by Julia Quinn
He stole a glance at Miranda to make sure she hadn’t woken up before he added, “Men can be asses. We’re silly and we’re stupid and we rarely open our eyes wide enough to see the blessings that are right in front of our faces. But I see you,” he added, smiling down at his daughter. “And I see your mother, and I hope her heart is big enough to forgive me this last time. I think it is, though. Your mama has a very big heart.”
The baby gurgled, causing Turner to smile with delight. “I can see that you agree with me. You’re very clever for being just a day old. But then again, I don’t see why I should be surprised. Your mama is very clever, too.”
The baby cooed.
“You flatter me, puss. But for the time being, I’ll let you think I’m clever, too.” He looked over at Miranda and whispered, “Only the two of us need to know just how stupid I’ve been.”
The baby made another baby noise, leading Turner to believe that his daughter must be the most intelligent child in the British Isles. “Do you want to meet your mother, puss? Here, why don’t we introduce the two of you.” His movements were awkward, for he had never held a baby before, but somehow he managed to settle his daughter in the crook of Miranda’s arm. “There you go. Mmmm, it’s warm there, isn’t it? I’d like to trade places with you. Your mama has very soft skin.” He reached out and touched the baby’s cheek. “Not as soft as yours, however. You, little one, are quite astonishingly perfect.”
The baby began to fidget and after a few moments let out a lusty wail. “Oh, dear,” Turner muttered, completely at a loss. He picked her up and cradled her against his shoulder, taking great care to support her head as he had seen his mother do. “There, there, now. Shhh. Be quiet now. That’s right.”
His entreaties obviously weren’t working because she bellowed in his ear.
A knock sounded on the door, and Lady Rudland looked inside. “Do you want me to take her, Turner?”
He shook his head, loath to part with his daughter.
“I think she’s hungry, Turner. The wet nurse is in the next room.”
“Oh. Of course.” He looked vaguely embarrassed as he handed the baby to his mother. “Here you are.”
He was alone again with Miranda. She hadn’t moved at all during his vigil, save for the shallow rise and fall of her chest. “It’s morning, Miranda,” he said, taking her hand in his again and trying to cajole her into consciousness. “Time to wake up. Will you? If not for yourself, then for me. I’m frightfully tired, but you know I can’t go to sleep until you wake up.”
But she did not move. She did not turn in her sleep, and she did not snore, and she was terrifying him. “Miranda,” he said, hearing the panic in his voice, “this is enough. Do you hear me? It’s enough. You need to—”
He broke off, unable to go on any longer. He gave her hand a squeeze and looked away. Tears blurred his vision. How was he going to go on without her? How would he raise their daughter all on his own? How would he even know what to name her? And worst of all, how could he live with himself if she died without ever hearing him say that he loved her?
With fresh determination, he wiped away his tears and turned back to her. “I love you, Miranda,” he said loudly, hoping that he could penetrate her haze, even if she never woke up. His voice grew urgent. “I love you. You. Not what you do for me or the way you make me feel. Just you.”
A slight sound escaped her lips, so soft that Turner initially thought he had imagined it. “Did you say something?” His eyes searched her face frantically, looking for any sign of movement. Her lips quivered again, and his heart leaped with joy. “What was that, Miranda? Please, just say it once again. I didn’t hear you the first time.” He put his ear down to her lips.
Her voice was weak, but the word came through loud and clear: “Good.”
Turner began to laugh. He couldn’t help it. How like Miranda to have a smart mouth while on her supposed deathbed. “You’re going to be all right, aren’t you?”
Her chin moved only a fraction of an inch, but it was definitely a nod.
Wild with happiness and relief, he ran to the door and yelled out the good news for the rest of the house to hear. Not surprisingly, his mother, Olivia, and much of the household staff came running into the hall.
“She’s all right,” he gasped, not even caring that his face was wet with tears. “She’s all right.”
“Turner.” The word came like a croak from the bed.
“What is it, my love?” He rushed to her side.
“Caroline,” she said softly, using all her strength to curve her lips into a smile. “Call her Caroline.”
He lifted her hand to his in a courtly kiss. “Caroline it is. You gave me a perfect little girl.”
“You always get what you want,” she whispered.
He gazed down at her lovingly, suddenly realizing the extent of the miracle that had brought her back from the dead. “Yes,” he said hoarsely. “It seems that I do.”
A few days later, Miranda was feeling much improved. At her request, she had been moved to the bedroom she and Turner had shared during the first months of their marriage. The surroundings comforted her, and she wanted to show her husband that she wanted a real marriage. They belonged together. It was that simple.
She was still confined to her bed, but she’d regained much of her strength, and her cheeks were tinged with a healthy pink glow. Although that might just have been love. Miranda had never felt so much of it before. Turner couldn’t seem to say two sentences without blurting it out, and Caroline brought out such love in both of them, it was indescribable.
Olivia and Lady Rudland fussed over her, too, but Turner tried to keep their interference at a minimum, wanting his wife wholly to himself. He was sitting by her side one day as she woke up from a nap.
“Good afternoon,” he murmured.
“Afternoon? Is it really?” She let out a giant yawn.
“Past noon, at least.”
“Goodness. I’ve never felt this lazy before.”
“You deserve it,” he assured her, his blue eyes glowing warm with love. “Every minute of it.”
“How is the baby?”
Turner smiled. She managed to ask that question within the first minute of any conversation. “Very well. She’s got quite a set of lungs, I must say.”
“She’s very sweet, isn’t she?”
He nodded. “Just like her mother.”
“Oh, I’m not so sweet.”
He dropped a kiss on her nose. “Under that temper of yours, you’re very sweet. Trust me. I’ve tasted you.”
She blushed. “You’re incorrigible.”
“I’mhappy ,” he corrected. “Really, truly, happy.”
“Turner?”
He looked down at her intently, hearing the hesitation in her voice. “What, my love?”
“What happened?”
“I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”
She opened her mouth and then closed it, obviously trying to find the right words. “Why did you…suddenly realize…”
“That I loved you?”
She nodded mutely.
“I don’t know. I think it was inside of me all along. I was just too blind to see it.”
She swallowed nervously. “Was it when I almost died?” She didn’t know why, but the idea that he couldn’t realize his love until she was snatched away from him didn’t sit well with her.
He shook his head. “It was when you gave me Caroline. I heard her cry out, and the sound was so…so…I can’t describe it, but I loved her instantly. Oh, Miranda, father-hood is an awesome thing. When I hold her in my arms…I wish you knew what it was like.”
“Rather like motherhood, I imagine,” she said smartly.
He touched her lips with his forefinger. “Such a mouth on you. Let me finish my story. I have friends who have had children, and they have told me how remarkable it is to have a new life that is a piece of your own flesh and blood. But I—” He cleared his throat. “I realized t
hat I didn’t love her because she was a piece of me, I loved her because she was a piece of you.”
Miranda’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Turner.”
“No, let me finish. I don’t know what I did or said to deserve you, Miranda, but now that I have you, I’m not letting go. I love you so much.” He swallowed, choking on his words. “So much.”
“Oh, Turner, I love you, too. You know that, don’t you?”
He nodded. “I thank you for that. It’s the most precious gift I have ever received.”
“We’re going to be really happy, aren’t we?” She gave him a wobbly smile.
“Beyond words, love, beyond words.”
“And we’ll have more children?”
His expression turned stern. “Provided that you don’t give me another scare like this one. Besides, the best way to avoid children is abstinence, and I don’t think I’m going to be able to accomplish that.”
She blushed, but she also said, “Good.”
He leaned down and gave her as passionate a kiss as he dared. “I should let you get some rest,” he said, reluctantly tearing himself away from her.
“No, no. Please don’t go. I’m not tired.”
“Are you sure?”
What bliss it was to have someone care for her so deeply. “Yes, I’m sure. But I want you to get me something. Would you mind?”
“Of course not. What is it?”
She pointed out her finger. “There is a silk-covered box on my desk in the sitting room. Inside it is a key.”
Turner raised his brows questioningly but followed her summons. “The green box?” he called out.
“Yes.”
“Here you are.” He walked back into the bedroom, holding up the key.
“Good. Now if you go back to my desk, you’ll find a large wooden box in the bottom drawer.”
He walked back into the sitting room. “Here we are. Lord, it’s heavy. What do you have in here? Rocks?”
“Books.”
“Books? What kind of books are so precious they need to be locked up?”
“They’re my journals.”
He reappeared, carrying the wooden box in both arms. “You keep a journal? I never knew.”
“It was at your suggestion.”
He turned. “It was not.”
“It was. The day we first met. I told you about Fiona Bennet and how horrid she was, and you told me to keep a journal.”
“I did?”
“Mmm-hmm. And I remember exactly what you said to me. I asked you why I should keep a journal and you said, ‘Because someday you’re going to grow into yourself, and you will be as beautiful as you already are smart. And then you can look back into your diary and realize just how silly little girls like Fiona Bennet are. And you’ll laugh when you remember that your mother said your legs started at your shoulders. And maybe you’ll save a little smile for me when you remember the nice chat we had today.’”
He stared at her in awe, wisps of the memory starting to come back to him. “And you said you’d save abig smile for me.”
She nodded. “I memorized what you said word for word. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to me.”
“My God, Miranda,” he breathed reverently. “You really love me, don’t you?”
She nodded. “Since that day. Here, bring me the box.”
He set the box on the bed and handed her the key. She opened it and pulled out several books. Some were leather-bound, and some were covered with girlish floral fabric, but she reached for the simplest one, a small notebook reminiscent of the sort he’d used while a student. “This was the first,” she said, turning the cover with reverent fingers. “I really have loved you all along. See?”
He looked down at the first entry.
2 MARCH1810
Today I fell in love.
A tear welled up in his eye. “Me too, my love. Me too.”
About the Author
JULIAQUINNstarted writing her first book one month after finishing college and has been tapping away at her keyboard ever since.
TheNew York Times bestselling author of sixteen novels for Avon Books, she is a graduate of Harvard and Radcliffe Colleges and lives with her family in the Pacific Northwest.
Please visit her on the web atwww.juliaquinn.com.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
Avon Romances by
Julia Quinn
THESECRETDIARIES OFMISSMIRANDACHEEVER
ON THEWAY TO THEWEDDING
IT’SINHISKISS
WHENHEWASWICKED
TOSIRPHILLIP,WITHLOVE
ROMANCINGMISTERBRIDGERTON
ANOFFERFROM AGENTLEMAN
THEVISCOUNTWHOLOVEDME
THEDUKE ANDI
HOW TOMARRY AMARQUIS
TOCATCH ANHEIRESS
BRIGHTERTHAN THESUN
EVERYTHING AND THEMOON
MINX
DANCING ATMIDNIGHT
SPLENDID
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE SECRET DIARIES OF MISS MIRANDA CHEEVER. Copyright © 2007 by Julie Cotler Pottinger. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Microsoft Reader June 2007 ISBN 978-0-06-145467-7
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