by Mary Birk
“Just because your life didn’t turn out like you wanted, doesn’t mean you have to try to spoil my happiness.” She felt her temper rising. She didn’t know what she would have done without her brother for comfort all these years. Her mother had turned into a different person during the divorce and for some time afterwards: immersed in a social life of parties and travel that included Rafe but excluded Rodney and her. Then, she’d seemed to get tired of it and settle down again, but it was too late. By then, Rodney and Miranda didn’t care if their mother spent time with them or not. They had each other.
“I wasn’t trying to spoil anything.” Her mother looked close to tears. Good. The bitch deserved to feel miserable.
“No? Well, you’re giving a fairly good imitation of it. Please do me the favor of leaving me alone. Just go.” In spite of her resolve to be calm, Miranda heard her voice get louder and begin to quake. She went over to the dressing table and started taking out her make-up and other toiletries from a small case. “I don’t need your advice. I’m going to tell Anne about Terrence and me. I’ll tell her she needs to leave right after the christening. She doesn’t need to stay and ruin all of Christmas and New Year’s for everyone.”
“For God’s sake, don’t do that. You’re not thinking rationally.”
Miranda narrowed her eyes at her mother. “Don’t you dare tell me what to do.”
“If you can’t promise to behave appropriately and stay away from Terrence and Anne until things are sorted out, I’ll tell Terrence about what happened.”
“Don’t you dare interfere in my life. This is none of your business.”
“It is my business. You’re my daughter, and these are my friends. This situation is untenable.”
Miranda tossed her hair back. “Just stay out of it.”
“I think it might be best if you left Dunbaryn before you do something that will embarrass not just you, but all of us.”
“You’re a hateful bitch.” Miranda’s heart was pounding out of control. “Get out of here.”
Her mother backed tentatively to the door and pulled it open. “I’m leaving. But think about what I said.”
Miranda grabbed a silver hairbrush from the dressing table, its weight heavy in her hand. “I hate you. If you tell Terrence anything, I’ll kill you!” Before she realized what she was doing, Miranda hurled the hairbrush toward her mother, missing her but hitting the open door jamb. The impact made a satisfyingly loud whack.
Miranda exhaled with relief after the door closed behind her mother.
In the quiet aftermath, she registered the sound of water hitting the bathroom floor. She rushed into the bathroom, and quickly turned the taps off from the overflowing bathtub. Grabbing towels to mop up the mess, she slipped, landing on her rear end. She put her face in her hands, and sitting on the wet floor in her panties and bra, let herself weep.
*****
Lady Flora quickly escaped out the door, just missing being hit by the hurled hairbrush. The door slammed behind her. Although she couldn’t help but be hurt by her daughter’s behavior, she should be used to Miranda’s tantrums by now. When she turned, she realized there’d been a witness to her daughter’s fury. A woman she hadn’t seen before, petite with a wildly pretty mane of red hair, had been exiting one of the rooms nearby when the hairbrush had been flung, and had witnessed Flora’s ignominious retreat from her daughter’s room. Mercifully, the young woman pretended not to notice the unpleasant scene, turned away, and let herself in the door of one of the other rooms. Flora wondered briefly who the woman was. Not Anne Michaels—she’d seen Anne before. One of the other guests, maybe one of Anne’s family. Splendid. Just splendid.
Flora went over to one of the sofas lining the upstairs hallway and sat down to collect herself before going back downstairs to join the others. She hadn’t seen Miranda have one of her angry spells for a long time. She’d hoped the young woman had outgrown them, learned to control herself as well as her reactions. Wasn’t that what all that therapy was supposed to do?
But she’d been deceiving herself. The only reason she hadn’t seen Miranda’s fury recently was because Miranda was living in Glasgow. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back on the wall. If Terrence was truly serious about Miranda this time, she’d have to warn him about Miranda’s instability. Not for the first time, she wondered if his previous relationship with her daughter had been as serious as Miranda had believed. Miranda had a way of seeing things in a totally different light than others did. There was reality, then there was Miranda-reality.
When did your children actually get old enough to not need you so much anymore? Even though Miranda professed otherwise, she was as needy now as she’d ever been. Maybe even more so.
From where she sat on the landing, Lady Flora heard the front door open and the sound of voices. She got up and hurried downstairs, smiling. Her youngest son had arrived.
Lady Flora held her arms around herself against the chill of the cold air rushing in through the open door where two young men still stood, stamping their feet to clean the snow off their shoes. They both had a dusting of snow all over them, and their cheeks were tinged with red from the cold. She tried to remember Lance’s friend’s name. Darryl, she thought.
“Lance, it’s so good to see you.” She embraced him, then turned to the other young man. “You must be Darryl. We’re so glad you were able to come.” She looked back and forth between the two of them. “You two could almost be twins.” It was true. Although Lance’s friend was a few years older, the two had the same slender build, and neck-long blond hair. Both of them looked fit, happy, and relaxed.
Taking each boy by one arm, she escorted them into the drawing room to introduce them around. “Darryl, don’t worry about remembering everyone’s name. Lance knows most of these people, so he can help you. There will be some new people here Lance doesn’t know, as well, so you’ll both be starting off at the same place, and you can help each other.”
“Darryl is good at remembering names, Mum. He’ll probably end up helping me.” Lance laughed and his friend smiled, displaying a mouth of beautiful teeth.
The lights had been slightly dimmed in the drawing room to allow the Christmas tree lights to take center stage, while soft instrumentals of Christmas carols could be heard in the background. The mountain of beautifully wrapped presents under the tree was a sight to behold. Lance had told her Darryl came from an entirely different kind of background from theirs; he’d been particularly anxious for his friend to see everything at its best. Flora could tell Lance’s guest was impressed by the grandeur of the castle’s main room. Juliette Reid’s Christmas preparations were on par with the best of them. The holidays didn’t get any more elegantly festive than this.
Darryl smiled as he looked around. “We’ll be fine. Lance is right, remembering names and faces is easy for me.”
Flora saw her husband across the room. His casual tweeds never looked casual on him, but his clothes were good and he wore them well. He looked like a solicitor at a holiday house party. Exactly what he was. In fact, he always looked like he knew what part he was supposed to play and dressed appropriately.
She went over to him and took his arm. “Excuse me, Charles, I need to take my husband away. Rafe, come see your son and meet his friend.” Her husband looked surprised, but allowed himself to be pulled from his conversation with the Earl. She hoped he wasn’t going to let on to Lance that they had already been warned about his marks from his proctor. They weren’t supposed to know yet, and she didn’t want her husband to ruin Christmas by arguing with Lance about his marks. She was hopeful her husband would bite his tongue while they were here. That discussion could definitely wait until they left Dunbaryn.
Rafe greeted Lance and allowed the boy to introduce his friend, but Flora could tell Rafe was still upset. She’d have to talk to him later about not overreacting to Lance’s grades. It was only the boy’s first term after all. She had a momentary flash of dismay as Rafe practically ignored Lanc
e’s friend, hardly even looking at him while murmuring a perfunctory greeting. Lance’s friend, however, didn’t seem to be insulted or bothered at all by her husband’s cool reception, but made a point of warmly shaking Rafe’s hand.
“Sir, I appreciate being included with your family for the holidays.”
Rafe, obviously surprised at the young man’s warmth, seemed to thaw immediately. He smiled at Darryl, saying some polite words in acknowledgement of the boy’s thanks.
Well done, Darryl Duggan, Flora thought. Not many strangers could get that reaction out of her reserved husband.
Chapter 11
“WOULD YOU ALL please join us in the dining room?” Following protocol, the Earl of Wynstrathe motioned for his guests to follow as he led Lady Flora into the formal dining hall of the castle. Behind them came Terrence Reid, carrying the baby in his basket in one hand and holding Lady Anne’s arm with the other.
George Greene watched his daughter avidly watching Reid. Could they be seeing each other again? He hoped not. The last time had been an unequivocal disaster for his daughter. But something was going on. He could tell from the jealously watchful look on his daughter’s face as Reid walked into the dining room with his wife.
George quickly went over to Miranda and offered her his arm to go into dinner.
Miranda smiled at him and accepted his arm. “Thank you, Daddy.”
“You look lovely as always.” Miranda did look nice. She wore a long black evening gown, made from a satiny material edged with lace following the contours of her shape. Black was her color, and she’d been blessed with a nice figure allowing her to wear clingy fabrics successfully.
“You look nice too, Daddy. New dinner jacket? Italian?”
He nodded. “I think I wore the last one out. But at least I didn’t outgrow it.” He smiled, putting his thumb in his waistband. “Not fat yet.”
“Not at all. You look younger and younger.”
They waited their turn to go in behind Rodney escorting Krystal, Dianne and Rick, and Pippa and her husband, Thomas. After George and his daughter came Lance and his friend with Anne’s sister in between the two of them. Last, as was customary, waiting for the rest of the guests, came their hostess, Lady Wynstrathe, escorted by Rafe Kensington.
George leaned over to his daughter and spoke quietly to her as they walked in. “I hope we’re seated near each other. I haven’t had a chance to talk to you in some time. I’ve called but you’ve been strangely busy.” He smiled at her teasingly.
Miranda smoothed back her hair and beamed at her father. “Yes, I have.”
“Anyone I know?”
She nodded, and indicated Terrence Reid with her head.
So, he’d been right. He raised his eyebrows, silently asking for more.
“I’ll tell you later, Daddy. In private.”
“I want to hear all about it.” George tried to act enthusiastic, but the news worried him. Married men were not the best bet for happiness for women who weren’t their wives. Even if the wife was out of sight. And this wife wasn’t out of sight; Lady Anne was right here smack in the middle of things.
“How about you? Who’s your current lady?” She smiled. “I’m thinking by now you must be into teenagers. You keep going for increasingly younger ladies.”
“No, I’m getting too old to have to keep up with those young ladies.”
“I hear you and Mum have been at it again.”
“What do you mean?” George almost swallowed his tongue in his surprise.
“Fighting over Greenebrae Lodge?”
“Oh, that. Don’t worry.” He winked at her. “Suffice it to say you and your brother’s interests are safe.” As they reached the table, he located the place cards indicating where they were to sit. “Look at this. It’s my lucky day. I’m seated right across from my lovely daughter. Best vantage point to admire you, my dear.” He held out her chair and then went around the table and sat down himself.
The table was elaborately decorated with festive arrangements of white roses with evergreen sprigs running down the center. The scent of the roses and the spruce boughs intertwined deliciously to add to the holiday ambiance. White china dishes rimmed with gold sat on gold charger plates, and the crystal water goblets and assortment of various wine glasses sparkled in the light of the long white tapers interspersed throughout the long centerpiece. Subtle tones of classical music could be heard in the background, although there were no visible speakers or other equipment. The only child in attendance was the sleeping baby whose basket had been placed in a corner near where his mother was seated, a nice Christmas touch.
On his right, and seated to the left of the Earl, was Terrence Reid’s wife. George’s own ex-wife, Lady Flora, sat to the Earl’s right. On George’s left sat one of Lady Anne’s sisters, Meg Grainger. The last name was familiar. Ah, yes. Same last name as the artist whose child had been kidnapped—the one with whom Lady Anne was involved last winter. And wasn’t there something this spring? He couldn’t remember. Next to Flora, and directly across from George was Terrence Reid, and Miranda sat to Terrence’s right. He never understood this custom of not seating husbands next to their wives at dinner, but at least it was making his daughter happy tonight.
This could be tricky, being seated across from his daughter, and next to the wife of the man with whom his daughter was in love. He wondered if Reid and his wife were on the same page about their marital status. If so, the man apparently hadn’t told his parents about the condition of his marriage, or else everyone was pretending not to know.
George considered what he’d seen. Before dinner, in the drawing room where the guests gathered after donning their evening finery, Reid had been politely attentive to Miranda, whose face lit up with his presence as if the sun shone from the man’s arse. And until walking into the dining room with her, Reid hadn’t paid much attention to his own wife.
So maybe Miranda knew what she was doing. Maybe Reid was really interested in her this time. He hoped so, for his daughter’s sake.
George looked down the table at his son. Rodney was seated in a grouping with Rafe, Lance, and Darryl Duggan, the friend Lance had brought along. The almost refreshingly unsophisticated girl with Rodney, Krystal, was seated across from his son, between Lance and Rafe. She was obviously impressed with all the trappings of the castle and the titles that abounded here. Well, George thought, much better that type of girl than the bored type. Rodney could do with a little female adoration.
Flora had told George in confidence about some financial difficulties their son was having. He would have to get Rodney alone while they were here so he could help straighten things out. Maybe he could talk to Rodney in the morning. The catastrophes of the current financial market hadn’t significantly affected George’s own holdings, but he knew far too many innocent people hadn’t been so fortunate. He was confident his business instincts would be able to guide his son out of his difficulties.
Meanwhile, aware of his duties as a dinner guest, George turned to his right and began to make dinner conversation with his daughter’s apparent rival. Contemplating his dinner companion, George thought this woman wouldn’t be easy competition if she chose to fight for her husband. Lady Anne was even more beautiful in person than she appeared in the news clips, but she didn’t seem to be conscious of the effect she had on people. What was that aura around the woman called? Sexual elegance. That described her perfectly. Anne Reid looked like she would be perfectly poised in any society, but wonderfully passionate in private. The promise of that magic could drive a man to incredible lengths to find out if it was real. Not him, though. He knew his limits.
George remembered the news stories from California. The press had intimated there had been a reconciliation between the Reids, but apparently it hadn’t taken. Not if Miranda was serious. But then what about this child? How had that happened with estranged partners? Ruefully, he looked across the table at his own ex-wife. Even as thorny as their relationship had been through the year
s, Flora was still as attractive to him as she’d been when they had first met. It was probably the same with the Reids. Chemistry was, after all, chemistry. Visceral recognition of one’s mate. Not necessarily logical.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Miranda across the table engaged in conversation with Terrence. George hoped he was imagining things, but it seemed to him Terrence’s interest in Miranda was perfunctory at best. The way the man was careful to make sure he didn’t look at his wife, but that whatever he said could be heard by her, was just a little too obvious to someone who knew what to look for. As if Terrence was trying to get his wife’s attention without actually talking to her. If so, his efforts didn’t appear to be working. Lady Anne didn’t seem to notice or care what he did. They must not be reconciled. No wife could be that uninterested in a husband she wanted to keep.
George watched, trying to assess the situation as Flora and Anne discussed the gardens Flora had originally planned and planted at Greenebrae Lodge. Flora was an ardent amateur gardener. He had to admit she’d done a good job with the gardens at Greenebrae Lodge. He liked the way they’d turned out so much that he, or rather his gardeners, maintained the gardens as she’d planned them even after she’d decamped for Rafe Kensington. Today, the gardens looked much like they did thirty years ago, only more mature. Rather like Flora.
He and Flora had bought Greenebrae when they married. Together, they’d found and loved the place, with the plan of establishing a family home that could be passed down to their children. George had never had such a home, and at the time, Flora had understood how much it meant to him to be able to provide his children with a home and a legacy. As adjoining properties went on the market through the years, George bought them, until Greenebrae Lodge became a formidable property, commanding enviable fishing streams and extensive grazing lands.
When they divorced, because Flora had more than sufficient property of her own, George kept his residence at Greenebrae with the understanding it would be left eventually to their children. When Flora subsequently decided “their children” should include Lance, she and George vehemently disagreed. Last summer, their conflicting views pitted them against each other and kept their solicitors occupied while the property was being surveyed and the negotiations settled.