“But you are here for now,” she said, uncertainty still showing in her eyes, despite the hint of a smile forming on her lips. “And we’re learning to be friends again.”
“I have to go back to London in a week, Miranda.” Carter watched with a heavy heart as her face fell.
“Please don’t talk about that now,” she pleaded with him. “Let me just have this time without reminding me of how soon you will be gone.”
“Parliament opens on the twenty-first and—”
“I know, Carter,” she said almost desperately. “I know. And I understand. Just, please, don’t ruin—”
“Let me—”
“I have waited three years for you to come. I—”
“Miranda—”
“—don’t want to talk about you leaving again—” She wasn’t listening.
“Miranda.”
“Carter. We—”
He kissed her. There was little choice, really. He would never have a chance to tell her what he’d meant to tell her all along if she didn’t stop long enough to listen. But holding her to him, remembering how that had once felt, knowing from her own words that she would miss him as much as he would miss her when they were apart, kissing her—really kissing her—for the first time in more than three years proved more than Carter’s mind could handle at once.
He forgot entirely what it was he was attempting to tell her and gave himself over, instead, to thoroughly kissing his wife. He realized with a certain degree of satisfaction that she kissed him in return.
Carter heard himself whisper her name, though he hardly registered doing so. She had touched his face, and even through the thickness of her gloves, that touch was unsettling. There was a time he’d taken for granted a light touch of her hand or a kiss.
“Miranda,” he said, his voice gruff and low, setting her the tiniest bit away from him. “I . . .” He kissed her forehead—he couldn’t help himself. “Come with me.”
She laid her gloved hand on his cheek again. “Of course, my love. Where are we going?”
Carter turned his head enough to kiss her palm, wishing the air were warm enough for her to leave her gloves off. “I meant, come with me when I leave Dorset.”
“To London?” An immediate look of wariness entered her eyes.
Carter laid his hand over hers, where it still lay on the side of his face. “To London. Come with me, Miranda.”
She didn’t respond but looked more intently into his face. Miranda was at least considering the possibility and not dismissing him out of hand. He would have given anything three years earlier for her to have given him another chance. He couldn’t let this opportunity slip away.
“We’ll go around Town, see all the sights. I’ll introduce you to my friends and colleagues there. We’ll have time to keep working on this, to find each other again. Say you will.”
“I could come hear you speak in Parliament?” Miranda asked, still watching him, her brows furrowed in obvious uncertainty.
So he kissed her again. He had offered her every diversion London held, and she wanted to hear him speak in Parliament. How had he lived the past three years without her?
She was blushing furiously by the time he’d finished expressing his approval of her request.
“I have never been to London.” Miranda’s eyes dropped at the admission. “I am almost guaranteed to do something wrong and embarrass you.”
“I would be honored to have you with me.” Carter took her face in his hands so she couldn’t possibly look anywhere but into his eyes.
Those eyes of hers that had been so unreadable when he’d first arrived in Dorset were as expressive as he ever remembered them being. And at that moment, her eyes were begging him for reassurance.
“Every person who ever goes to London makes one mistake or another. It’s almost expected.”
“That is not very encouraging.” But she smiled as she said it.
Carter allowed his hands to settle high on her arms. “And Adèle and Lady Percival will be there. They will look out for you.” Adèle would relish the idea of squiring Miranda around to ton events and at-homes. “And I will be there too. You won’t be alone.”
“And you won’t change your mind?” she pressed.
“I won’t change my mind.”
Still, her eyes searched his face. “And we could have some time together?”
He felt himself grin. “We’ll have all the time in the world.”
He expected her to share his contentment with the plan, to capitulate with enthusiasm. Instead, her chin began to quiver. So he wrapped his arms around her once more, pulling her close to him. “What is it, Miranda?” he asked. “Did I say something? I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I want to go to London, Carter.” There was a sadness to her voice that confused him.
He’d intended to ask her just that while they watched the sunrise. He’d imagined many times the celebration that would accompany an acceptance of his proposal. Instead, he found himself rocking Miranda as she fought an obvious urge to weep.
What had he done wrong?
Chapter Fifteen
“YOU MUST ALLOW ME TO host a ball in your honor when you come to Town.” The Duchess of Hartley hadn’t stopped smiling since Carter had announced, shortly after the gentlemen entered the drawing room after dinner that night, that Miranda had agreed to accompany him to London and remain in Town for a time.
The declaration had been met with enthusiasm and a touch of surprise since Miranda had never made an appearance in Town. Only the Dowager Lady Devereaux and Grandfather seemed less than enthusiastic. In fact, Carter’s mother looked positively thunderous. Grandfather, on the other hand, looked mostly worried.
“You mustn’t go to such fuss,” Miranda replied to her grace. The duke and duchess were Carter’s friends, after all, and not hers.
“Tush” was the answer. “London is all about fuss!”
“You might as well accept, Lady Devereaux,” Lady Percival intervened. “The duchess will give you a ball whether you want one or not, and she will secure your attendance through fair means or foul.”
The Duchess of Hartley smiled quite proudly at the evaluation of her character. “And, of course, we will have you to dinner before your first evening at Almack’s.”
“Almack’s,” Miranda said a little breathlessly. She’d long ago stopped trying to imagine herself at that hub of high society.
“Obtaining vouchers will be no difficulty, bien sûr,” the duchess said. “Princess Esterhazy owes Lord Percival a favor she absolutely refuses to speak about. And Sarah Jersey, I believe, is secretly quite afraid of me.”
Miranda noticed Lady Percival smiling mischievously, and she wondered if the duchess was being entirely serious.
“Not that you will need our intervention,” Lady Percival said. “Lord Devereaux’s standing is quite sufficient on its own.”
Miranda let her eyes wander across the room to where Carter stood with the duke and Lord Percival, deep in what appeared to be a serious conversation. She wondered what sort of gentleman he was among the ton. Was he the sort talked about over tea? Or was he more of a quiet presence at gatherings?
She would know soon enough. Carter was finally making good on his long-ago promise to take her to London.
“Of course she must see Madame LaCroix,” Lady Percival told the duchess.
“Why do I have a feeling this Madame LaCroix is a very expensive milliner?” Carter had come to join them, sitting beside Miranda on the backless sofa.
“You know very well she is a modiste.” Her grace shook her head in an amused scold. “I doubt your mother patronizes any other dressmaker.”
“Ah.” Carter nodded as if all was suddenly clear. “That explains the familiar sound of her name. I do believe I have an entire drawer full of bills with her name on them.”
A drawer full of bills. This trip would cost him money, she suddenly realized. “I have no intention of obtaining a new wardrobe, Carter,” Mir
anda reassured him. She didn’t want to give him any reason to leave her behind again.
“Well, I have every intention of giving you a new wardrobe,” he countered. “And even in my male ignorance, I know Madame LaCroix’s is the only establishment where one might be assured of being fashionably turned out.”
“But, Carter, the expense.”
“Hush, my dear,” he said softly. “A new wardrobe will hardly beggar me. And I would be honored”—he emphasized the word without raising his volume much above a whisper—“to give you everything you could possibly wish for.”
Miranda felt tears prickle the back of her eyes. If she hadn’t been so worn down of late, she would certainly not have been such a watering pot. His words put her mind more at ease and warmed her heart, but her body continued to protest. She’d been weary enough for bed several hours ago, no doubt owing, at least in part, to the fact that she’d been up well before dawn that morning and hadn’t had her usual nap in over two weeks. More worrisome, still, her stomach was upset the last couple of days, deteriorating that evening to nausea. She needed to lie down but couldn’t seem to find a moment to do so.
“We will, of course, need to obtain cards for Miranda.” The Dowager Lady Devereaux joined the conversation for the first time that evening. “And there will be endless morning calls to our acquaintances, seeing as how she has absolutely no connections in Town.”
Endless morning calls? Miranda put on a brave face, but the possibility was daunting. She wasn’t sure she was up for a rigorous social schedule. But that seemed to be required.
“And we shall have to choose a day for at-homes,” the dowager continued. “And she will need to establish herself as a political hostess, which will mean several dinners and routs. Of course, we absolutely must secure invitations to the most important events so Miranda can have some standing, at least.”
Miranda felt herself blanch. It had seemed so simple that morning, wrapped in Carter’s arms in the soft light of sunrise. They would go to London and enjoy a sojourn in Town, spending time with each other and recapturing some of the connection they’d once shared. But now their pseudo-holiday had exploded into a sprint-paced race.
As if her body felt the need to remind her of her limitations, a cough fought its way up from her chest. She did her utmost to cover it with a discreet clearing of her throat behind her hand.
“Has she intimidated you?” Carter whispered in her ear. “Mother has a tendency to overdo things.”
“I thought we would be spending time together in London,” Miranda answered quietly, turning her head to face him. “They make it sound like I will never be home.”
“I will be at Parliament most days,” Carter said. “So you can spend that time however you choose: shopping, visiting, reading.”
“However I choose?” she pressed, thinking of a nice, long nap. Another cough tickled and irritated her lungs.
“You can spend your time in London doing whatever you choose,” Carter insisted. “And the evenings will be ours. Simply tell me where you want to go, and we will go: a ball, a dinner, the theatre.”
“Sitting at home by the fire?” Miranda suggested, knowing there would be evenings when such sedate entertainment would be precisely what she needed.
Carter looked surprised but recovered quickly. “If that is what you want.”
“And all these dinners and routs I am supposed to be hosting?” Miranda pressed.
“When the time comes to play political hostess, you have three ladies here who would, I am sure, be more than happy to guide you.”
When the time comes. That, then, would be expected of her. But, she told herself, she could be an occasional hostess, especially if Carter allowed her quiet evenings and the freedom to spend her days as she chose. She had no doubt Carter’s mother would gladly take over any and every responsibility Miranda didn’t take up. There would be an endless supply of critical comments on her neglect of her duties, but she could endure that. Hadn’t she for two weeks now? Indeed, there had been a great many criticisms in those early months of marriage. Her in-laws had expressed frequent doubts in her.
Miranda felt Carter take her hand, hidden from view beneath the folds of her skirts. She looked up into his face as he spoke to Lord Percival. She didn’t really listen to what they were saying, just watched him. He’d promised her time, something she’d come to value over the past three years. Time together, just the two of them. She’d prayed for that so many times in those months after she’d come to Clifton Manor. Now he was giving her his time and his attention and, she hoped, his love.
With a twinge of embarrassment, Miranda felt her eyes sting again. She must have been more tired than she realized. As if the thought made the idea true, a yawn surfaced, turning quickly to a cough. Miranda tried to push it back down, but her efforts only seemed to make the need to clear her lungs more pressing.
Miranda offered an apologetic smile as she rose to her feet, the gentlemen rising as she did. “Pray, pardon me,” she requested, feeling terribly conspicuous. “I must wish you all good night.”
“Retiring already?” Carter asked, looking a little disappointed.
How she wished he hadn’t looked at her that way, as though she’d fallen short of his expectations. “I am sorry.” She felt her face flush from embarrassment. Another cough rasped in her throat. “I really am extremely tired and seem plagued with a sudden tickle in my throat. I think it would be best if I turned in early tonight.”
She didn’t meet her grandfather’s eyes as she offered that half-truth. The cough was beginning to plague her, but it was neither sudden nor a simple tickle. She had learned over the past years to recognize her body’s efforts to clear her lungs of worrisome moisture.
Carter offered her his arm and escorted her across the room. “I suppose I must accept some responsibility for your fatigue.” He smiled ruefully. “I happen to know you were up and about before sunrise. And the cold air this morning likely irritated your throat as well.”
“Yes, it very likely did.”
“You could sleep until a London-worthy hour tomorrow morning,” Carter suggested. “No one in Town is ever out of bed before noon.”
That was true. She would be permitted to sleep late in Town. Never mind that she would be expected to be up until all hours the night before. Carter had promised she could set the schedule.
“Miranda.” She cringed at the voice: Carter’s mother, and she sounded decidedly put out. “How can you even think of abandoning your guests at such an unnaturally early hour?”
“It is nearly nine o’clock.”
That made the dowager stare at her like she was an imbecile and brought something like a laugh to Carter’s eyes.
“If you are going to Town, Miranda, you need to learn that nine o’clock is not a proper time to retire,” the dowager insisted. “Especially if one has guests.”
“I am sorry if it is not precisely the done thing,” Miranda said, “but I really am far too weary to do anything else.”
“There will be days when Lord Devereaux will not return from Lords until nearly nine o’clock. What then?” her ladyship said. “Will you leave him to attend alone those functions where any gentleman of his standing must be seen? How do you expect him to explain that? Shall he broadcast to all of London that his wife was too tired to accompany him?”
Miranda felt her cheeks flame. She would never embarrass Carter that way. “If the function were so important, I would attend regardless.”
“Miranda.” Now Grandfather joined the fray. Thankfully, the other guests remained on the other side of the room, oblivious—or at least pretending to be—to the contretemps near the doorway.
“I take leave to doubt your claim, Miranda.” The dowager sniffed. “If you would so easily abandon your own guests tonight, how can a person reasonably suppose you would not abandon your husband on the grounds of being weary.”
“She would not, Mother,” Carter insisted. “Those few times when an appearance
was unavoidable, we would be in attendance. I have complete faith in my wife.”
Miranda received a pointed look from Grandfather. He knew as well as she did there would be nights when even a brief appearance would tax her nearly to her limit. She would find a way to make those evenings work, she told herself. Somehow.
But the thought of pushing herself day after day, night after night, was overwhelming and frightening. Miranda had the sudden, alarming feeling of blood rushing from her head and the room swaying beneath her.
“Miranda.” Carter’s anxious voice cut through the faint fog that had momentarily taken over.
She shook off the sensation and mustered an encouraging expression. The effort was marred by yet another cough. There were moments, like that one, when she felt like her body betrayed her.
“Are you unwell? You look ready to faint.”
“I confess I am not at my best. I would appreciate being allowed to retire for the night.”
“Of course.” Carter nodded and slipped an arm around her waist, guiding her from the room.
“I would like to speak with you when you return, Carter,” the Dowager Lady Devereaux said, though her tone indicated it was not a request. “I will await you in my bedchamber.”
“Speak with him now,” Grandfather jumped in.
“Mr. Benton—”
“Allow me to accompany my granddaughter up,” Grandfather requested. “I would like to assure myself that she is well.”
“As would I,” Carter said.
“It so happens these old bones of mine are weary as well,” Grandfather said. “You can check on her later, whereas I hope to be soundly asleep later.”
Carter seemed to see the wisdom in the suggestion and bowed to the older gentleman after seeing Miranda transferred into his care.
“You nearly fainted,” Grandfather said as he walked her up the stairs. “And I must say, I was not entirely surprised.”
“The sensation passed quickly.”
“That doesn’t answer, my girl.”
Glimmer of Hope Page 12
