The Importance of Being Wicked (Millworth Manor) (11 page)

“You’re right, Clara.” Miranda nodded. “Even if I am practical and efficient and all those other dull if necessary attributes, there’s no need for my appearance to scream them. After all, one can catch more flies with honey.”

“Absolutely.”

“I cannot see my dressmaker today; I am to meet my sister in less than an hour. I shall see her tomorrow then although she cannot possibly have anything ready for me before I leave for Millworth Manor on Monday as it’s already Thursday.”

“Millworth Manor?”

“Apparently I was too annoyed at Lord Stillwell to mention this.” Miranda shrugged. “He delivered a note from his mother inviting me to stay at Millworth during construction. She pointed out, if I was going to be at Fairborough most days, it would be more convenient to reside at Millworth and travel into London as needed rather than the other way around.”

“How very clever of her,” Clara said thoughtfully. “Did you tell Lord Stillwell of his mother’s invitation?”

Miranda shook her head. “I intended to, but I didn’t have the opportunity. Still, I’m certain he’s aware of it.”

“One would think.” Clara studied Miranda. “Can you perhaps borrow some things from your sister?”

“Bianca?” Miranda nodded. “She is a little shorter than I am, but I’m certain she has some things that will do. I am still trying to determine what to tell her about my absence from the city.”

“It has always seemed to me, when one is trying to concoct a story that sounds truthful, that it’s beneficial to stay as close to the truth as possible.”

“That makes sense.”

“So you will be staying in the same house as Lord Stillwell,” Clara said thoughtfully.

“Yes.”

“That should be interesting.”

“Oh, I can scarcely wait to see what we battle about next.”

“Perhaps it’s your turn to insult him.”

“I would never do that deliberately.” She raised a shoulder in a casual shrug. “But accidents do happen on occasion.”

“And one can’t help an accident.”

“No.” Miranda smiled slowly. “One certainly can’t.”

“. . . and Lady Fairborough mentioned how pleasant it was in the country. She’s a friend of Mother’s, you know.” Miranda knew full well she was talking entirely too fast, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. As if, somehow, the faster she talked the more likely Bianca was to believe her story. Or perhaps, the more likely she was to simply miss any confusing points. “She and her family are residing at the moment at Millworth Manor. Did you know that Fairborough Hall burned?”

Bianca sat across from her at their usual table at the Ladies Tearoom and nodded slowly. “I had heard that, yes.”

“Well, I’m still not entirely sure how it happened, but the next thing I knew, she was inviting me—and several others, I believe, although that wasn’t entirely clear—to come stay with her in the country for the spring. And summer. Possibly into the fall.” It wasn’t a complete fabrication. For all Miranda knew Lady Fairborough was welcoming half of London to Millworth Manor for the entire rest of the year. Yet another deceit to pile on with the rest of them. “And I accepted.”

Bianca’s eyes widened. “Why on earth would you do that? You scarcely know the woman.”

“I suspect I shall get to know her much better. She is very nice and I really do want to spend some peaceful time in the country.”

“But you could always go to Waterston Abbey. Adrian and Evelyn would love to have you. I daresay Sebastian and Veronica would enjoy your company as well at their country house.”

Miranda cast her sister a wry smile. “Perhaps you missed the word peaceful.”

“Ah, yes. Well, our family is rarely peaceful, is it?”

“Rarely if ever.”

“You do realize there is a family dinner—at Mother’s, I believe—next month?”

“And I have no intention of missing it.” Miranda nodded. “Besides, Millworth is scarcely an hour by train so I do plan to come into London fairly often.”

“And when do you intend to go?”

“Monday,” Miranda said blithely and sipped her tea.

“But we are right in the middle of the season.”

“Goodness, Bianca, you know I don’t care about such things, although . . .” She paused for dramatic effect. This was either going to work beautifully or not at all. “I do think it’s perhaps time that I . . . well . . .”

Bianca gasped. “You are going to rejoin the living!”

Miranda chuckled. “I suppose you could put it that way although I didn’t realize I was not among the living.”

“Oh, you know what I mean.” Bianca waved away her sister’s comment. “I was wondering when you would come around. I don’t mind saying I was beginning to be concerned. I understand how much you loved John and what a devastating blow his death was, but it is time to go on with your life.”

“I have gone on with my life,” Miranda said firmly. “For the most part. But I could use your help.”

“Anything.”

“I think it’s time I did something about my wardrobe.”

“Thank God.” Bianca breathed a sigh of relief. “You never really paid much attention to fashion, even before your marriage. And I suppose it wasn’t all that necessary afterwards, but now that you are returning to society you do want to look your best. Well, better than your best, really.”

She stared at her sister. “I sound dreadful.”

“Oh no, not at all.” Bianca paused. “Yet dreadful is not entirely inaccurate.”

“I had no idea,” Miranda murmured.

“I know. That’s why we found it so awkward to bring it up.”

“We?”

“Oh, yes. Mother, Portia, Diana and I have talked about this. Even before John died, we thought you needed to do something. You have always had a great deal of potential, but you have never taken advantage of it.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“We didn’t want to hurt your feelings. Although, if you hadn’t found a husband as quickly as you did I’m certain we would have forced ourselves to say something.”

“I must say I’m shocked, as none of you have ever been good at keeping your opinions to yourself.”

“We also assumed at some point, you would come to see what we did and then would ask for our help.”

It was one thing to hear this from Clara, who had only known her for a few years, and quite another to hear it from a member of her own family. Miranda bit back a sharp retort and instead forced a smile. “What would you suggest I do?”

“Well.” Bianca studied her with an assessing eye. “Everything, I should think.”

“Everything?” Miranda choked. “Surely there is something acceptable?”

“Your eyes are lovely.”

“That’s all?”

“Your hair is a nice color,” Bianca said thoughtfully. “Although you should wear it in a less severe fashion. Less like, oh, I don’t know, a governess—”

“Governess?” Miranda’s voice rose.

“Don’t look at me like that. We had some lovely governesses.” Bianca’s brow furrowed. “Do you remember Miss Jenkins? She was quite beautiful as I recall.”

“Miss Jenkins?”

“You might have been too young. She wasn’t with us for very long at any rate.” She thought for a moment. “She had been governess for the widowed Earl of Dentwick but resigned that position rather abruptly and came to work for us. She was with us no more than a few months—”

“Of course, now I remember. Lord Dentwick came and made quite a scene in the front hall. We all watched from the upper stairs.” Even after all these years Miranda smiled at the sheer romance of it. “He made a grand impassioned speech about love and not caring what the rest of the world thought and swept her off and married her. How could I possibly forget that? Why, it fueled all of our hopes and dreams for years.”

Bianca nodded. “And
she
was a governess.”

“
She
was a
beautiful
governess even as
she
would have been a beautiful scullery maid. Even when she first came to us, we all agreed she was entirely too lovely to be a governess but must surely have been a lost princess under a magic spell of some sort. However . . .” A firm note sounded in Miranda’s voice. “She was the exception. Most governesses do not look like lost princesses. Nor do I.”

Bianca stared in surprise. “My dear sister, you have a quiet sort of loveliness that the rest of us envy and it quite suits you. You simply do not take advantage of it.”

“I’m not sure—”

“Your complexion is perfect although you could use a touch of color.” Bianca studied her. “I don’t suppose you’d be amenable to the barest hint of rouge?”

“Absolutely not!” Miranda huffed. “Mother would have some sort of fit if she knew you had suggested such a thing.”

“Then we won’t tell Mother,” Bianca said sharply. “However, might I remind you that we are adults and can certainly do as we wish without the threat of being sent to our rooms without supper.”

“I know that, but—”

“Very well then, we shall have to make do.” Without warning, Bianca reached across the table and gave her sister a sharp smack on each cheek so quickly Miranda had no time to protest.

“Ouch!” Miranda clapped her hands over her stinging cheeks. “Why did you do that?”

“To give you a bit of color.”

“Feels like more than a bit,” Miranda muttered rubbing her face.

“One must sacrifice for beauty, you know.” Bianca tilted her head and studied Miranda. “Oh, that is much better. Why the red in your cheeks fairly makes your eyes glow.”

“Lucky, lucky me.”

Bianca refilled her cup, then took a sip. “Your figure is very nearly as nice as mine as well.” Bianca’s eyes narrowed and her gaze drifted over her sister. “Your bosoms might even be a tad larger than mine, but then you’re a few inches taller so that works out nicely.”

“I am so glad something meets with your approval,” Miranda said under her breath.

“Now, if you would simply dress in a more flattering manner—”

“My point exactly.”

“Your point?” Bianca frowned. “How is that your point?”

“Well, that’s the point I was getting to. Now that I have decided to begin anew, as it were, I should like to start immediately. I have already arranged for an appointment with my dressmaker for tomorrow.”

“Absolutely not,” Bianca objected. “You shall see my dressmaker. I shall make the appointment myself. I don’t trust yours.”

“Very well. However, as I am joining Lady Fairborough in the country on Monday—”

“You don’t have anything to wear, do you?”

“Not really.” Miranda grimaced. “Oddly enough, the clothes that I thought were perfectly suitable this morning now seem drab and dull.”

“It’s so awkward when a veil has been lifted.”

“You have no idea.”

“Well, I have more than enough clothes to spare and you are welcome to anything you need. We shall go straightaway to my house when we’re finished here and explore my wardrobe. Let’s see. . . .” She thought for a moment. “You shall need gowns and tea dresses and walking ensembles and—oh yes—if you’re going to be in the country you will need a riding habit.” Bianca beamed. “This will be great fun. Almost as if we were girls again, dressing up in clothes found in trunks in the attic. I must confess, I could certainly use some fun at the moment.”

Miranda searched her sister’s gaze. “You’re speaking of that matter of divorce, aren’t you?”

Bianca nodded. “I have spoken with a solicitor.”

Miranda’s eyes widened with surprise. “Not Hugh?”

“No, not yet.” Bianca shook her head. “It’s going to be long and complicated and unpleasant, but worth it, I think. I want to know exactly what I am getting myself into before I involve Hugh. Besides, if I confide in our brother I would also have to ask him to keep this confidential. It doesn’t seem fair to expect him to keep a secret of this magnitude from the rest of the family, but I’m not quite ready to tell the others yet.”

“Perfectly understandable.”

“I will be—ready, that is,” Bianca said quickly. “As soon as I have everything in order.”

“If there is anything I can do to help . . .”

“I wish you could, but no.” Her jaw clenched. “Apparently my first step is to find my missing husband. He’s vanished like a fox gone to ground.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I do have an idea,” Bianca said slowly.

“That sounds promising.” Bianca’s ideas were usually brilliant or disastrous and on occasion, both.

“We shall see,” Bianca murmured.

Miranda studied her sister thoughtfully. It was not at all like her to keep things to herself. Although, Bianca would probably say the same thing about Miranda. Miranda wondered what everyone else in the family might be hiding. Regardless, both their secrets would be revealed soon enough.

“Are you finished?” Bianca asked although it did seem there was little left to eat or drink on the table.

Miranda popped the last bite of her biscuit in her mouth and nodded.

“Then let us be off.” Bianca rose and gathered her things, Miranda a beat behind her. “This will be such fun. I can’t remember the last time—”

“Mrs. Roberts,” a voice called from halfway across the room.

Both sisters turned to see a beautiful, dark-haired woman crossing the tea room toward them. Even from here, Miranda could see the radiant blue color of her eyes. Now this was a woman no one would ever confuse for a governess.

“Mrs. Hedges-Smythe.” Bianca greeted the newcomer.

“I thought that was you.” Mrs. Hedges-Smythe cast Bianca a brilliant, and shockingly perfect, smile. “And I just wanted to say hello. It has been quite some time.”

“Indeed it has.” Bianca smiled a fairly perfect smile of her own. “I don’t think you know one another. Allow me to introduce my sister, Lady Garret. Miranda, this is Mrs. Hedges-Smythe.”

“How lovely to meet you.” Mrs. Hedges-Smythe aimed that perfect smile at Miranda.

“Mrs. Hedges-Smythe and I were on a committee for one of Mother’s charities, I forget which one, several years ago now,” Bianca said to her sister, then addressed Mrs. Hedges-Smythe. “I believe you two have an acquaintance in common.”

“Oh?” Miranda’s brow rose.

“Do we?” Mrs. Hedges-Smythe beamed. “How delightful. Who?”

“Miranda was invited to spend some time this summer in the country with Lady Fairborough.”

“Lady Fairborough, I see.” A number of emotions flitted across the woman’s face: curiosity, regret, even the oddest touch of something that might possibly be jealousy. “You shall have a lovely time. The gardens at Fairborough Hall are exquisite. Oh . . .” Her brows drew together. “But didn’t I hear something about a dreadful fire at Fairborough?”

“I’m afraid so.” Miranda nodded. “But they are rebuilding.”

“That is good to hear. It’s a grand house.” Mrs. Hedges-Smythe studied Miranda curiously. “I do hope you enjoy your stay with Lady Fairborough. I must confess, I don’t think she ever especially liked me. Ah, well. Not surprising, as it turned out.” She and Bianca exchanged a few more comments about nothing of any significance; then Mrs. Hedges-Smythe took her leave to join a small table of ladies on the other side of the room.

Bianca’s gaze followed the woman. “You have no idea who she is, do you?”

“No, but she is beautiful.”

“Indeed she is.” Bianca paused. “She was a fiancée of Lady Fairborough’s son. The first, I believe.”

Miranda started. “She was engaged to Lord Stillwell?”

“Oh my, yes.” The gazes of both women settled on Mrs. Hedges-Smythe and her friends.

“Do you know what happened?”

“Well, according to what I’ve heard, and my sources are always most reliable, she threw him over for a man with greater prospects.”

Miranda gasped. “She didn’t!”

“Oh, but she did.” Bianca took her sister’s arm and they started for the door. She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “She was engaged to Mr. Hedges-Smythe within weeks of calling off her wedding to Lord Stillwell. You see, Mr. Hedges-Smythe was the only heir of the elderly Duke of Monmount until the duke married a much younger woman and had twin sons.”