She turned, spotted Edwin and started toward him. They needed to discuss just how much of Fairborough could indeed be finished by the ball. Not that she wouldn’t get the bonus regardless. Still, it did seem like an excellent idea to at least make an effort.
She was immersed in the details of speeding up construction, possible costs and labor questions within minutes. Still the oddest thought lingered in the back of her mind and refused to go away. It was completely absurd and not at all what she wanted. Nonetheless . . .
Where might she be the first time Winfield kissed her?
And, more to the point, why hadn’t he done so already?
Chapter 14
“Excellent cake, Mother,” Diana said with a look of sheer bliss on her face. “Your cook has outdone herself.”
“She always does, dear.” A satisfied smile curved the older woman’s lips. “It’s why I pay her so well.”
There was nothing Mother liked better than having her cook’s offerings praised. Unless, of course, it was having her daughters together under one roof, if only for a meal.
Miranda had received the note from Mother asking that her youngest child join her and her sisters for luncheon last week during her brief return to London. And while their presence was requested in the form of an invitation, it was really more of a command performance. One did not turn down the queen and one never refused Mother. She was far more lenient with Evelyn and Veronica, as they were only daughters by marriage and they did seem to have exceptionally busy lives. But then wasn’t Miranda’s exceptionally busy as well?
It had been three weeks since she had taken up residence at Millworth Manor and this was only the third time she had managed to come into the city. Rebuilding was progressing nicely at Fairborough although not quickly enough for completion by the Midsummer Ball. The question of Winfield’s bonus was one she and Clara discussed each time Miranda visited the office. While both women agreed the extra fee should go directly into the employee fund, as they could both clearly see the writing on the wall, on any given day one or both of them had a few moral qualms about taking money on what really was a technicality. After all, was it right to take money from a man who was too dim to realize what he had said? However, as Winfield had a great deal of money it did not seem as great a sin. The man could well afford it, whereas the employees of Garret and Tempest could not afford to lose their jobs without any kind of compensation.
“I shall soon need a new cook.” Portia sighed as if losing her cook was a disaster of unmitigated proportions. “Mine has apparently agreed to wed the man who provides the butcher with chickens so she will be off to the country soon. She did promise to stay until I hire someone new, but I fear her patience is growing thin.”
“Marriage does seem to be in the air,” Bianca said in an innocent manner, as if she didn’t know exactly what she was starting. “But then it is spring after all.”
“Portia,” Mother said thoughtfully. “I happened to cross paths with Lord Plumstead the other day. What a pleasant gentleman he is.”
“Is he?” Portia cast Bianca a scathing look and sipped her tea. Portia was currently at the top of Mother’s list.
“As pleasant as he might be, Mother, there is always a most distinct aroma around him.” Diana shook her head. “I suspect it comes from whatever he uses to plaster his remaining hairs on the top of his head in a futile effort to make it appear that he has more hair than he does. It’s extremely pungent, although I can’t quite put my finger on what it is.”
“Well, yes, I did notice that,” Mother said. “Still, perhaps all he needs is the right woman to point out the error. . . .”
As much as Miranda considered London the greatest city in the world—although admittedly she had never seen those other cities considered great, Paris, Vienna and the rest—at the moment she would have given nearly anything to be back in the country. Indeed, each and every time she left Millworth for London it grew a little harder to do so. And the blame for that could be laid squarely at the feet of Winfield Elliott.
While she had originally thought it would be both conf ining and annoying to be escorted to and from Fairborough each and every day, it had quickly become a habit and as natural a part of her life now as breathing. In no time at all she had found she looked forward to their daily trips either by carriage or horseback. He rode quite well, as did she. She enjoyed their discussions of matters serious or silly. Indeed, she enjoyed his company. The man was amusing and entertaining and thoughtful and far more intelligent and complicated than she had expected. In truth, he was a man of many unsuspected facets.
And as annoying as it was to admit it, every time she left him, she missed him. Indeed, she seemed to miss him more and more. Which only brought to mind the question of whether or not he missed her. They had certainly become friends, but Miranda suspected mere friends did not think about the other rather more than was necessary. Friends certainly didn’t wonder when another friend might kiss them. And she’d never before had a friend who visited her in her dreams and left her longing for something that might not be proper or acceptable or even right, but something she wanted nonetheless. Something wonderful and altogether wicked.
“Miranda?”
Miranda’s gaze jerked to her mother’s. “Yes?”
Mother frowned. “Where were you just now?”
Miranda widened her eyes. “Why, here of course.”
“You most certainly were not. I can tell when one of my girls is wool gathering.”
“She has been more than a little preoccupied of late.” Suspicion was in Bianca’s voice. “Indeed, I have noticed that for some time now. A year or more, I think.”
“Mourning.” Diana nodded knowingly.
“That’s not it.” Bianca considered her sister closely. “If I didn’t know better, as Miranda has always confided anything of importance to me, I would think she had some sort of secret.”
“A secret?” Miranda widened her eyes. “Me?”
“That does seem rather farfetched,” Mother murmured.
Miranda forced a light laugh. “What utter nonsense.”
“You’re being absurd, Bianca. Miranda has never had secrets. But she does look exceptionally nice today.” Portia studied her with a critical eye. “Her hair is different and the dress she’s wearing is positively stylish.”
“Thank you,” Bianca said with a smirk.
Mother raised a brow.
“Well, they are my clothes.” Bianca sniffed. “I simply loaned them to her.”
“And very kind of you to do so too.” Mother reached over and patted Bianca’s hand. “She looks lovely. That color is extremely flattering on her.”
“Thank you, Mother.” Miranda did think the salmon sort of color of the dress she wore today was indeed most flattering.
“Dare I ask why you have adopted such a dramatic change?” Diana said. “You’ve never been especially interested in clothes.”
“Then isn’t it past time I was?”
If she told any of them, especially her mother, half of what she had told Bianca about making changes in her life, her mother would immediately assume it was for only one reason: attracting a new husband. Before Miranda would be able to so much as open her mouth to protest, she would be at the top of Mother’s list. And every eligible bachelor who could stand upright would be aimed in her direction. There was nothing that gave Mother greater joy than when one of her children ran toward her matchmaking efforts rather than fleeing in terror. Miranda and her sisters had agreed among themselves that if Mother was a bit more selective—if only in regard to superficial things like appearance, age and hair—in the suitors she threw at them, perhaps she would be more successful. Although none of them would ever tell Mother that. It would only increase her efforts.
“Good Lord, yes,” Portia said with a bit more enthusiasm than was necessary. “We thought you’d never notice that you looked like—”
“A governess?” Miranda raised a brow.
“Nonsen
se.” Mother smiled at her youngest child. “You’ve always been quite lovely in a sweet, quiet, reserved sort of way.” Mother flashed a sharp look at the other women. “Don’t we think so? Each and every one of us?”
“Of course,” Bianca said weakly.
“Without question.” Diana smiled in a supportive manner.
“I don’t remember thinking any such thing. I thought we had all agreed . . .”
“Portia.” Mother’s eyes narrowed.
Portia paused, then smiled at Miranda. “We had all agreed that you were quite lovely in a quiet sort of way.”
“It’s always so good to hear what your sisters truly think of you,” Miranda said wryly. “I said this to Bianca and I shall say it to the rest of you—I do wish you had said something.”
“Why on earth would we do that?” Mother met her gaze firmly. “You were quite happy with your appearance and your life. It scarcely mattered what we thought.” She smiled and picked up her teacup. “Now, tell me how my dear friend Lady Fairborough is.”
“I didn’t realize you knew Lady Fairborough until Miranda mentioned it to me, Mother.” Suspicion sounded in Bianca’s voice.
“My dear girl, I know everyone.” Mother cast her a condescending smile. “I have been a part of London society for longer than I care to admit. There is no one that I do not have at least a passing acquaintance with.”
“Which is a far cry from dear friend,” Diana said under her breath.
Portia and Bianca exchanged glances. Portia smiled in an overly innocent manner. “Then do tell, Aunt Helena, what is Lady Fairborough’s given name?”
“Margaret.” Mother’s smile matched her niece’s. “Her husband, the Earl of Fairborough’s given name is Roland. Their family name is Elliott. Lady Fairborough’s maiden name was Shaw. Their son is Winfield, Lord Stillwell. Their nephew, who was raised by the family much as Portia was raised by us, is Grayson. He has made a significant fortune in ventures in America and was recently betrothed to Lady Lydingham.” She took a sip of her tea. “Lady Fairborough was considered quite a beauty in her youth, as was I. Lord Fairborough had a rather disreputable reputation, but then they all did, including your father. It does appear that his son has followed in his footsteps although I must say I have heard nothing of any significance about him in some time. Even his last engagement, one of three if I recall correctly, was several years ago.”
“Oh well, if it was several years ago,” Bianca said under her breath.
The other women stared.
“Now then, Miranda.” Mother turned her attention to her youngest. “How is my dear friend Lady Fairborough?”
“Quite well,” Miranda said. “She sends her regards.”
“And have you met that charming son of hers yet?”
Miranda shrugged. “In passing.”
“He is not engaged again, is he?”
“Not as far as I know,” Miranda said slowly.
“Not at all surprising, really.” Mother considered her thoughtfully. “I do think the peace and fresh air of the country have done you a world of good,” she said abruptly. “There is certainly more color in your cheeks than usual. Or perhaps it is the color of that dress. You should definitely wear that color much more often.” She nodded. “Do give Lady Fairborough my best.” Mother turned her attention to the others. “Diana, it has occurred to me that your . . .”
Miranda stared at her mother in disbelief. It was not at all like her to overlook anything. Why, the moment Winfield’s name came up in the conversation, Miranda had expected Mother to pounce on the possibility of a match like a cat on a mouse. It did seem farfetched that, for once, her mother had either not seen an opportunity or had chosen to ignore it. Perhaps it was Winfield’s reputation or, more likely, his failed engagements. There was nothing Mother saw as a greater sin than an engagement that failed to produce a marriage.
Still, as much as Miranda loved the woman, she didn’t trust her. Not when it came to the possibility of a suitable match for one of her children. No one knew better than the Dowager Countess of Waterston that the rules of fair play did not apply in love and war and apparently in making an excellent match as well.
No, one would be foolish to let one’s guard down with Lady Waterston. With her mother, anything could happen and, more often than not, did.
Miranda would have liked nothing better than to spend a quiet night alone in the cozy house she had shared with John. Even if her thoughts would have been about another man entirely. But late in the afternoon she and Bianca had joined Veronica at the Ladies Tearoom, where they had unfortunately been talked into accompanying her to a lecture given by Sebastian at the Explorers Club.
“I am so pleased the two of you decided to join me,” Veronica said as they took their seats in the very last row in the crowded lecture hall. “Sebastian is always happy when anyone from the family can make one of his lectures. Although, really, the man should understand that, unless he’s speaking on an entirely new topic, we have all heard what he has to say over and over and over again.”
“Do you go to all his lectures?” Miranda asked.
Veronica nodded. “Unless, of course, I can think of some clever reason why I cannot attend.”
“He does tend to fill a room.” Bianca looked around. “There are scarcely any seats left.”
“His books are selling quite nicely too,” Veronica said with a satisfied smile. “I do hope you don’t mind my giving up the seats Sebastian had reserved for us in the front row.”
“I thought it was very gracious of you to give them to those dear elderly ladies.” Miranda smiled.
“Yes, well, we shall see.” Veronica sighed. “They are friends of my aunt, who is a firm believer in membership for women in the Explorers Club. As she is not here tonight, I am assuming they will be well behaved, but one never knows.”
Miranda stared. “I can’t imagine that they wouldn’t be well behaved. They appeared docile enough.”
“Appearances, my dear Miranda, can be quite misleading. Especially when it comes to elderly women with a cause.” Veronica shook her head. “Why, every time my aunt comes here she inevitably gets into a dispute with the club director. And my aunt appears as meek and unassuming as her friends.”
Miranda and Bianca traded glances. They had met Veronica’s aunt. Meek and unassuming is not how they would describe her.
“Admittedly, that impression only lasts until she opens her mouth,” Veronica murmured.
A minute later, Sebastian took his place behind the podium and cast for his audience what his family privately referred to as his professional smile. Warm, welcoming and just intimate enough to create the impression among each and every listener that he was speaking to them and them alone.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight we shall go on a journey . . .”
It wasn’t that her brother wasn’t an excellent storyteller, but it was difficult to keep one’s attention on a story one had heard any number of times before. Especially if one’s mind was grappling with all sorts of questions that had nothing to do with navigating the Amazon or locating an oasis in the Sahara or whatever Sebastian was talking about tonight.
She didn’t know how she felt about Winfield, although admittedly her reluctance to acknowledge or accept that there might be something quite remarkable happening between them could certainly be fear on her part. Fear that she was making a mistake or that he wouldn’t share her feelings. It had been so easy with John. But Winfield was completely different from her late husband. Then again, wasn’t she a completely different woman now?
“. . . when considering such an expedition, one should always keep in mind . . .”
Perhaps it was time to take a risk that went beyond business or how she dressed or wore her hair. And if she wanted the man, perhaps she needed to do something about it. If, of course, he was indeed what she wanted, which did seem to be the question.
“Good Lord,” Bianca said under her breath and leaned closer to her sist
er. “There’s another one.”
“Another one what?”
“Another one of Lord Stillwell’s fiancées.”
“Where?” Miranda craned her neck to look around.
“Right there.” Bianca nodded in the general direction of most of the rest of the crowd. “To the far right, two rows in front of us. The blond woman with the boring blue hat. Three seats in from the end.”
Miranda caught sight of a woman wearing an intense expression, as though what Sebastian was going on and on about was actually quite interesting, although it probably was if one was hearing it for the first time. She wore a sensible blue ensemble that struck Miranda as something she might have worn a few weeks ago. “She’s very pretty.”
“And very proper,” Bianca said. “I can’t imagine the two of them together.”
“Who is she?”
“Lady Eustice—Lucille, I believe.”
On Miranda’s other side, Veronica leaned closer. “Who are we talking about?”
A woman seated in front of them turned and glared.
“Sorry,” Miranda said weakly.
“It’s my husband speaking, you know,” Veronica said under her breath. “I have earned the right to interrupt him if I wish.” She glanced at Miranda. “We shall talk more later.”
Miranda pushed all thoughts of Winfield and his assorted fiancées out of her head and tried to focus on what her brother was saying. For the next few minutes she was carried away by Sebastian’s tales of lost cities and lost treasures and the adventurous pursuits of both. He did tell a good story, even if she had heard it before.
“Now then, I must confess, I am simply beside myself with curiosity,” Veronica said as soon as the applause had faded and the crowd had begun to mill and move toward the foyer lured by the promise of tepid lemonade and perhaps a personal word with tonight’s lecturer. “Who were you talking about?”
“Lady Eustice.” Bianca nodded toward where the lady in question was engaged in an animated conversation with a gentleman who did not appear the least bit amused.
The Importance of Being Wicked (Millworth Manor) Page 16
