by Sarita Leone
The maid obliged, much to the lord’s consternation. But before he could object, his wife turned to the maid holding the next serving plate. “An extra-large serving of the salmon, as well. It is His Lordship’s favorite.”
“Well…ahem, ah, yes, that is fine.”
“Yes, dear, it is very fine.” Lady Gregory turned to the man beside her with a gentle smile.
Oliver concealed his amusement. Seated with three couples, at various stages in their marriages, was an education. Perhaps one day in the not too distant future he would put what he was learning into practice.
When they had all been served, they ate in silence for a bit. The sounds of flatware touching china and glassware being placed onto the table after each sip left much room in one’s mind for roaming. Oliver wanted to strike a conversation with Miranda, just to make amends for his boorish behavior, but he had no idea what topic might be the safest to broach. Perhaps better to remain silent than further irritate the woman. She hadn’t favored him at all during the meal, not even when his elbow grazed hers. That, at another time, would have brought a bloom to her cheeks. Tonight her cheeks were impervious to his touch.
All for the best. His mind was on her sister, there was no question about it. He hated having put Amy off this afternoon. The whole day had been a series of highs and lows, from worrying where she had gone, to searching for her, then finding her. And ultimately, the kiss.
The kiss. His heart flopped beneath his evening clothes. Had anyone cared to listen, he was sure it beat loudly enough that it could be heard by another.
But as wonderful as the kiss had been, the aftermath was succinctly the opposite. He had a penchant for making women scowl, it seemed. Especially the Spencer ladies.
Wait. He considered the scowling women. The only ones adversely affected were the Spencer sisters. No one had ever before gone cold on him the way they had done. Whatever could it be, the effect he had on them? If he could uncover what had gone wrong, he would take note and not do the same again.
His mother addressed her question to his sister, and he would not have paid any consideration ordinarily, given the subject matter, but he came to attention.
“Any news of your maid’s sister? I am hoping she has not run into some kind of trouble.”
“None, Mother. I asked my Abigail, but she did not enlighten me. It is a mystery, and I, like yourself, pray Bridget has not gone down an unhappy path.”
“Mother said her leaving was abrupt.” Oliver looked for confirmation, and perhaps a bit more of the story, but Lucie just nodded.
“Yes, it was.”
“Do you think she has gone…” He left the sentence dangling, the implication clear enough that the words need not be said. If the young woman had taken an unfortunate turn or made a poor decision, it would explain her absence.
Miranda had hardly spoken, but she cut the silence. Putting her knife and fork on the edge of her dinner plate, she dabbed her mouth with her napkin before dropping it onto the table.
“I will never know why a man assumes the worst of a woman whenever he can.” She stood, so every man, aside from Nick, stood as well. Miranda turned to his mother, who gazed up at the woman with wide-eyed surprise. “Please excuse me. I feel a headache coming on, and need to lie down.”
“Of course, my dear. I shall have some tea sent to your room.” Lady Gregory accepted the explanation with good grace, as was her nature.
Miranda turned to the rest of the table, avoiding Oliver’s gaze as if to look at him would turn her to stone. She gave a hurried apology, then turned and walked out.
No one said anything for a moment. The men all returned to their seats as the three women gave each other silent communication. Forks resumed moving on plates and the meal was consumed, but Miranda’s leave-taking had left its mark on the party.
The meal was, as were all their meals, tasty, but he did not savor the food. He ate, almost without conscious effort. When he was spoken to, he responded. When desert was over, he, like Miranda, asked to be excused early. If that brought any exchanged, surprised, silent communication between the others, he did not notice. And, he did not care.
The day could have been one of the best of his life. It had some fairly bumpy patches, as well. It was, he decided, time to put an end to it. Tomorrow was a new day, and he sincerely hoped it would have a more consistent flow. Ups and downs put him in a bad mood…a very bad mood.
Chapter 26
Per Oliver’s instructions, the carriage carrying Amy, Miranda, and Vivian had been followed by a second one filled with men from the estate. They did not reveal the truth, but they carried weapons. And, because they did not wish to appear ungrateful, the women did not let on that they were aware of the men’s arming themselves.
It was a suitable arrangement for all. It had to be. Only by agreeing to the guards following them had the ladies been granted the use of the carriage they took to Town. Had they balked, it was clear they would remain within the manor’s confines.
The ride had been uneventful. When they alighted, accompanied by two maids, they went straight to the millinery shop. It was a favorite of Vivian’s, and the other two did not mind. A lady could always find room for one more hat in her closet, so no one objected to the bit of shopping.
Amy was relieved to be free of the estate. The air away from Willowbrook Manor was sweeter somehow. It was all her imagination, but the weight on her shoulders dropped off, about halfway into the trip. It had not returned, so her step was lighter than it had been since she had last seen the man who had done her such a wrong turn.
She and Vivian had not mentioned what she divulged yesterday, although her friend did pat her hand sympathetically a time or two on the trip into Town.
Miranda was in a foul mood, but she chose to ignore her sister’s disposition. Another time, she would have wheedled and cajoled, pulled the truth of what had her in a blue study, but the past weeks had taken their toll on Amy’s capacity to shoulder another’s worries. She could not help her sister, whatever the reason for her sourness, so why poke and prod until she learned the truth? It did not matter—as so many things that once felt immensely important no longer mattered.
All that was important was this moment, this shopping expedition and taking whatever morsel of fun they could find. She had learned not to count on the future, but to enjoy the present.
As much as one could, that was. Wondering where one man was and what kept him busy was enough of a chore. Wondering about two men nearly addled her brain.
So she forgot about them, for the next few hours at least.
“Exeter’s has the nicest straw hats, I think.” Vivian stopped to admire the display in the wide window. “Now that is something to think about, isn’t it?”
A selection of lace-trimmed creations sat upon a row of faceless burlap “heads” which, when examined closely, all looked strikingly similar. Only the colors were different; the design was identical for all eight.
Amy thought it intriguing. “It is unusual to display the same hat over and over, isn’t it?”
“It draws the eye not to the shape of the hat, but to the possibilities each color brings.” Vivian nodded appreciatively. Her past endeavors as a seamstress in Stropshire gave her insight into the business side of fashion neither Amy nor Miranda possessed. “If they were all differently shaped, it would detract from the color selections. It is more a matter now of just deciding which shade goes with an outfit.”
“I see…it’s not a matter of which hat, but what color.” Amy liked the way the other woman saw the reasoning behind the display and was able to pass on her knowledge. She was going to be a good mother when the time came. Not everyone had the talent of being able to explain something so quickly to another.
“Yes, that’s it exactly.”
Miranda had remained silent. If Vivian noticed the other’s sullen nature, she, too, chose to ignore it.
“Shall we go in?” Vivian asked.
“Of course. Why, we are on
a lark.” Amy smiled at the other’s obvious joy. “What kind of lark would this be without at least one hat—each—going home with us? What colors should we choose? Now, that is the question…”
They went inside, where the display was replicated on a side table. Looking glasses were set out in several places so there was no need to crowd in an effort to admire oneself. Vivian and Amy removed their bonnets, setting them out of the way on an empty chair. There was only one other patron in the shop, so when Miranda did not immediately appear beside them Amy turned and found her easily.
Her sister stood gazing into a looking glass. She had not removed her hat, nor had any of the shop’s creations in hand. Not vain by nature, Miranda’s intense stare at her own face was more startling than the unusual shop window display had been. She had no idea what the other was thinking, but whatever it was it could not be good. No one had ever frowned at her sister the way her own reflection was doing just now.
Amy crossed the space. When she was not acknowledged, she put a hand on her sibling’s shoulder. A gentle shake brought a response. Their gazes connected in the looking glass.
“Are you unwell, sister? You have been so quiet all morning. And now…”
“Now? Am I not worthy of admiration? Even if it only myself who is admiring—why, that is what you are thinking, isn’t it? I am not comely enough to be appreciated at all—not even by myself!” Miranda’s voice was not the calm, low tone that was her habit, but a somewhat louder pitch which was shocking. Amy took her hand away as if burned by the other’s accusations.
“How can you say such a thing? Truly, you must be unwell.”
“Unwell? As well as unbecoming? Well, you are certainly fashioning a lengthy list of my shortcomings.” Her eyes were wild, and her color high. Amy wondered if she had a fever.
“I think we had better get you home. I don’t believe you are quite yourself.”
Their maids waited outside on the street. They had been talking quietly, but their attention had been turned to the scene inside the shop. The only other shopper, as well as the proprietress, openly stared.
Amy was aware all attention focused on them. Vivian appeared on the other side of Miranda and put a calming arm around her shoulders.
“My dear, are you feeling yourself? We do not have to shop, you know. We can all go back home directly if you do not feel up to being here.”
For an instant Amy feared her sister might lash out at their friend, but she did not. A ragged breath, almost hitched as if it were taxing to inhale, then a weak smile for Vivian.
“No need for that.” Miranda took another deep breath, then released it slowly. “I-I suppose I just need some air. If you will excuse me—”
“No—we will go with you.” Amy turned to retrieve their hats, but her sister’s words stopped her cold.
“I do not wish anyone to go with me. Don’t you understand I want to be alone for a while? Not everyone is as enchanted with your company as—well, I am not in the mood to spend the day following you around, admiring your jolly ways and listening to you laugh over every silly thing that catches your fancy.” She looked at Vivian, and finished, “I am sorry, Vivian. I just need some time to myself.”
Miranda turned and was out the door before anyone could say a word. The stunned silence remained unbroken after she had disappeared around the corner.
Vivian was the first to come to her senses. She put her arms around Amy and pulled her into a tight hug. Her knees were so wobbly, she went willingly and let the other comfort her. How could Miranda have been so horrid? In all their years, she had never once been so hateful.
Rubbing a soothing hand across her back, Vivian murmured, “Pay no attention. She is not angry with you. No, there is something more going on in her head. It is up to us, we who love her most, to determine the cause of her unhappiness and help her out of this sour mood.”
“I am the cause of her unhappiness, I think.” She stood back and crossed her arms over her chest. The other women had resumed their consultation and were no longer staring. “It is apparent she is angry with me, although I do not understand what I have done to enrage her.”
“We all have our moods. Don’t take it so much to heart. I am sure she will come around, and apologize. Now, why don’t we choose a hat for Miranda? That will make her feel better, don’t you think?”
Blue was Miranda’s signature color so the choice would take no thought at all. Her heart was not in the gesture, but she did not want to seem as unkind as her sister had been so she agreed. It was terrible enough that one Spencer had displayed her nature so deplorably.
The joy she had so recently felt was gone. She would carry on for Vivian’s sake, but the weight was heavy on her shoulders again. Surviving a traitorous heart was a trial under the best of circumstances. When all seemed lost and those closest behaved badly? The challenge was growing and while she smiled and tried on the hat Vivian handed her, she doubted she would survive the ordeals thrown in her way. How could she? Alone and in such an indelicate position?
There is no way out of this bumblebroth. All is lost, she thought.
With a leaden heart, she tied the hat ribbons beneath her chin. It would have suited her just as well had the grosgrain been the hangman’s noose. It was how it felt, so why not just have it done with?
Chapter 27
By the time they got back to Willowbrook Manor, Vivian and the maids were exhausted and worried beyond measure. Amy, however, was furious. Not only with her sister, but with herself. How could she be such an insensitive person? How could she have let Miranda dash off that way?
Their parents hadn’t cared for them so they learned early to care for each other. They had always been there, one for the other, always loving, encouraging and relying upon themselves. Letting Miranda leave on her own hadn’t been a caring, sisterly action. She had not held her part of their lifelong bargain to support each other, always.
Their bond had begun to unravel when Amy allowed Lyle to position himself in her life so prominently that she pushed her sister to the side. She had put a man—a heartless, self-centered, lying man who did not deserve a mouthful of spit if he were somehow set on fire—more solidly in her heart, mind, and actions than her own flesh and blood. The blame for the way their relationship fell apart was squarely on her shoulders.
“She will be here, certainly.” Vivian handed her hat and gloves to one of the maids at the door. “She must have come directly home. I am sure of it, there is no other explanation.”
She wasn’t at all sure her sister would be at the manor. She had allowed the other woman to repeat the sentiment, time and again, in the carriage, but in her heart she knew better. Miranda was not at the estate.
If bad fortune befalls her, I will never forgive myself, Amy thought as she pulled off her hat and tore her gloves from her fingers. The latter she tossed behind her, not caring at all whether they were caught or crushed underfoot.
They went straight to the front parlor.
A cozy sight greeted them. Lord and Lady Gregory, both reading by the hearth. A low fire burned in the grate, scenting the air with apple wood. Lucie and Nick were not about, but Will and Oliver played whist by the window at the card table. By each man’s elbow, a tea cup.
Vivian went straight to her husband. The men all stood when they burst in so she did not stop until she was in his arms.
“Miranda? She is here, isn’t she?” Vivian had contained her fear, for Amy’s sake, of course, but now that they were back at the estate she did not hold back. Her voice wobbled. “Oh, Will, say she is here, please!”
Oliver crossed the room. Amy had not been able to move from the doorway, so he met her there.
Vivian was pushed gently into the chair Oliver had just vacated by her husband. He knelt before her, taking her hands in his own.
“She is not here, dearest. You took her with you to Town, remember? The three of you went together.” Will looked from Vivian, to Amy, then back to his wife. “Miranda is not wit
h you?”
Vivian collapsed in his arms, sobbing against his chest.
When she would have turned and run from the room, Oliver grabbed her upper arm. Amy could not stand to be held captive, so she tried to shake his hand off, but he held tightly.
“What happened? Tell me, please.”
The tone was all business, so she responded in kind. No hysterical outbursts, at least not in public. Later, she might go to pieces, but not in front of everyone. Leave that to the mother-to-be, who was sniffling as she spoke with Will in tones that were hushed but urgent.
“Miranda left.” She searched for an explanation that would get her released quickly. Finding her sister was more important than chatter. Right now Oliver’s touch, so firm and strong, had to be ignored. She could never, ever fall into a man’s web again and lose sight of the only person who loved her enough to endure their rotten childhood by her side. “Please, let me go. I must find her.”
Oliver turned, looked back to where Will held his wife against his shoulder. The distress could not be good for the baby. He swept his gaze over his parents, whose shocked expressions and sudden paleness showed they had heard the news.
“I will have the horses saddled. And, order a carriage of men to follow us.” He stared into her eyes, and she knew he would expect the truth in a matter of minutes. “We shall find Miranda and bring her home. Do not fret. Just tell me what happened.”
Riding came more naturally to her than dancing did, so she tossed her head and said, “I shall explain as we ride. I am going with you.”
When he opened his mouth to deny her, she cut him off. Pulling her arm free from his hand, she glared and practically hissed like an angry cat. “I am going, with or without you, to find my sister. I am not your wife; you cannot order me around. I am no man’s, and I do as I please. Is that clear, Your Lordship?”
She did not attempt to hide the sarcasm that flavored the formal address.
In that moment, she had no desire to become attached to any man again. The harm her last romantic entanglement had wrought was almost killing her with worry. Even as her heart beat hard in her chest, and her mind screamed to throw herself against Oliver and allow him to comfort her, she could not. It was for the love—or what she thought had been love but was just a cruel joke—of a man that she had sacrificed her own sister. It would never happen again. Never.
