“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight we shall go on a journey . . .”
It wasn’t that her brother wasn’t an excellent storyteller, but it was difficult to keep one’s attention on a story one had heard any number of times before. Especially if one’s mind was grappling with all sorts of questions that had nothing to do with navigating the Amazon or locating an oasis in the Sahara or whatever Sebastian was talking about tonight.
She didn’t know how she felt about Winfield, although admittedly her reluctance to acknowledge or accept that there might be something quite remarkable happening between them could certainly be fear on her part. Fear that she was making a mistake or that he wouldn’t share her feelings. It had been so easy with John. But Winfield was completely different from her late husband. Then again, wasn’t she a completely different woman now?
“. . . when considering such an expedition, one should always keep in mind . . .”
Perhaps it was time to take a risk that went beyond business or how she dressed or wore her hair. And if she wanted the man, perhaps she needed to do something about it. If, of course, he was indeed what she wanted, which did seem to be the question.
“Good Lord,” Bianca said under her breath and leaned closer to her sister. “There’s another one.”
“Another one what?”
“Another one of Lord Stillwell’s fiancées.”
“Where?” Miranda craned her neck to look around.
“Right there.” Bianca nodded in the general direction of most of the rest of the crowd. “To the far right, two rows in front of us. The blond woman with the boring blue hat. Three seats in from the end.”
Miranda caught sight of a woman wearing an intense expression, as though what Sebastian was going on and on about was actually quite interesting, although it probably was if one was hearing it for the first time. She wore a sensible blue ensemble that struck Miranda as something she might have worn a few weeks ago. “She’s very pretty.”
“And very proper,” Bianca said. “I can’t imagine the two of them together.”
“Who is she?”
“Lady Eustice—Lucille, I believe.”
On Miranda’s other side, Veronica leaned closer. “Who are we talking about?”
A woman seated in front of them turned and glared.
“Sorry,” Miranda said weakly.
“It’s my husband speaking, you know,” Veronica said under her breath. “I have earned the right to interrupt him if I wish.” She glanced at Miranda. “We shall talk more later.”
Miranda pushed all thoughts of Winfield and his assorted fiancées out of her head and tried to focus on what her brother was saying. For the next few minutes she was carried away by Sebastian’s tales of lost cities and lost treasures and the adventurous pursuits of both. He did tell a good story, even if she had heard it before.
“Now then, I must confess, I am simply beside myself with curiosity,” Veronica said as soon as the applause had faded and the crowd had begun to mill and move toward the foyer lured by the promise of tepid lemonade and perhaps a personal word with tonight’s lecturer. “Who were you talking about?”
“Lady Eustice.” Bianca nodded toward where the lady in question was engaged in an animated conversation with a gentleman who did not appear the least bit amused.
“Really?” Veronica’s gaze followed her sister-in-law’s. “Why?”
“No particular reason,” Miranda said quickly.
“Wasn’t she engaged to Lord Stillwell?” Bianca asked.
Veronica nodded. “She was fiancée number two. The man has been engaged three times, you know.”
“Which does make one wonder what is wrong with him,” Bianca said in an offhand manner. Miranda shot her a sharp look.
“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with him aside from a tendency to choose the wrong woman. But men often do stupid things, especially when it involves women. And one must admit, she is lovely.” Veronica’s gaze lingered on Lady Eustice. “No, I don’t think the problem lies with Lord Stillwell. Indeed, the fact that the man has had several fiancées and has never married actually speaks well for him.”
Miranda drew her brows together. “Do you really think so?”
“Without question. It’s much wiser, and far more courageous, to escape from an engagement than to be forced into a lifetime with the wrong person,” Veronica said.
“She certainly has a point there,” Bianca muttered.
“That is one way to look at it, I suppose.” Miranda nodded.
“It’s the only way to look at it,” Veronica said firmly. “Besides, as I have met both Lady Eustice and Lord Stillwell, I can say without question he had a narrow escape.”
“Oh?” Miranda’s gaze drifted back to the other woman. “Why?”
“For one thing Lady Eustice is one of the most annoyingly proper women I have ever met.”
“Even including Portia?”
“Believe me, Portia is a leader of free-thinking and liberal causes when compared to Lady Eustice.” Veronica shook her head. “The woman’s corset is obviously laced entirely too tight.”
Miranda choked back a laugh.
“Lord Stillwell deserved far better.” Veronica nodded. “He has always struck me as . . . as a very nice man. I have no idea what he ever saw in her.”
“You know him then?” Miranda adopted an innocent tone. “Lord Stillwell, that is.”
“Oh my, yes, I’ve known him for years. Not well, of course. It’s not as if he was a confidant or close friend or anything of that nature. But we exchange pleasantries when we happen upon one another and we have chatted now and again. I find him flirtatious and charming and really quite delightful. I might add he is also an excellent dancer.” She thought for a moment. “He and Lady Eustice were a mismatch if ever I saw one. She is the type of woman who takes life entirely too seriously, but then her first husband, Sir Charles, was entirely too serious as well. Although I suppose Lord Stillwell was going through a serious period of his own at the time.”
“What do you mean?”
“First of all, you must realize this is all based on things I have heard and my own observations. But it is my understanding that between his first engagement to a woman who was much more interested in what he had than who he was—”
“We know Mrs. Hedges-Smythe.” Bianca nodded.
“Ah well, then I needn’t say more on that score.” Veronica sniffed in disdain. “Men can be such idiots. As I was saying, after the fortuitous failure of his first engagement, Lord Stillwell became adept at handling his family’s financial interests, investments and property and the like. He gained a name for being most astute and quite successful. I heard somewhere that when Lady Eustice realized there was more to him than the somber man of business he had apparently seemed to her, she wanted nothing more to do with him.”
“Too frivolous, no doubt,” Miranda murmured.
“Something like that, I think.” Veronica grimaced. “Lord Stillwell is most amusing and I daresay she didn’t want a husband whose company might be amusing. Or a husband with a past, for that matter.”
“Well, he does have a certain reputation,” Miranda said.
“Oh, indeed he does. And a decidedly wicked one at that.” Veronica smiled in a wicked way of her own. “But then I wouldn’t want a man who didn’t.”
“You wouldn’t?” Miranda stared. “Why not?”
“Well, I would think he’d be rather boring, for one thing. For another, a man who has already tasted of what the women of the world have to offer is not a man likely to, oh, how shall I put this?” She thought for a moment. “Ah yes, not as likely to want to continue to order off the menu, as it were. He has selected his dish and is quite content with it because he knows, from experience, that all the other dishes pale in comparison.”
Miranda stared.
“In addition, that same experience makes him . . . again, I can’t quite think of the right word although I suppose ‘skilled’ will do.”
“You’re speaking of Sebastian now, I assume,” Miranda said cautiously.
“Of course.” Veronica’s eyes widened in surprise. “Your brother is quite—”
“Oh, I think it’s best if we don’t know too much on that score.” Bianca winced. “He is our brother after all.”
“Yes, of course, I hadn’t thought of that.” Veronica nodded. “That might indeed be awkward. Suffice it to say, a man with experience, with a wicked reputation, as long as he is a decent and honorable sort otherwise, is a man who can keep a woman happy for the rest of her life. A wicked man is very nearly always too tempting to resist.” Veronica’s gaze drifted to the doorway, where Sebastian could be seen speaking with a group of admirers. Again, a wicked sort of smile creased her lips. “Very happy indeed.”
Chapter 15
“And are there other ghosts as well?” Miranda said to Win, beside her in the gig. They were returning from Fairborough to Millworth for the day and the conversation had turned once again to the two estates’ matching follies.
“Oh, both Millworth and Fairborough are filled with the spirits of those who have gone before and now refuse to leave,” Winfield said in a mock serious tone.
It struck him that Miranda by his side might well be how life was supposed to be. It certainly seemed both natural and, well, right. Quite simply, he missed her when she wasn’t there. He wasn’t at all pleased that she was going to London again tomorrow. Not that he could protest. She did have business to attend to and family and friends as well, no doubt. Still, he didn’t like it. Didn’t like the hole she left in his world. Didn’t like wondering what she was doing or who she was with. Didn’t like seeing her only in his dreams.
She had been at Millworth for a full month now and had gone to London at least once a week since her arrival at the manor, although it did seem like more. The first week, when she’d been in London, he had missed her company but did not consider her absence significant. The second week, he dismissed his sense of loss as the natural feelings of anyone whose daily companion had vanished for a bit. The third week, he had been impatient and out of sorts until she had returned and he could see her smile and hear her laugh. Certainly, she was every bit as annoying now as she had been on their initial acquaintance, but he missed that as well. Missed the banter and the battle and all else that went with it. What would he do when she returned to London for good? Or perhaps the real question was: What was he willing to do to prevent that?
“One can scarcely walk through the halls of either house late at night without tripping over one or more ghosts.”
“I haven’t.” She shrugged. “Tripped, that is.”
“Just wait,” he said in an ominous tone.
“I’ve been here a month. One would think I would have seen at least one by now. How long do I have to wait?”
“I have no idea.” He shook his head. “But I suspect when one is dead, one does not follow a schedule.”
“I don’t believe you, you know.”
He cast her a skeptical glance. “You think ghosts have schedules to keep?”
She laughed. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
He chuckled. “You believed me when I told you I had seen Thomas and Anne.”
“That was different,” she said in an offhand manner. “That was an excellent story. Not merely random ghosts littering the corridors.”
“Then you would believe me if I had a story for every ghost?”
“Possibly, but they would have to be good stories.”
“I have been known to tell very good stories.”
“Yes, I have noticed that.” She thought for a moment. “But Anne and Thomas were, oh, star-crossed if you will. It made perfect sense that if they could not be together in this life, they would certainly remedy that failure in the next.”
“I see.” He pulled up to the front entry of the manor, hopped out of the carriage and came around to help her down. “So the only reason one would return from the dead would be if one was seeking a long lost love?”
“Now you’re being silly. It’s not the only reason certainly, but a most powerful one, I would say.”
He reached to assist her and he steeled himself against the immediate desire to pull her into his arms. It wasn’t easy. He was not the sort of man used to denying desire and caution had never been his strong suit. Still, with Miranda, continued caution seemed best for both of them. He did not want to make another mistake.
“And I thought haunting by ghosts was due to unfinished business of some sort. Or to avenge a wrong or something of that nature. Or perhaps simply because they aren’t entirely sure they’re dead.”
“Or to be reunited with the love of their lives,” she said firmly.
“Soul mates then?”
“For all eternity.” She nodded. “It’s really quite romantic when you think about it. The idea that a great love defeats even death itself.” They started up the steps to the door.
“I don’t think defeat is the right word.” He shook his head. “After all, they did not end up happily living their lives together. They ended up dead. Indeed, of all of the truly great love matches of history or literature, I can’t think of one that ended well.”
She stopped and stared at him. “Don’t be absurd.”
“And I daresay you can’t name more than, oh, five famous couples whose romance ended well. If that many. Usually, they end up . . . dead.”
“Nonsense.” She scoffed. “There are dozens.”
“All I’m asking for is five.” He’d wager she was hard-pressed to think of one.
“Give me a moment.”
“I’m waiting.”
“I’m thinking,” she snapped.
“However, I can think of any number that did not end well. Let’s see.” He counted them off on his fingers. “There was the most famous of all, Romeo and Juliet. Dead by their own hands after the demise of numerous relatives.”
“They are fictional.” She shrugged. “They shouldn’t count.”
“Oh, but they do. And, as fiction is often truth in the eyes of the author, I’d say it is reflective of the way of the world. Next we have Heloise and Abelard. She became a nun, he became a eunuch and a monk.”
“Well, yes, in that—”
“Antony and Cleopatra. He fell on his sword, she was bit by a snake. And then there was Lancelot and Guinevere, the very epitome of soul mates, who nearly destroyed a country although admittedly they might not have existed. I believe he became a hermit and she—yes, once more we have a nun. And, oh, she was married to another man.”
“Very well, but—” She searched her mind. “Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Robert Browning!” Triumph sounded in her voice. “Their romance ended quite well. They were together until the day she died in his arms.”
“Nonetheless, she did die.”
“It’s not the same and you know it. You are simply too stubborn to admit it.” She thought for a moment. “Aha! Miss Bennett and Mr. Darcy! Surely you’ve heard of them?”
“Do you really think I would not be familiar with Miss Austen’s work,” he said mildly. “Do you think I am that much of an idiot?”
“Not always.”
“Oh well, as long as it’s ‘not always.’” He shrugged. “Personally, I never really thought they suited. It seems to me she was swayed more by circumstances than affection in the end.” He smiled in a smug manner. “Regardless, that’s only two, you know.”
“I’m thinking.” She sucked in a sharp breath. “How could I possibly have forgotten Queen Victoria and Prince Albert?”
“How indeed? Although Albert is, oh, what is the word? Dead.”
“But you must admit theirs is a great love story.”
“I will admit great love stories that end well, real or the stuff of legend, are few and far between.” He studied her for a thoughtful moment. “Love, my dear Miranda, is a fragile and elusive thing. This I know from reading overly sentimental poetry written by the likes of Mrs. Browning.”
“And not from experience?”
“I’m afraid not.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Even with three—”
“No,” he said firmly.
“And to think I thought you were a romantic sort.”
“Then this is where the reality of life conflicts with that wicked reputation of mine.” He shook his head in a mournful manner. “I do so hate to disappoint.”
“And I am dreadfully disappointed.” She heaved an overly dramatic sigh. “I have always rather fancied a wicked man myself.”
And wasn’t that interesting. “Have you now?”
“Indeed, I have.” She fluttered her lashes at him. “But he would have to be truly wicked.”
“I’m truly wicked,” he said staunchly. “And I have the reputation as well as three broken engagements to prove it.”
“Well, there is that.” She shook her head regretfully. “Although you have spent a great deal of time telling me—how did you put it?” She thought for a moment. “Oh yes, you did say your reputation could stand enhancing as you had not enhanced it for years.”
“Pity, isn’t it?”
“I’m not sure pity is the right word.” She turned to go into the house.
“Miranda?”
She looked at him. “Yes?”
“You do realize you only gave me three examples, therefore I believe I have made my point.”
“You do know how to win an argument, I’ll grant you that.” She huffed. “I find it most annoying.”
He laughed.
“Still, it’s all rather sad though, isn’t it?”
“Sad?” He stared at her, the victory of a moment ago fading.
“All those star-crossed lovers.”
“Well, yes, I suppose. . . .”
“Destined to be together and yet never able to do so.” She heaved a heartfelt sigh and continued toward the door.
He watched her for a moment, then huffed. How on earth had she managed to turn the tables? Why, as he had clearly won, did he feel as though he had somehow lost?
“I know exactly what you just did, you know,” he called after her.
“Good.”
Miranda was still smiling with satisfaction when a footman opened the door. There was nothing more amusing than snatching the thrill of victory from Winfield.
Prescott greeted her. “Lady Fairborough requests you join her in the parlor, Lady Garret.”
“Thank you, Prescott.” Lady Fairborough often invited Miranda for tea when she arrived back at Millworth. That too would be something she would miss. It was usually most enjoyable and quite informative. Who knew a lady in the country could get that much gossip? One did wonder what would happen when Lady Fairborough had a telephone at her disposal.
Miranda headed for the parlor. Each and every time Miranda had tea with Lady Fairborough, she held her breath waiting for some comment about the, well, friendship, for lack of a better word, between Miranda and her son. Either the woman didn’t see her as a potential daughter-in-law or she was very, very crafty.
Miranda would have wagered on the latter. Lady Fairborough could have been her mother’s long lost twin.
She stepped into the parlor. Lady Fairborough sat on the sofa facing the door. “There you are, Miranda. We were wondering when you would arrive.”
A woman was seated in the chair facing the older lady. Miranda couldn’t see her face from the door.
“Am I late?” She crossed the room.
“Oh no, not at all.” The other woman turned and grinned.
Miranda’s breath caught, but she smiled nonetheless. “Why, Bianca, whatever are you doing here?”
“I was simply curious as to what you have been up to. We haven’t spoken in a very long time.”
“Nonsense, it hasn’t been long at all. I saw you just last week in London.” Miranda pinned her sister with a hard look.
“Seems much longer.” Bianca sipped her tea.
“And I planned to come into London tomorrow, as I believe I did mention to you,” Miranda continued. “Surely whatever you wish to talk about could have waited until then.”
“Ah well, I must have forgotten. So.” She shrugged. “Here I am.”
Miranda narrowed her gaze. “Indeed you are.”
Lady Fairborough patted the sofa beside her. “Do sit down, my dear.”
Miranda took the suggested seat and reached to pour a cup of tea from the tea service on the table beside the sofa. What on earth was Bianca doing here? And, more to the point, what did she know?
“Lady Fairborough has been telling me all about the work you’ve been doing here,” Bianca said, and Miranda’s heart sank. “She’s quite impressed.”
“I am indeed.” Lady Fairborough nodded firmly. “I so admire any woman with courage enough to see what needs to be done and does it.” She frowned. “Oh dear, I do hope I was not speaking out of turn. I assumed, as your sister was here, she knew all about it.”
“Of course I do.
All
about it.” Bianca aimed a pointed glance at her sister. “Miranda tells me everything.”
“As sisters should.” The older woman smiled at Miranda. “I must confess, you have been an inspiration for me, my dear.”
“I’m very flattered, but I can’t imagine how.”
“Even though I have always been a progressive sort, most of the gentlemen in this household are not.”
“True enough.” Miranda braced herself. “And?”
“Why, I have begun to think that it’s all very well and good to have electricity and telephones and call it progress, but . . .”
Bianca stared as if she were mesmerized. Obviously she too realized something of significance was approaching. Miranda did hope it wasn’t a speeding train.
“But?”
“But when life returns to a semblance of normalcy, when Fairborough is completed and we have again taken up residence in our own home, I think I shall join one of those societies for women’s suffrage. I have come to the conclusion . . .” The older woman’s resolute gaze slid from one sister to the next. “That I should like to vote.”
Bianca choked on her tea.
Miranda stared. It was only a small train but a train nonetheless. Winfield was going to love this. She wasn’t sure if she was terrified of the moment when Lady Fairborough announced her desire for suffrage to her son or if she was looking forward to it.
“Then vote you should.” Bianca dabbed at her mouth with a serviette. “We should all vote. Indeed, we should all join one of those societies. If not two or three.” Bianca inclined her head toward Lady Fairborough and lowered her voice in a confidential manner. “I daresay my mother would join us as well.”
“Oh, that is good news. Perhaps I should write to her and share our thoughts.”
“No,” the sisters said in unison.
“We mean, not yet,” Miranda said quickly.
“We should really decide at least on which society we intend to join before we involve Mother,” Bianca added.
“Excellent idea.” Lady Fairborough nodded. “Now then, I shall leave the two of you alone so that you may have a proper chat. I know what it’s like when sisters haven’t seen each other in some time.” She sighed. “I quite miss my sister. I don’t see her nearly as often as I should. Although she never goes anywhere without that nasty little dog of hers. That dog hates every man who comes near it but does seem to especially dislike Winfield.” She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Ah well, then.” She looked at Bianca. “Mrs. Roberts, will you be staying the night? I daresay it may already be too late to catch the last train.”