Wintersbride

by Sara Seale

  "But I do not understand. I called and called and so did Nancy," she said, bewildered.

  "She heard you calling, but she was in a cupboard hiding a surprise for you and didn't want to give it away."

  She began to laugh a little wildly and he gave her cheek a sharp slap.

  "It's nothing to be amused about," he said harshly. "What possessed you to rush off like that and give me the worst half hour I've ever spent in my life? You might have guessed it was only you that crazy woman wanted to frighten. Now, let's get out of this damnable place."

  She followed him in silence back to the road, but in the car, Adam drew her against his breast in the darkness and she felt, with surprise, his strong hands tremble as they touched her face.

  "Sorry I had to be rough with you," he said. "You'd had a shock."

  He did not speak anymore, but held her hard against him while the car made the short journey home, and it was Nanny Coker who took her away from Adam as soon as they reached the house.

  "A tray?" Miranda said with disgust as Nanny told her that dining downstairs was forbidden tonight. "But I am not ill, Nanny."

  "That's as maybe, m'dear, but master says a tray upstairs and keep warm by the fire. He'll be up later to give you an over­haul."

  Miranda grimaced.

  "He has the most clinical of minds, even at moments like this, that one," she said, and Nanny's eyes twinkled suddenly.

  "There's no telling but what he doesn't need time to pull himself together," she said. "You'm not the only one to be upset today, let me tell you, Miss Miranda, and my advice to you is allow a gentleman to court you in his own fashion however daft it may seem."

  Miranda laughed.

  "And you think a stethoscope and thermometer are signs of tender devotion?" she asked.

  "Well," replied Nanny, not to be daunted, "I don't doubt but the poor gentleman is out of practice."

  Nanny lingered while Miranda put on a long velvet housecoat in which to partake of her solitary dinner, and while she sat brushing her hair Nanny chatted of her plans for Fay.

  "School later on to rub the corners off and in the meantime the child must get to know her father… We'll soon have her out of that nasty schoolroom and move her to somewhere brighter—the old nursery, perhaps, until it's needed again…"

  "It may never be needed, Nanny," said Miranda quietly. But Ellen Coker took no notice of this remark and went straight on with her own conversation while she drew a low table up to the fire in readiness for Miranda's supper and placed a chair in position.

  "Nanny—has he changed much?" Miranda asked suddenly.

  Nanny straightened her back and looked into the fire.

  "Well, yes, m'dear—he's older, of course, but he shouldn't look the way he does with a young bride to make him young again."

  "He works too hard," Miranda said. "Was he—was he always so—professional—so hard to know?"

  Nanny Coker came and stood behind her, looking into the young, troubled eyes reflected in the glass.

  "What are you trying to ask me, m'dear?" she said.

  Miranda sighed.

  "I do not quite know. You see, he makes me feel that to be young is—not enough. I cannot catch up with him."

  "Too old for you, is he, like they all say?" said Nanny calmly, and Miranda turned swiftly from the mirror to catch at her hands.

  "No, no—it is I who am too young, and so he will not see me as I am," she cried.

  "Then," said Nanny reasonably, "you must make un." She smiled suddenly, her soft skin puckering into many tiny wrink­les. "He isn't as blind as you make out, m'dear, but he's got a lot of daft notions like the gentry sometimes get and call it chivalry or some such highfalutin name. Fair mazed with fear he was when he heard where you'd gone this evening. Didn't he thank the good God you were safe when he found you?"

  "No, he slapped me," said Miranda, and Ellen Coker gave a broad smile.

  "And so I should hope leading 'ee a dance like that!" she retorted. "As if his hair wasn't gray enough already without you adding to it! Now, here's Nancy with your supper tray and you eat every bit of it or it wouldn't surprise me if you don't get slapped again."

  Adam came upstairs soon after Nancy had cleared away the supper things.

  "How do you feel now?" he asked.

  "Very well," she replied sedately. "Have you a stethoscope in your pocket?"

  He smiled.

  "Yes, Nanny warned me that you might not care for a consulting-room manner," he said imperturbably. "However, you will have to humor my peculiarity later on, I'm afraid. I like to keep an eye on that heart of yours."

  "My heart," she said a little plaintively, "needs other treat­ment, I think. Your stethoscope is not infallible."

  His eyebrows rose.

  "Indeed? You will have to enlarge my medical knowledge for me, then. My stethoscope has been my only guide so far."

  She looked at him under her lashes and was all at once rather shy of him. Was he, she wondered with surprise, flirting with her a little in his dry, deceptive fashion? But the next moment he added, with gentle mockery, "It's not very romantic to be married to a surgeon, is it, Miranda?"

  "But I have told you, Adam, I am not at all romantic."

  "Aren't you? What a pity."

  She gave him a startled glance.

  "But that is what you liked to hear," she said.

  His voice was suitably grave as he replied, "Quite correct. You do well to remind me."

  They sat by the fire in a fitful silence while they drank their coffee.

  "Did Nanny take much persuading to come back?" she asked, to break the silence.

  "No," he replied, setting down his empty cup. "As you said, she bore no grudge, the remarkable woman. Also, she seemed to think she was needed here for your sake as much as Fay's."

  "For me?"

  "She told me you needed looking after properly. She seems to have taken a fancy to you."

  "Oh!"

  "Don't I look after you properly, Miranda?"

  She met his eyes gravely.

  "But you are of the most attentive, always," she replied. "Examinations, thermometers—"

  "And stethoscopes—I know, but I don't think that's quite what Nanny meant."

  He took the empty cup from her and then moved the coffee tray to another part of the room.

  "I think, Miranda," he said quietly, "you and I had better have a little talk."

  He came and stood with his back to the fire, looking down at her. All at once she found it difficult to meet his eyes.

  "Yes, Adam," she said in a small voice.

  "Don't you think we ought to straighten out this marriage of ours once and for all?"

  Dismay touched her. She remembered that other night, when he had been on the point of offering her back her freedom. Had he, she wondered, become fond enough of her to have acquired the chivalrous notions that Nanny had said the gentry were prone to, or did he perhaps feel now that his child's affection might be given back to him, his hasty marriage was no longer necessary?

  Watching her, he misunderstood the dismay in her eyes and said a little grimly, "You don't find me such an ogre, do you, my dear?"

  "Oh, no, no!" she said quickly.

  "Well, I'm glad to hear it, because the time has come when I think we should make the best of things, and put our marriage on a normal basis."

  She did not answer and he went on, examining his well-kept hands with careful attention.

  "I'm fully aware that the terms of our bargain didn't include a—closer relationship between us, but I had an idea at one time that such a relationship wouldn't have been altogether distaste­ful to you. I—circumstances that I should have had the sense to ignore caused me to handle the situation badly and for that I apologize and also for my attitude toward young Morel."

  He stopped speaking abruptly and seemed to be waiting for her to reply, but she felt helpless in the face of such an academic diagnosis. Did he want her, she thought unhappily, or was he in
his stiff fashion offering amends for his inability to love her?

  She left her chair by the fire and went and stood by one of the windows with her back to him and drew back the curtains. It was a lovely night.

  Adam said, a little sadly, "Have I misunderstood you too greatly to retrieve anything from this sorry business?"

  "No," she said from the window. "I did not expect under­standing from you, Adam. You had so many problems and— Wintersbride is not a very happy house, I think."

  "You've never liked it, have you?"

  "It's a sad name."

  "And an appropriate name for you, you're thinking? Yes, my dear, I'm afraid you're right. I'm too old for you. Is it your freedom that you really want, Miranda?"

  She still did not turn from the window, and he thought there were tears in her voice as she said, "You do not understand anything at all. Please put out the light, Adam. I will have more courage in the dark to say the things I must."

  He switched off all the lights, but the room was not in darkness. Firelight flickered warmly on the walls and ceiling, and by the window Miranda stood in a patch of moonlight, looking very small and alone.

  Adam came and stood behind her, drawing her head back gently against him.

  "You don't need courage to tell me the truth," he said. "I will understand, you know, if, after all, you cannot give me what I want. Believe me I only desire your happiness—what­ever way that may lie."

  "Oh, you are so stupid—so very, very stupid!" she cried and turned suddenly into his arms in a storm of tears.

  "Darling, don't…" he said, his face twisted with concern. "I know I'm stupid over these matters, but you have only to tell me what you want… Tell me, for heaven's sake, and even if it means releasing you from our crazy contract, I'll do it… Only don't wring my heart like this."

  For the first time she was aware of the pain in his voice and of the warmth and protection that at last flowed from him unchecked. Her hands groped blindly for his shoulders and met and clasped tightly behind his neck.

  "Adam… I cannot any longer pretend…" she wept, "I am not p-practical as I told you… I am romantic, hélas, and I will not mind the house or anything if only you will let me love you a little… I do not even care anymore that perhaps you cannot love me, and if what you were offering is only because you are a man and I to you am at last a woman, I do not mind that, either, if you will let me love you…"

  He looked down at her bowed head upon his breast, and gathered her closer against him.

  "But what are you telling me, child?" he demanded harshly. "I never for a moment imagined, or even hoped—Miranda, are you trying to tell me that you love me?"

  She lifted her face then, and her eyes, unable any longer to hide what was in her heart, looked into his.

  "But of course," she said. "I could not help it, after all, and I am afraid I do not care any longer if you should be embarrassed, Adam."

  His mouth closed on hers, tenderly at first, then with increas­ing urgency, and he picked her up and carried her back to the fire.

  She leaned against him, a little shaken, and said, rubbing the tears from her lashes, "Then you are not embarrassed, Adam?"

  He laughed and put a hand under her chin, lifting her face to his again.

  "My darling child, what do you think I've been trying to tell you all evening?" he asked with tender humor. "Did you think I had only a professional interest in setting our affairs right?"

  "You did not put your case very well," she said. "Nanny perhaps was right. She said you would be out of practice."

  He suddenly knelt beside her in the firelight and took her face between his hands.

  "Miranda—I told you that you would find me humble if you would only try," he said. "I feel very humble now, my darling, for I don't think I've yet made you understand how much I love you."

  "But yes," she replied with a little smile. "For I do not think you would kiss me like that just to please me." The firelight sparkled on his frosty hair and she drew his head against her breast…

  A long time later he said, "And what of Wintersbride, Miranda? Shall we get rid of the place and start afresh, or shall we keep it and—allow the name to be salutary lesson for us both?"

  Miranda rested against his shoulder, her eyes already heavy with sleep, and considered. Wintersbride, with its blind shut­ters, its air of secrecy and its sad link with the past… could it ever be home? Yet home was where the heart was, so Nanny would tell her, and had not a house a right to happiness, too?

  She turned her head more comfortably into the crook of Adam's shoulder and reached up a hand to touch his face.

  "Let us keep it," she said sleepily. "It has a nursery that will be most convenient."