She looked up at him with anxious eyes and an endearingly wind-nipped nose, and Carter felt the ice crack a tiny bit where he’d built it up around the part of his heart that still belonged to Miranda. That would never do. Civility between them was a must, but vulnerability on his part was strictly forbidden.
“I imagine over the next few weeks you’ll have ample opportunity to hold little Henry,” Carter said, pulling his gaze back to the landscape.
“Do you really think the duchess would let me?” She seemed to doubt it.
“I am most certain she will.” There was the tone of indifference he’d momentarily lost.
“Would . . .” She hesitated. “Would you ask her for me?”
His first inclination was to refuse so she’d feel some of the rejection she’d heaped on him three years earlier and so she would realize which of the two of them had the power in their relationship. But he couldn’t do it. Perhaps he was simply bowing to the need for peace. Perhaps he wasn’t as indifferent to Miranda as he’d thought.
“I will ask,” he said.
She didn’t seem particularly moved by his gracious offer.
They walked on in silence. He’d undertaken that day’s outing in hopes of building enough of a rapport between them to keep the house party from falling to shambles. Between her complimentary words to the Miltons about him and the attractive touch of pink in her cheeks, he’d actually grown a bit more uncomfortable. His three-year-long determination to think the worst of the woman who had callously discarded him was taking a bit of a hit. He very much worried that by allowing Miranda even that tiny piece of his good opinion, he’d just made an enormous mistake.
Chapter Five
THE DOWAGER LADY DEVEREAUX WAS to have the rose room, the second-best guest suite. The finest of the guest suites, Miranda had decided, must be provided for the duke and duchess, not only in deference to their rank but also due to the fact that those rooms were larger and, therefore, better accommodations for a family.
The choice had seemed the best at the time, but as Miranda watched her mother-in-law’s traveling coach sweep up the drive, she felt a twinge of doubt. She had always stood in awe of Carter’s mother. She was a lady of the highest breeding, with impeccable taste and manners. The Dowager Lady Devereaux was the ideal hostess, a leader of society, who conducted herself at all times the way a viscountess should. She was everything Miranda could have aspired to be but knew she could never become.
Suppose she disapproved of being placed in the second-best rooms? Or found fault with the menus Miranda and Mrs. Gillington had devised or with the very simple decorations assembled by the staff in honor of what had been expected to be a quiet holiday? There were a hundred other things that might go wrong over the weeks ahead. Miranda’s stomach twisted at the thought of it.
I didn’t ask for this house party, and I had no time to prepare. It would be terribly unfair for them all to find fault with me if I prove—when I prove—less than perfect.
She moved from the drawing room windows, away from the sight of her mother-in-law’s arrival. At least she’d known enough to receive the lady in the drawing room.
“Appearances, Miranda,” the dowager had told her only a few weeks after Carter and she had married, “are everything.”
Miranda took a fortifying breath, telling herself everything would be fine.
“The Dowager Lady Devereaux,” Timms announced from the door of the drawing room.
Miranda watched as her mother-in-law glided into the room. Other than a touch of gray in her hair, her ladyship hadn’t changed in the past three years. She still held herself with the air of a lady born to the aristocracy, confident in her place in life. She wore a modishly cut traveling habit in the shade of deep purple Miranda remembered had been a frequent part of her wardrobe.
She surveyed the room quickly and appraisingly with an eye well trained to evaluate any and every situation. That had always made Miranda nervous, knowing her mother-in-law would spot any deficiency in an instant. The Dowager Lady Devereaux had only occasionally pointed out those deficiencies and always with a clear wish to guide and direct Miranda’s social education. She’d ever treated Miranda with patience and perhaps a touch of indifference. But for all of her lack of malice, the dowager was still an overwhelming presence.
“Mother.” Carter greeted his mother with a kiss on the cheek.
He greeted me with insults. The contrast was telling. No wonder, really, they had managed only a stiff politeness between them.
“You look well, Carter.” Mother and son walked farther into the room. “I hope the staff is ready for this party. We mustn’t underestimate the influence Hartley has in—”
The Dowager Lady Devereaux’s eyes settled on Miranda. The look of shock that passed over that lady’s face would have been comical if Miranda hadn’t been its recipient. Her heart pounded hard in her chest, and she took an instinctive step back. No anger entered the Dowager Lady Devereaux’s look, but the level of dismay in her eyes crushed any hopes Miranda had harbored for a smooth visit.
“Miranda!”
It was the closest she had ever seen her mother-in-law come to acting with anything less than total dignity. The lady’s face had gone instantly pale, her eyes wide, her mouth a little open.
“Lady Devereaux.” Miranda curtsied, hoping she’d maintained her countenance. Her mother-in-law had told her many times during the brief few months Carter and she had been together that a lady always maintained her composure. There were, she’d discovered, many things a lady always did that Miranda couldn’t seem to manage.
“I am, frankly, surprised you were invited to this house party.” Only the halting manner in the dowager’s speech gave any hint of discomposure.
Miranda, on the other hand, could feel her legs shaking beneath her and her heart thudding almost painfully in her chest. How she was tempted to reach for Carter—he always used to hold her hand when she was nervous, especially around his parents.
“She wasn’t invited, Mother,” Carter replied.
His mother arched her eyebrow, a look Miranda remembered seeing on the faces of both of Carter’s parents. It was a look of disapproval, one that told the recipient rather instantly that he or she had committed an enormous faux pas.
“Miranda was here already when I arrived,” Carter continued. “She had no idea I was due to arrive, and I had no idea she was at Clifton Manor.”
The Dowager Lady Devereaux’s eyebrow dropped a fraction of an inch, a sign that her disapproval had eased a little.
“Believe me, Mother, neither of us foresaw this . . .”
“Complication,” the dowager completed the thought.
Carter nodded.
With effort, Miranda kept herself from jumping into the conversation. They were declaring her a complication? This house party and all of its frustrations had come to her home and invaded her life. They were the complication, not her. A lady maintained her dignity at all times and would not allow herself to be overset. She could hear the admonition echo through her thoughts, in her mother-in-law’s voice.
“Your guests, Carter, are remarkably influential.” The dowager turned to face her son. “After all these years of presenting a good face to the ton—”
“Miranda and I have cried pax, Mother,” Carter said. “There will be no difficulties, I assure you.”
They had cried pax, had they? Miranda wasn’t aware they’d been at war. Did he truly need another victory under his belt? Her needs and his had come into conflict once before. He had won that battle—he’d won it decisively.
There will be no difficulties. Carter had with that simple sentence dictated how he insisted the next fortnight would play out. What he wanted and demanded would be the rule of law. She would be expected to set aside her needs and wants and wishes in the name of peace. Just like before. But this time, she wouldn’t let it hurt her. This time, she wouldn’t care.
“I am pleased to hear you have brokered a treaty.” The Dowager
Lady Devereaux straightened the mantel garland then turned, her gaze once again on Miranda. “We owe it to our name, if nothing else, to comport ourselves with dignity and grace. We may not be able to control our circumstances, but we can certainly control our behavior.”
Miranda nodded as she always had when being reminded of her duty by her in-laws. She wasn’t sure she entirely hid her relief when her mother-in-law turned her attention back to Carter. She was beginning to remember how it felt to be under the watchful eye of her mother-in-law. She had listened intently to the lessons given her in proper comportment for a lady, had tried to be just what she ought, but had inevitably fallen short of the mark.
“Miranda will, of course, need to act as hostess.” The Dowager Lady Devereaux didn’t sound optimistic. “Their Graces, especially, must see nothing wrong. That is imperative. Appearance, as you know, is everything.”
Carter nodded his agreement. Miranda felt her stomach knotting. They must see nothing wrong. Comport ourselves with dignity and grace. She needed to be the Harford family’s idea of a perfect lady and a perfect wife, all the while ignoring their far-from-perfect past.
“I will, of course, direct Miranda in her duties,” the dowager reassured her son. “Nothing will seem amiss. You will see.” She adjusted a bow on the garland. “There is much to be done,” her ladyship declared to the room at large. “I will forgo the nap I had planned on and spend the afternoon checking on the preparations for the next two weeks.”
“Mrs. Gillington has the preparations well in hand.” Miranda did her utmost to sound unshaken.
She received for her efforts a look of condescending commiseration. “Certainly, you cannot think that your housekeeper, worthy though I am certain she is, nor yourself, my dear, have more experience than I do in planning gatherings such as this.”
“I would never presume to—”
“I am merely offering my assistance.” The Dowager Lady Devereaux presented the picture of affronted aristocratic sensibilities. “I have no desire to see the family embarrassed.”
“Of course not, Lady Devereaux.” Miranda felt herself sagging. Her ladyship might easily forgo her nap, but Miranda needed hers. Especially just then. She’d spent much of the past two days in consultation with her housekeeper and, to the best of her abilities, had planned for the coming guests with what she thought was competency and thoroughness.
“Now, call Mrs. Gillington up—to my sitting room, I think—and we will see what needs to be done.” Her ladyship walked purposefully from the room. She stopped in the drawing room doorway and turned back. “The housekeeper really ought to have shown me to my rooms, you know.”
“I believe, my lady, she is waiting for you at the foot of the stairs.” Miranda knew Mrs. Gillington would never neglect such an important guest.
“Well, that is a surprisingly good sign, is it not?” she said as she swept from the room.
Miranda stood on the spot, her eyes fixed on the doorway where the Dowager Lady Devereaux had disappeared. She knew in that instant she was in over her head. Somehow, she’d convinced herself in the days since Carter’s arrival and her being informed of the coming guests that she could arrange and prepare for a small house party, that she would be a reasonably successful hostess despite her lack of experience.
“Mother will be invaluable,” Carter said, turning back toward Miranda.
He looked so distant, unreachable. She missed the gentle, compassionate gentleman she’d married, who used to hold and comfort her when she was overwhelmed.
“She will see to it that everything is properly planned,” he said.
“I have already begun making preparations and plans, Carter.” Miranda held herself with as much dignity as she could muster, considering she was quite thoroughly exhausted.
“Miranda,” he said as if she were a slow-witted child. “Mother is far more experienced in these things. She was raised to be a society hostess.”
“And I was not.” Miranda finished the thought for him.
“Well, no. You weren’t,” Carter said bluntly.
And that has always been part of the problem, hasn’t it? Miranda thought to herself.
Joseph, the only footman at Clifton Manor who hadn’t come with Carter, stepped into the drawing room in that moment. He held himself precisely as a footman ought, but Miranda saw the distress in his eyes. “Lady Devereaux,” he said with a bow. “The Dowager Lady Devereaux has charged me to remind you that you are expected in her sitting room, and she advises that you not dawdle.”
“Thank you, Joseph.” How humiliating to be summoned as if she were a truant child. To have such a message delivered by a servant—in front of her husband, no less!
“Excuse me, Carter.” Miranda walked toward the door, fighting down her heightened color.
“She will help you, Miranda,” Carter said as if trying to convince her. “Mother just doesn’t want the house party to be a disaster.”
Miranda paused in the doorway. “Then it goes without saying that left in my incapable hands, the next fortnight would have been a disaster?”
His uncomfortable silence served as answer enough.
Oh, Carter! she thought, making her way slowly up the stairs. Did you never have any faith in me?
* * *
Two hours later, Miranda’s head hurt and she was certain she would fairly stumble from the rose room’s sitting room. But the Dowager Lady Devereaux was not finished. She insisted on seeing every day’s menu—each meal, each dish was subject to question and scrutiny. Miranda reminded herself again and again that her mother-in-law was far more experienced than she, that she ought to be grateful for the assistance.
The dowager, in the end, approved Miranda’s room arrangements. “There are only two couples coming, after all,” she said. “Housing two couples and two infants is not overly complicated.”
It wasn’t much of a compliment. But, Miranda reminded herself, being an exceptional hostess was not on her short list of accomplishments.
Miranda’s wardrobe had been inspected, as well, and found only a little less than adequate. The Dowager Lady Devereaux bemoaned Miranda’s unfashionably long tresses, but Miranda would never have agreed to cutting her hair, so it was fortunate her mother-in-law didn’t press that point.
“This house party is first and foremost a political gathering,” the Dowager Lady Devereaux said to Miranda after dismissing Mrs. Gillington to see to the changes she’d ordered. “The men Lord Devereaux has invited are quite influential in the party, and furthering a connection with them will be crucial to his career.”
Miranda nodded—she had gathered as much from Carter himself.
“Their wives hold sway amongst the political hostesses of the ton. One misstep could be disastrous for Lord Devereaux’s future. We cannot allow that to happen.”
Miranda walked back to her room with tremendous effort. Her body was spent, but her mind was in turmoil. The dowager had sparked a memory, one Miranda preferred not to relive. She dropped onto the chair in front of her dressing table, closing her eyes against the invasion of her thoughts.
“I greatly fear you’ve made a disastrous alliance, Carter,” a voice echoed in her head from across the years. “A gentleman in your position ought to have chosen a young lady capable of aiding his career. Take her to London now and you will find her more of a burden than a helpmeet.”
“There is little that can be done about that now, is there?”
Miranda blinked back tears at the memory of Carter’s words—he’d made no effort to defend her or his decision to marry her. Even after the passage of so much time, that realization pierced her.
“There is not time for a nap, Hannah,” Miranda said, seeing Hannah approach with her wrap.
“But, my lady—” Hannah protested.
“There is so much that needs to be done before the guests arrive.”
“I thought you was—”
“Were.”
“—were done preparing for the guests.�
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“There are several things that need . . . fixing.” Miranda tried to keep her disappointment from showing.
The thoughts and memories flooding over Miranda once again drowned out Hannah’s response.
They were living in their home in Wiltshire, only a few months after their wedding. They were to spend a fortnight in the capital, touring London’s famous locales and renewing acquaintances, or, in Miranda’s case, making new ones. She’d planned for more than a week, deliberating over precisely which gowns to pack, which jewels to bring, which sights she wanted to see. Anticipation filled her heart nearly to bursting.
She’d hoped that away from the estate there would be fewer things to pull Carter away. He’d spent more and more time away from home, sharing fewer and fewer of his thoughts with her. But he’d approved her tentative itinerary, declaring himself anxious to spend time with her as well. It was going to be perfect. Absolutely perfect.
Carter stayed up late the night before they were to leave. Miranda couldn’t sleep herself. She was too excited, too happily nervous. After hours of lying in the dark, she slipped out of bed and pulled on her wrapper. If she was going to be awake, she might as well spend the time with her sweetheart.
She reached the door of his book room but stopped on the threshold when she realized his was not the only voice inside.
“She simply isn’t suited to the life you’ve thrust on her,” Carter’s father said. “You’d do better to leave her in the country and go about your career in Town without the added hardship of fixing the mistakes a young lady of her upbringing would inevitably make.”
Leave her behind? Carter wouldn’t do that. They had planned this journey together. They were going to spend time with each other.
“She is a liability, Carter. She doesn’t know enough to help you with your social standing or your political ambitions. And I very much fear she will unknowingly destroy everything you’ve worked for.”
Glimmer of Hope Page 4
