That Kind of Woman (27 page)

“I—” Miranda stopped. She didn’t want to go through it all again.

Barbara took Miranda’s hands in hers. “It seems to me that Monty and I should have known before we encouraged you two. I wish we had. But it is water under the bridge, and now, yes, I
do
want you to be like me, only better. I want you to have the man you love all to yourself. I may not be the sort of mother you wished for, the sort you are trying to be to Emma, but I want you to be happy, just as you want Emma to be happy.”

“It wouldn’t be real.”

“What
is
real, darling?”

“Being able to hold your head up in public! Having people accept you—”

Barbara hissed in disgust. “Public opinion makes something real? Let me tell you something, child: what George and Reggie had was real. What you have with Andrew and his daughter is real. If you are going to let the likes of London Society define your reality, you are a fool!”

“You have no idea what it was like—” Miranda protested.

“Oh, don’t I? Do you honestly think you are the only one they despise and disparage? I have endured everything you have tenfold!”

“You chose that, not I! I cannot choose that for the people I love!”

“Then give
them
the choice. Ask Emma what she wants—ask Andrew! Ask if they mind so terribly being associated with a Henley Harlot, if it means you will be there with them always.”

“Andrew is not thinking clearly, and Emma is a child.”

“A child with far more sense than you. At least she pursues what she wants.”

Miranda sat back down and pressed her fingers to her throbbing temples. With a sigh of resignation, Barbara left her to her own devices, her footsteps echoing sharply down the hall. A few minutes later, the butler came in and handed her a small ivory card. Squinting, she slowly made out the nearly illegible scrawl:

Dearest Randa—Knew you’d never last at Danford without me. Meet me at Hyde
Park at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning for a ride. Beware! My racing has improved! Fondly yours—Henry.

Miranda groaned. At the moment, she never wanted to see another Carrington for as long as she lived.

*

Leaving the new phaeton and matched chestnuts in the hands of his groom, Henry strode down the park lane with a broad smile across his face. “Randa! You’re prompt—an absolute vice in a woman.”

She forced herself to smile back. “It is good to see you, Henry.”

He turned and gestured to the carriage. “A beauty, isn’t it?”

“It is, and Danford horses, I see.”

“Nothing but the best.”

“Are you enjoying London?”

“I won’t be able to bear leaving. The only thing I missed at Danford was you.” By now he stood face to face with her, and he caught her hand and brought it to his lips. “Lettie says you will be staying here. Dare I hope?”

She pulled her hand away. “You might dare hope for that, but I think you’d best not hope to stay, too. You’ll be back at Danford when the Season is over.”

“I am twenty years old! I do not need my mama’s permission to stay in Town.”

“No, but you need your brother’s purse.”

Henry’s face flushed bright pink in the morning sun.

And while they were on that subject, she spied Andrew across the park, flanked by Lettie and Emma. He lifted a hand in greeting, and the trio began moving toward Miranda and Henry. Henry’s gaze followed hers, and he gave a frustrated sigh.

“They are supposed to be at home, getting ready to attend a christening! Mama must have found out I was meeting you here.”

Miranda winced. “Henry, didn’t you tell her?”

“Certainly not! Oh—I’m sorry. She likes you, Randa, she does! She just doesn’t understand.”

“Doesn’t understand? She understands perfectly, and she’s right.”

Henry shook his head emphatically. “She is all caught up in what everyone else will think—”

“Everyone is caught up in what everyone else thinks.”

“Not you.”

“Henry—”

“I invited you for a ride,” he blurted. “Let’s go. We don’t need to wait for them. It is rude of them to interrupt without an invitation.”

“But I only came to tell you—”

“Tell me in the carriage.” He took her hand and pulled her toward the vehicle, all the while eyeing his fast-approaching family.

“I’m not going riding with you.” She pulled her hand firmly from his. “You need to meet girls your own age, slow down.”

“You’re only twenty-four,” he reminded her.

“And a widow who has traveled and seen a bit more of the world than you.”

Henry straightened a wrinkle in his jacket. “Why, Miranda Carrington, you are a snob!”

His little gesture brought two things to her attention that she had missed. To begin, he was as neat as a pin, and, unless she missed her guess, he was sober as a judge. She tugged gently on his cravat, a purely sisterly gesture. “Oh, Henry, you’ve grown up so much in just the short time I’ve known you. In no time at all you’ll become such a smart match. Have patience.”

He waved her hand away with an irritated frown. “Don’t treat me like a schoolboy, Randa.”

Emma had raced ahead of the rest of the family, and the moment she reached Miranda and Henry, she stepped brusquely between them. “Henry didn’t tell us he was meeting you here,” she piped.

“That was because you weren’t invited to come along,” he snapped.

“How rude!” Emma replied. “But we are welcome, aren’t we, Randa?”

“Of course you are,” Miranda said.

“Henry!” Letitia called out in a most unladylike fashion. “What are you doing here? You’ll be late to the church.”

Henry scowled, and his shoulders slumped. “There is plenty of time. You’ll all be early.”

“Emma convinced us all to join her for a stroll,” Lettie replied. “And it’s a good thing. Good afternoon, Miranda, dear. I hope my son has not kept you from some pressing engagement.”

“Not at all,” Miranda said. “We were just passing the time.” She tried to hold Letitia’s gaze, but her eyes were drawn to Andrew. His jacket and breeches clung perfectly to him, and she thought of the flesh underneath, bathed in the light of a single candle. One unruly lock of hair fell across his brow, and she wanted so much to touch it.

Silently, Andrew cursed himself. He couldn’t even look at her without feeling an almost physical pain. Even clothed in widow’s black, her skin fairly glowed and her eyes seemed all the darker. She gave him an uncertain look, biting her lower lip self-consciously, and he could feel its velvet-soft texture between his own teeth.

Lettie cleared her throat, and the two tore their gazes apart.

“I don’t think you mentioned taking the phaeton,” Andrew said to Henry, a note of censure in his voice.

“Am I to ask for your leave every time I wish to take a little air?” Henry snapped.

“If you intend to take it riding in my property, you do, as a matter-of-fact.”

“Take me for a ride!” Emma chirruped.

“Certainly not!” Lettie interjected. “Henry has almost no experience driving that, and he isn’t going to endanger you.”

“I drove it here!”

Lettie pursed her lips. “It is a miracle you arrived in one piece.”

“I’ll drive it back home and meet you at the church,” Andrew said.

“I should be on my way, as well,” Miranda added.

Red in the face, Henry seemed about to put up a fight, but one look at his older brother’s scowl dampened his temper. “I’ll have you know there isn’t a scratch on it,” he said.

“Go with your mother, and next time, ask before you take something that doesn’t belong to you.”

Miranda felt sorry for Henry. It had to be galling to be chastised and sent off with his mother at his age. She started to leave behind Lettie, Henry, and Emma, then turned back before Andrew could climb into the carriage.

“He’s not a child, you know.”

Andrew looked toward his family. “He’s hardly a man.”

“And he never will be if you all keep treating him like a boy.”

“It’s common courtesy. He should have asked.”

“I agree. I just don’t think you should have sent him home with Lettie. Couldn’t he have ridden with you?”

His eyes were drawn back to her. Her hair was pinned neatly back, but the cascade of curls at her neck danced in the breeze. “He could have. I have an extra seat.”

She spared a glance for the carriage. “It is a handsome vehicle.”

“I suppose Henry met you here to take you for a ride.”

“He did. I only came to tell him no. I am not encouraging him.”

“I never thought you would.”

“Well, good day to you.”

“Good day, Miranda.”

She turned to go, but he reached out, his fingertips just barely brushing her short, puffed sleeve. It had all the effect of a crushing grip, and she froze.

“Ride with me,” he said.

She shook her head. “Andrew—”

“I—I want to talk to you about Emma. I’ll just take you home.”

She knew better. There was nothing more to say. Knowing she was doing little more than proving her mother right, she said, “All right, just as far as Montheath’s townhouse.”

He handed her up into the phaeton, and Miranda was acutely aware of the curious stares of the park’s other occupants.
The shameless Miranda Henley, allowing her handsome brother-in-law to drive her through the park, and her husband not even dead a year.
God, she hated London!

It was a beautiful day, and the man next to her held the reins and guided the horses at complete ease. For a while, they rode in silence, and Miranda surreptitiously studied the way the fabric of his breeches molded itself to his thighs. Her eyes wandered higher. There was so much they had left undiscovered between them. He had introduced her to a wealth of new sensations, and she had been allowed only to sample, not to take her fill. That one quick encounter seemed only to feed her hunger. How could she endure seeing him every day? How could she endure losing Emma, which she would have to do in order to avoid him?

“About Emma?” she finally prompted.

Andrew glanced at the woman at his side. Sunlight lit her hair, bringing out the deep red blended in with the rich brown. If he lifted the curls at her neck, he would expose soft white skin, and if he kissed that skin, she would sigh and turn her face to his. He forced his eyes back to the road. “I don’t know what you said to her yesterday, but you mended a substantial rift.”

“In many ways, Emma is a child, still. She sees things first from her own perspective. I suppose we all do that, to some extent. She just needed someone to help her see another point of view.”

Andrew shook his head. “How do you make her do that? She fights me at every turn.”

Miranda smiled. “First, you give up on the idea of
making
her do anything.”

“I am her father. There is a proper chain of command in a household—”

She tried not to laugh. “Second, I suggest you try looking at things from her side every now and again.”

He was quiet for a long time, and Miranda was nearly ready to give up on the conversation. Finally, he said, “I’m trying to do that more, but when I see myself through her eyes, I don’t much like what I see.”

“We forgive much in those we love. The two of you just need more time together. You had a good afternoon with her, though?”

Andrew smiled at the memory. “I cannot recall having ever been so entertained while visiting the milliner’s.”

Miranda chuckled. “Oh, she is a wily one, your daughter. She walked out of my father’s house holding your hand, making peace, and gained a new hat for her trouble?”

Andrew frowned, though his eyes twinkled. “Certainly not! I was a commander in the king’s army. Do you think me so easily vanquished?” He paused for effect. “Three new hats and assorted hair ribbons of every shade and fabric known to womankind. And for the record, I regret neither a single moment nor farthing. When Emma is happy, it is infectious. She has always been so. It has just been a very long time since she was happy.”

“Well, I’m glad you had a pleasant time together.”

He looked up at the azure swath of sky stretching above the tree-lined road. “What a glorious morning for a ride. I cannot say I blame Henry for being angry. I have stolen the perfect riding companion on the perfect day.”

She shrugged. “As I said, I wouldn’t have gone with him anyway.”

He smiled at her again, and her heart seemed to lurch in her chest. His smile, dazzling and full, made everything right, even sitting beside him and wanting him against every rule.
He is extraordinary,
she thought. Somber at all the right times, but able to laugh and put her at ease. Always confident, even when expressing his deepest self-doubts. If he were hers, she would kiss him right now, in front of every shocked member of the
ton
strolling the park.

Andrew saw her eyes go darker and responded to the admiration and desire he saw there. He reached over and gently traced the line of her jaw with his fingers. “Henry would have felt obliged to show off for you, so I fear I must seize that opportunity from him, as well.” He dropped his hand back to the reins and snapped, sending the horses racing and causing frowns among the matrons and cheers among the men surrounding them.

He was cocksure and competent, and Miranda laughed at the wind in her hair and the boyish look of merriment on Andrew’s normally serious face. It was exhilarating to fly along with a handsome man, and when he turned a corner sharply, causing her to fall against him, she didn’t move nearly far enough away. They were hip to hip now, shoulder to shoulder, and for just a moment, she allowed herself to rest her head against him. He was warm and solid and smelled of sandalwood and fresh air.

They caught up with several carriages ahead of them, and he slowed down to a safer pace. Miranda slid reluctantly back to a more decorous distance from him on the seat.

With a sigh, Andrew said, “This is too public. I know of another place—”

“You promised to take me home.”

A storm cloud moved over his features, the joy quickly dimming from his eyes. “Ever the keeper of the rules, aren’t you, Miranda?”