by Liz Tyner
Priscilla recognised the reticence and a puff of air blew out her cheeks. Miranda felt the blade of an invisible knife sliding down her spine.
‘Now we’re reassured she’s in good company, I suppose I should get on my way.’ Her father stood.
When their eyes met, she felt he looked at her as a daughter—something she’d never expected in her lifetime.
‘I’m pleased you made the trip,’ she told him.
He gave a one-shouldered shrug. ‘You’re safe now. All’s well.’ He held out his hand to his wife, to assist her to her feet.
Priscilla grabbed her husband’s arm and spoke to Chalgrove. ‘I hope you’ll excuse us. I must send a few notes to my household and I know my husband must get to his business now.’
She left, a blur of overstuffed skirts and lace.
Left alone, Chalgrove stood and approached Miranda, bathing her in the scent of freshly laundered clothes dried in sunshine, starch and a hint of dried rose petals.
He took her clasped hand and pulled her to her feet. He dropped a kiss lightly above the knuckles and moved to the door.
With his hand on the frame, he lowered his voice. ‘For your safety, if you leave, I have men who’ll accompany you. The constable recommended it.’
He waited, no longer watching her, but staring as if he tried to see inside himself. ‘I can’t stop thinking about you and not just about what you’re hiding. You’ve lodged in my mind and I feel that ending this will also destroy the connection I have with you.’
‘You would have never noticed me except for the ordeal.’
‘It could be,’ he mused. ‘Which could have been the biggest mistake of my life, yet I would never have known it. Who knows?
‘But I have an appreciation for someone tossed aside and determined to make the best of it,’ he continued. ‘Alone. I admire you, Miss Manwaring, for making your own way. And, yes, for the oddest and most dangerous thing of all—for not telling me your secret.’
‘I had little choice in the matter of making my way alone.’ She didn’t want him misled by Priscilla. She wasn’t the loving stepmother, but always grasping for more. Priscilla only breathed to suit herself. Her children next. Anything which might take even a glance which she felt should go to her daughters would be crumpled and tossed away if possible. And in no way did Priscilla feel Miranda was her daughter. Priscilla had considered her an obstacle to be removed.
‘You could have married.’ His voice rumbled and his eyes assessed her with no modesty, no prurient nature, but showed an acknowledgement of her femininity. ‘Married well.’
‘My stepmother didn’t wish for me to be introduced to society, and I didn’t wish to be introduced.’
‘Yet you would have been safer, I would think. As a wife.’
‘You worry more than the constable.’ She stood and moved to the door, planning to leave.
He stopped at the door before he opened it for her. ‘Just because I admire you for keeping your privacy...don’t be surprised when I find things out.’
The subtle movement of his jaw betrayed an intensity inside him. He touched her chin. His hair fell across his forehead, in touchable strands. But still, he was of the world of her stepmother—the society which had ignored her and she’d been grateful.
‘Miranda, you slept in the bed beside me. I listened to you breathe as I lay awake. We’ve shared too much intimacy for false pleasantries and sidestepping. Besides, when you mean to mislead, you pause before you begin to speak. You must learn to curtail that if you are to deceive.’
‘You imagine that. I merely think before I talk. But why would you tell me such a thing when my ignorance of it is to have me at a disadvantage? Secrets are never to be shared.’
‘I don’t know. I shared my secret of Susanna with you and I don’t feel a lesser person because of it. I feel stronger because you listened and didn’t condemn. Perhaps it isn’t what is in your private life that I want to know, but only that you’re willing to trust me with your confidences as I trusted you.’
‘I can’t. Unless you promise to forget all about the kidnapping.’
‘The magistrate is involved.’
‘But you pay for the constables from your own purse.’
With one arm folded behind his back, he gave her a brief bow, acknowledging her words. She bit the inside of her lip, but stepped away with shoulders high. Inside, she crumpled.
* * *
When she walked with the others to the table for dinner, the flickering light from the candelabrum cast shadows which shaded everyone’s face into a forbidding severity, but then she realised the candles had nothing to do with the bleakness.
Everyone sat exactly as she expected. Chalgrove’s mother on his right. Her stepmother on his left and Miranda again next to her stepmother.
She checked the candlelight again and knew enough candles flickered in the sconces.
The talk was minimal as the meal began, but her stepmother picked up every thread of conversation and embellished it. The older woman did all but purr as she feasted on the pheasant. She put another bite in her mouth, savouring the flavour.
The Duchess acted as if the food were of no importance at all compared to the people around her, but Miranda felt the Duchess was hiding her intentions as much as anyone else.
Chalgrove ate with little appetite and she wagered he observed them individually, gauging their interactions.
The Duchess tapped a napkin at her face and spoke to Miranda. ‘Have you discovered if your job is still available?’
‘She chooses to work,’ her stepmother answered for her. ‘Because she loves babies so much. Children. Families. She is so intent on being dutiful.’
Miranda glanced across the table, taking in the silver wisps of hair around her stepmother’s face, but the hair didn’t soften the countenance. Her stepmother had never praised her before. She glanced around the table, but no one seemed overly aware of her stepmother.
‘You’re a wonder with children. I’ve never seen anyone so suitable to motherhood,’ Mrs Manwaring cooed.
Chalgrove’s mother swirled the wine in her glass, not sipping.
‘I am so fortunate to have been able to take care of the children.’ Miranda’s fork rapped against the plate when she released it. ‘They are as close as I ever expect to having my own.’
Her stepmother’s glass thumped on to the table, sloshing.
‘Why, of course you’ll have your own children.’ The voice could have soothed little snakes.
‘Thank you,’ Miranda said, keeping her voice regretful for lost years. ‘But I am fortunate to be a spinster. Otherwise, I might never have been blessed to know Willie and Dolly.’ She paused.
‘Dear, you’re merely twenty-three,’ her stepmother called out. ‘That’s a young spinster.’
‘Twenty-five, I think. No one knows my true age.’
Her stepmother frowned. ‘Well, then, dear, you get to choose. Choose the youngest age.’
Chalgrove’s mother gave Miranda an encouraging smile. ‘I can hardly remember twenty-five, Miss Manwaring. But...’ candlelight from the wall sconces flickered across her face ‘...if I guess correctly, I already had a five-year-old son, Chalgrove, when I was your age. You are indeed fortunate to have the children to care for.’
‘Yes. I am.’
‘Of course she is.’ Her stepmother’s words came out with the same emphasis of a sigh. She brushed her thumb over the ornate ring on her left hand. Her gaze narrowed. ‘But others’ children are not quite the same as one’s own. I’m fortunate that my elder daughter has a gentle suitor and my younger daughter will soon be off the shelf. I would like to see Miranda married, as she would make such a good wife in the higher reaches of society.’
Miranda cringed. Every person in the room knew who her stepmother would like to see Miranda married to.
And everyone studied her.
Chapter Fifteen
The night had seemed the most silent one of his life and the longest. Longer even than when he’d been in the cottage.
Chalgrove kept recalling every instant that he’d spent with Miss Manwaring. Every word he could bring to mind.
After falling asleep in the early hours, he’d awoken to realise he’d missed breakfast and discovered an empty dining room with cold bacon. He could have easily sent for more, but instead he took a rasher and sat in his chair.
He stared at the teapot, but waved away the maid who’d offered to replace it. He’d not wanted any disruption in his contemplation of Miss Manwaring.
Then the constable had arrived and they had a quiet discussion.
The constable told Chalgrove no one at Carlton Trevor’s residence admitted to knowing more than Miss Manwaring had claimed. The constable had reassured everyone he spoke with repeatedly that Miss Manwaring had assisted the ducal family and Her Grace had much appreciated it and would be wounded if her hospitality was not enjoyed longer.
But at a nearby house, the constable had uncovered a servant who’d seen an old woman wandering about and the constable had deemed it important. He’d found out more, although the kidnapping had been kept quiet. Miss Manwaring’s reputation was secure.
But the old woman had been seen. Her path had been discovered.
Then the constable, chest proud, said he must get back on to the trail before she slipped away and he trotted out.
‘I just saw the constable leaving,’ his mother said, entering the dining room.
‘Nothing of significance yet, but it is only a matter of time.’ Chalgrove stood, then suggested to his mother that she and Mrs Manwaring might enjoy a chance to go shopping.
His mother had considered the statement, then agreed a little too enthusiastically.
She’d suddenly remembered that she must thank the seamstress for the gown she’d sent over and they could do that on the way.
Moving to the library, Chalgrove tapped the nib of his pen against the blotter on his desk.
He waited to talk to Miranda. According to the footman, she’d not been down to breakfast and she had only recently requested a morning tray.
But she was safe in his household—both from what she might not know and what she might know.
Chalgrove waited no longer. He sent for her.
* * *
When she walked in, the sight of her caused a strange sensation inside him. He’d somehow forgotten to breathe for an instant.
‘I received your message that the constable has been to the Trevor household and found nothing unusual there. I must see the children.’ Miranda spoke rapidly.
‘You will soon, I’m sure. I’ve sent for the man and asked him to visit tomorrow.’
‘He will be concerned that something is wrong if he is summoned by a duke.’
‘And he will be equally reassured if he is reassured by me.’
Relief brightened her eyes. She lifted for a second on her tiptoes.
In the drab, sombre, governess dress, she could be ignored, but then she smiled and everything changed. Happiness flooded her face. ‘I’m ready to leave.’
He had to regain his footing, wondering if it was the children or their father who brightened her face so.
In the cottage, she’d been in darkness much of the time. They’d been under duress. He’d hardly been aware she was female. First, he’d interpreted her as an attacker, then as a fellow prisoner, and then he’d found himself attracted to her, but only considered it caused by the need to reassure her.
Holding her had been pleasurable, but he’d refused to feel anything at all for her when she was in such distress.
Now, he saw a different woman.
Almost too much of a woman. Yesterday she’d worn a different style of dress. A completely contrasting garment to the one she’d been captured in.
He’d seen her femininity.
Now she wore that drab garment again, but it didn’t matter. She’d changed for ever in his mind.
He stopped, his eyes never leaving her. ‘Most servants—governesses—wouldn’t mind a holiday. A gesture of thanks. A chance to live in a gentler world.’
‘I don’t want Mr Trevor to think the family can survive without me. It will destroy me. I can’t risk leaving him.’
He took the blow without flinching, unaware of where it came from, and why he even felt it. Then he realised. Love was in her eyes. Compassion. The things he’d expected from Susanna. Perhaps expected as a matter of rote. But then he’d realised it wasn’t as common as he’d believed and far more of a treasure to unearth than any cold gemstone.
‘Are you attached to him?’
She bit her lip, thinking of her employer. ‘No. I’m attached to the family I have there. All of them. The children. Cook. Nicky. The stable boy is going through a rough patch now. We are all trying to make him see that we’ve all had losses and he must always be honest with others and himself, because it is truly in his best interest.’
* * *
She put fingertips to her cheek.
She’d no idea what she’d missed in not having a friendship with her father and she’d not cared a jot. She didn’t mourn or long for a lost relationship. She’d not cared. If he had no use for her, it was fine with her. She only wanted people around her who truly wanted her and who honestly appreciated her.
Being tossed away early in life had taught her not to put her hopes in someone who would shove her aside. Better to be unloved than to trust someone who cared for you as a duty. After her mother had died, she’d been alone, knowing Miss Cuthbert was not to remain in her life, and tempted by the prospect of marriage.
Miss Cuthbert told Miranda that if she let loneliness control her, it was the same as taking a lover who could beat you from the inside out. The words had shocked Miranda and Miss Cuthbert had reassured her that a loving heart and kindness and good works, and a discerning eye, would give her hope for true friends. The worst thing of all was to let people close who didn’t deserve friendship. They would drain you dry and the truly good friends wouldn’t be able to find you if you’d surrounded yourself with undeserving people.
She called it sullying your heartstrings with wastrels.
Miss Cuthbert had found her the job and told her to escape while she could.
It hadn’t seemed like much of an escape at first. More like tumbling into a cauldron of a family, with a baby who always wanted something and could only wail to tell her. Her life had evolved into such a guessing game she’d not been able to do much but constantly guess who wanted what, and how to get it, and what to do next.
She’d not mourned so much, then, and Miss Cuthbert had reassured her that the family was one she could leave. Had it been her own husband, the most she could hope for was more children to tend to.
Nicky had started watching over her and they occasionally talked. He’d spouted yarns and he told her about how he’d dealt with his own children and how she could guide her charges. He’d given her a view of what a little boy might say or think and how to respond.
Then Dolly had arrived and, while the loss of her mother had been sad, Miranda had found the two easier to care for than Willie had been on his own. A wet nurse had helped and the whole house had banded together for the sake of the children.
Willie was a terror sometimes, but Nicky reassured her that the child was much better for having her than he would have been with someone else.
Mr Trevor left them all to their own routines, even though she could tell he found solace in the children. When the children were with him, she’d enjoyed her time alone, or visiting with the other servants. She’d never guessed the world could be so busy and so pleasant, but the children were where she was needed. They had no mother.
Then her grandmother had taken her from the
m.
‘You forget.’ She envisaged her life without the children in it. Willie, who had hidden under her bed and scared her out of a year’s life, and Dolly, whom Miranda had awoken one morning to discover peacefully curled, sleeping, at Miranda’s feet.
She couldn’t lose them. She couldn’t. Her heart plunged. What if Dolly had awoken in the middle of the night after Miranda had been taken? She might have been wandering alone in the house in the darkness. ‘I will have to leave soon.’
She could not bear it if she lost the children.
‘I will speak with your employer personally and reassure him you’re not neglecting them. If he doesn’t arrive tomorrow, I will take you there myself.’
She hesitated, calming. A word from him would make a lot of difference. And she needed to keep him on her side. If he found out she was related to the kidnapper, whispers could totally destroy her chance to remain with the little ones. A few loud questions from a duke could hurt her immeasurably.
Chalgrove would not knowingly disparage her so, but he already believed she knew the criminals.
And, she did know one of them.
When she’d left her childhood home, she’d told herself she would never again stay where she didn’t wish to be and she’d meant it.
One step, followed by another, and she would be out the door. In the street, she could begin walking and a hackney would soon pass by. She’d be able to take it to the Trevor residence...assuming her grandmother didn’t have henchmen about, waiting to capture her again and trying to secure her an earl this time. Or she could wait and return with him.
‘I can see by your face that you want to leave. What would you wish for to make your stay more pleasant? I can have it for you in an instant.’
‘I’m worried about the children.’
‘Do you not think it might be safer for them, for now, if you were not with them? What if the persons who tossed me into the room decided to come back for you? First, we must see what the constable finds.’