by Autumn Rose
Miranda had turned to her mother at the last minute and held her close, whispering, “I don’t want to leave you.”
“But you must, ‘ma dearie,’ and I will always be home for you to come and visit.”
“And you will visit us here?”
“Of course.”
“I must go, Mother. I will see you soon.” And she turned toward Jeremy and her new life. Nora watched them drive away, and remained for a long time after the carriage had disappeared from sight. She felt an arm around her shoulders. It was Joanna, who had, as her closest friend, been invited to the wedding.
“She will do fine, Nora.”
“I know.”
“I think it is good we are going home together. And I do wish you would stay at my house for your first night alone.”
“Thank you, Joanna, but I must get used to it sooner or later.”
Chapter 26
In the weeks after the wedding, Nora alternated between feelings of intense longing to have Miranda restored to her as a little girl, and a complete lack of feeling. She had the house and garden to keep her busy, and even managed to guide Lady Cordelia to the successful conclusion of her adventures by the end of the summer. This was, of course, a good thing, because she needed the money and had promised the novel to her publisher by September. On the other hand, the emptiness which accompanied the completion of a book, the feeling that she had lost another child, most certainly did not help her state of mind.
She was very much alone in August. Miranda was on her honeymoon. Joanna had left after the wedding for a visit to Scotland. Nora made a point to get down to the village more than a few times a week, just to have some human contact, however trivial, but for the most part her days fell into a rhythm of writing, walking, and gardening without an exchange of words with anyone.
In some ways she was reminded of the weeks after her mother’s death. She found herself again in a sort of limbo. Indeed, there were moments, working on her herbs, that she felt herself a shade, someone who was not her mother’s daughter or her daughter’s mother, hence no one. Luckily, these moments were infrequent and fleeting, or she would have been concerned for her sanity. But she felt lost in Dante’s dark wood, with no guide at all.
And so, at the end of the month, when she heard someone on the walk early one afternoon, she gave the viscount a welcome that would have at least satisfied an old friend, if not a new and hopeful lover.
“What a surprise,” Nora exclaimed.
“I am sorry for barging in like this without permission,” Sam said at the same time.
“Please do not apologize, my lord. I am delighted to see you. Although I always seem to be full of dirt when you arrive.” Nora laughed, looking down at her hands, which she had just been washing, and at her old blue dress, which was worn at the knees and splashed with water and soil.
“Perhaps I should come back another time?”
“No, no. Just go into the parlor and give me a moment to change and get the kettle on. Have you seen Miranda and Jeremy? I am so eager to hear everything.” Sam smiled as she paused for a moment to hear the answer, and was gone an instant later, saying over her shoulder. “Don’t answer now. Wait ‘til I am proper and can hear the news at my leisure.”
Nora was back very quickly, having grabbed the first clean dress she could find, a faded sprigged muslin. Her hair was all flyaway about her face and her hands and face were red from the cold water, but to Sam she looked lovely.
“The kettle is on, so we will have our tea in a moment,” she said as she sat down. “Now, give me the news.”
“Miranda and Jeremy returned two days ago, and since I was returning to London early, I promised I would come and give you their love.”
“How did she look?”
“Radiant. I must say I cannot help but be reminded of my first visit here, and am thankful that our ‘best laid plans went agley.’ ”
Nora’s face changed subtly at the reminder, but the shuttered look passed almost immediately, and she agreed, quite sincerely, Sam thought.
“When will they arrive in London?” she asked eagerly. Sam got a hint of the lonely month she must have spent.
“They need a while to unpack and close up the house before they repack for the Little Season. They hope to be here by the third week in September.”
“Three more weeks,” exclaimed Nora.
“I am afraid so,” Sam replied, automatically reaching out to cover her hands with his in sympathy.
Just as a thrill went through her from his touch, the kettle started shrieking, and Nora jumped up, confused by her reaction and thankful of the interruption. Sam was busily cursing the fool who had invented singing kettles, tea, and boiling water for good measure, as she ran out to the kitchen, but had calmed himself down by the time she returned with the tea and biscuits. They chatted away as though nothing had happened.
Well, nothing had happened, Sam thought, and he took his leave shortly thereafter. He rode toward the city and realized he was quite pleased, after all, with his visit, despite cups of tea and howling kettles, for why would a woman start up as though she’d been scalded if there was not some response to a man’s touch?
Nora was left feeling not quite so pleased. She felt rather foolish, in fact. She had jumped up like a nervous schoolgirl, startled more by her own reaction than by the damned teakettle. She did not know why she had these fleeting but strong reactions to the viscount. What did she know about him, after all? He was Jeremy’s godfather, a seemingly intelligent man. Serious about his work in politics. But aside from his brief reference to his travels, she had no idea what his life had been like for the past eighteen years. He had been in love with Lady Whitford, but had never married. Well, that didn’t mean anything, she thought, since most men occupied themselves elsewhere, married or not. The viscount, she knew, had had a mistress or two; perhaps Lady Maria would be the one to bring him to the altar…
Nora caught herself up short. One of the hazards of being a novelist, she had found, was the tendency to write stories in one’s head about friends and acquaintances. She really had no idea about the viscount’s past or present chères amies, she told herself, and what did it have to do with her anyway?
Chapter 27
The viscount visited Hampstead twice more before Miranda and Jeremy’s return. On one visit, he accompanied Nora on a long walk on the Heath, marveling at her knowledge of flowers and birds and small animals, and at her stamina. Their conversations were always comfortable, and the informality of a day outdoors loosened both their tongues. Sam talked about his travels in India, and Nora was fascinated to learn that a country she had pictured as only steaming jungles and dry plains also had lakes and snow-covered mountains.
“My travels took me up north, and I cannot really describe to you the beauties of Kashmir. We have no scenery quite so majestic in Britain.”
“What did you think of the people?”
“They are very different in thought from ourselves. I do not share my compatriots’ distaste for darker-complexioned peoples. I was lucky to spend some time with a Nawab and his family, and came to understand something of their culture. I suspect our policies there will one day cause us much embarrassment, if not tragedy. I returned because I could not stomach them.”
The viscount continued with some thrilling tales of his adventures among the mountain peoples, and Nora realized that behind his rather ordinary exterior was an adventurous risk-taker, who in order to become more familiar with a country had gone where most Europeans did not. He had begun his travels soon after Lavinia married Charles, and Nora imagined his journeys over the years must have been quite effective in helping him forget his heartache.
She was glad of his company, for she was still suspended, waiting for Miranda. When she and Jeremy finally arrived one morning in late September, Nora flew down the path, meeting an equally eager Miranda halfway. They both cried and laughed and cried again.
“Let me look at you. Why, you are magnificent,�
� said Nora, rather in awe of her daughter, who was dressed in the height of fashion.
Miranda smiled. “My wardrobe, Mama, would have dressed and fed us for several years. I confess it is hard to get used to.”
Jeremy, who had been standing by the carriage, allowing mother and daughter their private reunion, came down the path and very naturally slipped his arm around Miranda’s waist.
“Is she not a beautiful countess?” he asked Nora.
“She quite intimidates me,” replied Nora, only half-joking.
She was aware, over the course of the morning, of many small and natural gestures of affection between the young couple. She had always known, and indeed was happy, that a strong physical attraction accompanied Miranda and Jeremy’s love, but before the marriage, she had never seen that many signs of it. Oh, she suspected that they embraced privately, but since she had not seen it, it was easy not to think about it. Now, however, she had to let the fact in; her daughter was a married woman, with all that meant.
What it seemed to mean for Nora, over the next weeks, was a deepening feeling of loneliness, as well as the reappearance of that awful jealousy. As Miranda’s mother, she was invited to private family dinners as well as some of the social events that Lavinia had planned for the Little Season. She was not inclined to go often, but realized if she didn’t, she would hardly see her daughter. Miranda had been pulled into a social whirl almost immediately. It was her duty as Jeremy’s countess, and although she preferred the country, and missed the quiet times she had hoped to have with her mother, she could not help but enjoy her social success.
The viscount was present on most of the occasions that Nora was invited to. He did not monopolize her, but always made sure that he had his chance to escort her to supper or claim a waltz. She was too grateful for his familiar face and the easy conversations with him to think much of his attention. He paid equal attention to Lavinia, the young ladies, and various widows, after all.
At home, especially after a dinner at Lavinia’s or a night at the theater, Nora wandered about, all the old habits and patterns gone, now that Miranda was not there. There was no one to laugh with over the latest black-pig episode and no one to listen to her difficulty with a character. Worst of all, there was no Miranda to put her arms around in a good-night hug, no Miranda interrupting her at her work, no Miranda needing the comfort of her presence.
Sam continued his occasional visits, and could not help noticing Nora’s low spirits. She was clearly going through the motions when she socialized with the family. Her eyes would come to life only when she was with her daughter, but on her own, standing with Lavinia and the other matrons, or even discussing a play with him, he sensed a lack of vitality. He imagined she must be very lonely. After all, she and Miranda had been companions for eighteen years. But he did not feel he had the right to ask her.
He wished Nora would turn to him as a companion. She clearly enjoyed his visits, but he did not feel she looked upon him as anyone central to her life. He was plagued by doubts that she would ever see him as more than a family connection, but he knew—he was not sure how—that he must not push her.
By the middle of the Little Season, it became clear to Nora that Miranda’s marriage meant the end of their close relationship. She had, of course, anticipated changes, and the separation that would occur when her daughter married, but in the normal course of things, Miranda most probably would have married someone who lived in Hampstead or one whose London residence was more informal. The mothers in the village were able to drop in at all hours upon their married daughters. Having a daughter who was a countess, however, meant she saw her only on formal occasions, for even “intimate” dinners at Lavinia’s were formal. Miranda had of course visited her mother for lunch or tea, but it felt to Nora that these were flying visits, and that her daughter was preoccupied by the tightness of her schedule. The two women never seemed to get beyond small talk.
Nora had never wanted to be an interfering or clinging parent, so she never met Miranda with anything but a smile and the most amusing tidbits of news from Hampstead or the publishing world.
Had Nora known it, Miranda herself felt a sense of loss. It had been hard to leave her mother and start such an unfamiliar existence, but the weeks in Cornwall and Sussex had been lovely. Jeremy and she had become even closer, and she felt the pain of leaving her old life disappear. But in London, that cherished time with him was less. It was not fashionable to have one’s spouse in one’s pocket, no matter how recent the wedding. Jeremy certainly spent more time with her than the other husbands did with their wives, but it was inevitable that they would be together less. Miranda had become close to Ann Hume, and there was Judith, but she missed her mother. She was too embarrassed to tell Jeremy or Nora. Her mother seemed to be surviving quite well without her. She always seemed happy and full of the latest local gossip. And of course, she had her writing. Miranda would never worry about Nora, for she knew as long as she could write, she would be happy. But she did find herself looking forward to the holidays at Alverstone, when they would all be together and she would have the time to spend with both her new husband and her mother.
Chapter 28
Joanna had returned from Scotland in mid-October and was concerned, though not surprised, at Nora’s state of mind. She had known that the change in such a close mother-daughter relationship would be difficult, but she only now realized, as Nora had, what Miranda’s change in position meant.
One afternoon, a few days after she had returned, she walked up to the cottage. Nora greeted her warmly, but there was a lack of energy that was beginning to worry Joanna. After they had chatted inconsequentially for a few moments, Joanna decided to come to the point.
“My dear, I am worried about you.”
Nora immediately began to deny any reasons for concern.
“No, no, don’t put up your guard with me, Nora. Is it Miranda’s marriage?” Joanna asked with such sympathy that Nora, who had been denying her state of mind for weeks, felt her eyes fill with tears.
“You are right. I am miserably lonely. I never realized how much distance this marriage to Jeremy would put between us. Miranda never has time for more than a short visit, and when I go to visit her, we have so little privacy that I leave quickly myself. I am so ashamed of myself, Joanna, for I never wanted to be one of those clinging females who would never let their children go. But Miranda is gone with a vengeance.” Nora laughed shakily.
“I can hardly picture you as clinging, Nora. In fact, that is precisely your problem. You try so hard to be independent that you deny yourself even the common feelings of loss that a mother would feel.”
“Oh, I know, we have been over this before. But I am afraid to feel them. If I really cried over Miranda, I fear I would cry myself away, leaving only an empty shell. And sometimes she gets so confused with my own mother. Or rather, I get confused and wonder who it is that I am missing, my mother or my daughter. And who am I, between the two of them?”
“You are a lovely woman who needs a life for herself now, and a different kind of companionship than that between parent and child. Has the viscount been to visit?”
“Why, yes, but what has that got to do with anything?”
“I rather thought he was interested in you, my dear. And he is just what you need. I liked him very much from what I saw at the wedding.”
“I don’t need a man in my life, Joanna. I have my friends, my writing, and when things calm down, Miranda, although in a different way.”
Ah, but you do need someone like the viscount, thought Joanna. Someone to help you learn to trust yourself again. A man very different from that wastrel Breen.
“And anyway,” continued Nora, “the viscount and I are just good friends. I doubt he is interested in me in any other way. He has plenty of opportunities to find female companionship. I am sure he has innumerable widows setting their caps for him.”
Joanna smiled to herself at this last. Nora’s tone had changed subtly, and Joan
na was sure that underneath all her denials, there was some interest, however nascent. But there was something that held Nora back from allowing those feelings to develop. Something more than the habit of taking on all the responsibility herself.
Joanna had often thought over the years, and mentioned it from time to time, that Nora should revisit her home in Northumberland. Nora had always reacted strongly, claiming that there was nothing there for her. After all, her mother was long since dead and her father had virtually disowned her.
“Nora, I know you get upset with me whenever I mention this, but perhaps it is time to go back to Moorview. You yourself are saying that Miranda’s leaving brings back the loss of your mother. Even if your father did turn away from you, people change. He has a granddaughter he has never seen. Miranda has family and a heritage that she has only found out about. Would you deny her and yourself one last chance at reconciliation? You are a grown woman now, not a penitent young girl. Surely you could speak very differently for yourself today than you could eighteen years ago?”
Joanna was leaning forward, hands clasped in front of her to keep from pulling Nora into her arms. She knew that she was on dangerous ground, but somehow felt that it was at last the right time to say this. Nora, who had stiffened at Joanna’s words, gave a shudder and suddenly relaxed.
“Perhaps you have been right all along, Joanna. I know I could not have gone back before,” she said in a low voice, looking down at the floor. “But now?… Oh, Joanna, I feel so lost. Without Miranda, my life seems to have collapsed around me. Even writing has become empty. I am sick of my Lady Cordelias and Lord Soameses. I never want to describe a ball dress again!” Nora looked up with a smile, but with tears in her eyes.
“If I did go back, what would I do? Just walk up to the door and announce myself? My father could be dead, for all I know.”
“I think you could decide when you get there. You may find it is enough to be there in the countryside of your girlhood. You may wish to spend only a day or two, and visit your mother’s grave.”
