Not five steps out of the morning room, Miranda came face-to-face with Carter, a boyish grin on his face, his bright green eyes sparkling with excitement. Miranda enjoyed seeing him look that way, so much the way she remembered him.
“Where are you off to, Miranda?” He took her hand without hesitation.
“The conservatory,” she answered, watching him in near awe. “Your mother wishes for a new centerpiece for tonight’s meal.”
“What was wrong with the old one?” His thumb traced a circle on the back of her hand. How she loved the feel of it.
“She thought the table required something more sophisticated.” Miranda could not look away from his face. Seeing him so animated and happy took her back three years in an instant.
“Well, as master of the house, I declare last night’s table decoration quite satisfactory,” he announced to the empty corridor as though he were issuing a royal decree. “Which, I believe, leaves you free, my lady, to join me on a little excursion.”
“Excursion?” Miranda couldn’t help her curiosity.
“A secret, Miranda.” He flashed her a mischievous grin. “One I have planned just for the two of us.”
“Really?” She couldn’t fight down a tingle of excitement. He had planned something specifically to share with her? What could it be? What had brought on the sudden playfulness, the sudden desire to spend time with the wife he’d quite easily dismissed all those years ago?
Carter nodded mysteriously. “Will you come with me?”
Miranda nodded back before she could stop herself then froze when Carter kissed her forehead.
“Wonderful,” he whispered then pulled her excitedly by the hand down the corridor.
Carter’s valet and Hannah met them at the front steps, obviously anticipating their arrival. In a trice, Carter and Miranda were bundled for a walk in the chilly winter air, she once again wearing one of his greatcoats.
“I have discovered you lack a coat warm enough for this weather, Miranda,” Carter said. “We will have to remedy that.”
He pulled her arm through his and escorted her out the front door and down the front steps, walking along the path Miranda always took when visiting the home farm. Either that was their destination, or they were going for a walk.
They were not too far past the house when Carter spoke. “Have you recovered from your dinner last night?”
“Recovered?”
“You seemed a little overset last I saw you,” he said.
Miranda felt the color rush to her cheeks. “I am sorry, Carter. I should not have come into your bedchamber last night. I—”
He stopped her with a small laugh and the tips of his fingers on her lips. He smiled as he removed them. “I was not complaining,” he said emphatically. “Our conversation last night has been, I believe, the highlight of this house party for me so far.”
“Do you mean that?” It was ever so important that he did!
“We used to talk like that all the time.” Carter cupped her jaw, his thumb gently stroking her cheek. “I have missed that, Miranda.”
“So have I,” she whispered in reply.
“And until I came here, I had forgotten how much I once enjoyed walking with you.” Carter’s eyes studied her face, moving from her hair to her eyes to her lips.
“Is that what we’re doing, Carter?” Her voice sounded a tad breathless even to her own ears. “Walking?”
“Hmm?” Carter smoothed the hair above Miranda’s ear with his hand as he sighed, probably unaware he’d even responded.
“Your excursion?” Miranda closed her eyes as he traced the ribbon of her bonnet along the length of her jaw with his finger.
She felt him snap back to reality. “Oh, lud, Miranda! My excursion!” He pulled her along by her hand once more. Miranda opened her eyes as they began to move. “We have to hurry.”
“Hurry?” she asked, one hand clasped atop her bonnet to hold it on as the wind picked up.
“Timing is crucial, my dear.” He looked back at her with that playful twinkle in his eyes, and Miranda felt her heart melt at the sight.
Once, it had been like this always; kindness, consideration, gentleness. Carter could be the most thoughtful gentleman when he chose to be. He’d simply chosen it less often toward the end of their time together. She could have endured that if he hadn’t pushed her away, if he hadn’t seen her as an impediment, an embarrassment.
“Is our timing so crucial that we can’t slow down a bit?” Miranda asked. The unaccustomed exertion was robbing her lungs of air. She’d be coughing in a moment if they didn’t slow their pace.
“Forgive me for that,” Carter said. “I suppose I’m a bit anxious.”
“Is this a good sort of anxious?” Miranda asked. “Or of the bad variety?”
“Good.”
Sooner than Miranda would have imagined, they were at the front gate of the home farm. She stood a moment while Carter greeted Mr. Milton. Her heart still pounded a little from the period of unaccustomed speed during their walk. She took deep breaths to quiet the racing in her chest. As soon as they were inside, she fully intended to ask Mrs. Milton if she could sit and rest for a moment.
Mr. Milton bowed them into the yard, and Mrs. Milton, little George, and the baby, Mary, met them at the front door.
“She has grown so much just in the last month,” Miranda said as they stepped inside, hardly believing the tiny infant had changed so much already.
“That she has, Lady Devereaux,” Mrs. Milton replied with a smile.
“Do you mind if I sit down for a bit?”
Mrs. Milton motioned her to the wooden rocker near the fireplace. “Were you wanting a blanket for your lap?”
“Yes, please.” Miranda pulled off her gloves and bonnet, setting them on the table. In a moment’s time, she was settled comfortably in the chair. If she could sit still for even a quarter of an hour, she’d likely be feeling up to the walk back.
Miranda’s gaze settled on sweet little Mary.
“Might I hold her?”
“’Course.”
Mrs. Milton set the baby gently in Miranda’s arms. Mary was warm and soft and fit perfectly in Miranda’s embrace. The tiny angel’s mouth turned up, her beautiful eyes sparkling with happy contentment.
“Ah, coo.” Mrs. Milton smiled at Miranda. “Ye always did have a way with the babies, my lady.”
“She is a sweet baby.” Miranda gently stroked the tiny rosy cheek. “I am so glad she was not asleep this time.”
“Like I told his lordship,” Mrs. Milton said, “if he brought you about now she’d be awake but not too fussy. Perfect time for a look-in if you’re wantin’ to hold the little one.”
“His lordship?” Miranda asked, slowly rocking the baby.
“Came by and asked when would be the best time to bring you. Said you’d been hopin’ to hold our Mary the last time and were that sad you couldn’t.”
Miranda couldn’t manage a single word. Carter had remembered her disappointment. More than that, he had made an effort to alleviate it.
“A right good gentleman, he is.” Mrs. Milton nodded her approval. “Always knew he would be.”
She disappeared into the kitchen, no doubt preparing the family’s afternoon meal. Little George waved to Miranda as he followed in his mother’s wake. Miranda smiled in reply then turned her head, looking for Carter.
He was outside, visible through the square window facing the front yard, talking with Mr. Milton.
This was his excursion, bringing her to hold the baby. Miranda didn’t realize he’d even remembered her admission after their last visit, let alone found it important enough to act on. She let her eyes drop to the tiny infant in her arms, clutching the corner of the blanket she had made for her. The baby seemed to watch her a moment.
“Such a sweet girl you are.” She lifted the baby enough to kiss her forehead and breathe deep her baby scent. “We’ll just sit here quietly, you and I. Perhaps we can take our afternoon naps toget
her.”
Baby Mary cuddled in closer to her. Miranda rocked slowly and gently. In that moment, she could almost forget the worries and heartaches that plagued her from day to day. Holding a baby was always like that for her. She found peace and reassurance in their sweet and loving company.
Thank you for this, Carter. Thank you.
They stayed only fifteen minutes. The family obviously had a great deal to do and, with two small children, very little time in which to accomplish it. Having visitors pulled them away from their work.
“I am going to see about hiring someone to come in to help Milton on the farm,” Carter said after they were bundled and walking back toward Clifton Manor. “He has too much to do alone. Another hand would be worth the expense.”
“I am certain he would appreciate that.” Miranda knew she was smiling rather unabashedly.
Carter seemed to notice. He chuckled. “Do you always smile that way after spending a quarter hour with an infant?”
“Mrs. Milton told me you planned this specifically so I could hold little Mary.”
“It seemed to matter a great deal to you.” Carter said.
“This was one of the kindest things anyone has done for me in years.” Miranda took a deep breath of the cold, moist air. “Kindness is too often hard to find.”
“Especially if you run out on it,” Carter muttered.
The words stopped her on the spot. She knew without asking that he referred to her flight from Wiltshire. She stepped away enough to look up into his face, her arm slipping from his as she did. Her eyes met his.
“I only went to London, Miranda, not to the Antipodes.” There was just enough exasperation in his voice to bring a sting of embarrassed red to her face. She was being scolded. “I was coming back. There was no reason to run away from home.”
“You make me sound like a spoiled child who threw a tantrum,” she said quietly.
“I was gone for a fortnight,” he said. “You couldn’t allow me two weeks to see to business in Town? It doesn’t seem like so much to ask.”
“You might just as well have taken me with you,” she countered. “Was that too much to ask?”
“I explained that to you.”
“You lied to me.”
Surprise pulled his eyes wider. Clearly, he didn’t think she’d discovered how he’d bent the truth all those years ago.
They had avoided these topics all through the house party. It seemed the time had come to address them.
“It would be a very fast trip, you said. There wouldn’t be time to spend together, you said. You told me those were the reasons you left me behind, but they were lies.” Pain pierced her heart anew. Still, she pressed on. “You had no use for me on that trip. Your father insisted I would be a liability, a potential embarrassment. You sided with him then lied to me about it.”
“How did you know about that conversation?”
“I overheard.”
“Then why in heaven’s name didn’t you say anything instead of running off?” he demanded.
“I did.” The words cracked like a flag in a gale, surprising even her with their vehemence. “I did say something to you. Again and again, but you never heard me. You never listened.”
A stubborn determination pulled his features. “I am not the one who refused to listen. I am not the one who was unreasonable.”
That was his interpretation of things? She’d poured her heart out the morning he left for London, and he’d rejected every point she made. The letters she sent him, the pleas she’d made for him to come to Dorset, were all ignored. And he accused her of being unreasonable, dismissed her suffering as something she’d brought on herself.
This was what came of talking about pain—it only multiplied.
“Thank you for the visit to the home farm,” she said quickly and quietly. “A good afternoon to you, Carter.”
Miranda was not a fast walker, and she knew she hadn’t the strength to run, but she moved as swiftly as she could manage. Her very soul ached. How happy she’d been only a few minutes earlier. She’d had a sweet angel in her arms. Carter had been kind and gentle and caring.
There was no reason to run away from home. She hadn’t “run away” like a recalcitrant child. She’d gone on holiday, just as he had. And she had told him as much, infuriating man. Why was he permitted to take a trip without her, but the moment she decided to take one without him she was acting unforgivably spoiled? And why was wanting her husband with her, begging for him to come to her, such an unreasonable thing?
“Miranda.”
She didn’t turn back, didn’t slow her steps. Having had a tender moment with him made his stinging words all the more difficult. Was it so much to ask that he simply be kind for the short time they were together?
“Miranda, please wait for me.” He was at her side in the next moment—her slow pace made waiting unnecessary. “Let me try that again.”
She shook her head, not necessarily to turn down his request but out of frustration. “We were doing well, Carter. We’d found a place of peaceful coexistence these past days. I can’t—I don’t want to argue.”
He set his hand lightly on her arm. “No arguing. I promise.”
A promise. And how much does that mean, coming from him? She tried to focus her thoughts on the trip to the nursery—he’d kept that pledge. But there were too many shattered promises between them for her to feel truly confident in his word of honor.
“Can we at least talk on the walk back?” Carter asked.
“I’m in a hurry.” She made the first excuse that came to mind. She did not really want to talk to him, not if he meant to scold and criticize and condemn past difficulties. “I have a few things to do before dinner.”
He hesitated only a moment before nodding his understanding. “Thank you for coming on this excursion with me.”
“Thank you for inviting me.”
Theirs was an uncomfortably formal leave-taking. She didn’t know how it could be anything but.
For the briefest, most fleeting of moments, she’d spied the Carter she once knew. But his sharp rebuke stung. If every step forward would bring new pain and remembered heartache, she couldn’t take that journey with him. She hadn’t the strength to put herself through that.
Chapter Thirteen
“I NEED TO KNOW HOW to apologize to a woman after I’ve made an enormous mess of everything.” Carter stood at the door of his book room, the place where he seemed to make far too many confessions.
Adèle, sitting on the sofa next to her husband, with her feet up beside her, raised a single eyebrow in a very Continental show of amused inquiry. Hartley actually laughed out loud, entirely unshaken by the look of annoyance Carter shot him.
The duchess was more helpful. “How you make the apology depends on what you are apologizing for.”
Carter closed the door and stepped inside. “I’m apologizing for . . . for . . .” What was he apologizing for? “I brought up a topic of conversation she didn’t want to discuss.” He’d been debating just how to bridge the gap between them, but looking into their shared past hadn’t helped in the least.
“Am I to assume this ‘topic’ is an old argument between the two of you?” Adèle asked.
Carter nodded.
“Didn’t anyone tell you, Carter?” Hartley smiled as he spoke. “Digging up old grudges is a tactic that belongs exclusively to the ladies.”
Adèle reached over and teasingly slapped her husband’s arm. “Stop it, terrible man.”
Carter sat in a chair facing the sofa and waited for Adèle to think of something inspired.
“When you chose this unfortunate subject matter, how did you bring it up?” she asked. “Was it a gentle, ‘I know this is difficult’ approach? Or did you proceed directly to ‘I blame you for all the problems in my life’ and wait for her to apologize to you?”
The French never were fond of tiptoeing around their point.
“I was, perhaps, a little less gentle than I could ha
ve been,” Carter confessed.
He received another raise of Adèle’s ebony eyebrow in response. This time the look was one of complete doubt.
“Fine.” He held up his hands in a show of surrender. “I will admit to being more than merely a little less gentle than I could have been. I was, in all honesty, too sharp and blunt. Far too sharp.” He regretted that. He couldn’t help feeling he’d squandered an opportunity. “Ours is a very difficult history.”
Adèle waved his explanation off with no more concern than one would a bothersome fly. “On the day we were married, Roderick told me I had ruined his life.”
“Did you really say that, Hartley?” Carter hadn’t heard that about them. He’d always thought they had a rather perfect marriage.
Hartley nodded, grinning from ear to ear. “She did ruin my life, you realize. My entire life, every bit of it.”
And yet they smiled fondly at one another.
“How did you apologize to your wife for that remark?” Carter asked.
“How? Repeatedly, that’s how.”
Again, Adèle swatted at her husband.
“The two of you are not being very helpful,” Carter said. “I need advice. Apologies are not my specialty.”
“Have you tried flowers?” Hartley asked.
This seemed bigger than flowers, somehow.
“Or jewelry?”
Miranda had never been particularly enamored of such things. Even on their wedding day she’d chosen a simple cross on a thin chain.
“Self-inflicted abject humiliation?”
If Hartley didn’t start being serious, Adèle would likely put injuring force behind her repeated blows.
“Have you tried talking with her, Carter?” Adèle asked.
“Mon cœur,” Hartley said. “Talking is what put him in this mess in the first place.”
Adèle looked utterly unconvinced. “Is that the source of your troubles? Talking? Or does it go deeper than that, farther back than that?”
Carter knew he didn’t need to answer. Though he trusted Hartley not to have revealed what he’d told him in confidence, the long-standing nature of his marital difficulties must have been increasingly obvious.
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