Marjorie Farrell (17 page)

“To get married?” questioned Miranda hopefully, unable to comprehend yet that her father was not the mythical navy hero.

“That was what we had planned. But it never happened.”

“Why not?” Miranda asked, almost harshly, as she began to realize what this meant to her.

“I was romantic, foolish, and thought that our exchange of loving promises in private was enough until we reached his family in Edinburgh. There, I was understood to
be
his wife. And then I discovered I was increasing.”

“Did you not wish your child to have a name?”

“Yes, Miranda, of course. But he was killed in an argument over a card game the week we were to have been married.”

“Why did you never return home?”

“I wrote to my father when Breen died, begging him to forgive me and asking him to take me in. He never replied.”

Miranda heard the break in Nora’s voice. “And how did we come here?”

“After you were born, I took what little money I had put aside and came south. I thought we would be safe here. I never desired to enter society, and thought you might eventually meet someone to whom family would matter less than one of the
ton
.
How could I ever have foreseen you would instead meet the Earl of Alverstone?”

Miranda was sitting very still, looking blindly in front of her. Not looking at Nora at all, she asked in a dead voice, “Does anyone else know of this?”

“Joanna, of course. And Simon.”

“The duke?”

“He saw me upset, and was so sympathetic that I had to tell him.”

“Why did you let me go to Sam’s if you knew it was impossible? You let me believe we were betrothed!”

“Unofficially. You see, Jeremy’s mother and godfather were against the marriage also. We feared a blunt refusal would cause you to do something reckless.”

“Like run off to Gretna,” Miranda said, in a tone that Nora had never heard from her before.

“Yes. We hoped it was calf love, and if you were allowed to be together, you both would see the unsuitability of the attachment. Instead…”

“Instead, you saw we do know our own minds, are aware of the difficulties, and still wish to make our lives together. Oh, you know me very well, Mother. I was terrified at the party and at the viscount’s. But I became less afraid. Judith helped me tremendously, for she married above her station also, and made me realize that it was possible. And Jeremy
—he cares nothing for the difference in rank. But in truth,” continued Miranda, “there
is
no difference in our positions. If you are truly the daughter of a marquess, then I am his granddaughter,” she said wonderingly.

“The illegitimate granddaughter.”

Miranda seemed to shrink from the words. “Why did you never tell me? Why did you have to tell me now?” she cried.

“You have to know the truth, my dear. I could not forbid the marriage and not give you the reason.” Nora watched as her daughter rose, and turning a blank face to her, said: “Yes. Well, thank you, Mother, for telling me at last,” and left the room. Never had Miranda looked like that. Nora sat paralyzed by her daughter’s repudiation, until she began to sob. Her tears came from a place deep inside, and she found herself on her knees, almost retching, as she knelt there crying for her daughter and herself.

* * * *

When Nora finally finished crying, she stood up and half-consciously wandered out to the old apple tree in the garden. She sat down, back against the trunk, as she had many times before, as though leaning back into her mother’s arms.

She awoke a few hours later, stiff and damp, and was struggling to her feet when she saw Miranda coming down the path. She could not see her daughter’s face clearly and did not want to, if it still held the same expression. She gave Miranda enough time to get inside, and then, shaking her skirts out, she went in through the kitchen door, only to find her daughter pumping water for the teakettle. Nora could not bear to look up and was about to walk out the door and keep on walking until she could go no further, when her daughter turned and saw her.

Miranda felt she was seeing her mother for the first time, this woman who had only, until today, been “Mother.” The hands, the face: so familiar and yet so strange. Once, years ago, Nora had been her age and fallen in love. Miranda could understand how love could change the way one looks at things. She loved Jeremy, and her mother was right: she might well have agreed to an elopement. The woman seeing her had been herself first, before she had become Miranda’s mother. And as Miranda’s mother she had done nothing to be ashamed of. Indeed, she was a woman to admire. She had taken a small child on a long, arduous trip south. She had taken the work she needed to keep a roof over their heads. She had carried heavy trays and ignored drunken advances so that eventually they could have a home of their own. She had begun to write in short periods of time, snatched here and there from her duties as a mother. She had lived happily a life which had given her back very little, compared to the one she was raised to.

She looked so small, standing there. How did I ever fit in her lap? Miranda thought irrationally.

“Mother…”

Nora looked up, afraid of what she might see in Miranda’s face.

“Can you forgive me?”

“Forgive you for what?” Nora whispered.

“For the way I acted. For not realizing what you have endured.”

“Oh, my dearest, it is for you to forgive me,” replied Nora. “Can you?”

At the old endearment, Miranda moved toward her mother, and Nora opened her arms. She murmured soothing noises and smoothed back the blond hair. She was comforting her little girl again
—and she was not. For this lovely young woman had her own decisions to make. She might return to her arms from time to time, but this morning had marked a turning point. Never again could they be mother and daughter in quite the same way.

“Come, let us sit down and talk of what we must do.” Nora led Miranda into the morning room and sat her down on the sofa. Sitting next to her, she said:

“I was afraid you would hate me forever.”

“I almost felt like I could, for a moment or two. I found myself walking toward Joanna’s. She helped me to understand so much, Mama,” Miranda said.

“Miranda, it is impossible for me to regret my past when it brought you into my life. The moment I begin to say I am sorry for causing such sorrow and pain, I realize you would not have existed, had I not loved Breen. A painful and joyful paradox, I know.”

“Mother, what did the duke say when you told him your story? Both Joanna and I wondered.”

“At first he suggested I tell no one, not even you.”

“Truly?”

“Yes, I was surprised myself. I think he was shocked, but could not see the point of hurting so many people. I told him I thought the deception had gone on long enough, and whatever happened, you had to know. He could understand that.” Nora paused.

“Did he have any solution?”

“He suggested if I had to tell you the truth, I leave the final decision to you and Jeremy. I promised him I would.”

“I think I must be the one to tell Jeremy,” Miranda said, after a few moments.

“Yes?”

“And I also think, since it is his life and mine, that we must decide together.”

“I think Simon hoped you would say that.”

“Did he? Then I am sure it is the right thing to do, for he is clearly someone to trust.”

“I think you should let me help tell Jeremy. It is, after all, my deception that is responsible for all this. Then, give him time to think, for if he marries you, he will be continuing that deception. I do not believe anyone else is owed that information, and I will no longer stand in your way, if Jeremy still wants the marriage. I have come to love him too, you know.” Nora smiled.

“Thank you, Mother. I will write to him today, asking him to pay us a visit. And hope that he loves me enough…”

Jeremy and Lavinia had left the day after the Dillons, but not before speaking of the betrothal.

Jeremy approached Sam first, the evening of Miranda’s departure.

“I would like to make my betrothal public and official, Sam. Do you see any reason why I should not?”

Sam got up and went over to the decanter on the table and poured each of them a glass of port.

“Here, sit down, Jeremy, and let us talk.”

Jeremy unbent a little, and sat down opposite the viscount.

“I would like to hear your observations on Miranda’s suitability as your countess,” Sam said. “Have you had any second thoughts over the past two weeks?”

“None. Oh, I know it was hard for her, in London, and I know it will take her a while to get used to managing a large household. But, you know, Sam, my heart has always been in the country. I will not be demanding she live in town and become the great hostess, after all. Not,” said Jeremy, after another swallow of port, “that she couldn’t do it. Don’t you think she is lovely?”

“I do. And I must admit,” replied Sam, “Miranda would be good at whatever she set her mind to. Will you truly not be bothered by the difference in family background?” Sam queried. “It will be remarked upon, at first.”

“I respect Nora almost as much as I love Miranda.”

“Well, then, here’s to your engagement and marriage,” Sam said, lifting his glass.

Jeremy flashed him a smile and they toasted each other.

“I knew you could not resist her, once you got to know her. That’s why I agreed to this unofficial engagement. Oh, I know you and mother hoped I would change my mind, but I think even Mother has come around.”

“Yes, well, so much for careful planning. But there can be no public announcement until your mother is also in agreement.”

“Can we call her in now, Sam?” Jeremy asked eagerly.

“Why not? We might as well settle it all tonight.” Sam would have preferred to tackle Lavinia first, but he was confident she had come around enough. And perhaps Jeremy could make the better argument after all.

He rang for a footman. “Please ask Lady Whitford to join us in the library.”

“Very good, m’lord.”

Lavinia, who had only been in the music room, was soon at the door.

“What? I am invited to share a cigar and have some port with you?” she teased. The two men grinned at her sally.

“Come in, Mother, and sit down. Would you like a glass of port?”

“Why, yes, why not?”

“Sam and I have just come to an important agreement about the betrothal, and I wished to have us all together.”

Lavinia was not a stupid woman, nor was she hard-hearted. She had observed Sam’s growing approval, and she had watched Miranda and Jeremy closely over the last two weeks, as well as held a heart-to-heart with the young duchess. Jeremy and Miranda were deeply in love; that she could see. And Miranda and her mother were quite different from what she had envisioned. She knew she could live with the marriage, even though it was not what she had wished for her son.

“You have not decided to break it off,” she asked with very little hope.

“Why, no, Mother, Would you still want me to?”

“I never said anything of the sort,” protested the countess.

“You didn’t have to,” replied her son. “I knew you were both against it. But now that you know her?”

“I must confess she is a lovely girl. Not what I have wanted for you,” she said quickly, “but I must admit I do not think it would be such a bad match.”

“Would you approve of an official betrothal and a wedding soon to follow?”

Sam looked at Jeremy in surprise. He had expected a longer betrothal.

Lavinia was a bit taken aback. “Do you think that is wise?”

“Yes. I want Miranda to come to London for the Little Season as my wife. It will be the easiest way to introduce her into society and will be less of a strain for her. And then we can have our first holidays together in Alverstone.”

Sam and Lavinia turned to each other almost automatically and shared a private look of amusement at Jeremy’s eagerness. Each knew just what the other was thinking: How like Charles.

“My dear, aside from Miranda’s lack of family, I could not imagine a lovelier daughter-in-law. I would wish it a longer betrothal to lessen the gossip, but I will go along with whatever you wish.”

Sam’s smile of approval was almost worth the capitulation, thought Lavinia. He had not looked at her with such warmth in many years.

Lavinia had sat up a little straighter, and smiled back in her most appealing way. He laughed to himself as he realized that for the first time in years he was free of both his automatic resistance to her and his slight disdain. He could finally see her limitations, yet appreciate her for what she was: a warm but rather shallow lady who had been a good friend for many years and who would always remain one. Someone, moreover, who had allowed him to develop a relationship with Jeremy which was the closest thing to fatherhood he was ever to get.

“Sam, do you agree?”

Jeremy’s voice pulled him back into the conversation.

“What?”

“That an August wedding is a possibility?”

“Jeremy, it seems that we are all in agreement. But I remind you that you have not yet spoken to Mrs. Dillon or Miranda yet.”

“But of course she will approve. We get along splendidly.”

“I have some reason to believe she may have her own objections. Do not publish any announcement until you have met with her in person.”

“Of course not,” Jeremy replied, insulted that Sam would think he would do such a thing. “I intend to spend a week at Alverstone, and then I will ride to Hampstead to see Miranda and her mother. What objections could she have, after all?”

Sam merely nodded. He would not offer any more cautions, for, confronted with Jeremy and told of Lady Lavinia’s approval, perhaps Mrs. Dillon would abandon her mysterious scruples. And an August wedding would mean he would be seeing Nora sooner than he had hoped.

It took longer than a week for Jeremy to get his mother settled in and to resolve the most pressing estate problems. Miranda had written to him, requesting a visit, but he was not able to set off for London immediately. Although her note sounded strangely formal to him, he was not overly concerned by her summons. He had planned to visit as often as his home responsibilities allowed, and he was pleased she missed him as much as he missed her after their two weeks of steady conversation.