Glimmer of Hope (6 page)

“This house party is first and foremost a political gathering,” the Dowager Lady Devereaux said to Miranda after dismissing Mrs. Gillington to see to the changes she’d ordered. “The men Lord Devereaux has invited are quite influential in the party, and furthering a connection with them will be crucial to his career.”

Miranda nodded—she had gathered as much from Carter himself.

“Their wives hold sway amongst the political hostesses of the
ton.
One misstep could be disastrous for Lord Devereaux’s future. We cannot allow that to happen.”

Miranda walked back to her room with tremendous effort. Her body was spent, but her mind was in turmoil. The dowager had sparked a memory, one Miranda preferred not to relive. She dropped onto the chair in front of her dressing table, closing her eyes against the invasion of her thoughts.

“I greatly fear you’ve made a disastrous alliance, Carter,”
a voice echoed in her head from across the years.
“A gentleman in your position ought to have chosen a young lady capable of aiding his career. Take her to London now and you will find her more of a burden than a helpmeet.”

“There is little that can be done about that now, is there?”

Miranda blinked back tears at the memory of Carter’s words—he’d made no effort to defend her or his decision to marry her. Even after the passage of so much time, that realization pierced her.

“There is not time for a nap, Hannah,” Miranda said, seeing Hannah approach with her wrap.

“But, my lady—” Hannah protested.

“There is so much that needs to be done before the guests arrive.”

“I thought you was—”

“Were.”

“—were done preparing for the guests.”

“There are several things that need . . . fixing.” Miranda tried to keep her disappointment from showing.

The thoughts and memories flooding over Miranda once again drowned out Hannah’s response.

They were living in their home in Wiltshire, only a few months after their wedding. They were to spend a fortnight in the capital, touring London’s famous locales and renewing acquaintances, or, in Miranda’s case, making new ones. She’d planned for more than a week, deliberating over precisely which gowns to pack, which jewels to bring, which sights she wanted to see. Anticipation filled her heart nearly to bursting.

She’d hoped that away from the estate there would be fewer things to pull Carter away. He’d spent more and more time away from home, sharing fewer and fewer of his thoughts with her. But he’d approved her tentative itinerary, declaring himself anxious to spend time with her as well. It was going to be perfect. Absolutely perfect.

Carter stayed up late the night before they were to leave. Miranda couldn’t sleep herself. She was too excited, too happily nervous. After hours of lying in the dark, she slipped out of bed and pulled on her wrapper. If she was going to be awake, she might as well spend the time with her sweetheart.

She reached the door of his book room but stopped on the threshold when she realized his was not the only voice inside.

“She simply isn’t suited to the life you’ve thrust on her,” Carter’s father said. “You’d do better to leave her in the country and go about your career in Town without the added hardship of fixing the mistakes a young lady of her upbringing would inevitably make.”

Leave her behind? Carter wouldn’t do that. They had planned this journey together. They were going to spend time with each other.

“She is a liability, Carter. She doesn’t know enough to help you with your social standing or your political ambitions. And I very much fear she will unknowingly destroy everything you’ve worked for.”

She walked slowly, almost unseeingly back up the stairs to her bedchamber, Lord Devereaux’s words echoing in her spinning thoughts. She may not have had the experience in society that her mother-in-law had, but she was not the disaster her father-in-law portrayed her as. Carter knew that. Surely he had more confidence in her than his father did.

“And he promised,” she whispered to herself in the silence of her room. “Carter promised, and he knows how much this means to me. He won’t go back on his word.”

She convinced herself of that somewhere in the early hours of morning and even managed to sleep a little. She dressed in her traveling clothes after taking a breakfast tray in her room, and the footman came for her bags and carried them down.

Her heart settled more with each passing minute. Carter hadn’t broken his word. They were going on their journey together. He had the confidence in her that his father lacked.

All would be well.

With her bonnet firmly tied and her heavier boots laced snugly on her feet, she met her abigail at the door. Miranda’s coat was on and buttoned against the breeze outside, and she couldn’t keep her smile entirely tucked away.

She glanced out the open door. The footman who had only a few moments earlier carried her luggage down to the waiting carriage was carrying it back inside. A lump of apprehension started in her throat.

Carter stepped into the entryway.

Miranda didn’t need to ask her question out loud. She looked from him to her luggage, now sitting beside her in the entryway, and back again.

“It would be best for you to stay here, Miranda,” he said.

She stood like a prisoner at a mark, knowing she was about to be dealt a painful blow but unable to so much as speak for herself. She simply looked at him, silently hoping he didn’t mean what she feared he did.

“The pace in London will be frantic,” Carter continued. “There is a great deal that has to be accomplished. It wouldn’t be the holiday we thought it would be.”

“I don’t expect you to spend every minute of every day with me, darling,” she insisted. “I know you’ll be busy. I’ll be grateful just to have you near, to see you in the evenings, to have breakfast with you before you leave for the day.”

“I underestimated how much time I will need to spend away from home and away from you.”

That wasn’t the reasoning she’d overheard the night before. “And that is the only reason you’re leaving me behind?” she asked. “Because you will be so busy?”

As much as it would hurt to hear him say he worried about her lack of experience in society and the mistakes she might make, she knew that a half-truth would hurt more. Carter had, as far as she knew, never lied to her before. She held her breath, waiting for his answer.

“I wouldn’t want you to be lonely in London,” Carter said. “I shouldn’t be so busy next time.”

He didn’t quite meet her eyes as he said it. The footman walked past, carrying her luggage back up the stairs to her room. Carter didn’t change his mind, and he never admitted to the real reason he left her behind.

Her heart never fully recovered. She didn’t entirely stop loving him, but that moment and so many others that followed taught her a painful lesson: she simply couldn’t trust him.

The Duke and Duchess of
Hartley, with their small children, and Lord and Lady Percival Farr had been at Clifton Manor for three days. The staff had performed their duties flawlessly, and Miranda was doing admirably as hostess. Carter doubted anyone but himself had noticed Mother’s occasional corrections and reminders.

The tentative peace he and Miranda had found in those first days was holding. They didn’t speak much, and when they did, their conversations were unexceptional and short. As near as Carter could tell, Miranda didn’t intend to make a scene in front of the guests. And though he knew she didn’t feel comfortable in his or the guests’ company, he was almost certain she wasn’t going to run off again.

For the first time since realizing Miranda was at Clifton Manor, Carter began to relax.

He knew Miranda had no experience with being a society hostess, having been raised away from the
ton
—that aspect of their marriage had concerned him in the beginning. Mother would have been a good mentor for Miranda, walking her through the first few soirées and political dinners until she found her footing. It would have been difficult, especially for someone as shy as Miranda had always been, but she would have learned. And he would have helped.

But Miranda left before they’d hosted a single gathering. They hadn’t even been married six months.

Carter walked past the door to the book room and happened to glance inside. Hartley sat in one of the leather wingback chairs, a book open in his hand. He looked up and gave a quick nod of acknowledgement.

“Is there anything you need?” he asked, stepping inside.

Hartley lowered his book. “I’ve found a comfortable chair, a warm fire, and a quiet room. I haven’t been this content in some time.”

“Good.” Yes, the house party was proving a success.

Hartley glanced past Carter then met his eye once more. In a lowered voice, he said, “Adèle and I were surprised to see Lady Devereaux here. I’ve known you nearly three years and have never once met the lady.”

“Miranda prefers the country,” Carter said.

Hartley set his book on the nearby end table. “You’ve worn that explanation to shreds over the past three years, my friend.”

Carter didn’t ever talk about his problems with Miranda. Not with anyone. Keeping up appearances was essential to surviving in society. It was more than that though. Talking about Miranda meant thinking about her. Remembering what they’d once been to each other, the dreams he’d once had for their future together, and it was too painful and too maddening to bring up.

Hartley’s comment made Carter realize even more intensely that he’d been wound tighter than a pocket watch the past days with no way to release the tension. There hadn’t been time for a bruising ride, and Gentleman Jackson’s boxing saloon was all the way in London, too far for working out his frustrations with a bout of fisticuffs. He couldn’t talk to Mother of his distress, and Father had always listened, but he had passed on over a year earlier, leaving Carter without a confidant. He’d felt for some time that he had nowhere to turn.

“Shut the door, Carter,” Hartley instructed. “It’s time you spilled your budget.”

He didn’t need to be invited twice. If he didn’t talk to someone, he was likely to explode.

With the room cut off from the ears of any passersby and only the two of them inside, Carter dropped down into the chair across from his friend’s. “I didn’t know Miranda was here,” he confessed.

Hartley looked a little surprised but didn’t say anything.

“She has been living with her grandfather in Devon, though it seems she has come here before or is on an extended visit. I haven’t determined which.” In all honesty, he hadn’t put any effort into sorting it out.

“How long has it been since you last saw her?” Hartley asked.

He didn’t even have to think. “Three years and two months.”

Surprise crossed Hartley’s face. “You haven’t seen her at all? Not even once?”

Carter shook his head.

“But you knew where she was?”

“Of course I did.” Carter stood again and crossed to the mantel. “If Adèle had gone missing, wouldn’t you have made every effort to discover where she was?”

“I would scour this entire earth if I had to.”

Carter looked down into the crackling flames. “Yes, well. I tracked her to Devon, and she told me not to come.”

Speaking the words out loud gave them such finality. He could still see in his mind with perfect clarity the letter he’d received from Father’s man-of-business:
Lady Gibbons has sent word, through Mr. Benton’s estate manager, that she is in receipt of your letter of inquiry and does not wish to see you. She further insists that she does not believe these feelings will change and advises you to leave her to enjoy the life she prefers.

The life she prefers. A life without me.

“She told you not to come,” Hartley repeated Carter’s words. “And you . . . didn’t?”

Carter pushed out a tense breath. “I wrote to her dozens of times after getting her request that I take myself off. My father was indulgent of me, never said a word about having to frank so many letters. And when I finally received an answer telling me she’d had enough, he didn’t say, ‘I told you so’ or call me foolish.” Carter remembered that moment well: the pain, the heartache. “He set a hand on my shoulder and told me how sorry he was. After a day or two, he gave me a few tasks to oversee, some party business.”

“A distraction,” Hartley surmised.

“Indeed. He saved my sanity.” Father had been beyond understanding, the greatest support Carter could have imagined.

“All this time I’ve known you,” Hartley said, “you’ve never once told me how things really sat between the two of you. I, obviously, knew yours wasn’t a love match by any means, but I didn’t realize the animosity there.”

Not a love match.
The declaration pierced like a sword. Theirs
had
been a love match once upon a time. Father had warned him that love was not enough for a successful marriage, that it required more than just that. Until Miranda’s defection, he’d thought his father was wrong.

“I was trying to make the best of a difficult situation,” Carter said. “There was nothing I could do if my wife inexplicably decided to hate me. But I didn’t have to advertise that to the entire world.”

“I’m not ‘the entire world.’”

Carter paced away from the fireplace. He didn’t quite know how to explain his reasons for hiding the difficulties between Miranda and him. He wasn’t even sure what those reasons were.

“Plenty of men, quite a few I can think of off the top of my head, in fact, would have wasted no time decrying the ill turn their wives had paid them,” Hartley said. “Why didn’t you?”

Carter stood with his back against the wall, looking out over the book room but not really seeing any of it. “I don’t know,” he muttered.