“Go talk with your wife, Carter. Talk with her. Not to her. Not at her.”
A flicker of hope started in his heart, but with it came the ever-present uncertainty. “I don’t think she is ready to discuss the past, Adèle. I don’t think I’m ready.”
She was already shaking her head. “Just speak, Carter. Don’t try jumping directly to the most sensitive topics. Keep to casual subjects. Ask after her day, what she is thinking about. Ask her if she enjoyed her breakfast, if she’s read a book lately that she liked. Simply be friendly.” Adèle’s look was empathetic and encouraging. “Give her a chance to feel safe with you. Give her a chance to see that you do not mean her harm.”
“Earn back her trust.” Carter pushed out a tense breath. “That is not as easy as you make it sound.”
“I didn’t mean to make it sound easy.”
Talk with her. Easy topics. Friendly conversation. The instructions repeated like a mantra in his mind as he pushed himself in the direction of Miranda’s sitting room. He could talk of mundane things, surely. He wasn’t ready to bring up their separation or ask difficult questions. But they could have an unexceptional conversation about the weather or something equally neutral. If she would let him.
He stood a moment outside the door of her sitting room. Just talk. Innocuous topics. You can do that. After a quick, silent bout of reassurance, he pushed open the slightly ajar door and leaned a bit inside.
Miranda sat on the chaise longue, one of her small blankets over her lap. Her mouth was pulled tight, her eyes fully focused on her sewing.
Light topics, he reminded himself.
She looked up in the next moment. He fancied he could actually see her fortifications going up. “Yes, Carter? Did you need something?”
The warmth and friendliness they’d shared that morning had disappeared entirely. He missed it and wanted to regain some of the ground he’d lost.
“Would you let me join you?”
Her lips turned down in a frown, and her brows pulled in. “Join me? I am not doing anything that could possibly be of interest to you.”
She wasn’t exactly being encouraging. You haven’t exactly given her reason to be.
“I only want to spend some time with you.” He pushed ahead before she could raise any further objections. “Like you said earlier, we had been doing better. There was peace and friendliness between us again. I’d like to go back to that point.”
“I can’t.” Her look was unwavering. “Not if you’re—”
“I won’t lose my temper again, I promise.” He moved quickly to the chair near her. He sat, hoping she wouldn’t toss him out on his ear. “No difficult topics, no tense conversations,” he said. “Just the two of us being friends.”
“Do you think we can be?” she asked.
“I’d like to try.” But the declaration didn’t feel quite accurate. He did want to try to be her friend again, but he wanted something else as well. Did he want their marriage back? Did he want her to explain the past years? Beg his forgiveness? Say she still loved him? Maybe he wanted all those things.
“So you will try to be kind and patient with me, and I will try to be kind and patient with you?”
That was as good a place to start as any. “We’ll work on that for now,” he said, “and not worry about the rest of it yet.”
He watched for some sign of agreement. She didn’t seem convinced. After a long moment, she gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
Kind and patient, he reminded himself. Work at being friends.
“Is that blanket for a particular child?” he asked.
“The Garretts, one of the tenant families, are expecting a new addition in the next few months.”
“You make blankets for all of the tenant children?”
Miranda nodded, her gaze returning to the blanket she was working on. “I have even made them for the older children. They seem to enjoy having something of their own.”
“Do you enjoy making them?” He hoped she heard in his voice a sincere desire to talk with her and not any criticism there. Would they ever reach a point when they weren’t walking on eggshells around each other?
“I do,” she answered. “I like to sew, but I also love knowing I’ve brightened their lives in some small way.”
Perhaps that was why she returned to Clifton Manor so often or stayed so long—she had grown fond of the estate’s children. “From what I saw of the Miltons’ children, the little ones adore you.”
She gave him the most fleeting smile. “They are very loving.”
He almost turned coward but, in the end, decided to voice his thought. “You are very loving yourself, Miranda.”
A telltale patch of pink touched her cheeks. That was very encouraging.
“I meant to compliment the pear compote you served at dinner the other night. It was nearly as good as what we used to have in Wiltshire.”
That brought her wide, surprised eyes to his. “You remembered?”
“I thought you were going to faint the first time you ever had it.” He smiled at the memory. “Our cook was so flattered by your undying devotion to the dish, she made it every night for weeks.”
That brought Miranda’s sweet smile to the surface again. “Those were happy times,” she said with a sigh. The moment the words left her mouth, she held up her hands in protest. “But I don’t want to talk about—”
He reached over and set his hand on hers, squeezing her fingers. “I promised no difficult topics, and I meant it.”
Relief and gratitude settled over her features. He smiled at her. She seemed to soften. He had thoroughly bungled his last encounter with her. He was relieved to see he was doing better this time.
“Is there anything I can do for you, Miranda?”
“Perhaps you could plan another excursion,” she said.
“Do you really want me to?” He hoped she did. Wanting to spend time with him was a good sign. “Because I would like that very much.”
The depth of his sincerity surprised him. Did she have any idea how vulnerable he felt asking her to spend time with him? Miranda didn’t answer immediately. She looked terribly uncertain.
“There is a little more than a week left of this house party, Miranda.” Carter took her hands in each of his. “Will you spend it with me? I want to see if we can find some common ground again. And if, by the end of the party, we can find something worth working for, then I want to at least try.”
“Try for what, exactly?” Miranda’s words broke with uncertainty.
How should he answer that? He didn’t know quite what he was reaching for himself.
“Try to find the friendship we once had,” Carter answered. “And if we can manage that, maybe we can even find a way to be more. If not, at least we’ll know.”
She watched him closely, not offering any clues to her feelings.
“Can you trust me enough to take that first step?” If she said no, he didn’t know how he would pull himself up off the floor. He wasn’t sure they still had a future together, but he had to try.
She took a deep breath. He attempted to sort out the sound of it. Was it a tense breath? A frustrated one?
“I can try,” she said.
For a moment, Carter was too stunned to reply. He quickly pulled himself together. She’d made no promises, no apologies. She’d offered no explanations. But she had given him a chance.
“Thank you, Miranda,” he whispered and sealed their bargain with a brief, affectionate kiss on her hand. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have an excursion to plan.”
“You are serious, then?” She looked adorably, heart-achingly hopeful.
“Entirely serious.”
There was still a spark there after all. She wasn’t ready to speak of the past yet. Based on the way he’d snapped at her earlier that day, he wasn’t entirely prepared for the topic yet himself. So he would work on the friendship and regaining her trust, perhaps even a bit of her affection.
Chapter Fourteen
“ARE WE NEARLY THERE?” MIRANDA asked, riding double with Carter as he led his roan mare along the moonlit, narrow coastal lane.
Carter congratulated himself on piquing her curiosity. They’d only been out on their early morning ride for a quarter of an hour, and she already seemed to be enjoying herself. He was enjoying riding with an arm around her. Even during those early months of their marriage, she had never ridden up with him. Carter found he liked it very much.
“A few minutes more is all.” He kept the horse at a slow walk. The full moon made his path visible but barely. “You aren’t too cold, are you?”
“Wrapped as tightly as I am?” she asked with a hint of laughter in her voice.
Carter looked down at her. From a distance, she would no doubt appear to be nothing more than a roll of blankets wearing a bonnet. Carter tightened his arm around her waist, or what he thought was probably her waist beneath the thick quilt he’d wound around her before they’d left on this, their latest excursion.
Four days had passed since he’d first asked permission to work at regaining her friendship. He felt confident he was having some success.
Two evenings after their walk to the Miltons’, they, along with the assembled guests, had undertaken a game of charades. Carter had made quite sure he and Miranda were paired and had found they worked well as a team, both in identifying their fellow participants’ portrayals and in constructing their own. She’d even allowed him to hold her hand as they’d watched the evening’s offerings.
They, Perce and Lady Percival, and Hartley and Adèle and the children, had spent the previous afternoon engaged in a highly competitive game of bowls. Miranda’s grandfather, while not openly disapproving of the activity, had watched her closely as if expecting something horrible to happen. Carter came close to gloating as the activity drew to a close, and Miranda not only hadn’t come to any harm but seemed also to have enjoyed herself.
They didn’t speak of their past, didn’t address the pain that still sat between them, but they were making progress.
She was less nervous with him than she’d been when he’d first arrived. They were sharing laughter and smiles. He was that much closer to earning back her trust. And she, he was beginning to admit to himself, was quickly regaining ownership of his heart.
“The sea is so much louder in the dark.” Miranda sounded a little anxious.
Carter didn’t need any further encouragement. He pulled her closer. “I think that is because the rest of the world is quieter.”
“Do you know how far we are from the house?” Miranda leaned her head against him.
“I know precisely how far from the house we are.” Carter pulled his mare to a stand. “In fact, we are as far as I plan to go.”
He felt Miranda sit up a little and watched her bonnet move from side to side; she was obviously trying to decide why he’d brought her here to the edges of the Clifton Manor grounds, with not a single outbuilding in sight.
“Trust me, my dear,” he said softly.
Carter dismounted then held his arms up for her. She slid off the horse and into his outstretched arms, darkness making her tentative smile all but invisible. Carter pulled her blanket more snugly around her shoulders once more then took one more blanket from the saddlebag.
“Down this way.” Carter guided her in the direction of the shore. He’d scouted this location out the morning before, deeming it perfect for this excursion.
Carter kept an arm around her as they walked, knowing she was at a disadvantage: arms tied down by the blanket, walking in unfamiliar terrain in light that was dim at best. But she went without hesitation, leaning a little against him as they walked.
A salty, moist breeze blew in off the sea, chilled as expected for January. He hoped Miranda would be warm enough, hoped his idea didn’t prove a disastrous one. It had seemed very—his Oxford friends would laugh to know he’d even thought the word—romantic when he’d dreamed up this outing. Now, he wasn’t so sure.
“Look, Carter. The moon.”
Carter automatically looked up but quickly realized Miranda was looking out over the waves, where a trail of silvery light cut across the water, rising and falling with the rhythm of the sea. Carter hadn’t planned on the moon helping his cause, but he wasn’t one to discard an unforeseen gift.
“Beautiful, Miranda.” He squeezed her shoulders before stepping a little away from her to spread the blanket on the grass overlooking the surf below. He was grateful they hadn’t had rain the past two days—the ground was dry.
“A picnic?” Miranda eyed the ground doubtfully.
“Not exactly. There’s something I want you to see, and I think this would be an ideal place to see it.”
She sat on the blanket, and Carter sank down beside her. “You are being very mysterious this morning.”
Carter shrugged. “Keeping a secret requires a certain air of mystery.”
“Then you still are not going to tell me why we’ve come?” Miranda untied her bonnet and laid it on the blanket beside her.
“Your head will be cold,” Carter warned, feeling the chill against his face.
“And your entire body will be cold if we sit here long,” she replied. Then, as if suddenly reaching a decision, she rose back up so she was kneeling and unwrapped the blanket wound protectively around her shoulders.
“Miranda, that coat is not sufficient—”
“Neither is yours.” She reached to pull one end of the blanket around his shoulders, keeping the other around her own. “We will have to sit close—the blanket is not very large.” She sounded as if she expected him to object.
Object to sitting close beside her? Apparently he hadn’t made the progress he thought he had. He put his arm around her shoulders and took hold of the far corner of the blanket, pulling it closed around them both, Miranda in his arms. No. He had absolutely no objections.
“Which way should I be facing for this mysterious surprise of yours?” Miranda asked.
With some disappointment Carter realized she sounded nervous. He had hoped this would be an enjoyable, relaxing time for them to get to know each other again, a chance to be together, just the two of them. But she was still not entirely comfortable with him.
Carter supposed that was understandable, considering their history. It didn’t make it any less frustrating.
“Out over the water,” he instructed softly.
She was sitting with him, not running away or objecting. And she was allowing him to hold her in his arms, under the pretense of sharing a blanket, but she was there just the same. That was a good sign, wasn’t it?
“I think I do need a warmer coat, Carter,” Miranda said, and he felt her curl up beside him.
“Are you cold?” She was going to freeze on account of this ill-conceived excursion.
“No. But I would be horridly cold without your greatcoat.”
“Then I am grateful I decided to bring it with me to Dorset.”
“And I am grateful you decided to come to Dorset, coat or not.”
“So am I, Miranda.” Carter leaned the side of his face lightly against the top of her head, content for the moment just to sit. One step at a time, he reminded himself. He would win her back a moment at a time. “Now watch out across the Channel. This is what we came to see.”
They sat silently as the minutes passed, watching the water take on the faint lavenders and corals of sunrise. Around them, the air was dim and still as day touched the waves.
“There is a frigate out there,” Miranda said, her eyes cast across the waters. “British.”
“When did you become an expert in ships, Miranda?” Carter squinted at the horizon and the distinct silhouette of a warship. He’d meant the response to be teasing, but he felt Miranda shiver beside him and, considering the warmth inside their engineered cocoon, he didn’t think it was from the cold.
“Trafalgar,” she whispered.
Trafalgar? The naval battle fought on the other side of Spain over two yea
rs earlier? “I don’t understand, my dear.”
“Everyone along the coast knew Napoleon was attempting to seize control of the Channel,” Miranda said quietly, tensely. “Until we received word of Nelson’s victory at Trafalgar, we couldn’t be certain we were safe from invasion.”
“So you learned to identify warships?”
“We would have gone inland as quickly as possible if anyone spotted a French vessel—not that they were likely to announce their presence obviously. I was worried, a little afraid. But I decided if I could learn to tell the difference between a fishing vessel and a warship, between the British line and the French, I would feel more at ease.”
“Did it work?” Carter’s stomach knotted at the thought of her searching the horizon, poised to flee from danger. And where had he been all that time? In London, oblivious. Even if she had turned her back on him, had refused contact with him, he ought not to have given up so easily.
“A little,” Miranda answered in that quiet voice Carter had come to recognize was a sign she was forcing back a memory she’d rather not face. “Except when I couldn’t identify a ship. Then, of course, I began to think of all the worst possibilities.”
He could easily imagine. There had been some level of panic even in Parliament over the possibility of a French sea-based invasion. The feeling must have been almost suffocating on the vulnerable English coast.
Carter held her tighter. “I should have been here with you,” he muttered as much to himself as her.
“Yes, you should have,” she whispered in reply.
They sat, not speaking, as the sun inched above the horizon, a haze settling around them, lit by the first rays of dawn. It was every bit as colorful and romantic a sight as he could have hoped. But the weight of her recollections and his neglect hung in the air between them. Carter wanted to bridge that gap, but he wasn’t sure how. He couldn’t summon up the words to explain what had kept him away for so long and couldn’t begin to express the uncertainty that had plagued him every time his inquiries were thrust back at him unwanted.
Carter felt Miranda shift. He kept his arms around her, hoping she wasn’t going to leave or rebuff him now. But she didn’t squirm or inch away. She turned at his side to face him, looking up into his face.
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