‘Yes. All of my days.”
Miranda felt as if she were suffocating under the force of her emotions. How could that have been a lie? In addition to lovers, Colin had been Miranda’s best friend. The person she was closest to in the world. They’d gone to museums and lectures. Bookstores. Walks in the park. And now he wanted nothing to do with her. Perhaps he feared that Miranda would suddenly cry ruination to her brother, though it was a bit late for that.
Miranda was appalled to realize she was close to tears.
“In case you are concerned, I would never remotely insinuate that we once bore each other any affection, especially to Sutton. It is not something I wish to admit to.”
Looking into her lap, she blinked rapidly to stay the tears that threatened to spill. She was clutching Lord Thurston so tightly she was likely damaging the leather. Anger at his rejection warred with the pain she felt. He wished never to discuss the past, so be it.
“Miranda.”
Did she imagine the longing with which he whispered her name?
Whatever he had been about to say was cut short by the appearance of a lanky, ginger-haired lad, dressed in the Cambourne livery, swinging open the drawing room door.
“Lady Cambourne,” Harry, her grandmother’s personal footman announced as he made a short bow. Turning slightly, he held out his arm to lend his assistance to the elderly woman behind him, her cane thumping as she made her way into the room.
4
Well, it appears I’ve interrupted something.
Donata Reynolds, Dowager Marchioness of Cambourne, held tightly to young Harry’s arm, her other hand firmly grasping the head of her cane as she moved forward. A burst of impulsiveness led her to instruct Bevins to put Lord Kilmaire in her private sitting room instead of the more formal drawing room. Miranda often hid herself here on rainy days to read.
Inspiration had a way of striking when least expected.
Only someone who was completely obtuse, and Donata was far from obtuse, would miss the tightly controlled manner in which Lord Kilmaire treated her granddaughter. It had not always been so. Colin Hartley was nearly a member of the Cambourne family, having spent many summers at Gray Covington. Miranda had lavished her childhood affection on Colin, calling him her prince and stating rather firmly that she would marry him one day. The two had been close. The older Colin growing ever more protective of the much younger Miranda, whom he viewed as a younger sibling. Many years later, when Colin visited the Cambourne family in London during the time of Miranda’s debut, Colin squired Miranda about and the two formed a friendship of sorts.
Well, perhaps more than a friendship, she suspected.
Lord Kilmaire’s arrival over a month ago was very welcome by the Cambourne family, with one exception. Miranda. Now the two kept their distance from one another. No one seemed to notice. Except Donata.
Odd. Colin and Miranda had suddenly become averse to each other.
Curious.
Add to that the fact that Miranda had never looked at Colin with anything but adoration since she was eight years old, and the whole of it was quite mysterious.
Or was it?
The air in the drawing room fairly crackled with tension between the two. Good Lord if she lit a match the entire room might burst into flames.
Lord Kilmaire, coldly polite and distant, so different from the Colin that Donata once doted upon, viewed her granddaughter with longing in the depth of his eyes. He was angry as well. Pained. The scar, that horrible reminder of his Mother’s hatred, shone dark pink across the left side of his face.
Miranda resembled a wounded doe. Defiant, she clutched a book to her stomach so forcefully Donata worried she would tear the leather.
“Lord Kilmaire,” Donata smiled in greeting as Colin stood and bowed over her proffered hand.
“Lady Cambourne.” The ends of his hair brushed pleasurably against Donata’s arm.
What a beautiful man Colin was. He’d always been handsome, of course, even as a lad he’d turned a lady’s head. Unfortunately, she sensed that there was nothing left of the boy he’d once been, nor the earnest young man who’d visited her son, Robert, in this very house.
Easy to blame the scar, of course. The wound was dreadful, there was no getting around it, but it did not detract from Colin’s masculine beauty. She rather thought it kept him from being too beautiful. Women still admired him. The tragedy of his family would certainly lend one to be rather dour, but Donata sensed that was not the reason for his manner, though she did wish he would stop dressing as if he were in mourning. Thomas, his final family member, had been dead for nearly two years. Although, Donata had to admit, the dark colors accentuated his coloring and gave Colin an air of melancholy that few women could resist.
“It is a pleasure to see you.” A hint of Irish graced Colin’s words. Purposefully, she thought. While he normally sought to suppress the accent, he’d learned early on that women in particular, adored the sound of it.
So, the scamp seeks to charm me.
And Colin was exceedingly charming when he wished to be. Had he wished to charm the ladies of the ton, he certainly could. He just didn’t wish to.
“I did wonder, Lord Kilmaire, when you would decide to grace me with your presence.”
“I received your note only this morning, Lady Cambourne. I came as soon as I was bid.”
Donata raised a brow. She disliked having to summon people. They should anticipate that she requested their presence.
“Poor of you to make me chase you down, Lord Kilmaire. You asked for my assistance at His Grace’s wedding. I would have thought the request would have prompted you to call on me much earlier. After all, His Grace has been married for some time now.”
A lazy smile crossed Colin’s lips. “I have been trying to reacquaint myself with society, as you suggested. It has been a challenging adjustment.”
Donata pursed her lips in rebuke. “Doubtful. I know you’ve been invited to any number of homes and balls, and are now a member atWhite’s. At any rate, I spent last night considering your choices. We have much work to do.”
And, indeed Donata had been thinking of Colin last night.
One of the curses of old age was not sleeping well, or in her case, sometimes not at all. Last night, even after reading a particularly boring treatise on Greek architecture borrowed from Sutton, Donata found sleep eluded her. Believing a glass of sherry would help, Donata decided to rise and fetch herself one. No reason to summon the maid at such an unreasonable hour. She slowly made her way to her grandson’s study, once her son’s study. The room comforted her and so she thought to take her repast there.
Unfortunately, there was not a drop of sherry in her grandson’s study, so instead Donata opted for a small snifter of brandy.
Lord Kilmaire, approaching her just after the Duke of Dunbar’s wedding, had tasked Donata with finding him a wealthy, suitable bride. There was little time left in the Season, and Lord Kilmaire wished to marry as soon as possible. The wealthier the better.
Donata did not judge him for his haste. She knew what a muck of things his parents made of Runshaw Park. So, as she sipped her brandy, Donata pondered potential brides for Lord Kilmaire. Her mind drifted to the lackluster pair of men who were pursuing Miranda. She’d always found it strange that Miranda had not married after her first Season, after all she’d been most sought after. Even stranger that Robert, Donata’s son, had not insisted his daughter marry. Miranda was rather a bookish sort and still was, which put many gentlemen off, no matter her beauty or her dowry. She was always asking to be taken to the museum, or a lecture, rather than the opera. With Robert often busy and Sutton having run off to Macao, Miranda had been escorted to various intellectual offerings by her brother’s dear friend, Colin Hartley, who had been visiting London at the time. Colin dined so often at Cambourne House that Donata joked it was as if he lived there.
The truth struck her so forcefully at that moment that she dribbled brandy down the front of her dress
ing gown. Right in front of me, and I couldn’t see it.
The press of Colin’s hand on her arm as he assisted her to the couch brought Donata’s mind back from the previous night’s discovery. “I was concerned, Lord Kilmaire, that the poor weather would dissuade you from calling upon me, no matter my summons.” She watched in appreciation as his large form slid into a nearby chair.
“Perish the thought, Lady Cambourne. A bit of rain would never keep me away from your company.”
Again, the lilt came up in his words and Donata allowed herself to enjoy his gentle flirtatious manner. She did adore Colin. Her eyes lingered over the scar on the left side of his face. How could such a thing have occurred? To be attacked by one’s own mother? Lady Rose Kilmaire had been an unbalanced woman, prone to flights of fancy. She’d once been found wading about in a fountain during Lady Meuring’s garden party. At the time, Lady Kilmaire claimed her feet were too warm in her shoes and the goldfish darting around the fountain wished to play with her toes.
The woman was completely mad, though Donata never thought she would injure her own child. Never.
It was one of the rare times Donata had misjudged someone.
“Good afternoon Granddaughter. The day is so lacking light I didn’t see you lolling about my favorite couch.”
“Good afternoon, Grandmother.” Miranda appeared ready to flee at any moment, her distress evident, reminding one of a trapped bird waiting rather impatiently for a cat to pass by.
Donata raised a brow at the tea stains on Miranda’s bodice, the overturned tray, and the spilled bits of raisin cake on the floor. A crumb was caught in the dark locks of Miranda’s hair. “It appears that you’ve had an accident of sorts. I do hope you didn’t stain my couch, though happily it appears most of the tea landed on you.”
“I was startled and—”
Donata turned from her, giving Miranda no time to excuse herself from the room.
“I’ve taken to heart your very specific needs, Lord Kilmaire and given the whole of it very careful consideration. It’s a bit late in the Season, of course, but that will likely only make things easier in some respect.”
A small choke sounded from Miranda.
“I appreciate your efforts, Lady Cambourne.”
“You should. I am known far and wide for my matchmaking skills.”
Another sound emanated from Miranda. It sounded as if she were being strangled.
“Why, did you know that a steady stream of young ladies and their mothers consult with me on a regular basis? My opinion is relied upon in these matters.”
“Grandmother, please excuse me as it appears you and Lord Kilmaire have business to discuss.” Miranda stood, frowning as several crumbs rolled down her dress to dot the carpet around her stocking feet. She bent and reached for her discarded slippers.
“Nonsense, Miranda. Do sit. I feel certain you can be of assistance to Lord Kilmaire as well.” Donata winked at Colin. “After all, who better? I feel she owes you.”
A small thump sounded as Miranda sat back down forcefully against the couch cushions. The slippers slid from her hands. “I—”
“I am not aware of any debt that Lady Miranda may have incurred.” Colin’s gaze, the color of molten chocolate, wandered over Miranda, following the path of an errant curl moving against her bodice. He seemed oddly fascinated by it.
“Do you not recall, Lord Kilmaire, how Miranda used to trot after you at Gray Covington? It was good of you to indulge her. After all, she could be quite a nuisance. You were so kind to her, chattering little sprite that she was. Do you not remember when she made you a crown? Declared you her prince?”
Miranda was beginning to turn an alarming shade of red.
“I believe her adoration was not for me but for the pastries I stole for her from the cook at Gray Covington, my lady.”
Donata ignored him. “And, I do recall, during her own first Season, when you offered your assistance in escorting her about to the Royal Museum in order to view,” Donata fluttered her hand, “something ancient when no one else offered.”
“A mummy.” Colin murmured.
Miranda blinked, clutching the book she held tighter.
“How kind. I believe you endured a boring lecture or two as well.”
Donata leaned over her cane and leaned towards Colin. “No doubt you refused many more interesting invitations in order to squire Miranda about. Now it is her turn to offer you, assistance. High time. After all it is a debt many years in the making.” Donata put her finger to her lip as if she couldn’t quite remember, which of course was ridiculous. She remembered everything. “Three years does seem to go by in the blink of an eye.”
“Six.” Colin’s gaze never moved from Miranda and that dangling curl. “Begging your pardon, Lady Cambourne.”
Was there a hint of anguish in his answer?
Miranda squared her shoulders and turned away, suddenly absorbed by the rain pelting the Cambourne garden.
Donata nodded and gripped the head of her cane. “My word, so long ago? I’m afraid that’s one of the failings of old age, the days and months roll into one another so quickly. Of course, my own debut feels as if it were just yesterday. My father, the Duke of Shefford, sought to marry me off at the beginning of the Season, before I’d even enjoyed myself. But my mother wouldn’t have it.” She winked at Colin. “Oh, how I danced. The drawing room of our house on Mayfield Square was full to bursting with my suitors. As a duke’s daughter I had my pick, of course. The Marquess of Cambourne pressed his suit most forcefully and the match was advantageous. A duke’s daughter and the owner of an ancient title like Cambourne. Two powerful houses combined. Such are the makings of a successful marriage.”
Lord Kilmaire shot her a look of what one could politely call resignation. “Your assistance is deeply appreciated, Lady Cambourne. With all that has happened—”
“Yes. You’ve stayed away from your duty for far too long, Lord Kilmaire. First brooding at your kin’s house in Ireland … ”
“Not brooding. Uncle Gerald took me in after a disagreement with my father.”
“Slaving away like a common day laborer.”
“Since I expected never to inherit, I thought it best to learn a trade.”
“Sheep farming.” She could not keep the distaste from the words. The thought of this handsome earl before her shoveling sheep dung was beyond her comprehension.
“Farming is an honorable profession.”
“Humph. An earl does not work with his hands. He has tenants which do such for him.”
“I was not the earl at the time.”
She did not care a whit for his impudence. “You’ve spent these last few years rattling around Runshaw Park, alone except for a handful of servants. You should be here, with us, in London. Especially now that Sutton is thankfully home from Macao. And furthermore—”
“I am here now, Lady Cambourne.”
“Cease your interruptions. I am speaking.”
Clutching the head of her cane, she stomped it against the Persian carpet beneath her feet. Canes were a wonderful accessory as one grew older. Useful in a variety of ways.
The golden head dipped in acknowledgement of her rebuke.
“As I was saying, it cannot be considered healthy, Lord Kilmaire. Constantly brooding, your family’s unfortunate circumstances notwithstanding, of course.”
The dark eyes narrowed, but he did not refute her claim.
“I am pleased to see that you do seem to have perked up a bit since your arrival in town, for which I am much relieved, though it would be preferable if you would cease to dress as if you are still in mourning. I find the whole of it,” she waved her cane to his somber attire, “somewhat macabre. Most young ladies of my acquaintance would prefer to marry a man who is not dressed as if he were attending a funeral.”
“I prefer dark colors. I suppose I’ve grown used to them over the last several years, but I will take your advice under consideration.”
“As you shou
ld. One would think you enjoy being referred to as the Cursed Earl.”
“It is no worse than some of the other odious nicknames the ton likes to bestow upon those whom they gossip about.”
Donata frowned at the thinly veiled reference to her grandson’s undesirable nickname. “No one refers to Sutton as such anymore.” At least, not within Donata’s hearing.
“As you will, Lady Cambourne.”
“Humph.” The cane pounded on the floor again. “You should wear blue.” She waved the cane towards the edge of his left eye where the scar took root. “That healed quite well. Better than I anticipated.” She leaned forward. “I think it makes you look quite dashing. Don’t you, Miranda?”
Miranda turned back from her perusal of the rain-soaked garden but stayed silent.
“And you should smile more often, Lord Kilmaire. In fact, I insist upon it. There is no point in looking dour. You wouldn’t wish to scare away a potential bride.”
“I find that I smile often in your presence, Lady Cambourne. If I may say so.” The lilt this time was much more pronounced.
Donata’s heart fluttered. Even a woman as ancient as herself was not immune to the teasing of a handsome gentlemen.
“You may say.” Her fingers curled in the air, then settled over the head of her cane once more. The maids at Gray Covington ogled her grandson, Sutton, but it was Colin who they would allow to steal a kiss.
“Harry,” she said gently to the young footman hovering over her, “would you have tea brought? Make sure there are some of those delicious raisin cakes my granddaughter adores. And send someone to clean up.” She waved to the contents of Miranda’s spilled tray. “There’s been a bit of an accident.”
“Yes, my lady.” Harry bowed and went to do her bidding.
Donata found Harry to be such a good lad. So devoted.
Miranda looked at Harry’s departing back. “If you’ll both excuse me, I am rather tea soaked and—”
“Nonsense, Miranda. There’s only a bit of tea on you. Perhaps a raisin caught in your hair. Lord Kilmaire is in dire need of your assistance.” Donata looked towards Colin.
MY WICKED EARL: The Wickeds Book 3 Page 6