He stared at her. “That’s it?”
“Isn’t it enough?”
No! “I suppose.”
“So I would be most grateful if you would restrain from mentioning my involvement in the rebuilding.”
“But Mrs. Roberts knows, doesn’t she?”
“Bianca did uncover the truth.” She sighed. “She can bear the most uncanny resemblance to a ferret when she sets her mind to it. Which is why she should have no trouble at all f inding—”
“Finding what?”
“Finding . . . her lost earbobs. Yes, that’s it.” Miranda nodded. It was amazing that she had managed to deceive him for so long. She was not an accomplished liar. Which did tend to ease the sting of her deceit. Her sister was definitely not looking for lost earbobs. Perhaps Miranda was right about her family.
“So . . .” He chose his words with care. “What exactly am I supposed to say about, well, anything?”
“I have given that a great deal of thought. Now, do pay attention, Winfield, because I am not going to have time to say this more than once.”
“You’re sounding like a governess again.”
“Enjoy it. Now then.” She drew a deep breath, obviously for strength. “Your mother and I met at a society meeting, we became friends, I complained of the air in London, she said it would only get worse as spring and summer wore on, I agreed, she invited me to come stay in the country, Fairborough is being rebuilt but I have nothing to do with it, and if pressed, you will say that while it is on the tip of your tongue, you cannot for the life of you remember the name of the firm that is managing the construction, but you are certain it will come to you at any minute. Well?”
He stared in stunned disbelief.
“Well?” she said again. “Say something.”
He narrowed his gaze in suspicion. “What kind of society?”
“That’s your question? Out of all that, that’s what you chose to ask about?”
“It is indeed. My mother has been acting very oddly ever since she met you. Electricity and telephone and horseless carriages. The next thing you know she’ll be demanding to vote.”
Miranda uttered a decidedly weak laugh. “Don’t be absurd.” She rapped on the ceiling and the cab pulled to a halt. “Besides, it doesn’t matter as we are just making it up. You need to get out now.”
He huffed and got out of the cab, then turned to her. “I shall see you in a few minutes then.”
“I shall linger in the entry and arrange an accidental meeting. And thank you for keeping my confidence.”
“Of course.” He nodded. “But I must confess, I thought what you wished to keep from your family was, well, us.”
“I didn’t know there was an us.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Yes.” She sighed. “I did.”
“Perhaps it’s time we did something about that.”
“Perhaps.”
“Possibly decide what exactly ‘us’ entails?”
“Possibly.” She paused. “You do realize, once we speak aloud of this, of us, there can be no going back.”
He nodded. “No one is more aware of that than I am.”
“We stand to risk what we have. And I must confess, I value the time we spend together and the friendship we have forged.”
“As do I, but it’s not enough, is it?”
She stared at him. “No, it isn’t.”
“We can’t continue on this way. Or rather I don’t wish to. I would hope that you don’t wish to either.” His voice softened. “I want more. Do you?”
She nodded slowly. “Yes, I do.”
“Isn’t it said, the greater the risk the greater the reward?”
“Yes.”
His gaze locked with hers. “And didn’t you once say ‘one must either move forward or step aside’?”
“That was in reference to progress, but . . .” She raised her chin, determination and something new and intriguing and quite remarkable in her eyes. He swallowed hard. “I have no desire to step aside.”
“Nor do I, Miranda. Nor do I.”
He signaled to the cab driver and the carriage started off. Win briskly strode after it.
He was not entirely sure what they had just agreed to. Nonetheless, he smiled, he couldn’t wait to find out.
“. . . and to prove his claim . . .” Mr. Hadley-Attwater, Hugh, paused in the manner of an expert storyteller and allowed his gaze to circle the table, no doubt to ensure the attention of each and every listener. “He brought the pig.”
Laughter erupted around the table.
“Not into the magistrate’s chambers surely?” Miranda’s oldest sister, Lady Cressfield, Diana, stared at her brother.
“How else to make his point?” Hugh grinned. “I’m not sure who was more surprised, but by my observation, it was the pig.”
Once again, laughter circled the table, but then it was that kind of convivial group. All in all, dinner with the Hadley-Attwater family was comparable to a play and perhaps much better acted. If, of course, Win could get all the players straight.
There was the head of the family, the Earl of Waterston, Adrian Hadley-Attwater and his wife, the lovely Evelyn. There was Hugh Hadley-Attwater, barrister and expert storyteller, which obviously ran in the family. He already knew Sir Sebastian and his wife, Veronica, who had been seated beside Win. Sir Sebastian had made a name for himself as an explorer and adventurer and now wrote works of fiction about explorers and adventurers. Then there was Miranda’s oldest sister, Diana, and her husband James, Lord and Lady Cressfield; her cousin, Portia, Lady Redwell, a widow; and of course Bianca, Mrs. Roberts, who was apparently estranged from her husband as far as Win could tell. The man’s name was never mentioned, and when he was referred to in passing there were fleeting expressions of dismay, or even perhaps mild disgust, on the faces of those around the tables, so quick he couldn’t be sure he had seen anything at all. And then, of course, there was the matriarch of the family, the dowager countess, Lady Waterston, Miranda’s mother. She reminded him very much of his own mother and he caught her studying him with a speculative look in her eyes on more than one occasion during the course of the meal.
Upon Win’s arrival Bianca had explained his presence by saying as Miranda had been spending so much time in the country with Lady Fairborough, and as Bianca had had a chance meeting with him today, she thought it would be lovely if they could reciprocate the hospitality. While the explanation did make a certain amount of sense, he suspected Lady Waterston was not completely taken in. If she was indeed anything like his mother, she was no doubt wondering what, if anything, his connection was with her youngest daughter.
Win was acquainted with all the gentlemen. As much as London was the greatest city in the world, it was in many ways a relatively small community. Indeed, he believed the earl, his brothers and brother-in-law belonged to some of the same clubs Win did, but Sebastian was the only one he had more than a nodding acquaintance with. And he really hadn’t seen Sebastian in some time.
“As much as I do hate to turn the subject away from the fascinating topic of pigs,” Portia began, “I was wondering if any of you . . .”
While there was a great deal of banter and teasing and laughter and the kind of comfortable conversation one experiences in the midst of a group of people who not only care for each other but like one another as well, there was one notable aberration that made no sense to him at all. The woman sitting across the table from him was not the Miranda he knew. This woman was fairly quiet, and while she did contribute to the discussion she was far more reserved than he would have thought possible. Indeed, there were several points made on various topics where he fully expected her to pick up the gauntlet that had been thrown down. Yet she refrained, although he was certain, given the same conversation at Millworth, she would have been right in the thick of it. Especially if Win had been the one to say whatever it was she disagreed with. Oddly enough, he was the only one at the table who seemed to have noticed her reser
ve.
“Lord Stillwell,” Adrian said, “I understand you have undertaken the rebuilding of Fairborough Hall?”
“It was a fire, wasn’t it?” Veronica asked. “Was there a lot of damage?”
“I hate the thought of fire in these grand old country houses.” Miranda’s mother shivered. “I live in fear of something like that happening at Waterston Abbey.”
“Fortunately, as it turns out, a previous earl had a very similar fear,” Win said. “He was a witness to the Great Fire of London in 1666.”
“History is always full of surprises,” Evelyn said with a smile.
“We had always thought that the house had never been altered since its initial construction,” Win continued. “But we discovered after the fire, that changes had been made to thicken the walls, providing something of a firebreak between the main portion of the house and the wings. Both wings suffered no more than damage from smoke. As bad as the destruction was, I shudder to think how much worse it could have been.”
“How very clever of him,” Miranda’s mother said. “Miranda has always been interested in the design of buildings. Indeed, her late husband was an architect.”
Miranda smiled.
“Why, they first met at a lecture on something of architectural interest.” The older woman looked at her daughter. “What was it, dear?”
“It was a lecture on Palladian influence on English architecture,” Miranda said smoothly. “But I am sure Lord Stillwell isn’t interested in that.”
“Oh, but I am.” Win smiled across the table at her. “I find I am interested in anything that captures Lady Garret’s attention.”
“That’s right.” Diana’s gaze flicked between Win and her sister. “Miranda has been staying in the country with your mother. At Millworth Manor, isn’t it?”
Miranda nodded.
“My family has leased the manor until the building at Fairborough is completed.”
“Then the two of you obviously know one another, don’t you?” Diana looked at Win. “Unless you spend most of your time in London?”
“I do try to get to Millworth whenever possible,” Win said in a casual manner.
Miranda shrugged. “And our paths have crossed there.”
“You have undoubtedly seen the construction for yourself then, haven’t you?” Sebastian asked.
“Once or twice,” Miranda said with a weak smile.
“I suspect, as rebuilding is already under way, that you have an architectural firm engaged,” Adrian said. “Otherwise, I would strongly recommend the services of Garret and Tempest, Miranda’s late husband’s firm.”
“Garret and Tempest?” Win forced an innocent note to his voice. “I’m not sure I’ve heard of them.”
“The firm has an excellent reputation.” Adrian smiled at his youngest sister. “In spite of the loss of Lord Garret, it’s my understanding that the business is continuing to do well.”
“Imagine that.” One did wonder what it would take to awaken the Miranda he knew. “I believe we did make inquiries, but . . .” He shrugged. “Their office is managed by a woman you know, a Miss West.”
“She is most efficient,” Miranda said firmly. “You may not be aware of this, but I hired the woman.”
“Miranda now owns the firm,” Adrian added.
“But Miranda has nothing to do with the day-to-day functioning of it,” Portia pointed out. “That would be most inappropriate. I can’t imagine what people might say.”
“Nonsense, Portia,” Veronica said. “There are any number of businesses run by women.”
“Oh, certainly milliners and dress shops and the like.” Portia shrugged. “But not professions and certainly not something where you would have to mingle with men in the construction trades.” She shivered. “I can’t imagine a lady doing any such thing.”
“Nor can I.” Win met Miranda’s gaze over the table. “Can you, Lady Garret?”
“I suppose . . .” Her words were measured. “That one does what one must.”
“What an interesting answer,” Evelyn murmured.
“Do you really think a woman could do that sort of thing?” Win studied her. “Run a professional business, that is? Manage a site of construction? And do so as well as a man?”
Portia rolled her gaze toward the ceiling. “Now that is a ridiculous idea.”
“I would imagine a woman could do anything she set her mind to.” Miranda cast him a pleasant smile, but her green eyes flashed.
“Absolutely.” Bianca nodded. “Indeed, I don’t see why a woman couldn’t be every bit as successful as a man in a professional enterprise.”
“Still,” Win said slowly, “it’s been my experience, in doing any kind of business that one needs to trust whomever one is doing business with. There is a level of honesty that must be achieved in any business dealing. Don’t you agree, Lady Garret?”
“I suspect honesty is relative,” Miranda said in an offhand manner. “I would think if the service provided is as expected, one can’t ask for more than that.”
“Honesty is not a gray area,” Hugh said firmly. “In the law it is very much a matter of black and white.” He paused. “Unless, of course, one is dealing with pigs.”
Laughter again washed through the gathering and the topic changed to discussion of a charity event Diana was involved in. Miranda cast Win a last scathing look, then turned her attention to the others.
Beside him, Veronica leaned close and spoke softly out of the side of her mouth. “Winfield Elliott, whatever are you up to?”
“Nothing,” he said quietly. “Nothing at all.”
“I see. So apparently honesty is not something you aspire to?”
“If I said it was none of your concern, would you leave it be?”
“Goodness, Winfield. That’s not at all in my nature.” She laughed softly. “You might be interested to know Miranda, Bianca and I attended a lecture recently and we ran into one of your previous fiancées.”
“Oh?” He resisted the urge to wince. “Which one?”
“Lady Eustice. Miranda was quite interested in what had transpired between the two of you.”
“No one knows what transpired between the two of us,” he said firmly.
“Nonsense. That sort of thing never stays completely private.” She glanced at Miranda. “Nor will this.”
“Nor will what?” he said cautiously.
“Whatever is going on between you and Miranda. The others may not see it, but then no one expects to see what they are not looking for.” Her voice hardened. “I do hope this is not another dalliance on your part. I have not been a member of this family for very long, but I can tell you Miranda is the most vulnerable, even fragile, among them.”
“She’s nothing like that.” He stared at her. “The woman sitting across the table from me at this very moment might well appear vulnerable and fragile, but that is not the woman I have come to know.” Bloody hell, were these people all mad? Without thinking, he raised his voice. “The woman I have come to know is the most determined, outspoken, maddening creature I have ever met. In addition, she has perhaps the most intelligent and creative mind I have ever come across in any woman, or man for that matter. She is both resourceful and resilient. Indeed, this is a woman who could well do anything she set her mind to and could probably do as well or better than any man, which, I might add, was not an easy conclusion for me to reach or accept. Aside from everything else, she is truly lovely and there is nothing in the world as wonderful as hearing her laugh. Miranda Garret is the most remarkable woman I have ever met and I am eternally grateful for the day she stalked into my life in the ugliest shoes I have ever seen.”
Veronica’s eyes widened and it was only then he realized all talk at the table had ceased and stunned silence hung in the air. His gaze snapped to Miranda. She stared at him as if in shock and for a long moment no one said a word.
At last Bianca cleared her throat. “I do hope we have dessert.”
“If you will excus
e me.” Miranda quickly rose to her feet and left the room.
“I’d go after her if I were you.” A smug smile curved Veronica’s lips.
“Of course.” He got to his feet and glanced around the table. “This has been quite an enjoyable evening. Lady Waterston, my compliments to your cook and thank you so much for having me. Perhaps we can do it again another time.” He nodded and hurried after Miranda.
“Bianca,” her mother said behind him, “explain this if you will.”
“Oh, but I won’t, or rather, I can’t,” Bianca said. “In truth, I am as shocked as the rest of you. Shocked, I tell you. Whoever would have imagined Lord Stillwell and Miranda? Why I had no . . .”
He fairly flew down the steps to the ground floor and caught up with her in the front entry. “My apologies, Miranda, I never thought—”
“Did you mean what you said in there?”
He nodded. “I did.”
“Do you really think all those things about me?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“And that last part?”
“I won’t apologize for that.” He shook his head. “The shoes are ugly.”
“Not that.” Her gaze searched his. “The rest of it.”
“Yes.” He stepped closer to her and stared into her eyes and for the life of him he could not determine their color. “The luckiest day of my life is the day my house burned because it brought you into my life.”
“You’re mad, aren’t you?”
“Probably.”
“Mad enough to kiss me?”
He narrowed his eyes. “If I kiss you here, mere steps away from where your family is still reeling from the revelations at dinner, will you accuse me of attempting to seduce you?”
“Of course not.” She grabbed the lapels of his coat and pulled him close. “But I shall hope.”
Without another word, his lips crushed hers. She tasted of wine and promises and forever. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tighter against him and he could not get enough of her. The faint scent of spring that she wore wafted around him and circled his heart and crept into his soul. And he was lost and it was wonderful.
The Importance of Being Wicked (Millworth Manor) Page 22
