‘No, never that.’ Luke shook his head, sending a shock of thick brown curls tumbling over his forehead, and gave a resigned smile. ‘Only Archie could fall from a window two floors up and survive the experience.’
‘After a fashion. His brain is unaffected but his body is broken and he suffers every day from debilitating pain.’
Luke shot her a look. ‘How could you possibly know that?’
She smiled at him. ‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’
‘Ah, your trusty instincts.’ But there was no cynicism, merely acceptance. ‘Or there again, given the physical manifestations of his injuries, it could simply be a lucky guess on your part.’
She pursed her lips. ‘Have it your way.’
Something about her words made him glance away. ‘If only I could,’ he said softly. ‘However,’ he added briskly, turning to look at her again. ‘I thought you should know the reason for Archie’s call upon us today.’
‘I’d say that was self-evident,’ she replied, ‘but by all means enlighten me.’
Flora allowed him to talk, not once interrupting, but sometimes finding it impossible to prevent a shocked exclamation slipping past her lips.
‘It seems that the gods of good fortune have finally smiled upon the marquess. It would have been terrible if he’d really lost both his sons, even though your friend Archie cannot let the world know who he really is.’ She paused. ‘I assume Magda Simpson, the woman who caused so many problems for you a few weeks ago, is the one indirectly responsible for Archie’s accident.’
‘Oh yes,’ Luke replied, a bitter edge to his voice. ‘That and much more besides.’
‘Then it is fortunate that she’s left the district since she would undoubtedly recognise her former lover and make all sorts of mischief for him.’ Flora’s lips pulled tight in a gesture of disapproval. ‘She wouldn’t be able to resist.’
Luke gave a grim nod. ‘My thoughts exactly.’
He went on to explain about Cooper’s attempts to blackmail the marquess.
‘Good grief!’ Flora covered her mouth with one hand. ‘I am glad that the marquess told him to go to the devil, indirectly making it possible for your friend to return to England.’ She smiled at him. ‘If must be lovely for the four of you to be reunited. I have never had any close friends but can well imagine your joy. I could see, just in the few minutes that I was in the room with you, how closely bonded you are.’ She glanced up from her folded hands that she had suddenly developed a fascination with. Being alone with Luke in such circumstances made it hard for her to remember her place or to prevent inappropriate thoughts from clouding her judgement. ‘I hope Lord Hardwick doesn’t mind my knowing about his return. He must find it strange that you are willing to entrust a servant with that knowledge.’
Luke swallowed, fixing her with a veiled look that gave little away about his inner thoughts. ‘He asked me about you, naturally, but I assured him that you are discreet.’
‘Thank you.’ She unfolded her hands and pleated the fabric of her robe between her fingers instead. ‘What discoveries did Charlie make in London?’
Luke told her. ‘There doesn’t seem to be much doubt that Christina poisoned Defoe,’ he said, stretching his arms above his head. ‘Miss Daley agrees with that assessment, but we are no closer to proving it.’
‘Let’s think on it and talk again in the morning, you, me and Charlie,’ she suggested, standing to bring the interlude to an end whilst she still had the strength to do the right thing. ‘Perhaps one of us will have thought of a solution by then.’
‘As you say.’
He stood too, snatched up one of her hands and kissed the back of it. ‘What would I do without your wisdom?’ he asked softly, sending her a scorching look from beneath the fall of his hair as he bent over her hand. ‘Goodnight, my sweet.’
Before she could respond, he’d led himself out of the room and was gone, and she was left feeling that she could almost have imagined his presence in it. Almost, but for the fact that the musky aroma she associated with him lingered in his wake.
‘How the devil am I supposed to sleep now?’ she demanded aloud, swiftly braiding her hair and slipping between the sheets.
Chapter Seventeen
Miranda lingered in bed the following morning until she heard sounds of departure emanating from outside her bedchamber window. With Matthew on his way to London, it was safe for her to get out of bed and anticipate the delivery of her new mare without having to worry about him accosting her. She didn’t bother to ring for her maid. She was perfectly capable of washing and dressing without help, and preferred to do so rather than endure Bertha’s intrusive and inquisitive presence. She need not do so for much longer, she thought, smiling. As soon as Daley returned, she would dismiss Bertha and appoint someone she liked better. And there was nothing that Christina could do to prevent her.
The prospect of exerting her authority filled her with a new-found sense of purpose.
Dressed in an old gown that she didn’t mind soiling in the stables as she supervised the preparations for Evita’s arrival, she rang the bell and asked for a light breakfast to be sent up. Christina would probably be up by now, and she had no particular desire to pass the time of day with her. Bertha delivered her breakfast and pursed her lips when Miranda immediately dismissed her again.
‘I should help you to dress your hair at the very least, miss.’ Bertha glanced at Miranda’s locks, tied back with a ribbon, and tutted.
‘If I require your help I shall ask for it,’ she replied stiffly. ‘Go about your other duties and leave me to enjoy my breakfast.’
‘As you wish.’ Bertha turned on her heel and swept from the room.
Miranda ate her breakfast slowly, savouring her small victory over Bertha. When she was replete, she slipped down the stairs, seeing no sign of Christina in the main rooms. Perhaps she had gone out, or was lingering in her bed, pining for Philip’s return. Either way, Miranda didn’t much care. She made her way to the stables, glad that the weather was fine and sunny, perfectly reflecting her mood.
‘Is the stall prepared for the new arrival, Dan?’ she asked her one and only groom.
‘It is, miss.’
Miranda had no sooner inspected it and found everything satisfactory when the sound of approaching hooves warned of Evita’s arrival. Miranda’s heart skipped a beat. Charlie hadn’t said that he would deliver her personally. It was a menial task best suited to a groom, but she half hoped that she was about to see him anyway. She hid her disappointment when a groom in the earl’s livery handed over the Arabian to Dan’s care.
‘With Mr Charles Beranger’s compliments, miss. He apologises for not being here himself. Something came up and him and the earl went off to deal with it.’
‘No apologies are necessary,’ Miranda replied, smoothing Evita’s neck and then burying her face in it. ‘Please pass my thanks to Mr Beranger and assure him that I shall take the best possible care of Evita.’
The groom touched his hat, turned his mount and trotted back the way he’d just come.
The mare showed none of the skittishness that she was renowned for and seemed to settle into her new home contentedly enough. Miranda fed her a carrot and then watched her placidly munching at her hay.
‘Shall you ride her today, miss?’ Dan asked.
‘No, let’s give her time to settle in. Tomorrow perhaps.’
Miranda felt the day was too nice to be restricted to the house, so she took a stroll through her gardens and into the woods beyond, re-familiarising herself with the topography of the small estate that had been her home for her entire life. It was nice to have it to herself and not be constantly surrounded by those who had convinced her of their good intentions.
How could she have been so gullible?
Charlie, on the other hand, seemed willing to help her for no reason that she could identify. He certainly didn’t need her money, so he must be acting out of neighbourly concern. She occasionally noticed s
omething in his expression that she found hard to interpret, but which caused her to hope that his feelings transcended the mere neighbourly. If they did, he hadn’t availed himself of any of the opportunities that had arisen over the past couple of days to express himself. What was it that Mary had said about men’s general disinclination to commit? If it was true, how was she supposed to convince Charlie that his world wouldn’t end if he told her what was in his heart? She wondered what stratagems Emma had employed to convince her Mr Watson, but couldn’t think of any way to grill her on the subject without raising her suspicions.
‘Don’t be an idiot!’ she said aloud. ‘He is out of your league. Your presence in his family would lower the tone.’
Miranda had lost her heart to Charlie. There, she had admitted it to herself. But it was her secret to jealously guard. She would never embarrass them both by confessing. Nor would she ever marry another. Papa had at least provided her with the freedom to please herself in that regard. If old maids were considered eccentric, objects of pity to be indulged and tolerated, so be it.
Better that than a loveless marriage with a man who would probably only be attracted by her fortune and would seek to gain control of it. Just as Matthew would. Well, she was rid of him for a few days and by the time he returned she would have Daley here to protect her interests. Then she would find a way to evict him permanently from her house. She’d had enough of him living at her expense. And Theo, too. Philip and Christina she could do nothing about.
Or could she?
She would consult Mr Fenchurch on the subject. Christina was her guardian for the next three years, until she reached her majority, but did the law stipulate that Miranda was required to house, feed and generally keep both her and her new husband? Especially if she had Daley there as a chaperone. She would find out at the earliest opportunity and smiled as she almost tasted freedom, tantalisingly just out of her reach.
‘No more being gullible,’ she told Evita, who whinnied a greeting as Miranda stopped at her stall on the way back to the house.
Time had got away from her and it was mid-afternoon before she returned from her walk. She stepped into the hallway, feeling resigned to the fact that she was likely to elicit nothing more than friendship from Charlie. Equally determined not to frighten him away once she had resolved the problem of the Coopers and he had no reason to continue protecting her.
Good manners dictated that she go in search of Christina. But she was nowhere to be found. She felt slightly uncomfortable when no servants materialised to ask if she needed anything. Her discomfort turned to panic when she put her head around the drawing room door and found Matthew elegantly sprawled in a chair.
‘You!’ She pointed an accusatory finger at him. ‘What are you doing here? You are supposed to be in London.’
‘I’m very pleased to see you too,’ he replied with what was probably supposed to be a seductive smile. Miranda thought that it made him look constipated.
‘Where is Christina?’
‘A change of plan. She went to London instead of me.’
‘And left you here alone.’
‘It’s no inconvenience. London’s pleasures will always be there. It’s more important that someone takes care of you.’
‘That’s certainly not your job,’ she replied scathingly. ‘I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, and anyway I can’t stay here with you unchaperoned. Whatever could Christina have been thinking? Where are all the servants?’
‘They’ve been given the afternoon off.’
‘All of them?’ Her anger helped to tamp down her growing anxiety. ‘How dare you assume to give them orders! This is my house and you are a guest in it.’ She turned on her heel. ‘If you insist upon remaining here without Christina, instead of taking yourself off to reside at the local tavern as any gentleman worthy of the name would, then you leave me with no choice but to go to Beranger Court until Christina returns. There we will resolve this problem—the problem that is you—once and for all.’
Miranda knew that her anger had made her incautious and that she should have tempered her words but, perdition, she’d had enough! If he realised that she wasn’t going to be a pushover, perhaps he would rethink his strategy. He moved from his chair with lightning speed and caught her wrist in a painful grasp.
‘Let go of me!’ She tried to snatch her wrist back but only succeeded in making him tighten his hold on her. ‘You’re hurting me.’
‘Then stop struggling. I have been trying to talk to you for days and you have been avoiding me.’
‘We talk all the time,’ Miranda said, conscious of her heart hammering against her ribcage.
‘Sit down, Miranda.’ He let her wrist go. ‘I apologise. I don’t want to hurt you.’
‘Then what do you want?’ she asked with an imperious toss of her head.
‘You’ve grown up,’ he said, his tone softly persuasive.
‘How very observant of you,’ she replied loftily. ‘People tend to, as time passes. But what is that to do with anything?’
‘You are vulnerable. A young, attractive woman in your position needs protecting.’
Miranda let out a hollow laugh. ‘If I do, I certainly don’t need you to do the protecting.’
‘I rather like you when you show spirit,’ Matthew said quietly, as though talking to himself. ‘Maybe this won’t be so dull after all.’
‘What won’t be dull?’
‘You and I, together.’
Miranda stood. ‘You’re talking in riddles. Have you been at my whisky so early in the day?’
‘No, you little goose. I’m trying to pay you a compliment by expressing my admiration for you. And my undying love.’
‘Good grief, you have been imbibing.’ She turned away from him, arms folded across her chest. ‘You don’t love me. You’ve never loved anyone in your entire life, other than yourself.’
‘Nonsense. I have grown very fond of you over the years. More than fond. I see the way that other men look at you. You need protecting from them. All they care about is your fortune.’
Miranda laughed aloud. ‘And you do not?’
‘Stop playing games,’ Matthew said, an edge to his voice. He grasped her shoulders and turned her to face him, his expression starkly, dangerously determined. Miranda felt fear slither through her stomach like a snake. He and Christina had planned this interlude, and Miranda, preoccupied with thoughts of Charlie and Evita’s arrival, had foolishly not suspected a thing. ‘I am trying to ask you to marry me, but you aren’t making it easy for me.’
‘I beg your pardon for being so disobliging.’ Miranda twisted her shoulders, forcing his hands from them. They dropped to his sides and he clenched his fists. ‘However, you have asked and now I shall politely decline. Thank you for your proposal, Matthew, but we would not suit. Under the circumstances, I think it wiser if you move out of my house and find somewhere else to live. Join Philip in London. Your family has premises there and I dare say there is plenty of work available for a man with your abilities.’
Matthew’s features simmered with rage. ‘Don’t imagine that any of your aristocratic neighbours will make you an offer, if that is what you are holding out in the hope of receiving,’ he replied scathingly. ‘They only marry into their own class.’
‘Unlike you, I am not fixated on the possibility of matrimony. Now please leave before this situation becomes even more embarrassing.’ She paused, offering him the opportunity to withdraw with the remnants of his dignity intact. When he continued to fix her with a menacing stare, she went on the offensive in an effort to disguise her growing anxiety. ‘If you do not go then I will. There is nothing you can say to make me agree to marry you. I don’t even like you very much, but it will serve no useful purpose to tell you what I really think of you.’
‘You little tease!’ He grasped her upper arm hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. ‘Don’t you realise how much danger you are in? Have you forgotten what happened to your fool of a father?’<
br />
‘The only mistake my father ever made was to fall for Christina’s toxic charm,’ Miranda replied, too angry and afraid to temper her words. ‘Is that what will happen to me, Matthew? If I don’t agree to marry you and give up my fortune, will I meet with an unfortunate end, too?’
His eyes gleamed with an evil intent that truly terrified her. And something else, too. Lust, she realised. He found her resistance arousing. Unless she agreed to his terms, he actually would force himself upon her. ‘You are not as silly as I thought,’ he said contemplatively. ‘Clearly, I have underestimated you.’
Miranda wanted to forget about her dignity and about giving Matthew a long overdue trimming. Instead she felt an urgent need to lift her skirts and run, as far and as fast as possible. But he held her arm in a vicelike grip that she would never be able to break. She looked up at him, unable to disguise her fear, realising when it was too late to change anything that she ought not to have deliberately taunted him. Arrogant men like Matthew Cooper didn’t take kindly to having their deficiencies highlighted.
He flashed an evil smile, aware that he had her at his complete mercy. They were alone in the house and Miranda didn’t have the strength to fight him off. She accepted, with a sinking heart, that there was absolutely nothing she could do to stop him taking as many liberties with her as he liked.
*
Flora was pleased with the improvement she saw in the countess’s health that morning. She appeared to be almost completely recovered and was in a cantankerous frame of mind, requiring Flora to keep her wits about her. She so enjoyed their little battles of will. Flora was able to persuade her to take a short, painfully slow stroll in the grounds prior to luncheon. They observed Evita being led from the estate by a groom on horseback.
‘I do hope Miranda enjoys her,’ Flora said, watching the Arabian leave.
‘I dare say my grandson will be happy to help them become attuned to one another,’ the countess replied, confirming Flora’s conviction that she was a good deal more astute than most people gave her credit for.
A Sense of Purpose Page 21