“My dear.” Laura turned Miranda to face her. “If you believe nothing else I tell you, believe this. You matter to God, a great deal, and He loves you exactly the way He made you.”
She gave a little shake of the head. “Why would God see someone like me?”
“Come, I will tell you a story.” Laura threw her arm around Miranda and led her around the cupola. “There was a slave who was mistreated by her mistress, so she ran away. But God saw her in the wilderness and spoke to her.”
Miranda’s brow wrinkled, but she said nothing.
Laura continued, “People in those days liked naming things, so she gave God another name. She called him, Thou God seest me.”
By now, they had reached the other side of the cupola. In the dome, the rectangular panels of glass had circular designs within them, and the setting sun shone through a circle, looking a bit like an eye. Laura stopped. “She was only a slave, but He saw her, Miranda.”
Miranda looked at the orange light for a few seconds, but then turned her face away. Laura saw her expression and was haunted by it, because it was despair.
“I see you, Miranda,” Laura said. “And I have to believe God will find a way for you out of these troubles.”
“Yes,” Miranda said, but absently. “I must go.” She headed toward the turret door, but then she suddenly turned and embraced Laura in a fierce hug.
She was gone in a moment, passing through the door and down the narrow staircase.
Laura stood there, her heart throbbing hard and slow. Miranda’s hug had almost seemed like good-bye.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
December 30th
Gerard had wearied of staring at his bedroom walls while submitting to another poultice, so after Maddox had removed it, he went to stretch his legs.
The drawing room was stuffed, like a meat pie, but with chattering young women discussing their gowns for the New Year's Eve dinner party the next evening. Gerard sneaked past the doorway and headed instead to the music room, where he heard the laughter of children.
For most of the year, the ballroom at Wintrell Hall served as the music room on one side, and store-room on the other half, separated by some painted folding screens. He didn't realize until he entered the room that he had hoped to see Miranda there, but it was the governess at the pianoforte while the girls still in the schoolroom were learning the steps of a dance. Gerard was surprised to see his mother teaching them, correcting footwork and handclasps, her face alight with laughter. She smiled when she spotted her son in the open doorway.
“Oh, good,” his mother said, “now Gerard can play so Miss Teel can help teach the girls.”
“I?” He was embarrassed at how his voice squeaked. “Madam, I have not played the pianoforte in years—”
“Oh, you needn't give a perfect performance. We merely need a light little air so the girls can learn the steps. And the slower you play, the better.”
Trapped, he made his way to the instrument, perhaps taking longer than he might have otherwise with his crutches. He seated himself and rested the crutches against a nearby chair. Miss Teel, the governess, had been playing a fairly simple repeating melody, and he realized he could dance (ha ha) his way around the more difficult passages.
He began, slowly and with absolutely horrible fingering, slamming chords about like a ship on stormy seas. But after struggling through the melody twice, he eventually found his sea legs and was able to play only half as slowly as Miss Teel had been playing. He even found himself enjoying watching the girls whirl about, giggling at their own mistakes.
The door to the music room opened, and Miranda appeared. Her eye caught Gerard's. They glowed for a moment, then she looked away.
He had not had a moment alone with her, or at least, a time long enough to pluck up his courage to say what he wished to say. He had never felt so awkward with her before, after all the years they had known each other.
She had also never before been so unguarded. He could see the pain and guilt in her eyes, the unease. It had seemed unsuitable for him to speak of his feelings.
So he had done what he could do. He had been a comforting presence when she desired it. Indeed, he could not remember a time he had ever been so patient.
“The bell to dress for dinner is about to ring,” Miranda said. “It is time for the girls to prepare for their supper in the nursery.”
Cecil's middle daughter, Julia, gave her younger sister an exuberant swing around, her frothy laughter filling the echoing room.
The abused sister, Constance, scowled at her. “Why is Julia allowed to join the adults at table and not me? I'm only two years younger.” The whining voice made it apparent this was an argument she'd already made today, probably several times.
“Because your mother needs an even number at table tonight,” Gerard's mother said. “And since the men outnumber the ladies by one, I convinced your mother to allow Julia to join us.”
“It's not fair,” Constance complained as Miranda led her out of the music room.
“Miranda,” his mother called, “you received my message? I can't think how Felicity forgot to include you.”
“Yes, Mrs. Foremont,” Miranda said. “Thank you.” She and the governess left with the girls without looking at Gerard again, and he felt strangely let down.
“Thank you, Gerard.” His mother sat beside him. “You played wonderfully.”
“Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “Mother, about Miranda ...”
“Yes, I was surprised when I discovered this morning that Miranda had not been included among the guests for tonight. It is only a small dinner party, and Felicity said Miranda would not mind since there were already even numbers, but I felt that would be insulting to her. After all, she is a poor relation, not a servant.”
“That may not be clear in Felicity's mind.”
“I pointed out that including both Miranda and Julia would ensure a gentleman for every lady, and it would also be good practice for Julia. She does not come out for another year, but little James Barnes is attending tonight.”
“He is up from Oxford so he is little no longer,” Gerard said, laughing.
“Well, he would otherwise be the youngest guest. He will be able to talk to Julia. And Miranda will be there to smooth over any faux pas. I simply did not feel comfortable excluding her.”
He hadn't expected this kindness from his mother, considering her resistance in allowing Miranda to accompany Ellie. He realized that now it would not matter if she agreed or not, because he intended to marry Miranda. Er … as soon as he asked her, that is. “Miranda is too often overlooked.”
His mother looked down at her hands, fidgeting in her lap. “I have been most impressed with Miranda these past few days. She has been very patient in caring for you, spending time with you. More patient than I,” she added in a low voice.
“Mother, you are very patient. You nursed me when I returned home from the hospital.”
“But lately I have had a rather short temper. And Miranda's kindness made me feel quite ashamed.” She reached over to touch his hand. “I have been selfish. I wanted you to be completely healed in the shortest time possible, and I pray I have not pushed you to exertions that may have injured you.”
“No, of course not, Mother.”
“These attacks have made me realize that you are not as healed as I had wanted you to be, and that was very wrong of me.” She squeezed his hand.
The bell rang.
“Come, Mother, we must dress for dinner.” Gerard rose to his feet. His knee ached, and he grimaced as he rubbed at it. “Do not dare to coddle me, madam,” he said before she could speak.
She smiled ruefully, but only said, “I shall see you at dinner.”
Tonight’s dinner was an intimate gathering compared to the lavish New Year’s Eve dinner party that would occur the following night, but the wine flowed freely, and the talk around the table was bright and sparkling.
Again, Miranda was seated far down the table f
rom Gerard, on one side of James Barnes while Julia sat next to him. However, the two young people seemed to be in animated conversation and oblivious to their other dinner partners.
At one point, Miranda caught Gerard's eye. He glanced at the chattering pair, then back to her, and she smiled, sharing his silent amusement.
She looked beautiful, again in her green dress. He wanted to spend as much time with her as he wished. He wanted the shadow of Harriet’s revenge to be lifted from her eyes.
He would speak to her soon—tonight or tomorrow. He did not think she would refuse him. He did not want to contemplate what he would feel if she did so.
Presently, Felicity rose to lead the women out of the dining room and into the drawing room. The men settled around the table and the servants began to serve brandy and cigars. However, Cecil, mindful of his wife, would not allow the men to linger overlong before joining the ladies in the drawing room.
As had happened yesterday, Michael, posing as a footman, had managed not to serve Gerard's father at dinner. However, now he poured brandy for the men, and Mr. Foremont did not notice him at all. Gerard did not realize he had been holding his breath until he released it.
Mr. Barnes, an avid angler, had been fishing only yesterday in the river that ran past his home and Wintrell Hall. He became so animated in his story that he began waving his arms to describe the fish he had caught, and the movement knocked into a young footman pouring more brandy into his glass. The young man stumbled backward, but Michael quickly reached out to steady the lad while at the same time preventing the decanter from crashing to the floor.
It all happened in a moment, but something in Michael's movements made Mr. Foremont's brows knit. For that second, Michael's disguise had faltered. He had immediately melted back into the unobtrusive servant, but now Gerard's father stared hard at the footman as he resumed his duties.
“Michael?” Gerard's father said.
Thankfully, Michael did not so much as flinch, nor did he respond to his name.
Sitting on his father’s right, Gerard quickly said, “He has the look of a Coulton-Jones, does he not, sir? I thought as much when I saw him earlier today, so I made a point of speaking to him. However, he is not a relation, even distantly.”
His father relaxed back into his seat. “He looks a bit like Michael.”
“I have had a letter from Michael only yesterday,” Gerard said. “He is enjoying Christmastide with his family, although the younger boys are rather merciless in snowball fights.”
“Michael wrote to you?”
“I wrote to him weeks ago asking if he would be interested in one of my hunters.” Gerard sighed. “Since he is Michael, he waited until this week to respond.”
His father chuckled and turned to Mr. Drydale, sitting on his left. “Did you hear that Cecil has unearthed his grandfather’s pistol? It had fallen behind a desk drawer, of all places.”
Mr. Drydale seemed to be looking in Michael's direction, also, but he turned his attention to Gerard's father. “Indeed, sir, he showed it to me yesterday. It must have taken him a great while to clean and repair it.”
The men did not remain long in the dining room and soon rose to head to the drawing room. However, Mr. Drydale laid an arm along Gerard's shoulder. “A word, Captain Foremont, if you please.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Shall we go into the library? We may be assured of more privacy there.”
Mr. Drydale's demeanor was calm and affable, but there was a hardness in his hazel eyes that made the muscles tighten at the base of Gerard's skull. He reined in his curiosity and followed the older man to the library, thumping along on his crutches.
As soon as the door was closed behind them, Mr. Drydale shoved Gerard hard against the wall, his forearm slicing his throat.
Gerard was the same height as Mr. Drydale, but thrown off his guard, he was tossed about like a limp puppet. His crutches clattered to the floor.
“I saw that man with you in the wood,” Mr. Drydale bit out. “I saw him a day earlier in the local tavern, posing as a peddler. Now I see him here as a footman and you claim to have spoken to him again. What game are you playing, Captain?”
“He is my cousin, Lieutenant Michael Coulton-Jones,” Gerard said in a tight voice. “He was helping me to investigate the attackers, since anyone connected with them is unlikely to speak candidly to me.”
Mr. Drydale seemed nonplussed by that confession. He dropped his arm, and Gerard rubbed his neck, which still burned despite the fact that the pressure against his windpipe had been released.
“Who is he?” Mr. Drydale said.
“He is my cousin,” Gerard repeated, but Mr. Drydale cut him off with an impatient hand.
“He is not simply your cousin. I did not recognize him as the man in the woods until he caught that decanter. Only then did I also recognize him as the peddler who defended a barmaid from a belligerent customer in the village tavern.”
Gerard faced the older man, his jaw working. “I cannot say more than that he is my cousin, sir.”
Mr. Drydale regarded him steadily for a moment, then gave a self-deprecating half-smile, which brought out a dimple in his cheek and made him look years younger. “No, you cannot. I should have realized that. I would hazard a guess that you saw him on the Continent at some point.”
Gerard fought to keep his face impassive.
Mr. Drydale bowed to him. “Forgive me, Captain.”
Gerard nodded stiffly.
“And should you need my assistance,” Mr. Drydale said, “I am at your service. I, too, understand about certain things of which we cannot speak.”
Gerard did not know how to respond, so he simply bowed in return, his mind whirling. Mr. Drydale came from an old, highly respectable family and he had heard someone say that he had served in the army in his youth. But this was an entirely unexpected revelation.
Mr. Drydale opened the library door, but paused to add, “If you trust Lady Wynwood, you may trust me, Captain.” He left the room.
Gerard gathered his fallen crutches, feeling as though he had awakened from a dream. This Christmastide had revealed hidden depths to people he thought he knew well—Lady Wynwood's spiritual depth and maturity, Mr. Drydale's hinted past, and most especially, Miranda's inner peace and how it influenced him so strongly. But if he were honest with himself, there were many things about Miranda that he had discovered influenced him strongly—her quick wit, her sense of humor, and the loveliness that he had not noticed until meeting her eyes that day she climbed into their coach.
But when he entered the drawing room, Miranda was nowhere to be found. He could go to the nursery to see her, but did not want to embarrass her by seeking her out.
Tomorrow. He would settle all this tomorrow.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
December 31st
The children were being positively horrid. Miranda, Miss Teel, and the nursery-maids who worked for the other Belmoore families were quite prepared to begin stringing them up by their toes.
So Miranda suggested a game of Hide and Seek in the Lower Ornamental Garden. Miss Teel was amenable, but the nursery-maids objected since they did not wish to trouble themselves to bundle up the children for the outdoors. However, the children were enthusiastic about the idea, and Miranda remarked that they would be entertaining themselves in such a way as to require very little supervision, since the garden was walled, so the maids were at last persuaded.
Wintrell Hall had two large walled gardens, the Upper and Lower Ornamental Gardens. They were accessed by a gate at the bottom of the Lower Garden. The Upper Garden was smaller and connected to the Lower Garden by a stone arch in the wall separating the two.
The Lower Garden had more hiding places for the children, and Miss Teel and the two nursery-maids sat at the gate to ensure that none of the children wandered out of their sight. Miranda walked up the winding paths to the archway.
The Upper Garden was bleak at this time of year, its bare trees covered i
n snow and the gravel walks lined only by twiggy bushes. It matched her low spirits, and she sat on a frozen stone bench along the wall, staring at the empty space. In the spring, it would be a riot of flowers, but today it lay sleeping.
The shrieks and laughter of the children drifted to her over the high stone wall and through the open archway, echoing oddly on the ice-covered stones. The sharp air bit into her nose and lungs, but the pain was somehow comforting.
One desperate act twenty years ago was at last reaping a bitter harvest. She could blame no one but herself.
She was so afraid.
“Oh God.” The cry escaped her lips, but the soft sound fell like wet snow. Cousin Laura was so assured of the presence of the Lord, but Miranda was alone in the garden. In her life, she had never felt that the Lord had been close to her—now was no different. Perhaps only people like Cousin Laura were invited into that type of fellowship with the Almighty.
And now that Gerard’s mother appeared to be having a change of heart about her, it would be to no purpose if they did not stop Harriet. Ah, her timing was ever inconvenient.
Then came a soft, rhythmic sound. Man’s boots and a pair of crutches crunching on the gravel paths. Coming closer.
Her heart raced with wild fear, with wild joy. Her body grew more and more taut as the sound drew near.
Gerard strode through the archway into the Upper Garden. When his gaze found hers, she could not have moved, like the lichen-covered marble statues in the corners of the garden.
She would never have expected the flame that lit his eyes when he saw her.
“Miranda.” His voice tethered her to him, like a ship at anchor.
He came closer to her, moving carefully over the gravel walk until he stood before her, closer than she should have allowed. She realized too late that she should have moved toward him rather than the other way around. With the bench and the garden wall behind her, she felt as though he surrounded her.
“Are you hiding from the children?” he asked.
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