by Stacy Reid
She surged to her feet, brushing grass and twigs from her dress and hair. Not that it helped, but it did not diminish from her loveliness. Today she’d donned a dark yellow short-sleeved buttoned-up gown where the narrow skirt hugged her slender frame to its best advantage. She had a slim, wild beauty that seemed untouchable, and it amused Simon that she appeared so unconcerned with dirtying her elegant gown. His sister would have squealed with outrage should a spot of mud touched her hemline.
"Have you come to join the puppies and me, Dr. Astor?" she asked with a lift of her chin and a smile on her lips.
“Puppies!” he exclaimed in mock horror. “They are each about ten stones of fully-grown beasts.”
She chortled and rubbed behind the ears of Brutus who howled at this pleasure. His large body bounced into hers, and she stumbled. Simon lunged forward and caught her into his arms, and she lifted laughing eyes up to him. The liveliness of her character was enchanting and intoxicating to his senses which had been dormant for years.
"Oh, they are so lovely. I've always wanted a dog or a kitten, but Mamma was allergic to all animals, and they were forbidden."
How wistful she sounded.
"So you decided to sneak away and play with my dogs, did you?" he asked, dropping his hand from her arms, and moving away. The scent and feel of her was too great a temptation, and it made no sense for him to even try and indulge in a flirtation with her. Refined young ladies like her were not for him. He was the third son, for God’s sake. His income was modest, and his inheritance would not last forever. Ladies like Miranda were destined to marry men of impeccable lineage and comfortable fortune. And based on the disposition of her mother and brother, it would also be a family requirement. While his ancestry could live up to the challenge, his wealth would not be sufficient to keep her in the style to which she had long been accustomed.
He'd already used a sizeable chunk of his inheritance to buy this property, and there were no monies to be made from serving the villagers. They paid him in oranges, baked goods, meats, love, and laughter.
Nor could he bear to be a physician to those fine families who could pay him the exorbitant fees most London physicians charged their betters. His services were needed here. Before he had opened his home to those in need, they'd had no one to turn to for medical aid. The apothecary could only do so much, and they had suffered from many diseases with little recourse for support, especially the children.
He had no business wasting his energy thinking about her in a lascivious manner when it was evident to all she was as pure as snow. So even if he had been of a mind to consider seducing her, he would have been the worse sort of libertine to even attempt such a diversion.
“Your mind has gone wandering,” she said.
“Pray don’t regard it, I fear it happens sometimes.” Then he picked up a piece of wood and tossed it.
Sherra, the smallest of the four dogs broke away, and jumped in a beautiful arc, grabbing the stick with her mouth, then proudly trotted over and delivered the stick to Lady Miranda. She laughed and tossed it even further to the dogs’ boundless delight for they all raced after the stick. She saw him peeking at her stocking-clad feet and wrinkled her nose.
“Are we taking a walk on the wild and improper side?” he teased drolly.
“Why, I daresay I am!” she said with a cheeky grin, lifting her stained stocking for his inspection. "Mamma would be appalled to see me in such disarray, yet I am quite unconcerned at the thought of her displeasure."
There was that odd wistfulness in her tone once more, and a definite naughty twinkle in her eyes. She bent low and slipped on her walking shoes, then made her way to his side.
“I gather you did not play much as a child.”
She smiled. “I had my fair shares of tea parties.”
“Did you not run on the grass, roll in the snow, play crickets, and hunt for bugs and beetles? Race on your pony across the lanes of the estate?”
She stared at him in surprise, yearning darkening her eyes. “No,” she murmured. “But all those sound lovely except for the searching for bugs and beetles.”
He flashed her a grin. “My brothers and even my sister had a grand time at our home in our childhood days. Our childhood was filled with much fun and laughter. Perhaps we were spoilt.”
She drifted closer, her soft fragrance of roses and lavender teasing his senses. “Are you the youngest of your siblings?”
He tossed another stick, and this time it was Cronus who bounded after it. “My sister, Lucy, who is recently engaged, is the youngest at twenty. I am a doddering old man at six and twenty.”
“You are remarkably young to be a physician.”
“I started studying at sixteen.”
The beginning of a smile tipped the corners of her mouth. “How wonderful it must be to be so certain of the path you wish to traverse in life.”
He thought about this, surprised to realize he had known years before when he'd first stepped into the Royal College of Physicians, and then moved onto further studies in Glasgow and Edinburgh that he'd wanted to be some healer of sorts. "When I was a lad of eight years, I found a dog on one of our family trips to Brighton. He was half starved, bleeding from many wounds. Perhaps he'd been in a fight, or perhaps his previous owners beat him. I was never certain. My brothers, William and Edward, helped me lift him into our carriage to my mother's great distress," he said with a fond chuckle. "She demanded we let the poor thing out to die, but my father begged her to indulge me. Instead of running in the sand by the seaside or taking to the waters with my family, I was determined to save that dog."
“And did you?”
“To everyone’s surprise, including myself, I did. That dog, whom I named George, went on to live with us for ten years.”
She sighed. “I do love happy endings.”
“My mother would have preferred if I earned my living as a clergyman. More respectable in her opinion than being a physician.”
“From what I have seen, you’ve acquitted yourself as a physician quite admirably.” The gaze she settled on him was piercing, assessing, and with a wicked jolt to his heart, he realized she was attracted to him.
Simon stumbled and silently cursed himself for his clumsiness.
Her lips curved and his fingertips twitched with anticipation of what it would be like to touch her. To kiss her. To walk with her under the banner of stars, to properly court her. All those things she inspired in his heart and more. The lady must be unaware of the captivating picture she made with her smiles, or surely, she would dole them less frequently.
He was flummoxed, for he hardly knew her. It was quite astonishing, the immediacy of which she captured his regard. Simon had never been the type of man to shy away from the things that interested or puzzled him greatly. At his heart, he was scientific, and truly, Lady Miranda invited study. He wanted to get to know her.
Breaking a stick in two, he glanced toward the lowering sun, and the sky painted in a fiery blaze of orange and lavender. "Do you wish to marry?" he asked gruffly.
She broke into a wide, open smile. "I…I do. Once I did not understand the desire my parents had for me to marry. That was all I heard about since I was a child. My eventual come out and the connections I would make with my marriage. And that is all my friends speak about. Who they will walk out with, and when they would marry? For a long time, I became bored with the idea of marriage, certain there was more to life. I would tumble into bed exhausted from late-night balls or rides in the park, and oddly, though I should be having great fun, I started to feel saddened.”
At her silence, he prompted, “And?”
"There is more," she murmured. "But there is something beautiful about sharing life experiences and joy with someone who could appreciate all of your eccentricities, is there not? Someone to laugh with, to rest your head upon their shoulder when you are tired. Frequently I would feel lonely at a ball, and I am astonished by that awareness. And it is because I feel I cannot express to my friends
what is in my true heart. They might believe me to be a trifle odd for expressing any individuality, but I do believe if one should marry, it should be to someone whom you can be honest about with all your heart.”
She chuckled with evident discomfort as if embarrassed about revealing such an intimate part of herself to him. A flash of vulnerability lit in her eyes, and a sudden insight into the sadness in her eyes pierced him. She wasn't allowed to experience life the way she hungered to. Instead, she was guided by her mother's expectations, perhaps even society's, and she wanted to break away without recriminations heaping onto her head.
Unexpectedly she said, “My mamma is determined I wed a prince. As if they pepper London’s haut monde.”
“A genuine prince?”
Her eyes danced with mirth. “But if a prince is unavailable, a duke will do.”
In silence they walked farther into the clearing, approaching a small brook.
“Is that what you also wish, to marry a duke?”
"I wish to marry a man I could love," she said softly. "I've been offered for by several gentlemen, but what they admired was my beauty and dowry, but never my intelligence or accomplishments, and most certainly no gentleman has ever truly tried to woo my heart. It seems like such an inconsequential desire—to be liked or even admired by the man I would marry. But when I dwell upon it, what should we talk about if he cannot tolerate me, or if he dislikes my opinions and the way I laugh? There is a rumor in society that Viscountess Bellamy's husband loathes her laugh, comparing it to a braying donkey, and makes every effort to not make his wife laugh! He prefers her querulous or simply not to see her at all. Why, I cannot credit it, I hope there is no veracity to the tale. How tedious and painful life would be without genuine affections and caring. I want to be loved…admired…respected for all I am."
Her answer was so unexpected he faltered. She stopped as well, and they faced each other. Simon had never met a young lady of high society who was not determined to snag a gentleman with a title. The entire success of young ladies in the haut monde depended on securing an advantageous match, the loftier the title, the better, the more yearly income, the better. Even his sister had made a list of eligible gentlemen to marry with those desirable attributes in her thoughts.
"Mamma, of course, believes I am silly, and Henry says my delicate nerves are overset," she said on an indelicate snort.
He clasped his hands behind his back, lest he tug her into his embrace and did something foolish. “Your desires are perfectly reasonable, and quite admirable if I may say so.”
She shot him a surprised but very pleased glance. “I’m gratified to hear you say so.”
“I’ve had such leanings myself.”
She arched a brow teasingly. “That you would like to marry a gentleman for love?”
Simon smiled, enjoying her odd humor. He was tempted to inform her that he was the son of a duke, but he did not like how people invariably adjusted their behavior once they learned of his connections to such an elevated family. And it would gut something inside of him if he were to observe such conduct in her. Though he did not believe the lady capable of such hypocrisy.
“I’ve always thought when I do marry, which I hope to be soon, it must be to a lady who admires me genuinely. And I dare hope she would not choose me because of my income or connections to a distinguished family. I would not begrudge her if she wanted those things, only a fool would wish to live in discomfort and poverty, but I daresay, I hope she would have respect and affections for me."
She turned her head toward him, her eyes brimful of merriment. “You have exactly expressed my feelings. And I daresay if the lady of your heart does not fall madly in love with you, she is a fool.” A flash of humor crossed her face. “Perhaps we are a perfect match with all our idealistic idiosyncrasies.”
“Alas, I am not a prince,” he said, pressing a hand against his chest as if wounded grievously.
“Or a duke,” she replied with an unladylike roll of her eyes.
“I could whisk you away to a secret island, where we would marry and live in love for the rest of our days.”
Her cheeks pinkened becomingly. “I could tell from your reading books you have a romantic heart.”
Simon laughed, reached out, and tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. “Was it the copy of Sense and Sensibility on my desk you saw,” he murmured tenderly.
“Isn’t the romance between Elinor and Edward simply wonderful.”
“I much prefer the sentiments which grew between Colonel Brandon and Maryann.”
Lady Miranda rolled her eyes once again, and with much laughter they spent the afternoon on a stroll, discussing the wildly romantic triumph and pitfalls of Sense and Sensibility.
Chapter 5
Miranda shared a secret smile with Simon across the large breakfast table. Breakfast consisted of tea, a pot of chocolate, toasted bread, strawberry preserves, raisin pastries, coddled eggs, thin slices of ham, and a carrot cake, yet she was not tempted to indulge. There was a hovering sense of something unexpected about to happen in her heart, and it had her stomach in knots.
For the last four days and nights, they had fallen into a routine of taking long walks where they discussed various books and plays, ranging from Shakespeare, Byron, Jane Austen, and even Plato and Socrates. They also discussed Dr. Astor’s work, and the fundraising events he hosted from time to time, in the hope of raising funding for a hospital in the area that would serve the people of this village, and of those villages nearby. His selfless giving and passion for helping others filled her heart with remarkable admiration and warmth, and she found that she wanted to assist him in organizing raising the money required to found and run the hospital.
And then last night when they had unintentionally met in the library, both unable to sleep, and struck with the similar thought of reading a book. He had read A Midsummer Night’s Kiss, and she’d curled into a comfortable sofa by the fire and had been lulled by the rich, deep, cadence of his voice. A flutter of warm sensations erupted in her stomach, and her heartbeat quickened uncomfortably at the mere memory of how contented she’d felt.
It saddened her to realize she would depart his home soon, as her mother was eager to leave for their country home in Lincolnshire where they would retire until next season.
“Dr. Astor, Miranda mentioned in passing that you have siblings. Do they not live here with you?” her mother asked, not content to eat in silence.
Henry crunched his toast noisily, quite uncharacteristic of him, for propriety was just as important to him as it was to Mamma. Miranda suspected he was intolerably bored and anything was a diversion. She had caught him yesterday flirting with the young housekeeper, who had been blushing like a silly, fresh faced debutante.
Simon slowly spread the strawberry preserve over his cake. “My sister is married and living within her own household. My older brothers have both been away from England for the last five years. William is in India and Edward in New York. And my mother has not left Hampshire since our father went onto his reward seven years ago.”
“You are comfortably situated for a third son,” the countess said with considerable inquisitiveness. “Should I know of your family, Dr. Astor?”
Before he could reply, the door to the breakfast parlor opened and Mrs. Denniston, suitably attired in a blue frock, strolled inside. "I was checking in on my Tommy, or I would have been down when the bell rang," she said with a tentative smile.
The countess had been taking trays in her room and previously had no occasion to dine with everyone these last few nights. Miranda hadn’t thought it any of her mother’s concern to mention the lady was still in residence, and her mother had not enquired after the boy.
“Is she to dine with us?” she demanded in evident outrage.
Exasperated, Miranda set down her teacup with an uncharacteristic thud. “Mamma!”
“Dr. Astor, I expect a man of your standing to—”
“You will have no expectations of me
or anyone I’ve invited to my home and table, Lady Langford. I do, however, expect all my guests to be treated with cordiality and for each person in my home to be mindful of their tongue and manners.”
Mrs. Denniston had frozen, but now her shoulders relaxed, and she bobbed a quick thanks to Simon before taking a seat, which he stood and held out for her. Henry choked on his tea, his eyes widening, never once having heard anyone reprimanding Mamma. The countess’s lips pinched, and a flush worked itself along her elegant cheekbones. Then she visibly composed herself.
The echo of running footsteps sounded, and the breakfast parlor doors were once more flung open. Mrs. Clayton rushed inside; her face flushed from exertion. “Dr. Astor, a cart with a young lady just pulled inside the forecourt.” She glanced at everyone, before saying, “There is blood, Sir! I fear there might have been a horrible accident.”
He pushed back his chair and surged to his feet. “If you will all excuse me.”
Mrs. Denniston had also stood. “Might I be of assistance?”
He nodded. “Thank you. Most of the staff are out for their off day, and I’ve been known to rely on a helping hand from a maid or two.”
They hurried from the room, and Simon broke into a run.
Her stomach twisted in tight, painful knots. "It must be serious," Miranda said. "Did you hear that, Mamma? She arrived on a cart, and there was blood."
“Young lady, you will sit and resume our breakfast.”
It was then she realized she had pushed out her chair. “Mamma!” Miranda cried, aghast. Her frantic gaze volleyed to Henry. “Surely they could use as much help as possible. Mrs. Clayton said the accident was horrible and Dr. Astor might be overwhelmed.”
