Bear No Malice

by Clarissa Harwood

  “My dear friend, you can love your child with all your heart and love a man, too. You needn’t choose between them.”

  “I know that’s true for most women, but my situation is different. I can’t have both.”

  “Have you told Tom about Sam?”

  Miranda shook her head. “He wouldn’t understand. Besides, I won’t insult or hurt you by accepting Tom’s attentions after what happened between the two of you.”

  To Miranda’s surprise, Julia’s eyes filled with tears. “You would refuse him on my account?”

  “I’ll be guided by you in this matter,” Miranda replied.

  Julia dashed at her eyes and smiled. “You’re worth ten of me. And you’re far too good for Tom.”

  Miranda merely shook her head, but her own emotions were so close to the surface that she hardly knew whether she meant to deny Julia’s first or her last statement, or both.

  Julia went to the door of Miranda’s bedroom and looked in. There were two dresses laid out on the bed—one was the pale blue dress of Julia’s that had been altered to fit Miranda. The other was one of Miranda’s old black dresses.

  Looking back over her shoulder, Julia asked, “Why is the black dress here?”

  “I’m thinking of wearing it tonight.”

  “Absolutely not.” Julia went into the bedroom and emerged with the black dress crumpled into an unwieldy mass in her arms. “You may be sorry you promised to be guided by me, because I’m going to take you at your word. Tonight is the last night of the party and I utterly forbid you to wear this monstrosity. I’m not going to ask why you even considered it. I don’t want to know.”

  “But—”

  “Just a moment.” Julia opened the door that led from the sitting room into the hallway, dumped the dress unceremoniously onto the floor outside, and closed the door again. Returning to Miranda, Julia said, “I have three requests: you’ll wear the blue dress to dinner this evening. You’ll let Lily arrange your hair. And finally—most important—you’ll enjoy the evening. You will do exactly as you please and you won’t worry about what Charles or Tom or anyone else thinks of you. Do I have your word?”

  Miranda smiled. “You have my word.”

  “I know you have a backbone. You’re stubborn in your own way, and you have plenty of strong opinions, even if you don’t express them very often. But your stubbornness sometimes takes the curious form of forcing yourself to deny your feelings or to submit to painful situations when there is no apparent reason for you to do so. Tonight I insist that you act on your feelings, no matter the consequences.”

  “You would turn me into a hedonist.”

  Julia laughed. “It would take more than my efforts to effect such a transformation. I would merely like to see you behaving like a normal woman instead of an ascetic.”

  After Julia left the room and Miranda was finally alone, she sank onto the sofa and closed her eyes. Julia didn’t know everything. Miranda was indeed adept at self-denial, but it was based on fear, not discipline. In her mind she could allow herself all manner of fantasies, but she was unprepared for them to be offered to her in reality.

  She could live without the plenitude that had been showered upon her, without the Carringtons’ wealth and luxury, without being recognized as an artist, without Tom’s love. The trouble was she wanted all of these things, and the wanting was frightening. Since she had lost Sam, she hadn’t allowed herself to want anything, never to this extent. For several months, Miranda had felt as if she were holding her breath, living indefinitely in a strange, hushed state, an expectant silence just before a storm. It would take so little to bring on the storm, and yet it didn’t happen. Good things kept happening instead.

  And now Tom had told her he loved her. It was a shock after his long silence to find that, instead of being alarmed by her declaration of love for him, he returned her feelings. Just seeing him for the first time in the Carringtons’ drawing room had been overwhelming. He was not hardened or constrained by the scandals as she thought he might be, but humbler, more thoughtful. And more handsome than ever. He’d always filled a room with his presence, but in casual tweeds instead of his clerical clothing, his voice tinged with broad Yorkshire vowels, he exuded a powerful virility. And when they were in the conservatory and he kissed her hands, it had taken all of her strength, fortified by surprise, to resist him.

  Why not take Julia’s advice and simply enjoy the evening? Surely the sky wouldn’t fall in.

  “Ah, Cross. I’ve been looking for you.”

  Charles Carrington’s voice startled Tom, who had been walking in the Carringtons’ extensive gardens with his head down, deep in thought. He hadn’t seen the other man approach him, but there he stood, less than ten feet away.

  “Have you?” said Tom, instantly on his guard. He still had no idea what to make of Charles.

  “Yes. Are you on your way back to the house? I’ll come with you.” Charles fell into step with Tom.

  The sun had set, though some light still lingered on the horizon. The Carringtons’ gardens were bordered by decorative lamps that lit the pathways, but Tom had walked beyond them and was unsure of his footing.

  “I was thinking,” Tom said, “if Jack left before receiving his final wages, Ann Goode might write to your butler to ask for them. Will you let me know if you hear from her?” Realizing that his interest could be misconstrued, Tom added, “I just want to be assured of Jack’s well-being.”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll talk to Grogan. If we hear anything about Jack, we’ll inform you.”

  “Thank you.” Tom waited, but Charles said no more, which made him uneasy. “I also want to thank you for inviting me here,” Tom continued, glad he was walking beside Charles and not facing him. “Not many people would welcome me into their homes after the stories that have been circulating about me.”

  “You’re welcome, but I ought to confess that my motives were selfish.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I wanted to see how Julia would behave in your presence. It was the easiest way.”

  Tom stopped walking and stared at Charles.

  They’d reached the perimeter of the gardens, and the lamplight cast an eerie glow on Charles’s face as he turned to face Tom. But his expression was as pleasant and bland as if he had been discussing the weather. “I don’t believe everything I hear, Cross, but I’m not stupid. As soon as I realized there may be some truth in the rumors about you and my wife, I decided to observe the two of you for myself instead of flying into a jealous rage, which isn’t really my style anyway.”

  Tom was speechless. He didn’t know what he would have done in Charles’s place, but he was quite certain it wouldn’t be this.

  “I’m pleased to say,” continued Charles in his smooth, well-modulated voice, “I have no concerns on that score. Whatever may have happened between you and Julia in the past, I don’t want to know it. But I have studied my wife as if she were an abstruse branch of science, and I can say with some confidence that I now know her. Certainly, no woman can be entirely known or understood, but I’ve learned to read Julia’s face, and I can anticipate what she wants before she knows it herself—sadly, all too often what she wants isn’t me. But she’s given me no reason to believe she wants you. Not now, anyway. I’ve been watching you as well, and you don’t seem to be making a secret of your interest in Miranda Thorne.”

  Tom didn’t reply. His mind was spinning.

  “Let’s keep walking. I’m sure you don’t want to miss the exhibition of Miranda’s paintings.” Charles spoke in such a companionable tone that Tom had a sudden, bizarre fear that the other man would sling his arm across Tom’s shoulders as if they were a couple of schoolboys out for a ramble. Fortunately, this fear was not realized.

  “Now, about Miranda,” Charles went on. “I wouldn’t want to lose her. She’s become indispensable to our household, like a small, apparently insignificant cog in a monstrously large wheel that, if removed, would cause the whole machine t
o grind to a halt. She has somehow, magically, made my wife appreciate me again, so you can understand why I want to keep her.”

  “You can’t force her to stay,” Tom said, angered by the way Charles spoke of Miranda as if she were a useful pet.

  “Do I seem to you the sort of man who uses force to solve my problems?” Now Charles’s voice had an edge to it, a subtle but definite sharpness. “That might be the only solution for a Yorkshire blacksmith’s son, but it’s not mine.”

  What was the man about? Tom couldn’t believe how stupid he had been to underestimate Charles Carrington.

  “I don’t see Miranda agreeing to be your wife, if that’s your object,” Charles went on. “Or is your intention merely to seduce her?”

  Tom clenched his fists, trembling with the effort of controlling his anger. “If you dare to hurt her, just to spite me—”

  “My dear fellow, my life isn’t a Shakespearean tragedy, though perhaps yours is. I don’t utter threats or plot against people’s lives or hurt innocent young women to get revenge on their unworthy suitors. But she is a charming creature, and the truth is we’re all a little in love with her here at Rudleigh. She’s safe here. I don’t think she’d be safe with you. Trouble seems to follow you everywhere.”

  Something in Charles’s tone indicated that he knew more than he was letting on.

  “It was you,” Tom said. “You hired those men to attack me and leave me for dead in the countryside last year.”

  Charles raised his eyebrows. “No, I didn’t. But I think I know who did.”

  “Who was it?” Tom asked.

  “William Narbridge. He told me he had you followed and that you weren’t the paragon of virtue you pretended to be. I chose not to ask what he meant, and he dropped the subject. But he said something to me again just before I left London earlier this summer, something about a ‘greedy girl who would say anything for money.’ I didn’t know about Ann Goode then, but when I found out, the two comments seemed to fit.”

  Tom remembered the man across the street from the hotel where Tom had stayed with Julia, and the man in the oversized bowler hat outside the Smithsons’ house when Tom had first met Ann. There were other times, too, when he’d felt a vague sense of unease as he went about his duties, as if he was being watched. And while Narbridge wasn’t Tom’s only enemy, he was wealthy enough to hire private investigators and, based on their last conversation, still angry enough about Tom’s role in the investigation of his business to gather as much evidence against him as possible. Or even to manufacture it, as in Ann Goode’s case.

  “Thank you for telling me,” Tom said. “But why did you bother?”

  Charles shrugged. “I don’t like injustice, even when it’s perpetuated against someone I dislike. There’s nothing more I can do, though. I can’t prove anything, and I won’t testify against Narbridge in court if it comes to that.”

  “I understand.” Tom hesitated. “Why did you come to see me at the cathedral that time?”

  “Wasn’t it obvious? I was desperate for help, and I was under the impression you were a respectable, God-fearing clergyman. How you must have despised me then! How pathetic I must have seemed to you.”

  “No, I—” Tom stopped, feeling dizzy from a combination of anger, mortification, and shock.

  “Of course, I understand. You had your position in the church to maintain. You couldn’t admit to anything a good clergyman wouldn’t do. While I was sobbing like a child you were probably congratulating yourself for playing your part so well.”

  “No, I was sorry. I am sorry.”

  Charles held up a warning finger. “Remember, I don’t want to know if anything actually happened between you and Julia. My God,” he said, staring at Tom with contempt, “to think you convinced so many people you were a gentleman when you really belong with the servants.”

  “I’ll get my things and leave at once,” Tom said, starting to turn away.

  “No, I want you to stay, just for tonight. I want you to see Miranda looking her best and sitting at my right hand at dinner. I want you to see how she hangs on my every word. I want you to see the gallery I created for her paintings and how happy it makes her, and then ask yourself whether she could ever be happy with you.”

  They had reached the house. Before Tom could speak, Charles said lightly, “You’ll excuse me while I find my wife.”

  Charles walked away, leaving Tom seething with rage. How dare the man speak of Miranda in such a familiar way? Charles had a right to be angry about Tom’s affair with Julia, but Tom wasn’t convinced that Charles wouldn’t try to hurt Miranda somehow now that he knew Tom’s feelings for her. It was true that she seemed happy, but Tom didn’t believe she would prefer to stay with the Carringtons than be with him. On the other hand, she’d said they gave her a freedom that he couldn’t give her. He didn’t understand that.

  As if he had agreed to obey Charles’s instructions, Tom did indeed watch Miranda at dinner as she shared private conversations and smiles with Charles. It was impossible not to watch her—she looked more beautiful than ever before in a pale blue dress that matched her eyes, with her hair swept up into an intricate mass of plaits and curls. Although the gown was hardly daring by the fashionable standards of high society, it was so compared to what she usually wore, showing her delicate curves to advantage. Her usually pale skin was flushed becomingly. Had she become the Carringtons’ puppet, or did she know exactly what she was doing?

  Instead of going to the smoking room with the other men after dinner, Tom went across the hallway outside onto a balcony that overlooked the back garden. It was a warm evening. The heady scent of roses was in the air and a nightingale was singing. He leaned his arms on the stone balustrade and stared into the twilight.

  He was startled by a rustle of silk beside him. It was Miranda.

  “What are you doing out here by yourself?” she asked with a smile, gazing up at him. Although the light was fading, he could see her face clearly. Unlike the night before when she had seemed anxious and uncertain, she now looked comfortable, even happy.

  “Just thinking.”

  “May I think with you?”

  “Of course.”

  They stood side by side in silence for a few minutes, both facing the garden.

  He felt slow and stupid. His conversation with Charles had numbed his brain, and knowing Miranda was on such intimate terms with both Julia and Charles seemed to open up a great gulf between them.

  “Tom, have you ever been frightened by your own happiness?” she asked. There was an undertone of excitement in her voice.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Have you ever had a moment when you had nearly everything you ever wanted, and you were so happy you could hardly bear it, but at the same time you were frightened to death it would be taken away from you?”

  Tom’s heart sank. Charles was right. She really was happy here, and Tom’s presence was unnecessary at best and an annoyance at worst. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt that,” he replied quietly. “Is that . . . how you feel?”

  “Oh, yes. I wish I could just enjoy it.”

  He could hardly breathe, but he forced himself to speak. “Are you truly happy? I mean, are you pleased with your own life, not only pleased that others around you are happy?”

  “I’m not selfless. I have what I want right here.”

  Tom wasn’t looking at her, but he felt the glow in her words. The Carringtons really were enough for her. “I’m glad,” he choked out, although he was anything but. “I’m sorry if I’ve intruded or . . . interfered in any way with your life. I didn’t understand how much has changed for you.”

  “You haven’t interfered. You surprised me, that’s all.”

  “If you want me to leave Rudleigh at once, you have only to say the word.”

  “Why would I want you to leave?” She sounded genuinely puzzled, confusing him all the more.

  He turned to face her. “Miranda, you’re speaking in riddles. Will you
please tell me plainly whether I’ve lost my chance with you? Was I mistaken in thinking you love me?”

  She looked up at him with—of all things—amusement. “Didn’t you hear me say I have what I want right here? Are you not right here?”

  Tom stared at her.

  “You were not mistaken,” she added softly.

  He took her in his arms, lowering his head to hers. Even then he hesitated, and she was the one to press her lips to his as she had in the studio months ago. This time, she didn’t pull away.

  Intoxicated by the lavender scent of her hair and the softness of her mouth, he kissed her passionately, moving his hand to the small of her back to pull her closer. She returned his kisses with an eagerness that thrilled him. A long, ecstatic, silent interval ensued in which he was aware only of the warmth of her body and the sweetness of her lips against his.

  After a while, Miranda drew back and said, “We ought to go inside. Everyone will wonder where we are.” But as soon as she had said it, she rested her head on his chest with a little sigh.

  He tightened his arms around her. “I’d rather stay here.” Yet he was only too aware of being in the Carringtons’ house, and not wanting them to find him and Miranda together like this. He didn’t know what Charles was capable of; he felt as though he and Miranda were surrounded by wolves.

  They remained in a silent embrace for another long moment, then went inside.

  Nobody seemed to have noticed Tom and Miranda’s absence. They entered the drawing room just as the men were going in, and Lord Altwick immediately engaged Tom in conversation, while Miranda joined Lady Toynbee and Julia at the other end of the room. Tom wondered when the tour of Miranda’s gallery would begin. He tried to stay away from her, worried that his face would betray what had passed between them. Tom had never been so overwhelmed by a woman in his life—he felt hungry for as little as a look from her or the brush of her hand against his. Their brief time on the balcony had only sparked his desire for more. And he desired more than her body, unlike what he had felt for women in the past. He craved her opinions, her thoughts, her presence.