Chapter 28

Miranda tapped the quill against her lips and stared at the blank blue paper in front of her. Her very skin felt as if it would rip apart at any moment.

Confusion, sadness, a touch of anger, and even a bit of fear swirled around her head. She couldn’t make sense of it. Didn’t know what she should do with it. And the avenue she’d used for as long as she could remember had apparently been stolen from her.

She couldn’t write.

Every time her quill touched the paper, it sat there, leaving a glob of ink behind. How could she write to Ryland about Ryland? The freedom and anonymity were lost. Gone. Never again would she be able to scrawl her feelings out knowing there would be no condemnation for whatever she said. Even if Ryland never saw the letter, he was no longer a faceless friend.

He was real.

And she missed him.

Which sent her emotions careening all over the place once more, because she’d spent the past several months telling God she wouldn’t miss a man, that she would be completely happy without one. Yet when Ryland didn’t show up that afternoon as promised, she was left pacing the floor.

A light knock on the door brought Miranda to a halt. Her mother’s voice drifted through the wooden panel. “Are you ready, darling?”

“What? Oh! Yes, Mother, I’m coming.” Miranda snatched her reticule off the bed and headed for the door.

“You look stunning, Miranda. There’s color in your cheeks and your eyes are bright. We simply must put you in green more often.”

Miranda glanced down at the soft green silk gown, covered with an overskirt of dark green lace. She’d worn the dress on two prior occasions and gotten no such compliments from her mother. Emotional upheaval apparently agreed with her. Her stomach roiled. Well, it agreed with her complexion anyway.

“Thank you, Mother. Is everyone else ready?” Miranda stepped out of the room and shut the door.

Mother led the way down the corridor. “Yes, Trent and Georgina are downstairs. Griffith, of course, is at Parliament this evening. He’ll be joining us for dinner after the play.”

The ride to the theater was uneventful. Georgina had been allowed to attend plays and such for the past two years, so the novelty had worn off, meaning she wouldn’t chatter her way through the entire thing in excitement.

The crush of carriages around the theater took twice as long to maneuver through as the trip from the house had taken. When it was finally their turn to alight, Miranda found the press of the glittering crowd was not much better. She stepped to the side as best she could to wait for the rest of her party to exit the carriage.

A jostling of people to her left suddenly knocked her off balance. She slid sideways into a male body. Straightening as quickly as she could, a blush heating her cheeks, she turned to apologize. Her breath solidified in her throat as she glanced at the man’s profile.

“You!” she finally managed to choke out.

He turned to look at her and she found a sudden desire to hide. It wasn’t Ryland. She found herself looking into the rounder, questioning face of his cousin, Mr. Gregory Montgomery. He was not someone she knew well and this was the first time their paths had crossed this Season.

“Oh! Pardon me. I thought you were someone else for a moment.” Miranda bobbed a small curtsy and moved to join her mother, who had gotten sent in the other direction during the jostling.

“Lady Miranda, isn’t it? Lady Miranda Hawthorne?”

She turned with a start, having expected him to merely bow in response and move on into the theater. Turning only her head back toward him, she answered, “Yes. Again, I apologize for the misconception. Enjoy your evening at the theater!”

Once inside the theater, the crowd thinned as people made their way to their seats and settled in for the show.

The heavy amounts of laughter and chortles indicated that it was a good show indeed, but Miranda could barely concentrate on it. She was still agitated and found herself fidgeting constantly. Her fan was moving fast enough to blow out the candle fixed to the back wall of their box.

During intermission, she joined Georgina at the refreshment table just to have something to do.

“We meet again.”

She looked up to find Mr. Montgomery looking down on her once more. “So we do. Hardly surprising since it is the same venue as our last meeting.”

He smiled. The tilt of the lips was similar to Ryland’s but some spark, a sign of inner fire, was missing. Or maybe it was just that she didn’t know him well. It was hardly fair to consider the man lacking in inner fortitude when she barely knew him by sight. In fact, before tonight, had a Bow Street runner asked her to describe Mr. Montgomery, she would have failed miserably.

Now, after only a few moments in his company, she could pinpoint that his nose was straight, where Ryland’s had a slight bump between the eyes. The chin was rounder than Ryland’s squared-off jaw. Mr. Montgomery’s shoulders were nearly as wide as his cousin’s but did not carry the same easy strength and brawn, making them look awkward over his thicker middle.

Miranda shook her head as she realized that Mr. Montgomery had been saying something to her. She had missed it entirely. “I beg your pardon, would you mind repeating that?”

“I asked if you were enjoying the show.”

What could she say? In truth she wasn’t even sure what the play was tonight. “It’s quite the comedy, isn’t it?”

“I was wondering if you’d be partial to discussing the play further. Do you intend to be at home tomorrow? Might I call upon you?” His brows rose in inquiry, the lifeless smile still in place on his lips.

“Of course. I shall look forward to the discussion.” What was she thinking? She had no interest in discussing anything with Ryland’s cousin. Was there any way out of her polite acceptance? “My mother and sister are attending tonight as well and will, of course, be sitting with me tomorrow. It shall be a lively conversation for us all.”

His smile shrank a bit but maintained its place. “Excellent. Until tomorrow, then.”

Miranda forced herself to smile back. It was what a lady would do, after all. She trudged back to her seat, already dreading the next afternoon. As she settled her skirts around her chair, she admonished herself to focus on the second half of the play. She needed something to say when the man came calling.

The curtain rose and her mind wandered away from the action on stage. While she was certain that Mr. Montgomery held no interest for her, the encounter renewed her thinking that Ryland would not be the easiest man to have in her life.

It was time to consider other options.

Miranda was delighted to see the excessive amount of rain falling from the sky the next day.

Georgina turned from the window with a sound of disgust. “No one will be visiting in this weather. It is positively sheeting out there. If this keeps up, Sunday’s sermon will be on Noah.”

Miranda couldn’t restrain the surprise that lifted her eyebrows. Since when did Georgina notice what the sermon was about? Miranda bit her tongue to keep the scathing remark behind her lips as she poked her embroidery needle through the cream-colored fabric. A shadow fell over her work as Georgina’s blond curls danced into the edge of Miranda’s vision.

“What are you working on?” The breathy whisper tickled Miranda’s ear.

“A pillow.” Miranda rubbed her wrist against the itch in her ear, careful not to poke herself with the needle grasped between her fingers.

“A pillow? Whatever for?” Boredom etched on her features, Georgina draped herself across her favorite settee. Even without an audience, the girl played the part.

“To bash you in the head with,” Miranda mumbled.

“A lady never mumbles, dear.” Mother didn’t even look up from her book as she corrected her daughter.

Miranda wanted to howl at the unfairness. A lady never displayed her ankles either but Georgina’s skirt had ridden all the way up to her knee. Unfortunately, howling would also be in opposition to appropriate genteel behavior which would make two marks against Miranda and would still not cause Mother to look up from her book. “I said that I wanted it to decorate my bed with.”

“It’s rather pretty.” Georgina angled her head to inspect the floral vine creeping along the edge of the fabric. “Will you make one for me? I could put it in my drawing room when I get married.”

“I think I’ll wait until the grand event is forthcoming.”

“I’m sure an offer will be extended any day now.”

Miranda’s fingers stilled. “From whom?”

“He was supposed to come today, but one would hardly want to be soaked to the skin when approaching Griffith for permission to marry his sister.”

“Who is approaching Griffith?” Miranda felt the pinch of the needle as her hand tightened in instinctive trepidation.

“I wouldn’t want a proposal from a wet man, either. Even if he did come today, I wouldn’t see him.”

“Who?” Miranda was nearly shouting now.

“Georgina, dear,” Mother said as she turned the page in her book, “a lady never ignores someone’s question unless she means to insult the speaker.”

The easy manner in which her mother could say such a bizarre statement momentarily distracted Miranda from her sister’s news. The rules of being a lady never ceased to amaze her.

“I was trying to build suspense, Mother.” Georgina began to pace around the room. “Add some life to this dreary afternoon.”

“You could work on something yourself. You mentioned wanting to paint a new fire screen for the upstairs parlor.” Mother turned another page.

“I can’t paint, Mother. I would have to change. If by some miracle someone does come calling, I would be unfit to see them.”

“I suppose, although I don’t think—”

“I beg your pardon,” Miranda said with a slight wave to attract Georgina’s attention. Her mother still didn’t look up. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Oh! Well, he’s only an earl, but he’s a well-respected one, so I should consider it. The Marquis of Linstock is ghastly looking. I don’t think I could manage watching that face grow older every day. And the Duke of Marshington is annoyingly uninteresting. With all of that intrigue around him, you’d think he’d be fascinating, but he isn’t.”

Miranda thought the only thing that could make Ryland uninteresting to Georgina was the fact that he so obviously wasn’t interested in pampering her and her pride. It suited Miranda fine to have her younger sister find fault with the duke.

Not that Miranda planned on having anything to do with him. In the early hours of the morning she’d settled on being angry with him. It wasn’t a very justifiable anger, but it kept the emotional swirl to a minimum and didn’t leave her with an ever-present threat of tears.

Georgina continued as she circled the room once more. “So I decided to put serious consideration to the available earls. There’s quite a crop of them this year.”

Miranda went down the list. She’d seen four earls making the rounds in the ballrooms. It wasn’t a high number, but it was enough to send more than one marriage-hungry mama to the modiste to make more eye-catching gowns for their daughters.

One earl was too old. He was making the social rounds as part of his granddaughter’s first Season. While many women would be willing to marry an old man for money and title, Georgina was not in a position to need to do so. Lord Clampton was seen at Gunter’s nearly every day with Lady Elizabeth Strosser, so he couldn’t be encouraging Georgina.

That left only Lord Grayling and . . . No. The needle slipped from Miranda’s nerveless fingers as the last possibility formed in her mind even as Georgina said the name aloud.

“Lord Ashcombe has been most attentive. I think he’ll come up to scratch very soon.”

Miranda’s eyes flew across the room. Her mother was peeking over her book, concern in her eyes as they connected with Miranda’s frantic gaze.

“You can’t,” Miranda whispered.

“Why not? Just because you couldn’t get him to fully commit doesn’t mean that I can’t.”

“But Griffith—”

“Pardon me, my lady,” the butler interrupted, maintaining his perfect posture despite the water spotting the front of his attire. “Mr. Gregory Montgomery is here.”

Mother straightened her spine and slid her book under the pillow behind her. “Is this a farce, Gibson? No one would be out in this weather.”

“He is drying himself off in the kitchen at the moment, my lady. I apologize, but it was the only fire lit today.”

“Of course, of course.” Mother gestured to her daughters. “Sit, sit. Mr. Montgomery will be up soon.”

Georgina smirked at Miranda. “It would seem that someone is overly eager to discuss the theater.”

A sigh escaped Miranda’s lips as she folded her embroidery and stored it in her sewing box. She should be feeling flattered that the man had braved the forces of nature to see her, but all she could drum up was a slight amount of gratitude that she no longer had to listen to Georgina’s complaints about the weather or her admiration for Lord Ashcombe.

Gibson entered the room with a steaming tea service, Mr. Montgomery on his heels. The rough weather had ruined what was once a quite appealing ensemble. The cravat alone managed to escape dishevelment. The boots were likely beyond repair, and his hair was matted to his head and beginning to curl at the edges.

If Miranda looked closely, she could still see the family resemblance between Ryland and his cousin, but the bedraggled condition of Mr. Montgomery had a very different effect. She had seen Ryland looking rumpled and grubby, but he had still managed to exude confidence and power. Mr. Montgomery gave the impression of a sick puppy.

Disgusted that she was once again casting Ryland in a favorable light, Miranda directed Mr. Montgomery to a seat—none of the upholstered ones, of course—and began to pour his tea. “Whatever possessed you to venture forth in this deluge, Mr. Montgomery?”

“I make it my business to never back down from a promise. And I did assure you last evening that I would come calling today.” He wrapped his hands around the cup of tea and breathed in the steam.

Mother cleared her throat with a delicate cough. “Under the circumstances, we would have understood your delay.”

A considerably more tactful statement than the one Miranda was thinking. Honor was all well and good, but good sense was valuable as well.

He shook his head, water droplets slinging to the carpet. “I wouldn’t hear of it.”

Moments passed. Did her sister’s and mother’s thoughts mirror her own? Were they trying to calculate how long they had to entertain Mr. Montgomery before they could make their excuses and send him back into the rain?

Even Mother, Lady Caroline, the epitome of everything a lady should be, looked a bit flustered. There were rules for unwanted company. Piles of them. Did they not apply because of the weather? Miranda choked on air. Were they to be compelled to invite him to dinner?

Georgina glared at Miranda, tilting her head in Mr. Montgomery’s direction. Miranda suspected that if they had been sitting on the same couch, kicks would have been involved. “Did you, um, enjoy the rest of the play last evening, Mr. Montgomery?”

“Of course. Such masterful writing is sure to be enjoyable.”

“Er, yes. I agree.”

More silence.

Perturbed green eyes stared at Miranda over the edge of a teacup. She wasn’t Mother at the moment, she was Lady Caroline and she had an amazingly awkward situation in her drawing room. One she blamed Miranda for.

Miranda shrugged, trying to rid herself of the guilt of encouraging this man to visit.

Thunder shook the windows.

Finally Mother took pity on Miranda and broke the silence. “And how are you and your mother adjusting to the return of your cousin? I must have heard a dozen tales about where he’s been. Would you care to enlighten us with the truth?”

Miranda sat forward. Did her mother know? Of course she did. There was the small matter of hauling Ryland’s unconscious body out of the house. She would have demanded some small explanation from her sons. Was the topic of Ryland supposed to be Miranda’s punishment? She would take it. As much as she hated to admit it, this was a subject she could readily engage in.

Mr. Montgomery didn’t look quite so eager. “We are, of course, overjoyed at his return to civilized society. He had been . . . Well, I’m afraid the subject isn’t fit for tender ears, my lady. With all due respect, I must decline to answer your question.”

Miranda frowned. If the man’s aim was to elude the potential scandal Ryland’s profession would cause, he was doing a very poor job of it. The innuendo implied something much worse than clandestine service to England.

Mother nodded. “I suppose we shouldn’t speak of it, then. Perhaps there is another topic more to your liking?”

Georgina plunked her cup in the saucer. “The weather is dismal. You’ve spent some time in France, haven’t you? Is the weather better there?”

So much for not listening to Georgina complain about the rain.

“Yes, France is wonderful. Such a shame that current inconveniences prevent you from seeing it yourself.”

“A man trying to infiltrate England is hardly a mere inconvenience, Mr. Montgomery.” Miranda’s fingers clenched around her teacup. Like many women of her station, she was unaware of the details in the scuffle with Napoleon, but she was not delusional enough to think the war that had dragged on for years and taken life and limb of many men was a mere inconvenience.

“My apologies, Lady Miranda.” His eyes narrowed in her direction. “I did not wish to bring the unpleasantness of the battle into your drawing room. Please excuse me for offending you.”

Mother waved her arm in the air. “Oh no, she is merely out of sorts because of the rain. Such a downpour brings out her maudlin side.”

Miranda huffed. She had obviously not paid enough attention to Mother’s lessons in discreet and socially acceptable verbal punches. Maybe she should pull her embroidery back out. This was going to be a very long visit.