He didn’t turn back, just kept gazing out the window. “I still do, from time to time. Less and less, though. The pain fades. Life goes on. I know it doesn’t seem so now, but it does.”

She wanted to tell him that she had no such memories; there had been no stolen moments. She wanted to ask him for even one such memory to treasure, but then she would have to explain, to hurt him and betray George, so she simply sighed and said, “I hope so.”

*

The wind outside buffeted the trees, whose bare branches reached like claws toward the gray sky. From his place in the drawing room, a fire at his back, Andrew felt a moment’s pity for the poor carriage driver whom he’d just seen outside, sitting thickly bundled on his seat on the coach. Several trunks had been lashed onto other vehicles. Barbara had promised that it wouldn’t take her more than a few minutes to find whatever it was she had misplaced so that she, the duke, and Miranda could be on their way.

Miranda stood next to her father in the awkward silence that Andrew had observed on a number of occasions over the last few days. The two never seemed comfortable with each other unless they were playing music together. When the duke would take his seat at the piano and Miranda would take out her violin, they would be perfectly at ease until the piece was over. Outside of the music room, they tended to avoid each other altogether.

The clock ticked loudly on the wall and Andrew searched his brain frantically for some inane comment with which to break the appalling quiet when it was shattered without his help by an ear-splitting scream.

“Emma!” he and Miranda cried simultaneously.

“Th-the girl!” Montheath spluttered with them.

The three of them raced to the top of the stairs, where Emma sobbed in a crumpled heap against Henry, who knelt on the floor with her, holding her. Barbara stood a few feet away from them with several servants behind her, all gaping in shock.

“What is it?” Andrew demanded.

“I don’t know,” Henry answered, and for once, his face was deadly serious. “I was in my room, and I heard her scream, so I came out to see what was wrong. She came flying out of the water closet and launched herself into my arms.” Emma let out another scream and pulled away from Henry, throwing herself on the floor and kicking.

Good heavens,
Andrew thought. He’d seen Emma throw a tantrum or two, but never anything like this! He knelt beside her and pulled her up by the shoulders, making her sit up before giving her a little shake.

“Emma Louise! This will be quite enough! What? Was there a mouse in the water closet?”

Emma looked up at him, and he could see that her blue eyes were wide with genuine terror. “I’m dying, Papa! I caught what Uncle George had and I’m dying!”

By now, Lettie had joined the group, and she burst into tears, as well. “Oh, my God, she’s caught George’s illness!” she cried.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, but Emma’s wild keening drowned out his words. He gave her another shake. “You cannot have caught what Uncle George had. Listen to me, Emma. It wasn’t catching. He had a tumor, not a plague.”

Emma started screaming again, and Andrew looked helplessly up at Miranda. “Another manipulation?” he suggested. “Perhaps she thinks to get you to stay.”

Emma wailed, “She can stay or go! Don’t you see it doesn’t matter? I’m
dying
, and you don’t even care! My stomach hurts, and my back aches, and…and…just now, in the water closet…I’m going to die, I just know it!” She fell to pieces again.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” he shouted back. “You are not dying!”

Miranda sank to the floor next to them. Henry stood up and backed away, white-faced. In a voice that was at once firm and gentle, Miranda said, “Emma, calm down. Listen to me.”

Emma still sobbed in hiccuping gasps, but she stopped screaming and fixed her frightened gaze on her aunt.

“There now,” Miranda said, “that’s good. Now tell me, you’ve been having some cramps maybe? And when you were in the water closet, you discovered that you were bleeding?”

Emma began to keen again. Henry and Montheath, both red-faced, joined the servants in mumbling their excuses and fleeing. Barbara simply rolled her eyes and shook her head.

Miranda looked up at Lettie and said, “Do you mean to tell me you haven’t told her to expect this?”

Lettie pursed her lips and sniffled. “Well, she’s just a child!” she snapped.

“She’s nearly fourteen!” Miranda replied. She turned to Andrew. “What about you? Have you and Lettie never discussed it?”

A sudden, vicious throbbing started in his temples and he reached up to rub them.

“You knew?” Emma whimpered, looking around her. “You all knew I would catch this and you never told me? Why haven’t any of you got it?”

Barbara reached out to her daughter. “Give me your pelisse, dear. I don’t think we’ll be leaving for a while.”

Miranda reached out to caress Emma’s face, and Andrew saw his daughter look at her with a kind of trust he hadn’t seen there in years.

“Believe me, Emma, dear, you are not dying,” Miranda assured her. “What’s happening to you is perfectly normal. In fact, it’s rather cause for a celebration.”

Emma looked at her as though she’d gone daft, but she stopped sobbing and slowly stood up. “It’s not what Uncle George had?”

Laughing, Miranda stood up, too. “I promise, this is nothing like anything Uncle George ever had in his life! Now, go to your room and wash your face. I’ll send Mary up to you with some clean cloths, and your grandmother or I will be in shortly to explain. First, I have to talk to your father.”

Emma sniffed loudly and wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve, but for once, she did as she was told without argument.

Miranda turned back to Andrew, and he watched her sheepishly. “I never thought of it,” he said at last.

She smirked at him. “How very like a man.”

“I feel terrible about this,” Lettie said, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.

“You should,” Miranda replied. “Now, are you going to explain this, or shall I?”

“You!” Lettie and Andrew chorused together, then stopped to stare at each other.

Lettie narrowed her eyes at him and pursed her lips. “Is there some reason
I
shouldn’t tell her?”

The pounding spread from his temples to the base of his skull. “You just said yourself that Miranda should explain it.”

“That isn’t the point! The point is that after all I’ve done for you and Emma …”

“The point is,” Miranda interjected firmly, “that
someone
has to explain things to that poor girl!”

“You!” Lettie and Andrew chorused again. This time, Lettie turned on her heel and set off down the stairs with a dignified waddle.