by Sarita Leone
“That is very kind of you to say.” The clerk smoothed a hand over her head, patted her white cap where it sat on her modestly styled hair. Hers was a drab outfit and unassertive appearance, the way most clerks presented themselves. Not lessening the beauty and color of the goods they sold, they diminished themselves instead. “Now, what may I do for you? Another bonnet, perhaps? You would look lovely in something in salmon, I think. Such an underappreciated color, salmon.”
Just the idea of a salmon-colored hat made Amy’s stomach take a turn. Any woman who could carry such a difficult shade without looking nearly-washed out was an exception rather than a rule. It was a horrid color, and everyone knew it was grossly unsuitable for nearly every complexion. Including hers.
Nonetheless, she smiled and accepted the compliment. “Thank you, but no. I do not require another hat today. Perhaps next week, and at that time we should revisit the notion of some, ah, salmon embellishments.” Her tummy lurched as she forced the word through tight lips.
“I will look forward to that meeting.”
“As will I.” She swallowed again, feeling too warm inside the shop. Its wide windows let sunlight fill the space. Good for inspecting feathers and ribbons, but awful for the constitution. She hurried on. “I wonder if you saw my sister a second time. I mean, after we left…did she return?”
“The one with the lavender eyes?”
Time sped by, and she still had no idea where Miranda had gone. Impatience made her tone sharp. “No, not that one.”
The clerk’s mouth opened in surprise. She did not try to stall or share more shop talk. She nodded, and said, “The sister in blue? Yes, she was here. She returned just after you left.”
Amy wanted to climb over the display table separating them and grab the woman. Why hadn’t she said that right off?
“What did she say?”
“Nothing. She didn’t say a word,” the woman insisted, backing away from the table. The extra space between them could not keep her from divulging whatever she knew. Amy would not give up until she learned all she could from the woman whose gaze shot to the open doorway, as if she either looked for escape or prayed for assistance.
“You would have me believe she came in, walked around, and simply left? That makes no sense.”
“She came back, but did not shop. Before I could ask if she needed my help, she turned and left. Just walked out—it is the truth, I swear it is.”
The clerk’s hands twisted together. Her fingertips were reddened from working with wire and straw, and she looked ready to cry. A stab of remorse shot through her, but it wasn’t enough to keep her from pushing for answers.
“Which way did she go? When she walked out, which way did she turn?”
A shaking finger pointed the way.
“Right. Toward Bond Street.”
****
Oliver was not above following Amy, but when one of the men he had dispatched from the manor returned with news, he had to make a choice. Following a woman who professed to hate him when he knew she was not willing to listen was a wasted effort. His other option? To go where he knew the missing sister was headed, and await her arrival.
He did not love Miranda in more than a brotherly manner, but he could not allow her to ruin her life. And, if he did not stop her, she would do exactly that.
The ride was not a difficult one, and he knew she was only partway there. The stage would not leave again before morning, so he did not push the horses. Riding without haste gave him time to consider the mess his life had become. It was almost too much to bear, that he had been lost, then found by the beating of his own heart, then lost again because his affection had been spurned. It was enough to make a man consider taking up the drink, but he had done enough of that already to last a lifetime.
The inn at Birmingham bustled with activity. The main stopping point between London and the south of Scotland, it saw visitors passing from one point to the other all day long, and sometimes well into the night.
He walked into the inn, narrowly avoiding being knocked over by a baggage man serving one of the coaches. The poor fellow labored under the weight of no less than five satchels, so Oliver waited for him to pass before he went to the accommodations bar.
“Full up, we are. Can put you in the stable, though, if you like.” The man behind the counter looked from black boots to the black hat Oliver wore, a slow smile spreading across his face. He looked the sort to spend evenings in the pub, his eyes bloodshot in the afternoon and his nose and cheeks ruddy from years of whiskey. He coughed, spat onto the floor, and added, “Likely you’re not used to such accommodations, but it’s all we’ve got. Busy, as you see.”
A fresh wave of baggage passed, this time borne on the backs of two young boys. They were positively bent over with the weight of what they toted.
Oliver watched them pass.
The clerk pointed a twisted finger. “Sons do come in handy, don’t they?”
He thought that if he was ever fortunate enough to have sons, he would not mistreat them like the two who disappeared around the corner. Theirs was a difficult life, but to use children as pack mules was near barbarism.
Saying so would do no good. It might even lead to a beating for the boys, if the man were the sort to do that, so Oliver kept his mouth shut on the subject.
He addressed the man with a civil tongue. “I am looking for a woman.”
A wink, and a grunt. “Aren’t we all?”
“No, you do not understand, I am looking for a particular woman.”
The clerk laughed, showing rows of blackened teeth. “Like I said, aren’t we all?” He waved when Oliver opened his mouth to clarify, going on with another wink. “Now, now, I was just having sport with you. Of course, there’s more to the place than a bowl of stew, a beer, and a bed. I can get you a woman. For a price, you understand.”
His stomach turned. What a world they lived in. Children mistreated. Women bought and sold. So much wrong with what they deemed socially acceptable.
He couldn’t change any of that. But he could keep one young woman from making a terrible mistake. That had to be enough.
“The woman I wish to see has arrived on the coach two hours ago. I presume she is in an upstairs room, refreshing herself after the arduous trip.” He put his hand in his trouser pocket. The man’s gaze followed, narrowing suspiciously when Oliver did not pull it out right away.
“A lot of women are upstairs.”
“Not all arrived on the two o’clock coach from London.”
The clerk gave a dismissive shake of his head. “There are many women here. Sorry, but I can’t help you.”
He took his hand from his pocket, letting the Sovereigns jingle in his palm. “I think you can.”
Leaning closer, the clerk eyed the money with such greed it made Oliver sick. “What she look like, this woman of yours?”
Chapter 30
Miranda had come without much fuss. In fact, she almost seemed happy to see him. The room she occupied was dark and dreary, and she looked completely lost when she opened the door to him. Frightened, too.
Her eyes had been reddened and were still puffy, so he knew she had shed many tears. She looked as if she had aged since yesterday. Dark circles. Hair, usually done to perfection, drooping where it generally curled. The signature blue traveling dress was wrinkled, its hem muddied along with her boots.
He hated to add to her misery, but there was no way around it. And since they were nearly back to Willowbrook, their time was limited. Better to discuss in private, as there would be enough questions awaiting her from the others.
“Where were you going?” He spoke gently, hoping she would not feel pressed into a corner.
There was no fight left in the woman. She shrugged, a tiny, helpless gesture. He did not feel any desire for her, but he did not wish to see her so dejected.
“You know where.”
“Why?”
A snort, so uncharacteristic and unladylike. So out of what he expe
cted, he smiled. Just a small show of amusement for the quick bit of defiance.
For ultimately, a snort was a markedly defiant gesture when coming from a lady.
“Why do women go to Gretna Green?” She sighed. “You know why they visit the blacksmith shop. Why they hand fast. Why they rush to make a match that is probably very unsuitable. You know the answers, Oliver, so please don’t be coy.”
He ran an exasperated hand through his hair. The day had been a long one, and it was nowhere near over yet.
“I do not understand why you would run off to that place. Were you to meet someone there?”
A second snort, louder than the first. She looked up, met his gaze, and he realized she was a hair’s breadth from breaking down. Perhaps a woman could be like a horse, pushed until they gave in. Then, he could help her find her way to contentment. It worked with his livestock, but he had already made a fool of himself comparing one woman to a bird so he kept his thoughts to himself.
“I know you think no man will ever want me so I wish I were the type to spin tales. I would lie, and say I was keeping an assignation with a tall, dark, handsome fellow. I would say we are madly in love, but he is not a peer so we are forced to go to Scotland to fulfill our destinies. I would say he is right this minute wondering where I am, pining for me and holding his breath until he sees my smiling face again. If I were the type to say such things, I would…”
It had come in such a rush he had not been able to get one word in. As soon as she left off, he spoke in earnest.
“Miranda, we need to clear this between us. It has been hanging on for years. It is my fault I have not said a word before now. Forgive me, please.”
“Don’t say what I think you are going to say. I cannot take it.”
“It needs to be said.” He chose his words with care. “I admire you greatly. You are a wonderful woman. Brilliant. Witty. An excellent dancer. A lovely dinner partner.” When she snorted again, he was going to ignore it but took a chance. “A world-class snorter.”
“Oliver—you didn’t just say that!”
She did not look ready to cry anymore, so he nodded and gave her a little grin.
“Oh, but I did. Why, I do believe I have never met a woman who snorts half as well as you do.”
She giggled. “You know many snorting women, then?”
“Why, loads of them.”
Miranda smoothed a hand down the front of her skirt. She seemed to come alive and realize the condition of her clothing. A resigned head shake set a curl bobbing near her cheek. She pushed it back, but it fell forward, too tired to stay where it should.
“I am a mess.” She gave an apologetic shrug. “Although I do not need to worry when I am in your company. You do not care for me so it does not matter how I present myself. That is somewhat freeing, I must say.”
At least they were talking. Now, to set things straight.
“Miranda, who were you going to meet at Gretna Green?”
She shook her head. “No one. I don’t know what I thought, really. Maybe that there would be all sorts of men ready to marry women who just wanted some…”
A gentle tone, a tiny smile. A bit of encouragement. “Some what?”
She met his gaze with the most honest expression he had seen from her in a long while. It hit him that she no longer looked on him as if he were a piece of cheese and she a hungry mouse. It was a different assessment, one that was friendlier. He liked it.
“Some happiness. That’s all anyone wants, isn’t it? To be loved. To be happy. To feel life is worth living. To plan for a future.” She wiped the tear that rolled down her cheek. “All around me, that is what everyone is doing. Vivian and Will. Lucie and Nick. Amy and Lyle—why, they were so on the high ropes I am sure my own sister does not even remember I am alive. And you…you who does not want me.”
“We are more suited to be friends.” The truth had to make things better for both of them, but it was damn hard to get past his lips. “We both know I am not inclined to feel the way you did.”
She raised one perfectly arched eyebrow. “Did?”
He flashed a conciliatory grin. “Certainly. I know that if you sought other prospects—in Scotland, for instance—you must not be as enamored with a certain silly man we both know.”
“Know well,” she said softly. “And love.”
“As a sister toward a brother. It is not in the stars for us, dear Miranda. We could force the association, but we are so suited to friendship—deep, abiding, lifelong friendship. Don’t you agree?”
The carriage turned in the wide estate entrance. They did not have much time left to come to an understanding.
“I do, actually. I am sorry to have put us in such an uncomfortable position all this time, Oliver. I pray you will forgive me. I have grown and believe my infatuation has become something I’ve gone past. It was not the kind of true love I see Lucie feel for Nick, or Vivian for Will.”
A lump filled his throat, making it near impossible to swallow. Harder, still, to speak.
“Amy for Lyle, as well.”
Miranda did not hesitate. “No, I don’t think that is the case. In fact, I know it is not. She doesn’t love him. She thought she did, certainly, but his actions have pushed her aside. He is not a gentleman, not at all.”
“I thought she loved him.”
“I believe she thought she loved him, also.” Miranda shook her head, but not in dismay. “I am glad it did not work out with Lyle Roarke. The man is too full of himself by far. He was not good for my sister, although it took his showing his hand as a full-on rake for her to believe that.”
Oliver was stunned. He thought Amy rebuffed his declaration because she loved another. But now…
He paid attention, because now that Miranda had begun, she did not seem inclined to stop chatting. And, she needed no partner, just a captive audience. Which, for the next few minutes at least, he was.
“I want a love like the others have found. I realize we are not a good match, so you needn’t be concerned I will attempt to ensnare you. No…I want a love that makes a man swoon when I walk through the door, the way Will and Nick do for their wives. And I want children, the way they do, as well.”
It was a delicate conversation to have, but they were alone. He took a leap of faith. She hadn’t smacked him yet so his luck might hold out for a bit longer.
“Vivian is, ah, in the family way.”
“You are very observant.” The comment came with a little grin.
“Lucie?”
Miranda shook her head. “No, but hopefully soon. One of the maids is helping, with a draught to make that happen more easily.” She stopped, clapped a hand over her mouth and inhaled sharply. “Oh, no. That was a secret.”
She always had been the one, between Amy and Lucie, to let a cat out of a bag. Even as children, she had not been good at keeping secrets.
“It is fine. I will not let on that I know Bridget went to see Old Dorinda. I honestly did not realize she went for Lucie and Nick.”
Miranda’s hand came off her mouth in an instant. “How do you know all this?”
“I observed the maid on her mission. But, as I say, I did not know the potion was for my sister and Nick.”
She waved her hand vigorously in the air between them. Had he not leaned back, she would have hit him in the nose. Unintentionally, but her excitement was such that her aim was poor.
“No—not for Nick. He does not know—and he cannot know. I beg you, don’t tell him. She will get with child soon, and we can pretend this conversation did not happen. Please, Oliver, say you will keep my confidence.”
His mind swam, filled with thoughts and questions, but he agreed to her request without misgiving. It really was none of his affair how the marital bed was laid. He simply prayed Lucie and Nick would have as many children as they wished, and all healthy and happy.
“I don’t know what you speak of, my dear. Not a clue.”
“Oh, thank you. Sometimes my mouth gets away from
me.”
They were nearing the manor so Oliver asked, “What about Amy?”
“What do you mean?”
He hated himself for even wondering, but he had to know.
“Is she also in the family way? Please, now you must tell me. And I promise, I will never speak a word of this conversation to anyone. I have to know, Miranda—is your sister with child?”
She studied him for a long, silent moment. His heart felt trapped in his chest, his anxiousness to know was so sincere.
“You love her, don’t you?”
“A question should not be answered with another question.”
“Answer me, and I will answer you. You love my sister, don’t you?”
There was no way to lie. And if there had been, he still would have told the truth. He hadn’t waited his whole life to fall in love with someone only to deny the fact when asked.
“I do. I love her.”
“I am sorry, then.” Miranda leaned closer, her countenance once again sad. Reaching out a hand, she grasped his and gave a comforting squeeze. “I am not certain, but I do believe my sister has been ruined by that rake. She has been suffering symptoms similar to those Vivian endures, and has been so morose, and wholly unlike herself, that I can think of no other explanation for it.”
His heart fell to his knees. It was good they were seated, because he was not sure his legs would hold him upright.
“You think she is having his baby.”
“Yes, I do. But I know she will never tell him if that is the case. He hurt her so badly, I do believe she would rather die than spend her life with that horrible man.”
Chapter 31
Oliver waited until the next day before he sought out Amy.
He did not want to risk another unpleasant scene with her. They were all worn thin from the day, so he did not go into the library where everyone had assembled. When he departed for Scotland, he had dispatched the messenger to find Amy and the groom who followed her. They brought her home, with the assurance that he would bring her sister home before the night was over.
