The Importance of Being Wicked (Millworth Manor) (17 page)

“Do call me Bianca, please,” Bianca said. “And yes, that would be lovely.”

“No,” Miranda said sharply. “I mean Bianca does have to get back.”

“Not really.” Bianca cast her sister her sweetest smile. “And if I stay here the two of us can return to London together in the morning.”

“Excellent.” Lady Fairborough beamed, expressed a few more sentiments on the special nature of sisters, notwithstanding their adoration of terrorizing pets, and left the parlor.

At once Miranda turned to her sister. “What are you doing here?”

“I think the real question is what are
you
doing here?” Bianca’s eyes narrowed. “Well?”

“Well,” she hedged.

“That’s how you’re going to do this?” Bianca’s brow rose. “Very well then. What I know thus far is that you are here managing—”

“I wouldn’t say managing. I’m really more of an . . . adviser.”

“Whatever you wish to call it scarcely matters. You’ve been doing it for weeks and weeks. Indeed, I suspect you are back to your old tricks.”

“What old tricks?” Caution edged Miranda’s voice.

“I thought John’s death had put an end to that. Obviously I was wrong. You’re designing buildings or whatever it is you do, and letting someone else take the credit again, aren’t you?”

Miranda stared. “How did you know?”

“You told me once in passing—oh, years and years ago—that you were behind John’s designs.”

Miranda narrowed her eyes. “I don’t remember that.”

“It was an offhand comment, in the middle of some festivity if I recall, and I believe we had both had more than our share of wine. It didn’t seem important then, and I only remember it now because I finally put two and two together. Your continuing absence from London, the fire at Fairborough Hall and hearing it was being rebuilt.” She shrugged. “Also I paid someone to ask a few questions, I visited with your servants in London and I spoke with Miss West.”

“Clara?”

“Oh my, yes. Lovely woman. And very loyal to you. She was reticent to say anything at all. Miss West would have held up well under medieval torture. The rack and the like. I’ll have you know I was quite tempted by the thought of those methods, but I restrained myself.” Bianca shook her head. “Fortunately, by the time I spoke with her, I had all but a few details.”

“And?”

“And I know that you are running Garret and Tempest. I am certain as well that you are the architect for Fairborough Hall and every other project your husband’s—or I should say your—firm undertakes.”

“Is that all?”

“Is there more?” Bianca’s brows drew together. “Have I missed something?”

“Not really. You’re quite good at this. Very thorough, I might add. Now that you know . . .” She paused. “Will you tell the rest of the family?”

“Do you really think I would?”

“Well . . .”

“Why on earth would I tell the family?” Bianca scoffed. “One never knows how anyone might react. Honesty is certainly not worth the risk.”

Miranda nodded. “My thoughts exactly.”

“Furthermore, I, for one, agree with Lady Fairborough. It’s quite courageous of you. You’ve always liked drawing buildings and that sort of thing. I never thought it was at all fair that John took the credit for your work even if you didn’t seem to mind.”

“I didn’t at the time.”

“Why should you be kept from doing what you enjoy, what you are apparently quite good at, because you are female? The only reason that you are doing it in a clandestine manner is because men have driven you to it. Men rule the world and men make the rules. Fortunately for us, the vast majority of them are idiots. And while one shouldn’t usually take advantage of those less fortunate, men are the exception. So I say bravo, Miranda, and what can I do to help?”

Miranda stared. “Nothing, but thank you.”

Bianca considered her sister. “You do realize, if I found out, it’s only a matter of time before—”

“Yes, yes, I know.” Miranda waved off the comment. “I am going to tell them.”

“When?”

“Well, that’s the question, isn’t it?” She shook her head. “Definitely not tomorrow but probably soon.”

“Apparently you’re not as courageous as Lady Fairborough thinks.”

“No one is.” Miranda leaned forward and met her sister’s gaze. “Might I ask when you intend to tell them of your pursuit of a divorce?”

“Ouch.” Bianca winced. “That was not at all kind of you.”

“My apologies,” Miranda said wryly.

“That is a topic for another conversation. We are discussing you at the moment,” Bianca said firmly. “And might I point out news of your activities will be much better coming from you than if it becomes gossip.”

“I really can’t imagine it’s all that interesting,” Miranda said under her breath. “As scandal goes, that is.”

“You’re not serious.” Bianca stared at her with disbelief. “You’re competing in a man’s field and you are not only doing it as well, you’re doing it better. I think it’s mad and brilliant. As scandal goes, this has everything but a virginal governess and a wicked scoundrel.”

“How absurd.” Miranda laughed. “It’s not nearly as interesting as a virginal governess and a wicked scoundrel.”

“Pardon me, ladies.” Win lounged in the open doorway. “I thought I heard somebody call for a wicked scoundrel.”

“Eavesdropping, Winfield?” Miranda shot him an exasperated look.

“Winfield, is it?” Bianca murmured with a knowing look at her sister.

“I was trying.” He sauntered into the room.

“How much did you hear?”

“Not nearly enough. I would apologize, but when one is innocently passing by an open door and hears talk of ‘virginal governesses’ and ‘wicked scoundrels’ bandied about, well . . .” He glanced at Bianca. “What was I to do?”

Bianca stared. “Eavesdrop?”

“Exactly.” Winfield’s eyes narrowed. “Are you exchanging secrets?”

“Deep, dark secrets.” Miranda nodded. “Secrets that come perilously close to gossip.”

“About virginal governesses and wicked scoundrels?”

“Those are the best kind of secrets as well as the best gossip.” There was nothing Bianca liked better than a juicy bit of gossip.

He laughed and relief washed through Miranda. He couldn’t have heard anything of importance or he wouldn’t be so lighthearted.

“Although, I don’t know,” Bianca said thoughtfully. “Now that I think about it, there have been entirely too many secrets about virginal governesses and wicked scoundrels. Why, that’s all you ever hear about. It may well be time for new secrets.”

Win flashed his wicked smile at her sister. “My sentiments exactly. Shall we ferret out one of our own, or shall we simply make it up?”

“I wouldn’t think it’s necessary to make anything up as there are so many—”

“Winfield, I don’t believe you’ve met my sister, Mrs. Roberts,” Miranda cut in smoothly. She had no idea what Bianca might say and no desire to find out. “Bianca, this is Lord Stillwell.”

Bianca’s brow rose. “Ah yes, the notorious Lord Stillwell.”

“Good Lord, I hope not.” He grinned.

“I have heard a great deal about you.” Bianca studied him curiously.

“Nothing good, I suspect.” Winfield glanced at Miranda. “I should warn you, anything your sister says is not true.”

“Really?” She shot a speculative glance at Miranda. “You needn’t worry on that score. She hasn’t mentioned you at all.”

He winced. “That is even worse.”

“Bianca is staying the night and then I am accompanying her back to London tomorrow,” Miranda said lightly. “I have some matters to attend to. But Mr. Clarke has things well in hand.”

“I have no doubt of it.” He paused. “How long will you be gone?”

“A few days, I think.”

“Ah well, we shall have to carry on without you then.” His gaze met Miranda’s and her heart leapt. Nonsense, of course. “I have matters of my own that are calling me. Very nice to meet you, Mrs. Roberts. Until dinner then.” He nodded and left the room.

Miranda’s gaze followed him. What was the man doing to her?

“He doesn’t know, does he?”

Miranda’s gaze jerked to her sister’s. “No, he thinks the architect is Mr. Tempest.”

Bianca studied her. “Are you going to tell him?”

“Not unless I have to.” She shook her head. “He has some very definite ideas on what women should and should not be doing in this world. He would never understand and might well discharge me on the spot.”

“But surely you have some sort of written contract.”

“Of course, but I wouldn’t put it past him to pay our agreed-upon fees and discharge me anyway. He certainly has the money to do so and the truth would no doubt infuriate him.” Miranda blew a long breath. “He would see this as a massive deception.”

“Forgive me for pointing this out, but isn’t it?”

“Well, yes, I suppose, but it isn’t, oh, personal.”

“And he would take it as a personal affront?” Bianca said slowly.

“It certainly didn’t start out that way, but now . . .”

“Now?”

“Now we have become, oh, friends of a sort, I would say.”

“Friends?” A skeptical note sounded in Bianca’s voice.

“Yes,” Miranda said firmly. “Friends.”

“I see.”

“I know that tone, Bianca.” Miranda stared at her sister. “What exactly do you think you see?”

“Not a thing. Absolutely nothing.” She shook her head. “However, you did not answer my question.”

Miranda stared in confusion. “Which question was that?”

“When I asked if he knew, I was not referring to your work.”

“No?”

“No indeed.” She met Miranda’s gaze directly. “I was asking if he knew how you felt about him.”

“I don’t feel anything about him.”

“Oddly enough, I don’t believe you.”

“Well, you should.” Miranda absently picked at the threads on the arm of the sofa. “Although admittedly there are indeed any number of things I feel about him. He is one of the most annoying men I have ever met. Worse, he seems to enjoy annoying me.”

“He is quite handsome,” Bianca murmured.

“He is also dreadfully old-fashioned and can be extremely stiff and stodgy.”

“He certainly didn’t look either stiff or stodgy.”

“Looks are deceiving. Why, the man isn’t nearly as wicked as his reputation would make you think.”

“Pity. Wicked men can be most amusing.” Bianca grimaced. “As long as they are decent, honorable sorts as well.”

“In addition, even his mother says he’s something of a stick-in-the-mud.”

“He seemed rather charming to me.”

“You don’t know him,” Miranda snapped. “Certainly on the surface he seems all charming and dashing. But he likes nothing better than a rousing argument about something inconsequential like famous love matches. We argue endlessly, although it does tend to be rather, well, fun.”

“Fun?”

“Yes, fun.” She sighed in surrender. “There is nothing in the world like a verbal battle with Lord Stillwell. And nothing better than winning that debate.”

“I can imagine,” Bianca said under her breath.

“And yes, he can be most amusing. And indeed he makes me laugh rather more than I have in years. And admittedly, he is surprisingly intelligent. Why, he has taken over complete control of his family’s business concerns and properties. And done quite well with them I might add. And he—”

“Has he kissed you?”

Heat washed up Miranda’s face. “Don’t be absurd. Why would you ask such a thing?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Bianca considered her closely. “Perhaps it’s the way he looks at you. As if it’s all he can do to keep his hands to himself.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Miranda scoffed. “I haven’t noticed—”

“Or perhaps it’s the way you look at him.”

“That too is absurd. I don’t look at him—”

“As if he were a gift you cannot wait to unwrap.”

“That is the silliest—”

“I have never seen you look at a man like that.” She leaned forward and met her sister’s gaze firmly. “Not even John.”

“I loved John,” she said staunchly.

“Of course you did.”

“John and I never argued.”

“And why would you? You were too busy doing exactly what he wanted.”

The fact that they had never argued had never seemed a bad thing. Until now. “We were simply in accord on everything.”

“You simply acquiesced to him on everything.”

“I wouldn’t put it that way. But I was his wife, after all.”

“And an excellent—dare I say, perfect—wife you were too.”

“I certainly wasn’t perfect.” Although thinking back on it, perhaps they had never argued not merely because she never disagreed with him but because she had always tended to retreat rather than stand fast on her positions. Indeed, she had never really argued with anyone. Until recently. Until Winfield Elliott, that is. “I don’t see why that is the least bit significant.”

“What?”

“The fact that I never argued with John and yet I seem to argue with Lord Stillwell all the time.”

Bianca studied her for a long, thoughtful moment, then nodded. “I agree. It’s not the least bit significant.”

“Now, I don’t believe you.”

“Miranda,” Bianca began, “John was a good man.”

“Absolutely.”

“And you loved one another.”

“Of course we did.” She nodded firmly.

“But . . .” Bianca drew a deep breath. “You are not the same woman you were when you married him nine years ago, nor are you the same woman you were when he died. You have changed. I can’t quite put my finger on how, but you have. There is somehow, I don’t know,
more
of you than there used to be.”

And hadn’t Miranda come to the same conclusion herself? “Do you think so?”

“Without a doubt.” Bianca nodded. “I was remiss in not noticing it before now. But then you have been elusive and I can be so very self-centered on occasion. . . .”

“On occasion?” Miranda smiled. “My dear sister, if you are expecting me to disagree now, I shall have to disappoint you.”

“That is disappointing.” She paused for a moment. “Might I give you some advice?”

“Can I stop you?”

“Probably not.”

“Go on then.”

“I don’t believe in things like soul mates. The idea that we are destined to be with one person and one person only in this life, that there are no other possibilities for happiness.” She shook her head. “I simply don’t believe it, that’s all.”

Miranda nodded. “I can understand that.”

“Loving once, Miranda, does not preclude you from loving again.”

Was Bianca speaking of Miranda’s life or her own? As dreadful a mistake as her sister now knew marriage to her husband was, she had loved him once. Or thought she had.

“Was that the advice?”

“Wait, there’s more.” She thought for a moment. “You have, oh, I suppose ‘blossomed’ is the right word, since John’s death.”

“Good Lord. That sounds dreadful.”

“Rightly or wrongly, Miranda, it is indeed what happened. I should have recognized it sooner. The secrecy, the preoccupation—all the signs were there, but I was too busy with my own concerns to notice and for that you have my apologies. But there is something between you and Lord Stillwell that I never saw between you and John.” She shook her head. “Even if you don’t see it, it scarcely took me more than a moment to recognize that there is something quite remarkable happening between the two of you. I suspect Lady Fairborough and everyone else here have noted it as well.”

“Lady Fairborough hasn’t said a word.”

“Clever of her, isn’t it?” Bianca chuckled. “Exactly what Mother would do if she was encouraging a match.”

“She’s certainly not . . .”

Bianca’s brow rose.

“I will admit . . .” Miranda chose her words with care. “There does seem to be something between us, although I am not entirely sure what it is. I don’t know that we suit one another. He is so dreadfully annoying. And I daresay he feels exactly the same way about me.”

Bianca laughed.

“What do you find so amusing?”

“Your indecision.” She grinned. “You weren’t the least bit indecisive about John.”

“I never had any doubts about John.” She sniffed. “We were perfectly suited from the first moment we met. There was never a disagreeable word or discordant note between us.”

“Pity.”

“What?”

Bianca shrugged. “There’s a great deal to be said for the passion of argument as well as the passion inherent in setting things right.”

“It scarcely matters.” Miranda shook her head. “Once Lord Stillwell knows that I have deceived him, he will never forgive me. He values honesty, especially in women, which I suspect has to do with his former fiancées.”

“Then don’t tell him.”

“You said it yourself. This is bound to come out soon. And then . . .” She shuddered.

Winfield wasn’t anything like John. But then she had begun to realize, neither was she. She had always thought John had given her the freedom to be herself, and in many ways he had. But she had never disagreed with him and surely there were any number of times when she should have. Rather, she avoided confrontation, anger, raising her voice. Life was so much easier that way.

But not nearly as exciting. The thought popped into her head unbidden. And wasn’t doing battle with Winfield exciting? Wasn’t it—wasn’t
he
—challenging and exhilarating? And hadn’t she indeed been having a great deal of fun?

And when they gazed into one another’s eyes, wasn’t there something that snapped between them like the sparks from Lord Salisbury’s electricity? Something compelling and rare and eternal? Something that might never come her way again?

But what if she was wrong? What if everything she was coming to feel was only because he was so good at what he did? In spite of his claims that his reputation was not being actively
enhanced
, he was reportedly an expert in seduction. What if she was just another conquest? What if he broke her heart?

“The only thing you can do at the moment, however, is try to figure out what it is you want.” Bianca’s gaze met hers. “Or possibly who.”

 

 

Miranda stood on the terrace, gazing out over the Millworth gardens, silhouetted by the deepening twilight. She looked not unlike the figurehead on a grand sailing ship of a century ago. Brave and strong and determined. A fanciful notion, of course, but no less accurate for the whimsy of it.

Win moved to stand beside her at the stone balustrade. “May I join you, or are you plotting your next assault on all I hold dear?”

She smiled but continued to gaze out over the grounds. “I would never admit to that. Surprise, you know, is everything in an assault.”

“Oh, well then.” He leaned back against the balustrade and studied her profile. “I must say, you are shockingly pensive tonight.”

“Shockingly?”

“It’s rather disconcerting. You are generally not the least bit pensive. At least not to my knowledge.”

“I daresay there are all sorts of things you don’t know about me.”

“Perhaps.” He chuckled. “Although I thought I was coming to know you quite well.”