A Sense of Purpose

by Soliman, Wendy

  Chapter Nineteen

  It was two weeks after the confrontation at Ashton Lodge, and Christina and Philip Cooper were in custody awaiting trial. When Christina’s appeals for Miranda’s intervention fell on deaf ears, she turned on Philip, blaming everything on him. He returned the favour by claiming that Christina was the actual mastermind.

  ‘So much for a love match,’ the countess grumbled when Flora told her the news.

  ‘We shall not think about anything unpleasant for now. It’s Emma’s wedding day, the weather is perfect since it wouldn’t dare to be anything else, and we shall not spoil the occasion with distasteful recollections.’

  It wasn’t only the weather that was perfect, Flora thought, as she sat in the front pew beside the countess and three of her four grandsons, turning to watch a radiant Emma make her way slowly down the aisle on Luke’s arm. Her bridegroom turned to watch her progress too, a look of absolute admiration in his eyes. Paul Dalton, his best man, and the rest of the congregation gave a collective sigh.

  ‘Emma will be so pleased that the ceremony is going off without a hitch,’ Flora whispered to the countess. ‘You know how important the little things are to her.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Flora blinked when she noticed tears in the old lady’s eyes as the bride reached the altar but paused to dip a curtsey to the countess; an acknowledgment of her status. ‘For what? What did I do?’

  ‘You know very well.’ She nodded towards the bride in her lovely white gown, festooned with curling turquoise ribbons.

  ‘Oh that. That was Emma’s idea.’

  The old lady looked at her and shook her head, not deceived.

  The Marquess of Felsham had introduced his disabled nephew and heir to London society, amidst a flurry of speculation. No one had guessed the truth, Flora knew. Archie Hardwick now sat immediately behind her in the church. She glanced over her shoulder and he winked at her. But Flora noticed a faraway expression in his eye. It was obvious that he was pleased to be back in England and amongst his friends. Whether he regretted the activities that had necessitated the deception regarding his true identity was less certain. Flora hoped she would get to know him better and then be in a position to decide.

  She returned her attention to the happy couple as they exchanged their vows, thinking that she would never forget this day and the complex events that had led up to it. Thinking she had seldom felt more contented in her entire life. She impulsively covered the dowager’s hand with her own, pretending not to notice the tears in her eyes as Alvin Watson slipped the ring onto his bride’s finger.

  *

  Miranda felt as though she was a stranger, watching the guests milling about Beranger Court and enjoying the wedding breakfast as if she was one step removed from the reality of the event. Everything about the day had been lovely. Everything in her life was now idyllic and she had no right to feel dissatisfied. She and Daley were comfortably ensconced at Ashton Lodge, Mr Fenchurch was ensuring that Christina would have no further control over her affairs, even if she somehow escaped the noose, and she had the freedom to please herself.

  She would be the happiest creature in the world, but for the fact that today was the first time she’d seen Charlie since that terrible day when Matthew had so foolishly tried to force himself upon both her and then Flora.

  And he had barely said two words to her.

  She understood now that her aspirations had been in vain, and tried not to feel too bitterly disappointed. It was not as though he had crossed any boundaries, broken any promises or given her the slightest reason to hope. In his eyes she was still another sister in need of his protection, and he had supplied that service with generosity of spirit in her time of greatest need.

  She listened to the speeches, drank to the couple’s happiness and then wandered outside, in need of a moment to herself. But it wasn’t to be. She sensed a presence behind her and gasped when she turned to find that Charlie had followed her.

  ‘How are you?’ he asked.

  She was tempted to snap at him, demanding to know why he thought he had the right to ask. If he cared that much about her, he would have called at Ashton Lodge and enquired after her health and wellbeing. But of course, he had every right. It was partly thanks to him that everything had turned out so well.

  But it was mostly thanks to Flora.

  ‘I am very well, thank you.’ She treated him to a sunny smile in the hope that it would disguise signs of her fragmented heart. ‘It was a lovely service, was it not? Your sister looked radiant.’

  ‘As all brides should. As, I hope, you will.’

  ‘Me?’ Miranda fixed him with a bemused look, dying a little inside when she gazed into those intelligent hazel eyes and looked upon rugged features that…well, featured in every single one of her dreams. ‘I am not getting married.’

  He sent her a softly intimate smile that caused her breath to catch in her throat as he took her hand in his. ‘I rather hoped I might tempt you into changing your mind.’

  ‘Changing my mind?’ Miranda shook her head. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I’m making a clumsy effort at proposing,’ he replied, looking endearingly unsure of himself. ‘I am very much in love with you and—’

  ‘You are?’ She sent him a wide-eyed look of disbelief.

  ‘I thought you might have noticed.’

  ‘And I thought you still looked upon me as Emma’s annoying partner in mischief.’

  ‘I stopped thinking of you in that way the first time I saw you, all grown up and independent, when you returned from France.’

  She blinked up at him, convinced that she had misunderstood him because he had just articulated the words she’d given up all hope of hearing him address to her. ‘You might have said something.’

  ‘How could I? You had those dreadful Coopers pursuing you for all the wrong reasons. The last thing you needed was another fortune-hunter making a nuisance of himself.’

  She snatched her hand from his grasp, her disappointment palpable. ‘You are after my fortune, too?’ She shook her head and turned away from him to hide the tears that had sprung to her eyes. ‘Well, at least you have the good grace to admit it.’

  ‘No, you goose, that’s the last thing I want from you.’ He placed a long finger beneath her chin and turned it until she was compelled to look at him again. ‘And the reason why I didn’t declare myself sooner. Most men would view your fortune as an added incentive. I saw it only as an impediment. Then you accidentally reminded me of the Married Women’s Property Act—’

  Miranda nodded. ‘I remember you smiling when I mentioned it, but didn’t realise the implications behind that smile.’

  ‘If you agree to marry me, it must be because you return my love, and you must also agree to keep control of your own fortune. I have no use for it.’

  She sent him a smile so wide that her face struggled to accommodate it. ‘I can gladly offer you my love and will agree to marry you with joy in my heart. But I cannot agree to your other term. When you become my husband, you will also control my fortune.’ She placed her hands on her hips and sent him a determined look. ‘Your grandmother is not the only one known for her stubbornness. I have no concerns about you managing our fortune, and trust you implicitly to know what is best to be done with it. That’s because I love you so very much, you see, and always have.’ She sent him a bewitching smile. ‘Well, what’s it to be?’

  ‘Infuriating wench!’ he cried, pulling her into his arms. ‘I can see that you are not going to make a biddable bride.’

  Miranda tried to assure him that he had got that entirely wrong but his lips covered hers as he kissed her with passion, and words no longer seemed important.

  The End

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  About the Author

  I hope you enjoyed A Sense of Purpose. If so, please take a moment to leave a brief review on Amazon. Reviews are an author’s lifeblood and the most effective way of building a reputation in an industry that’s full of good authors. Thank you! Feedback is always welcome. Contact me at:

  wendysoliman@rocketmail.com

  I was brought up on the Isle of Wight, off the Hampshire coast of southern England, surrounded by castles, stately homes and history at every turn. I must have unwittingly absorbed the historic atmosphere because I write mostly about bygone days, living vicariously alongside my strong heroes and independently-minded heroines.

  When not letting my imagination flow over a hot keyboard I spend my time walking my beloved dog – a rescued mutt of indeterminate pedigree – and make half-hearted efforts to hold back the years through regular visits to the gym.

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