“Miranda.” Ian gathered up the box and the rose and moved closer to me.
I felt my pulse beat faster.
“You know my heart toward you. It has not wavered from the first. I have set my affections on you and you alone.”
Holding out the rose to me, Ian lowered to one knee and took my hand in his. With his soft hazel-brown eyes fixed on mine, he dipped his chin. “Miranda, will you have me for your husband?”
I heard the answer in my heart before it danced off my lips. “Yes. With all my heart, yes.”
Ian took the ring from the box and slipped it on my finger. The dainty, platinum ring bumped over my knuckle and settled in its new home. I held out my hand and blinked back the tears.
“The ring belonged to my mother,” he said.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Do you like it, then?”
“I love it.” The firelight twinkled in the simple, classic setting. “If I were to pick out a ring, this is what I would have chosen.”
Ian settled in beside me and told me how his father, as a young man, had saved his money for years before he could buy Ian’s mother this beautiful ring. “When they married she had a simple, thin band, but my dad always wanted her to have a diamond. When I was a boy, I remember him telling her that every time she looked at the ring she was to remember that she was of great value to him and deeply loved.”
I held my hand closer and admired the sparkling diamond and the simple curves of the setting.
“Before my mom died, she took off the ring and gave it to me. She told me to save it because she was sure one day I would meet the right woman. And when I did, she said this ring would whisper to that woman that she is of great value to me and that I loved her deeply.”
We drew close for a lingering kiss, and then we kissed again.
“I love you,” I whispered.
“And I love you.”
Ian drew back. “So, the next question is, when?”
“When what?”
“When will you make good on your promise to marry me?”
“Soon.”
“Yes, but when?”
“I was thinking springtime might be nice. It would be pretty here then, wouldn’t it? We could have our reception in the garden.”
“It might rain, but we know how to adapt to a little rain.”
“I would like the service to be at the old church in Carlton Heath.”
“Of course.”
“In front of the stained glass window.”
“Whatever you wish.”
“And I’d like to move to Carlton Heath before the spring. The sooner the better.”
“It’s your home.”
“It’s our home,” I said. “This will be our home.”
I had no words after that. Only a few slow tears and a full heart.
Resting my head on Ian’s shoulder, I looked at the fire and then closed my eyes. I thought I should say something. Nothing came. Only peace. A deep, abiding peace.
We kissed again, and Ian murmured in my ear, “Are you sure you want to wait all the way until spring? What if I went out and found us an agreeable minister and brought him back here this evening?”
I laughed. “On Christmas Eve?”
Before Ian could press his idea of hunting down a minister, we heard noise coming from outside. It seemed to be coming from the walkway.
“Were you expecting someone?” I asked.
“Ahh!” Ian checked his watch. “They’re early. I should have guessed they would be early.”
“Who’s early?”
Just then we heard the clear, true notes of Mark and Julia’s voices as they began singing on our doorstep.
“It’s our Christmas Eve supper via special delivery,” Ian said. “And from the sounds of it, I’m guessing it’s our evening entertainment as well.”
Chapter Nineteen
Together Ian and I went to the front door to welcome the Whitcombe family. Ellie and Edward were each holding one of the beautifully decorated picnic hampers I had seen Ellie filling earlier in her kitchen. Julia jitter-wiggled her way right over the threshold and wrapped her arms around my middle.
“Did you know?” Julia asked. “I tried very hard to keep the secret, but Mummy said you might have guessed.”
“No, I didn’t guess a thing about the cottage.” I looked up at Edward with an intense gaze of gratitude and said, “Thank you, Edward. Thank you so much.”
“What about the tree?” Julia asked. “Aunt Katharine told me about the tree, but she said I mustn’t tell. Do you like it?”
“Yes. Very, very much.”
“What about the proposal?” Ellie asked. Then opening her eyes wide and slapping her hand over her mouth, she said in a small voice, “He has asked you already, hasn’t he? We did give you enough time, Ian, did we not?”
“Plenty of time.” Ian took the heavy basket from Ellie. “I asked her, and she said yes. There’s not much to tell.”
I swatted playfully at his arm for the way he had so quickly downplayed the intensely emotional last thirty minutes of our lives.
“Of course she said yes.” Ellie gave me a hug and reached for my hand to see the beautiful ring.
Everyone admired it appropriately, and Ellie said, “Did you need the hanky?”
I realized everything had happened so fast that I hadn’t thought to reach for the hanky. I also realized I still had on my coat. Unfastening the clasps, I removed my coat and slipped into the role of hostess of the “No Longer Forgotten Rose Cottage.”
I said, “May I take your coats?”
“We might have hangers in the bedroom closet,” Ian said. “I haven’t checked.”
I gathered all the coats the way Ellie had in the cloakroom at Grey Hall and went to the back of the cottage to the bedroom. It was empty except for two blank canvases propped against the wall and a collapsed easel beside them.
My father’s unfinished paintings.
In a way, I was also one of his unfinished paintings. The canvas of my life and Ian’s from here on out were blank and ready to be painted. This was a place of new beginnings for us.
The closet was empty and void of hangers, so I stacked the coats on the floor and turned to join the others. However, Mark had stepped into the bedroom and was standing nearby as if he had something to say.
“I wanted you to know that I did what you said.” Mark looked solemn.
I wasn’t sure what he meant.
“I told my grandmother what I had overheard her saying to my father about you.”
“Oh. Good. That was good, Mark. What did she say?”
“She was not pleased, I will tell you that. She said I should keep the information to myself.”
I nodded my agreement.
“I thought you should know.”
“Thank you, Mark.” I smiled at him, hoping to put him more at ease. “You did the right thing.”
“You did the right thing as well.” He was sounding awfully mature. “I was glad you told me the truth. I’m not as young as they all think I am. I know much more than they think I do.”
“What about also telling your parents? I think they would like to know what you heard and what you know at this point.”
“I don’t think my parents would understand.”
“You might be surprised. Talking to them would be a good thing for all of you.”
I knew Ellie and Edward would appreciate the gift of their teenage son opening up to them. He had gone to Margaret on his own. Perhaps the rest would come without my nudging.
I put my hand on Mark’s shoulder and said in my most sincere voice, “I love you, Mark. I want you to know that.”
“I know.” He looked away.
Without prolonging the moment, I said, “Good. Now let’s go see what your mom brought in those baskets.”
Mark and I joined the others as Ellie finished laying out her abundant Christmas Eve dinner spread. She had thought of everything for our picnic by the fire. We had
sliced cold ham and four different sorts of cheese with stone-ground wheat bread. The gourmet assortment of mustards, pickles, and olives gave us an exceptional variety to choose from. There also was a creamy pasta salad with peas.
I had just finished helping Ellie put out an assortment of little cakes when she instructed everyone on where to begin with all the goodies. She had spread out a blanket for the children to sit on the floor since the number of seats was limited.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Mark’s disgruntled acceptance of his being one of the “children” who would have to sit on the lowly blanket.
I didn’t think it would be humanly possible to feel any happier than I did at that moment. The only person missing was Margaret. I concluded that her absence was her choice and an indication of how things would be from here on out. Some things might not be mendable. I had every piece of the family puzzle except the Margaret piece.
I focused back on the moment and the circle of people who were making this Christmas Eve picnic a festive celebration of our engagement. The laughter and words of praise for Ellie’s culinary delights were punctuated by a subtle vibrating sound followed by a beep. The source of the buzz and bing was Edward’s cell phone.
He ignored it each time, but due to the frequency of the prompts, Ellie finally said, “You really should have a listen. It could be something amiss with your mother.”
Edward stepped into the vacant bedroom while the rest of us carried on our merriment. A moment later he returned to the living room with a grave expression on his face. Everyone looked at him, waiting for an explanation. All he did was motion for me to join him in the other room.
“Is everything okay?” I asked, once we were around the corner from the others.
“I thought you should see this.” Edward held out his phone so I could view the picture displayed on the small screen.
I squinted until the image became clear.
All the air seemed to siphon out of the room. My hand went to my mouth as I whispered, “Oh no.”
Chapter Twenty
Is that me?” I asked Edward, hoping it wasn’t but knowing it was. “Is that a picture of me?”
“Apparently it is. Can you read the headlines?”
“Yes.”
“This hit the newsstands in London an hour ago.”
“How did the press find out? How did they get my picture?”
“I thought you might be able to tell me.”
I shook my head and felt my fingers go numb.
Ian stepped into the room just then, and reading the expression on my face, he came to my side. “What’s happened? What is it?”
Edward showed him the picture. I was facing the camera, but I had no particular expression.
“I can’t make out the headline,” Ian said.
In an emotionless voice, Edward repeated the news line header. “ ‘Sir James Had a Love Child.’ ”
Ian ran his fingers through his hair. “We have to quench this before it goes any further.”
“It’s already on the Internet,” Edward said. “And syndicated press. My assistant has been monitoring the situation. Miranda, who knows about your identity? Who do you think might have leaked this?”
Mark was the first person who came to mind. Mark was upset, true, but he was only thirteen. He wouldn’t release such information to the press. Or would he?
Then I remembered who else knew. And so did Ian.
He punched his right fist into the palm of his left hand. “It was your old boyfriend, wasn’t it? He sold you out to the tabloids.”
“I can’t imagine Josh would do that.” I looked at the picture again on Edward’s phone, trying to make out the background to understand where I had been when the picture was taken. “That’s the sweater I wore when I arrived in London. So it is a recent photo.”
I looked up at Ian. “I don’t want to believe it was Josh, but . . .”
“Where’s your phone?” Ian asked. “You have his number, don’t you? Is he still in London?”
“I don’t know. I think I have his card in my coat pocket but —”
Ian was across the room in one swift motion. He pulled out Josh’s business card and punched the number into my phone.
I rubbed the tightening muscles on the back of my neck. “If that’s his business number, he probably won’t be there since it’s Christmas Eve.”
Ian couldn’t hear me, so he held the phone to the side of his ear with the screen facing me. When he turned the phone that way, an instant memory came back to me.
“Paddington station,” I said. “The guy at Paddington station who offered me his seat. He’s the one who took the photo of me. He took it with his cell phone.”
“Are you sure?” Ian asked.
“I’m pretty sure. It makes sense. The man was close enough to overhear me talking to Josh. When he offered me a seat, it seemed a little odd, but I didn’t think much of it at the time.”
“Let me understand this.” Edward’s expression stiffened. “You’re saying you told a stranger at Paddington your connection to us?”
“No. Josh isn’t a stranger. He’s my old boyfriend. A number of years ago I showed Josh the Father Christmas photograph with you and your dad . . . I mean, our dad. . . .” I felt awkward changing the words to “our dad,” but that was the truth.
Ian closed my phone, disconnecting the call to Josh.
“I didn’t expect to see Josh at Paddington. It was a coincidence, and it just seemed right to tell him why I was here since . . .”
Ian took up my defense. “Josh was the one who urged Miranda to come to Carlton Heath in the first place.”
“That’s right. And he’s a professional counselor, so I would like to think I can trust him to maintain confidentiality. I didn’t think anyone could hear me when I was talking to him; it was so noisy at the station. But then this man got up from the bench behind us and held his cell phone the way Ian just did, and I think he took my picture with his phone.”
“Well then, that’s it.” Edward reached for his phone and pressed some numbers. “I have calls to make.”
I felt my chest compress. I suddenly understood much more clearly why Margaret and Edward had appeared so devastated last Christmas when I had revealed my identity to them. As a family, they had finally experienced a short break from all the media attention after Sir James passed away. My appearance meant it was only a matter of time before they ceased being a private family once more. And now that day had come.
I felt sick to my stomach about it all. “I wish this hadn’t happened.”
“Well, it has,” Ian said in a comforting voice. “So we go on from here.”
Edward’s demeanor was as reserved and steady as ever as he finished his phone call and turned to Ian and me with direction. “I’ve conferred with our legal counsel. We had a plan in place for when this might happen. I’ve made the necessary calls, and now all the steps will be put in motion.”
“What steps exactly?” I asked.
“We’ve put out a call for a press conference the day after tomorrow. Better to air our side of the story on Boxing Day than on Christmas. I can assist you in preparing your remarks. I will go on camera, but Mother will not.”
“Wait, Edward. I’m not following you. What do you mean a press conference? Aren’t we trying to avoid the press?”
“We have a system. This was routine when my father was alive. The press wants a story. We want peace and quiet. If we don’t give them a story, they create their own. Therefore, we control the story through our network of publicists and reporters. All you’ll need to do is go on camera for thirty seconds, ninety at the most. You’ll deliver a prepared statement. It’s best if you can do it without notes.”
I felt as if the room had tilted. Ian put his strong arm around me.
Edward looked at his watch. “I’ve alerted our security service. They’ll be at the gate when we return to the house tonight in case the paparazzi are waiting. It would be best if you rode
back with us rather than in Ian’s car.”
“Edward, I’m so, so sorry.”
“We all supposed this day would come,” Edward said matter-of-factly.
“I just hate that it did,” I said. “I don’t like thinking about what this will do to Margaret. It’s going to change what everyone thinks of her and what they think of Sir James.”
Edward looked at me with what could almost be considered a softening in his expression. “Miranda, this is going to change how people view you as well. Have you thought about that?”
No, I hadn’t thought about that. My eyes welled with tears, but I refused to let them fall.
Ian drew me close. “Calm yourself, Miranda. We’ll work this out together.”
Edward exited the room. I could hear him giving an abbreviated summary to the adults in the other room. When Ian and I entered, I noticed that Ellie had taken Julia into the kitchen to distract her young ears.
Mark, however, sat with the adults. “You needn’t speak in code, Father. I already know.”
I couldn’t tell if Mark’s announcement startled Edward. What I did know was that Mark was trying his best to prove his place as an adult in the Whitcombe clan.
I knew I would do well to follow his example and be brave.
Chapter Twenty-one
As Edward predicted, a gathering of photographers awaited us as the town car with its darkened windows rolled up to the front gate of the Whitcombe manor. In all the times I’d come and gone from the house, I never had seen the gate closed or the security booth manned, which it was tonight.
“This is how it used to be,” Mark said to me.
Ellie, in her eternally effervescent optimism, said, “Do you remember that, Markie? You liked the guard at the back garden post. What was his name? He had the big dog with the white spot on its nose.”
“Raymond,” Mark said. “The guard was Raymond, and his dog was Digger.”
“That’s right. Perhaps Raymond and Digger will be back at their post.”
I tried to imagine how Ellie had carved out such a successful marriage and journeyed through motherhood with guards, dogs, and paparazzi as part of the everyday schedule.
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