The Importance of Being Wicked (Millworth Manor) (30 page)

The breeze whispered through the trees, sounding very much like a sigh of heartfelt sorrow. Of course, this was the place for it. He wondered what Thomas and Anne would think of his plight? Would they sympathize? Or would they point out they were ultimately separated by death and anything else could be overcome.

Nonetheless, he didn’t see how and it no longer mattered. This was not a question of logic or reason. This was emotion, feelings. Raw and new and awful. A dull heavy weight that settled in the bottom of his stomach and clutched at his breath and caught at his heart.

Win got to his feet and started back toward Fairborough. He had to survive the ball, and then he would do whatever was necessary never to see Miranda Garret again. Gray could handle anything that needed seeing to regarding construction. Win would treat her with polite reserve tonight; he had no choice. And tomorrow, as cowardly as it might seem, he would flee to London or anywhere that she was not.

He had never had to fight for a woman before. And now he understood this was a fight he could not win.

Even if the battle was only with himself.

Miranda stared at the library door.

She’d been too stunned to say much of anything and now it was too late. She had no idea how to show him, to prove to him, that John was part of her past. And Winfield was her future. The only future she wanted. Indeed, while it did feel disloyal and even wrong, she was certain if she met John for the first time today, they would not suit at all. She had loved him, of course, but it had been so easy to do so. And she was a different woman now.

Winfield was not the least bit easy. Nor did she want him to be. Loving Winfield was exhilarating and exciting and completely unexpected. And so much more than anything she’d ever dreamed of.

Miranda paced the library and considered what to do now. She could certainly go after him, but, as she didn’t know what to say, that might do more harm than good. It might be best to leave him be for a bit. Perhaps he would come to his senses on his own. She scoffed at the thought. He would never come to his senses on his own. He was far too upset and obviously hurt. Her heart ached for him. She would never deliberately do anything to hurt him. She’d been with the man nearly every day for months now. Surely she knew how to fix this.

She paused in mid-step. There did seem to be only one way to prove to him that she had moved on with her life, and that he was the one she wished to move on with. It might well be a dreadful mistake and result in horrible humiliation for them both, publicly and privately. If she failed, the man would break her heart. It was a risk she would have to take. And hadn’t Winfield said the greater the risk, the greater the reward?

Even so, this time, the risk was insignificant compared to the reward.

Compared to the rest of their lives.

Lady Fairborough was right. It was indeed a night of magic.

The weather was perfect, the food excellent and the musicians superb. Even the stars in the sky twinkled merrily as if trying to outshine the spangles on the yards and yards of dyed muslin covering Fairborough’s walls.

Miranda wasn’t sure she’d ever seen a ball quite so well attended before. But then the tradition was to invite everyone in the county regardless of wealth or social position. It was a country affair and as such, was a bit less formal than something held in London, but there were any number of guests who had made the trip from the city to attend. Lady Fairborough had said the ball always drew a great crowd, greater this year as she suspected few who had been invited would fail to attend. After all, the rebuilding of Fairborough Hall was a subject of some curiosity in the area.

Lady Fairborough was in her glory. Lord Fairborough was having a grand time. Their son was a different story.

Winfield had done everything possible to avoid her. Indeed, she wouldn’t have been at all surprised to have discovered him hiding behind a potted palm. Although she did note he seemed to have no lack of attractive dancing partners. It was most annoying. Fortunately, his sense of responsibility kept him from abandoning the event altogether.

The ball was well under way. It was time.

She took Lord Fairborough aside and explained her plan. The older man studied her for a long moment. “Are you certain you wish to do this?”

“I can think of nothing else that would be as effective.” She smiled wryly.

“Very well then.” He nodded. “I shall do my part and we shall both hope for the best.”

The next waltz started and Lord Fairborough caught Miranda’s eye and nodded. She drew a deep breath and approached Winfield, who was chatting with a lovely young blonde thing, no doubt in her first season.

“My lord.” Miranda cast him a brilliant smile. “I believe this is our dance.”

Win glanced from Miranda to the young lady and back. “My apologies, Lady Garret, it must have slipped my mind. And as the dance is now half over—”

“Then we have no time to waste.” She cast the blonde a dismissive smile.

Winfield hesitated, then smiled at the young woman. “If you will forgive me, Miss Robb.” He turned to Miranda and offered his arm.

She took his arm and he escorted her onto the floor and swept her into the dance. Their first dance. She would not allow it to be their last.

“A bit young for you, don’t you think?” she said pleasantly.

“Not at all.” He smiled in a polite manner.

“I suspect she would be willing to marry you should you ask her.”

“Most women are.”

She drew a deep breath. “I have given a great deal of thought to our recent conversations and I must admit I was wrong.”

“Were you?”

“I was indeed.” She smiled up at him. “I was wrong when I apologized for calling you a twit as you so clearly are.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Let me ask you this: Do you feel a responsibility toward your employees? To keep them out of harm’s way and that sort of thing?”

He frowned down at her. “Yes, of course.”

“Then surely you can understand how learning that men, who were essentially in my employ, were injured would upset me.”

His brow furrowed. “I suppose I hadn’t really considered—”

“No, you were entirely too busy reaching the wrong conclusion because you are so concerned about once again making the wrong decision and choosing the wrong woman.”

“Don’t be absurd.” His expression tightened. “And this is not the place for this discussion.”

“You’ve given me very little choice. If we do not resolve this tonight you will probably flee to London to hide. Again.”

“I did not . . .” His jaw clenched. “This is not the time.”

“Unless you intend to leave me right here in the middle of a dance, it’s the only time I have.” She paused to choose her words carefully. “You should know, I do intend to continue my work.”

“I shall be happy to give you excellent references.” He glanced down at her. “And that’s no longer any of my concern.”

“Nonetheless, I thought you might be interested.” She paused as they executed a perfect turn. But then she had heard he danced well. “Although I do think it would be wise to close or sell Garret and Tempest.”

That caught his attention. “You do?”

She nodded. “While it is now my business, the firm was started by my husband and I think I would rather start fresh. With my work and my life.”

Hope flashed in his blue eyes. “Do you?”

“I have no need to cling to the past. I would much prefer to look toward the future.” She shrugged as best she could in his arms. “Besides, I see no other way to prove to you that I have moved on. I cannot change my past, nor can you change yours. I loved John, but that has nothing to do with the way I love you.”

“You never said you loved me,” he said slowly, his gaze boring into hers. “You could have mentioned that sooner. It’s rather important.”

“Yes, well, I should have told you the moment I realized it. My apologies.”

He stared down at her. “Accepted.”

“I cannot conceive of living the rest of my life without you.” He led her through a complicated turn and she continued. “Nor do I intend to.”

His brows drew together. “You don’t?”

“Absolutely not. You are an annoying, obstinate, complicated twit of a man and I will not allow you to stalk out of my life in a huff of foolish pride and misunderstanding.”

“Do try not to make me sound so appealing.” The corners of his mouth twitched as if he were holding back a smile.

“I told you I have always wanted a wicked man and now that I have found one . . . well . . .”

“Well?”

“You were wrong when you said nothing terrifies me. I find any number of things terrifying. At the top of that list is losing you.”

“Miranda—”

“Although there is one other thing I should tell you as it is rather important as well.”

The music ended and Lord Fairborough took his place in the center of the terrace to address the gathering as was traditional.

Winfield stared down at her. “What?”

She peered around him. “I believe your father is about to speak.”

“What is the other thing?” Impatience rang in his voice.

“That will have to wait. As you said, now is not the time.”

“Miranda!”

Miranda bit back a satisfied smile and started toward Winfield’s mother, Grayson and Camille, who were standing near the stairs leading up to the terrace.

“It seems to me this is the perfect time,” an obviously confused and annoyed Winfield muttered behind her. Good. She did so love annoying him and everything was so much easier when he was confused. This was going quite well thus far.

“Good evening, friends, neighbors and honored guests,” Lord Fairborough began. “It has been a long and unusual year, to say the least. It is my very great pleasure to welcome you . . .”

Winfield leaned close to her and spoke softly into her ear. “You are the most annoying creature I have ever met.”

“Yes, I know.”

“I insist you tell—”

“Shh!”

“. . . and best of all,” Lord Fairborough continued, “I should like to take this opportunity . . .”

“You might wish to listen to this,” she murmured.

“I’ve heard my father’s Midsummer Ball speech before.” He glared down at her. “What haven’t you told me? This is not the time for games, Miranda.”

“Listen to your father, Winfield.”

Winfield huffed in frustration and shifted his gaze to his father.

“. . . to announce the engagement of my son, Lord Stillwell, to the lovely and enchanting Lady Garret.”

At once all eyes were on them. She leaned toward him and lowered her voice for his ears alone. “My darling Lord Stillwell, would you do me the very great honor of accepting my proposal of marriage?”

“Are you sure?” His gaze searched hers.

“I have never been more certain of anything in my life.” She paused. “Although you should know all of my engagements end in marriage and you would only be my second fiancé.”

He stared at her for a long moment. Her heart thudded in her chest. She wasn’t sure what she would do if he had changed his mind. If he didn’t want her after all.

“Well? Will you?” She held her breath.

“No, Lady Garret, I will not be your second fiancé.” A slow, easy smile curved his lips. “But I will be your last.”

He took her hand and raised it to his lips. The crowd applauded.

“Surely you can do better than that,” Miranda said softly and gazed into his eyes. “You do have that wicked reputation to maintain.”

“Indeed I do. What was I thinking?” He grinned and swept her into his arms, bent her backwards and kissed her as she’d never been kissed before.

The gathering roared its approval and it flashed through Miranda’s mind that there wasn’t a person here who wouldn’t be making a wager on whether or not this engagement of Lord Stillwell’s ended in marriage. She did hope those who bet against their marriage wouldn’t lose too much.

The noise of the crowd faded and there was nothing in all of creation except him and her and the way their hearts beat together, one in perfect rhythm with the other, as it was meant to be. As it would be for the rest of their days.

The wicked lord and the governess.

Who would have thought?

 

It had been pointed out to Win that this was perhaps not the most appropriate spot at Fairborough to hold a wedding as a previous wedding planned here had not taken place. But then, there were few places at Fairborough where weddings planned had occurred as expected. At least not his weddings. But he and Miranda had agreed there could be no better place to vow their eternal love for one another then here at the folly.

His mother had outdone herself, but then she’d had a great deal of practice at planning weddings. The clearing was filled with chairs and tables and a temporary floor for dancing. The folly had been festooned with ribbons and fresh flowers. He couldn’t help but wonder if the fairies appreciated it, although why wouldn’t they? It was so clearly the perfect setting for magic. The perfect setting for love.

Now, with his wife, his future, by his side, he gazed over the gathering—neither too large nor too small—with all of their friends and families in attendance. And two guests who were not invited but were welcome nonetheless. There had been a collective sigh of relief, which he had found annoying but understandable, when he and Miranda had at last been pronounced husband and wife.

“I can’t believe you finally made it to the altar.” Gray chuckled beside him.

“Nor can anyone, Grayson.” Camille smiled. “Do you have any idea how many wagers there were in London about whether or not this wedding would take place?”

Miranda laughed. “Did you win a great deal?”

“You have no idea,” Camille said smugly.

“You didn’t.” Grayson stared at his fiancée.

“Of course not.” Camille scoffed and cast him an innocent smile that didn’t fool anyone.

Win leaned close to his cousin and lowered his voice. “And how did you fare in that?”

“Suffice it to say, your wedding has proven most profitable,” Gray said quietly. “About the wedding . . .” He paused. “Did you see them? Off to one side. Watching the proceedings?”

Win nodded. “I wondered if anyone else had.”

“They looked happy.”

“I thought so as well. But then their folly has at last seen a wedding as was intended all along.”

“I hope the two of you realize you are not as discreet as you think and we have heard every word you said.” Miranda smiled. “And I saw them as well.”

“I didn’t.” Camille nudged Gray with her elbow. “You should have pointed them out to me. I would have loved to have seen them again.”

Gray stared at his fiancée. “You’ve seen them? Thomas and Anne?”

“Goodness, Grayson, one can’t grow up at Millworth Manor without seeing at least a handful of the dearly departed. But more to the point—” Her eyes narrowed. “How profitable?”

Win laughed.

“Very profitable.” Gray grinned and deftly changed the subject. “Now that you have managed to ensnare in marriage a woman who is obviously entirely too good for you, do you—and Miranda as well, of course—have any words of wisdom as we follow your footsteps to the altar?”

“And Grayson at least can certainly use all the wisdom he can get.” Camille directed a teasing smile at her fiancé.

“Trust,” Winfield said firmly. “Trust between you is paramount.”

“And honesty,” Miranda added. “Not complete and total honesty, mind you, but relative honesty.”

“Personally, I have always preferred relative honesty,” Camille murmured.

Gray raised a brow.

“And do try not to jump to conclusions,” Miranda said. “Even if they make perfect sense to you because it’s more than likely they do not make any sense at all to anyone else.”

“Never allow your family to interfere in your affairs,” Win added.

“Oh, that ship has sailed,” Gray said under his breath.

“And do be willing to compromise.” Miranda smiled at her husband. “What you give up does tend to lose all importance compared to what you gain.”

“And give her what she wants, Gray.”

“Within reason, you mean?” Gray asked.

Camille scoffed. “Don’t be absurd, dear.”

“For example, Miranda has always rather fancied a wicked man.” Win cast Miranda his most charming smile. The very one women had always considered irresistible. The smile reserved now and for the rest of his days for one woman and one woman alone. “And I was only too happy to give her exactly what she wanted.”

Gray nodded. “As any intelligent man would.”

“A wicked man? How very interesting.” Camille considered Miranda thoughtfully. “It’s my understanding that wicked men are nearly impossible to resist. As is reforming them.”

“I can be very wicked.” Gray grinned.

“I know.” Camille smiled a wicked smile of her own. “I like it.”

“It does seem that when all is said and done . . .” Miranda turned to her husband and met his gaze. His breath caught at the look in her brown eyes, of the promise of tomorrow and the love that would last until the day they breathed their last. And perhaps, like Thomas and Anne, even beyond. “One can never underestimate the importance of being wicked.”