Marjorie Farrell (26 page)

When Tilly arrived half an hour later, Sam sent her away. “I will stay the afternoon,” he said, “but I would like you to return this evening. Mrs. Dillon should not be alone tonight, and it would not be proper for me to stay.”

Tilly agreed to arrange it with Joanna, thinking that neither was it quite proper for him to be there alone during the day. But Nora was a widow, and the viscount almost a relation, after all.

Sam looked in at Nora, but she was still asleep. He slipped off his coat and rolled up his sleeves and went into the kitchen, where he boiled water and washed the few dishes in the sink.

He found a small loaf, still fairly fresh, and some butter in the pantry. Some tea and toast should be all right for now, he thought.

When Nora at last awoke, she found herself looking at a Sam with breeches spattered by barley water and dishwater, and sporting a dish-towel apron, bearing a tray of tea and bread, with a toasting fork balanced on the edge. She could not help smiling at the sight, and his own legs felt weak when he saw her smile. At least she didn’t yet hate him for seeing her so helpless.

He pulled a stool near the fire, and sat there toasting bread. His cheeks were burnished by the heat by the time he offered her a slice of toast
.

This time, her hands were steadier, and she managed to drink and eat by herself. “I am feeling so much better. I apologize for my weakness this morning.”

“Will you stop apologizing for a natural weakness?” Sam asked with mock gruffness.

“All right.” Nora smiled. “If you will forget you ever saw me like this. But you must have better things to do with your day than to tend an invalid. Where is Tilly?”

“I sent her home until tonight. She agreed to come back and stay with you.”

Nora was too weak to argue or even resent Sam’s highhandedness. She did not want to be alone, and he could not stay, of course. In fact, it was most improper for him to be seeing her like this, not to mention embarrassing. She pulled her wrapper tighter around her.

“Are you cold?” he asked immediately. “I could get you another blanket.”

“No, no, I am fine. I was just wondering what Tilly must think.” Nora blushed.

“Well, as she said, I am almost a relative.” Sam smiled.

Nora smiled back, but wondered why such a simple statement of fact, which should relieve her embarrassment, made her, instead, feel lonely. Of course, Sam had been so understanding because he was concerned about Miranda’s mother, not Nora Dillon. She had more than likely succeeded in killing off any tenderer feelings when she refused his help for her journey, and most certainly now, she was not a figure to inspire romantic feelings.

She drifted off again shortly after her tea, opening her eyes every half-hour or so, to see Sam sitting by the fire, reading what appeared to be one of her own books. She thought she heard noises at the door at one point, and the next time she awoke, there was Tilly smiling down at her, offering to help her up to bed.

“Where is Sam…the viscount?”

“He had an engagement back in town this evening, Mrs. Dillon. He asked me to stay the night.”

“Yes, he told me, Tilly. And I appreciate it. I managed all right when I had the fever, so I don’t know why I don’t want to be alone now, but I don’t, and am glad you are here.”

Nora leaned on Tilly’s arm and the banister and slid into fresh-smelling sheets, since Tilly had changed the bed.

“There is some fresh water next to your bed, ma’am, and a bell should you need me.”

Nora smiled gratefully and slid under the covers. Despite all her rest during the day, she was asleep immediately.

When Miranda arrived the next morning, she found her mother sitting in the armchair by the parlor fire, drinking a cup of tea. Nora rose as she saw her daughter, and started to walk over to her before Miranda had a chance to stop her.

“Oh, Mama, you look so pale. And to think you were here all alone.”

Nora was better but still weak, and after her welcoming hug said, “I truly am much better, but I do need to sit down immediately,” and went back to her chair. Once she was seated, she was able to reassure her daughter that no, she did not need to be back in bed, and yes, she truly was better. No fever for over twenty-four hours. “But I imagine I don’t look it,” continued Nora, grimacing at the thought of her appearance. “My hair hasn’t been washed in days, and I know I have black rings under my eyes.”

Miranda sat down opposite her mother and nodded her agreement.

“Wait, you are supposed to protest,” Nora laughed, “and tell me I don’t look like an old hag.”

“You don’t look like an old hag, Mama.” Miranda smiled. “But neither do you look well. Are you sure you don’t need a doctor?”

“I am certain. Truly, I am weak, but that is natural after such a fever. But it was only that
—nothing more serious. Now, enough of the invalid. How have you been this past week? It is good to see you.”

“We have all been well and we missed you at the musicale. I’ve missed you,” Miranda said, moving closer. “Your trip was so sudden, and I have been so busy. I feel I have neglected you.”

“Miranda, my dear, you have not neglected me,” Nora said, pulling her daughter to her. “You are Jeremy’s wife first and my daughter second. And that is as it should be.”

“I’m not sure I like being a countess if it takes me away from you, Mama. There are times when I tire of boring parties and having to be polite to people I dislike. There are times when I miss our old life.”

Nora smiled in sympathy as Miranda buried her face in her mother’s shoulder. She had no intention of clinging to her daughter, but she had to admit she was glad Miranda felt the change in their relationship.

“There, there, you are tired and upset by both my illness and my trip. I miss your company more than you could know, but you love Jeremy, and so his countess you must be.”

“I know, Mama, I know.” Miranda sat up and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. Nora was amused to see the Countess of Alverstone staining her fashionable sarcenet walking dress with tears.

“Listen, I am home now, and we shall all be together for the holidays. And despite the fact that Lavinia will no doubt have great plans for entertaining, I am sure we will be able to relax as we did last summer. And in the spring, we will have family to visit with, when your grandfather comes to London for the Season.”

“I am glad that you went home, Mama. But all I can think of is how different it would have been for us if you had received his letter years ago.”

“Do you wish they had been different?”

Miranda thought for a moment, remembering the years with little or no money, the cheap lodgings, the times when her mother was cross from worrying about finances, the writing which finally supported them, but which took her attention away. She thought of the homes that her mother had created for them, the friends they had made in the village. And Jeremy. She would never have met Jeremy had their lives been different.

“No,” she answered wonderingly. “There have been hard times, but we were together. And there have been good times, too. And there is Jeremy,” she concluded simply.

Nora hugged her in relief. “That is the way I felt too, Miranda. Although I am happy to have found myself forgiven after all these years.”

“It will be strange to have family. What will people say? Jeremy knows, but to everyone else I am Lieutenant Dillon’s daughter.”

“I think they will accept your half-truths. That my family opposed my marriage, but the estrangement has been finally and happily ended. Society will love the romance of it. And being the granddaughter of a marquess will only add to your consequence.”

“You are probably right.” Miranda laughed. “Now, what can I do for you?”

“I believe my appetite is returning,” Nora replied, “and there is nothing in the pantry. Could you shop for me, and perhaps make me some soup? Although you are not dressed for shopping or cooking, my lady!”

Miranda grinned. “I still have my old merino wool here, Mama. Let me change, and I’ll be off.”

Nora sank back on the sofa, feeling like her old life had been returned to her. Only for a short time, she reminded herself, but she would enjoy her daughter while she was here.

Miranda stayed for three days, until she was sure her mother was recovered. Both Joanna and Jeremy paid short visits, but otherwise there was just the two of them. Miranda read aloud in the evenings, and got Nora to bed early. By the third morning, Nora came to the breakfast table, dressed for the first time in many days.

“I feel human again,” she said as she felt a surge of appetite at the sight of fresh muffins and the smell of bacon.

“You look much better,” exclaimed Miranda, “but you are still pale.”

“I know; I looked in my glass this morning. But at least my legs no longer feel like blancmange. I am ready for a walk on the Heath.”

“No, you’re not,” Miranda said firmly.

Nora was amused by the mothering tone in her daughter’s voice.

“Well,” she pleaded, deliberately mimicking a small child, “may I at least take a walk around the garden?” She looked over at her daughter quizzically, and they both laughed.

“Do you think you should?”

“Truly, a little fresh air will be welcome after being shut up for so long.”

And so, when Jeremy arrived to reclaim his wife, he found the two women, warmly wrapped, strolling arm in arm in the yard. Miranda looked gloriously healthy, and Nora’s paleness had at last given way to a becoming touch of pink.

“Sam sends his apologies for not visiting, and these,” said Jeremy, and he pulled a basket of fruit and a bouquet of roses from the viscount’s greenhouses out of the coach.

Nora blushed an even deeper pink as they all admired the flowers. Aside from his outburst before she left for Northumberland, Sam had never acted as anything but a friend. And his help during her illness had been nothing more than one would expect from an almost-relative. The fruit would have been a quite acceptable gift, but the flowers? Her fingers trembled as she took the bouquet of nearly full-blown roses from Jeremy and pulled out a small card: “The late-blooming roses of autumn have always been my favorite. I hope you are recovered. Marcus Samuel Vane, Viscount Acland.”

After they walked back to the cottage and unpacked the fruit and admired the roses, Miranda changed from her old gown and reappeared as the fashionable lady.

“Good-bye, my dears, and thank you,” Nora said, as she waved them off. “I will be fine alone tonight and I will see you soon.”

As she returned to the now-empty cottage, she felt her eyes fill up. She would miss Miranda all over again, after this last visit. But I will have to get used to this, she scolded herself. And the sight of the roses on the table lifted her spirits. Had Sam meant anything more than a simple statement of preference in his note? She felt herself flush at the thought that he might have been speaking metaphorically, and the warmth of those seconds of desire caused her to raise her hand to her forehead automatically to check her temperature. Stop being ridiculous, Nora, she scolded herself, and broke the spell by fetching one of Sam’s oranges from the kitchen and digging her fingernails into the peel, slowly eating it, section by section.

Sam deliberately kept himself away from Nora for almost two weeks. He did not follow up his gift with a visit, as she expected him to, and so she sent him a rather formal thank-you. He made his excuses to Lavinia for the small gathering she had planned because he knew that Nora would undoubtedly attend. He needed some time before seeing Nora, or he would forget that her moments of weakness had been just an illness-induced vulnerability which probably had nothing to do with her feelings for him. She had let him in, the wall of independence had crumbled, but would she regret it and rebuild it? And more to the point, could he keep himself from touching her the next time they met?

Sam could not have chosen a better way to increase Nora’s interest. Ever since her visit home and her illness, some part of her, long closed off, was now coming back to life, and she found herself wondering about his feelings toward her. Had he really said he wished for more than friendship on his visit before she left for Northumberland? She had been so anxious about her journey that she could hardly trust her memory.

* * * *

When Nora arrived at Lavinia’s gathering and heard that Sam had excused himself, she was confirmed in her worst suspicions: he had acted only out of friendship, and was staying away so as not to lead her on. She was even more sure after dinner, when she overheard two ladies, full of
ton
news, and seemingly expert in predicting
affaires du coeur
,
linking the viscount again with Lady Maria. “It does appear she will be his next
chère
amie
,
” said one. “I must say,” replied the other, “that he has good taste in widows, though he does hold himself back from the Marriage Mart.”

Nora moved away, hot with shame at her own idiocy, and then cold with despair. The viscount was clearly not attracted to her, much less in love with her. And at that moment she realized she was in love with him. How this had happened, and when her physical response had combined with her growing liking for him, she could not have said. But he was clearly not for her. He was obviously not interested in marriage, whatever his reason. He thought her still committed to her dead husband, and in any case, he would not be interested in a woman like herself. She had met this Lady Maria, and although she was mature, she was still a few years younger than Nora. And hasn’t a care in the world, thought Nora resentfully, to produce one crow’s foot. She walked over to join Miranda and the Duchess of Sutton, who were quietly conversing by the fire. By the time the men rejoined them, Nora felt recovered.

“I hear that you have been ill,” said a voice behind her. It was Simon.

“Yes, but nothing serious, your grace.”

“And your journey home? Was it all you expected it to be?”