The Importance of Being Wicked (Millworth Manor) (15 page)

“Indeed I do.”

“You are going to claim victory because of an error in semantics?”

“Absolutely.”

“In spite of the fact that I thought we were just putting on an act for the others?”

“In spite of that, yes.” She nodded. “Or perhaps because you didn’t make certain that I understood what you were doing.”

“Well, then it is my fault entirely.”

“Indeed it is.”

“And I should be made to pay for my mistakes.”

“And you shall.”

He sighed. “It does seem a high price to pay.”

“You can afford it.”

“Thank God.” He paused. “You know, for a woman I am not engaged to, you certainly are expensive.”

She choked back a laugh. “Have all your fiancées been expensive?”

“Only one, really. Women do not tend to return expensive baubles when an engagement has ended.” He shrugged. “The first had very expensive tastes.”

Mrs. Hedges-Smythe, of course. Not the least bit surprising. She had the look of a woman with expensive tastes. “And the rest?”

“The second was really quite sensible and rational.” He chuckled. “As it turned out, she considered me entirely too amusing for her.”

“You’re making that up.”

“I wish I was.”

She reined in her horse and stared at him. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“I’m afraid I am.”

“And the third?”

“I thought we had agreed not to discuss my engagements or your marriage.”

“Yes, I suppose we did.” She thought for a moment. “It doesn’t seem at all fair that I have asked about your engagements when we agreed not to discuss them. Even though you brought up the subject.”

“Then I deserve what I get,” he said in a somber manner that didn’t seem the tiniest bit genuine.

“Indeed you do; however, to be fair, as I asked you three questions about your engagements you may ask me three about my marriage.”

“I believe you asked four questions.”

“Perhaps.” She shrugged. “But I only recall three and as I didn’t need to offer you any at all it’s three questions or nothing.”

“Three it is then.” He nudged his horse and started off.

She pulled her horse up alongside his. “Well?”

“Well, I’m thinking.” He glanced at her. “I only get three questions and I don’t want to waste any of them.”

“Goodness, it’s not as if they were wishes, you know,” she said under her breath.

He smiled in an annoyingly knowing manner. “No, but they might be much more valuable.”

“I doubt that.” She shrugged. “You may ask anything you like.”

His brow rose.

“Within reason,” she said quickly.

“Very well then.”

They rode on in silence for a few more minutes. “Surely there is something you want to know?”

“Oh, there are any number of things that have piqued my curiosity.”

“This is your opportunity.”

“I am aware of that.” He thought for a moment. “Where did your husband kiss you for the first time?”

“The Egyptian Saloon at the British Museum,” she said promptly. “It was nearly closing and there was no one else around.”

“Not the Elgin Saloon?” He glanced at her curiously.

“John was not as interested in Greek antiquity as I was,” she said in an offhand manner as if it didn’t matter. And at the time, it hadn’t. Now, however, she was surprised to realize, it might. “He preferred the relics of the ancient Egyptians.”

“Therefore, that is what you saw when you accompanied him to the museum.”

“It’s not all we saw.” Although in hindsight it did seem that way. They did tend to see what held John’s interest rather than hers. She wondered why she’d never thought of that before.

“I see.”

What, exactly, did he see? Or think he saw? “Your next question?”

“I shall save that for another time.” He slid off his horse and she realized they had arrived.

“I may not be willing to answer another time.” She looked down at him. He reached up to help her dismount and for a moment she was in his arms. Then he quite properly stepped back.

“That’s a chance I shall have to take then.” He smiled. “I shall return to collect you for afternoon tea. I assume you’ll be done for the day by then.”

“I would think so, but there’s no need for you to have to come all this way. No doubt I can find my way back without any problem.”

“Nonetheless, my mother would never forgive me if anything happened to you. Nor would I forgive myself.”

“I understand, but—”

“Miranda.” He leaned close and lowered his voice. “I could certainly ask that you allow Mr. Clarke to see you back to the manor every time you are here and I have no doubt that you would accede to my request until the day it became inconvenient for you or him.”

“Don’t be absurd,” she said in a weak voice, knowing full well he was right.

“You know neither the roads nor the countryside, nor are you familiar with whatever mount you might be given. Therefore, I shall escort you here every day and back to the manor every night. And this . . .” His gaze met hers directly. “Is not subject to negotiation.”

As much as she hated to admit it, he really did make perfect sense.

She favored him with a bright smile. “As you wish.”

He studied her suspiciously for a long moment. “You do realize you’re frightening when you’re agreeable.”

She laughed. “Then I shall have to be agreeable more often.”

“I’m not sure I could bear up under that.”

“Surely you’re stronger than you think.”

“I would have to be.”

They exchanged a few more comments; then he remounted his horse and started back toward Millworth. She watched him for a moment, admiring how he sat in the saddle and the ease with which he controlled the animal. She wondered what else he might ask about her marriage and why he wanted to know. She had nothing to hide on that score. How very interesting that his first question had been where she first kissed John.

She turned, spotted Edwin and started toward him. They needed to discuss just how much of Fairborough could indeed be finished by the ball. Not that she wouldn’t get the bonus regardless. Still, it did seem like an excellent idea to at least make an effort.

She was immersed in the details of speeding up construction, possible costs and labor questions within minutes. Still the oddest thought lingered in the back of her mind and refused to go away. It was completely absurd and not at all what she wanted. Nonetheless . . .

Where might she be the first time Winfield kissed her?

And, more to the point, why hadn’t he done so already?

“Excellent cake, Mother,” Diana said with a look of sheer bliss on her face. “Your cook has outdone herself.”

“She always does, dear.” A satisfied smile curved the older woman’s lips. “It’s why I pay her so well.”

There was nothing Mother liked better than having her cook’s offerings praised. Unless, of course, it was having her daughters together under one roof, if only for a meal.

Miranda had received the note from Mother asking that her youngest child join her and her sisters for luncheon last week during her brief return to London. And while their presence was requested in the form of an invitation, it was really more of a command performance. One did not turn down the queen and one never refused Mother. She was far more lenient with Evelyn and Veronica, as they were only daughters by marriage and they did seem to have exceptionally busy lives. But then wasn’t Miranda’s exceptionally busy as well?

It had been three weeks since she had taken up residence at Millworth Manor and this was only the third time she had managed to come into the city. Rebuilding was progressing nicely at Fairborough although not quickly enough for completion by the Midsummer Ball. The question of Winfield’s bonus was one she and Clara discussed each time Miranda visited the office. While both women agreed the extra fee should go directly into the employee fund, as they could both clearly see the writing on the wall, on any given day one or both of them had a few moral qualms about taking money on what really was a technicality. After all, was it right to take money from a man who was too dim to realize what he had said? However, as Winfield had a great deal of money it did not seem as great a sin. The man could well afford it, whereas the employees of Garret and Tempest could not afford to lose their jobs without any kind of compensation.

“I shall soon need a new cook.” Portia sighed as if losing her cook was a disaster of unmitigated proportions. “Mine has apparently agreed to wed the man who provides the butcher with chickens so she will be off to the country soon. She did promise to stay until I hire someone new, but I fear her patience is growing thin.”

“Marriage does seem to be in the air,” Bianca said in an innocent manner, as if she didn’t know exactly what she was starting. “But then it is spring after all.”

“Portia,” Mother said thoughtfully. “I happened to cross paths with Lord Plumstead the other day. What a pleasant gentleman he is.”

“Is he?” Portia cast Bianca a scathing look and sipped her tea. Portia was currently at the top of Mother’s list.

“As pleasant as he might be, Mother, there is always a most distinct aroma around him.” Diana shook her head. “I suspect it comes from whatever he uses to plaster his remaining hairs on the top of his head in a futile effort to make it appear that he has more hair than he does. It’s extremely pungent, although I can’t quite put my finger on what it is.”

“Well, yes, I did notice that,” Mother said. “Still, perhaps all he needs is the right woman to point out the error. . . .”

As much as Miranda considered London the greatest city in the world—although admittedly she had never seen those other cities considered great, Paris, Vienna and the rest—at the moment she would have given nearly anything to be back in the country. Indeed, each and every time she left Millworth for London it grew a little harder to do so. And the blame for that could be laid squarely at the feet of Winfield Elliott.

While she had originally thought it would be both conf ining and annoying to be escorted to and from Fairborough each and every day, it had quickly become a habit and as natural a part of her life now as breathing. In no time at all she had found she looked forward to their daily trips either by carriage or horseback. He rode quite well, as did she. She enjoyed their discussions of matters serious or silly. Indeed, she enjoyed his company. The man was amusing and entertaining and thoughtful and far more intelligent and complicated than she had expected. In truth, he was a man of many unsuspected facets.

And as annoying as it was to admit it, every time she left him, she missed him. Indeed, she seemed to miss him more and more. Which only brought to mind the question of whether or not he missed her. They had certainly become friends, but Miranda suspected mere friends did not think about the other rather more than was necessary. Friends certainly didn’t wonder when another friend might kiss them. And she’d never before had a friend who visited her in her dreams and left her longing for something that might not be proper or acceptable or even right, but something she wanted nonetheless. Something wonderful and altogether wicked.

“Miranda?”

Miranda’s gaze jerked to her mother’s. “Yes?”

Mother frowned. “Where were you just now?”

Miranda widened her eyes. “Why, here of course.”

“You most certainly were not. I can tell when one of my girls is wool gathering.”

“She has been more than a little preoccupied of late.” Suspicion was in Bianca’s voice. “Indeed, I have noticed that for some time now. A year or more, I think.”

“Mourning.” Diana nodded knowingly.

“That’s not it.” Bianca considered her sister closely. “If I didn’t know better, as Miranda has always confided anything of importance to me, I would think she had some sort of secret.”

“A secret?” Miranda widened her eyes. “Me?”

“That does seem rather farfetched,” Mother murmured.

Miranda forced a light laugh. “What utter nonsense.”

“You’re being absurd, Bianca. Miranda has never had secrets. But she does look exceptionally nice today.” Portia studied her with a critical eye. “Her hair is different and the dress she’s wearing is positively stylish.”

“Thank you,” Bianca said with a smirk.

Mother raised a brow.

“Well, they are my clothes.” Bianca sniffed. “I simply loaned them to her.”

“And very kind of you to do so too.” Mother reached over and patted Bianca’s hand. “She looks lovely. That color is extremely flattering on her.”

“Thank you, Mother.” Miranda did think the salmon sort of color of the dress she wore today was indeed most flattering.

“Dare I ask why you have adopted such a dramatic change?” Diana said. “You’ve never been especially interested in clothes.”

“Then isn’t it past time I was?”

If she told any of them, especially her mother, half of what she had told Bianca about making changes in her life, her mother would immediately assume it was for only one reason: attracting a new husband. Before Miranda would be able to so much as open her mouth to protest, she would be at the top of Mother’s list. And every eligible bachelor who could stand upright would be aimed in her direction. There was nothing that gave Mother greater joy than when one of her children ran toward her matchmaking efforts rather than fleeing in terror. Miranda and her sisters had agreed among themselves that if Mother was a bit more selective—if only in regard to superficial things like appearance, age and hair—in the suitors she threw at them, perhaps she would be more successful. Although none of them would ever tell Mother that. It would only increase her efforts.

“Good Lord, yes,” Portia said with a bit more enthusiasm than was necessary. “We thought you’d never notice that you looked like—”

“A governess?” Miranda raised a brow.

“Nonsense.” Mother smiled at her youngest child. “You’ve always been quite lovely in a sweet, quiet, reserved sort of way.” Mother flashed a sharp look at the other women. “Don’t we think so? Each and every one of us?”

“Of course,” Bianca said weakly.

“Without question.” Diana smiled in a supportive manner.

“I don’t remember thinking any such thing. I thought we had all agreed . . .”

“Portia.” Mother’s eyes narrowed.

Portia paused, then smiled at Miranda. “We had all agreed that you were quite lovely in a quiet sort of way.”

“It’s always so good to hear what your sisters truly think of you,” Miranda said wryly. “I said this to Bianca and I shall say it to the rest of you—I do wish you had said something.”

“Why on earth would we do that?” Mother met her gaze firmly. “You were quite happy with your appearance and your life. It scarcely mattered what we thought.” She smiled and picked up her teacup. “Now, tell me how my dear friend Lady Fairborough is.”

“I didn’t realize you knew Lady Fairborough until Miranda mentioned it to me, Mother.” Suspicion sounded in Bianca’s voice.

“My dear girl, I know everyone.” Mother cast her a condescending smile. “I have been a part of London society for longer than I care to admit. There is no one that I do not have at least a passing acquaintance with.”

“Which is a far cry from dear friend,” Diana said under her breath.

Portia and Bianca exchanged glances. Portia smiled in an overly innocent manner. “Then do tell, Aunt Helena, what is Lady Fairborough’s given name?”

“Margaret.” Mother’s smile matched her niece’s. “Her husband, the Earl of Fairborough’s given name is Roland. Their family name is Elliott. Lady Fairborough’s maiden name was Shaw. Their son is Winfield, Lord Stillwell. Their nephew, who was raised by the family much as Portia was raised by us, is Grayson. He has made a significant fortune in ventures in America and was recently betrothed to Lady Lydingham.” She took a sip of her tea. “Lady Fairborough was considered quite a beauty in her youth, as was I. Lord Fairborough had a rather disreputable reputation, but then they all did, including your father. It does appear that his son has followed in his footsteps although I must say I have heard nothing of any significance about him in some time. Even his last engagement, one of three if I recall correctly, was several years ago.”

“Oh well, if it was several years ago,” Bianca said under her breath.

The other women stared.

“Now then, Miranda.” Mother turned her attention to her youngest. “How is my dear friend Lady Fairborough?”

“Quite well,” Miranda said. “She sends her regards.”

“And have you met that charming son of hers yet?”

Miranda shrugged. “In passing.”

“He is not engaged again, is he?”

“Not as far as I know,” Miranda said slowly.

“Not at all surprising, really.” Mother considered her thoughtfully. “I do think the peace and fresh air of the country have done you a world of good,” she said abruptly. “There is certainly more color in your cheeks than usual. Or perhaps it is the color of that dress. You should definitely wear that color much more often.” She nodded. “Do give Lady Fairborough my best.” Mother turned her attention to the others. “Diana, it has occurred to me that your . . .”

Miranda stared at her mother in disbelief. It was not at all like her to overlook anything. Why, the moment Winfield’s name came up in the conversation, Miranda had expected Mother to pounce on the possibility of a match like a cat on a mouse. It did seem farfetched that, for once, her mother had either not seen an opportunity or had chosen to ignore it. Perhaps it was Winfield’s reputation or, more likely, his failed engagements. There was nothing Mother saw as a greater sin than an engagement that failed to produce a marriage.

Still, as much as Miranda loved the woman, she didn’t trust her. Not when it came to the possibility of a suitable match for one of her children. No one knew better than the Dowager Countess of Waterston that the rules of fair play did not apply in love and war and apparently in making an excellent match as well.

No, one would be foolish to let one’s guard down with Lady Waterston. With her mother, anything could happen and, more often than not, did.

 

 

Miranda would have liked nothing better than to spend a quiet night alone in the cozy house she had shared with John. Even if her thoughts would have been about another man entirely. But late in the afternoon she and Bianca had joined Veronica at the Ladies Tearoom, where they had unfortunately been talked into accompanying her to a lecture given by Sebastian at the Explorers Club.

“I am so pleased the two of you decided to join me,” Veronica said as they took their seats in the very last row in the crowded lecture hall. “Sebastian is always happy when anyone from the family can make one of his lectures. Although, really, the man should understand that, unless he’s speaking on an entirely new topic, we have all heard what he has to say over and over and over again.”

“Do you go to all his lectures?” Miranda asked.

Veronica nodded. “Unless, of course, I can think of some clever reason why I cannot attend.”

“He does tend to fill a room.” Bianca looked around. “There are scarcely any seats left.”

“His books are selling quite nicely too,” Veronica said with a satisfied smile. “I do hope you don’t mind my giving up the seats Sebastian had reserved for us in the front row.”

“I thought it was very gracious of you to give them to those dear elderly ladies.” Miranda smiled.

“Yes, well, we shall see.” Veronica sighed. “They are friends of my aunt, who is a firm believer in membership for women in the Explorers Club. As she is not here tonight, I am assuming they will be well behaved, but one never knows.”

Miranda stared. “I can’t imagine that they wouldn’t be well behaved. They appeared docile enough.”

“Appearances, my dear Miranda, can be quite misleading. Especially when it comes to elderly women with a cause.” Veronica shook her head. “Why, every time my aunt comes here she inevitably gets into a dispute with the club director. And my aunt appears as meek and unassuming as her friends.”

Miranda and Bianca traded glances. They had met Veronica’s aunt. Meek and unassuming is not how they would describe her.

“Admittedly, that impression only lasts until she opens her mouth,” Veronica murmured.

A minute later, Sebastian took his place behind the podium and cast for his audience what his family privately referred to as his professional smile. Warm, welcoming and just intimate enough to create the impression among each and every listener that he was speaking to them and them alone.