The Importance of Being Wicked (Millworth Manor) (19 page)

“Oh, she’ll certainly see it that way.”

“I daresay she might see this as being none of my concern. Regardless, whether she likes it or not, she has become my concern.”

“Oh?”

“We’ve become friends,” Win said firmly, “good friends. This is no more than I would do for any friend.”

“Yes, of course, exactly what I was thinking. And I suspect what Chapman was thinking as well.”

“Why did you interrupt him?” Win studied the other man. “When he made his cryptic comment about the way of it?”

“I simply wanted to save you the effort of denial. Chapman was obviously about to charge you with having fallen in love with her.”

“Don’t be absurd. The man’s powers of observation may well be acute when it comes to recognizing intrigue, but he knows nothing about matters of the heart.”

“And yet I would say his observation in that quarter was quite accurate.”

“Utter rubbish.”

“Still, you are not going to confront her but rather wait for her to confide in you. Wait for her to, dare I say, trust you?”

Win nodded. “Exactly.”

“As one friend would trust another.”

“Precisely.”

Gray fell silent, his gaze thoughtful and considering.

“What are you thinking now?” Win said sharply. He did not like the look on his cousin’s face.

“I am simply wondering what has you so scared.”

Win scoffed. “I am not the least bit scared.”

“I have never seen you scared in matters involving a woman before.”

“I am not scared.” Win rolled his gaze toward the ceiling. “What on earth do I have to be frightened of?”

“If it was me, I would be afraid of making yet another mistake,” Gray said in a casual manner. “I would be afraid that having at last fallen in love, if that feeling was not reciprocated then my heart would be crushed. I would be afraid that a woman who was continuing the work she had done with her late husband was not entirely willing to let him go. I would be afraid that she was still in love with a dead man.”

“Then it’s a good thing I am not you,” Win said in a sharper tone than he had intended, but he could not dismiss Gray’s comments, nor could he ignore the thoughts crowding his mind.

Was Miranda continuing with the work she and her husband had apparently done together because it was her desire to do so, or was it important to her because it had been important to him? Was allowing Mr. Tempest to take the credit for her work any different from when her husband had done so?

In spite of her claim that it was time to make changes in her life, that she was not opposed to remarriage, had she really moved on? As long as Garret and Tempest existed, wasn’t her husband still present in her life, at least in spirit? Was she fighting for her company’s survival for her employees? Or for a dead man?

He wasn’t at all sure he wanted to know the answer because he wasn’t at all sure why he wanted to know. Yet another question he didn’t have an answer to.

“That is fortunate.” Gray chuckled. “I would hate for you to be in that position.”

Was Gray right? Was Win so concerned about making another mistake that he refused to see when the right woman was at last standing directly in his path? Even his soul mate, if one believed in such nonsense.

Of course, there was the distinct possibility that while he might have found his destiny in her, she might have already found it with her husband. It would be just his luck to have finally found his soul mate only to discover she had found hers in someone else.

“Have you ever considered the idea of soul mates?” he said abruptly.

“Well, yes, I suppose,” Gray said slowly. “I feel very much that way about Camille. But then I have loved her for most of my life.”

“What if she was dead?”

“That is not something I wish to think about.” Gray stared at the other man. “And I can’t believe you asked that.”

“All right then, what if you were dead?”

“I’m not sure I like that any better.”

“Humor me. If you were dead, do you think Camille would find another man so perfectly suited to her as you? Another soul mate?”

“This is a serious question, isn’t it?”

Win nodded.

“Very well. If I were dead . . .” Gray grimaced. “I suppose it would depend on when I was dead. I mean if I were to die forty years from now, I’m not sure Camille could or would find someone to take my place. I’m not sure she would want to. There would be too much of life we had shared, I think. However, if I were to die tomorrow . . .” He winced and met Win’s gaze. “This is a dreadful conversation, you know.”

“I do.” Win nodded. “Go on.”

“I don’t like this game,” he muttered, then sighed. “If I were to die when Camille was still a fairly young woman I would hope that she could find what we had shared with someone else. I would hope—because I am not the least bit selfish, mind you—that she could indeed find another soul mate, as it were.”

“So you’re saying there is a possibility, even if one has found and lost a soul mate, to find another?”

“Yes, I suppose. At least I would hope so.” He glared. “I hope you are happy now, whereas I am very much feeling my own mortality and I don’t like it one bit.”

“Not happy exactly, although I do appreciate your effort. You see, I can’t help but wonder . . .” Win blew a long breath. “If you’re wrong. If one only has one soul mate per lifetime. And if one has already met and married one’s soul mate, even if he has died . . .”

“And I think you are making up absurd excuses that are so esoteric in nature as to sound quite brilliant when, in truth, they are nothing more than a way for you to avoid admitting your feelings. And doing something about them.”

“I am going to cling to the fact that you called it brilliant and ignore the rest,” Win said.

“However, I can play as well as you do. Consider this, cousin.” He leaned forward and met Win’s gaze firmly. “Continuing the premise that one has only one soul mate, what if you did meet and marry someone you were convinced was your soul mate? You were well suited to one another and indeed had a lovely life together.”

“Go on.”

“Well, what if . . .” Gray paused in the manner of a storyteller reaching a climactic moment. “You were wrong?”

“All in all, I think everything is going exceptionally well.” Clara glanced at the notebook in her hand. “This month’s payment to Mr. Tempest’s account has been made and even better, you will be able to return to London for good in a few days.”

Miranda stared at the other woman. “I will?”

Clara nodded. “Mrs. Clarke has given birth to a healthy baby boy. She is doing quite well, although Emmett still seems a bit dazed. He was in the office earlier and said as soon as she is back on her feet, he will take over your duties at Fairborough.”

“I see.” Miranda paused. This was not at all what she wanted. “There’s no hurry, really. We wouldn’t want to push the poor woman.”

“Of course not, but—”

“I know when my sister Diana had her children, she had no difficulties whatsoever, yet it still took weeks for her to be able to get back to normal.”

Clara’s eyes narrowed. “Weeks?”

“In some cases, months,” she said in a serious manner, ignoring the thought of how delighted Diana would be to discover she’d had all that time to recover.

“Well, then we can’t ask him to leave London daily to travel to Fairborough,” Clara said slowly.

“Absolutely not.” Miranda nodded firmly.

“Unfortunately, this means you shall have to continue to reside at Millworth.”

“That is unfortunate.” Miranda heaved an overly dramatic sigh.

Clara stared at her for a moment, then grinned. “Dare I ask, Lady Garret, just whom do you think you’re fooling?”

“I have no idea what you mean, Miss West.”

“You know exactly what I mean.” Clara rested her hip against the edge of one of the desks and studied Miranda. “You don’t want to come back to London.”

“Nonsense.” Miranda scoffed. “I miss London terribly. It’s simply that the fresh country air is so very stimulating.”

“The country air, is it?”

“Absolutely.” Miranda inhaled deeply and resisted the need to cough. “While there is nowhere in the world that can compare to London, English country air is the best in the world.”

“Which explains why you look so delightfully refreshed.” Clara studied her for a moment. “And I must say that dress is most becoming.”

“Another one of my sister’s. I did stop at the dressmaker on my way here for a final fitting.” Indeed, since she and Bianca had arrived in London this morning, she’d scarcely had a minute to think. Exactly as she wanted it. Thinking would serve no one well. Especially as there was only one thing—or rather, one person—on her mind. “My new wardrobe will be delivered tomorrow.”

“There is nothing like a new wardrobe to make a woman feel invincible.”

“I had never realized that before, but you are absolutely right.”

“And how is the progress at Fairborough?”

“Coming along far faster than expected. Edwin is brilliant at managing the workers. And as we have doubled the number of men working, the bulk of it will be completed sooner than we thought. While all the work certainly won’t be finished, I do have several ideas as to how we can hold the Midsummer Ball there.”

Clara’s brow rose. “We?”

“If it is going to be held at Fairborough, someone is going to have to arrange all the details. Oh, not the music and refreshments and such. That we shall leave in Lady Fairborough’s capable hands. But rather exactly where in the unfinished building to actually place it.”

Clara nodded. “I see.”

“I brought some drawings with me. I thought it might help.” Miranda selected one of the paperboard tubes and pulled out a rolled drawing, a bird’s-eye view rendering of the building and the gardens. Clara took it and clipped it to the mechanical table. Both women considered it carefully. “It’s rather a pity that Fairborough won’t be completely done by the ball.”

“Is it always held in the ballroom?”

Miranda nodded. “As far as I know.”

“Why not have it outside this year?”

“My thoughts exactly.”

Clara’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “This terrace overlooks a lawn bounded by—what are those?”

“Hedges. Huge beech hedges. It’s really quite interesting. They form six open-air rooms, three on either side of the wide lawn.” Miranda pointed out the rooms on the drawing. “Each one is different. There’s a rose garden in one, a pool and fountain in another, tennis and croquet courts in two more and then the last two are filled with plants and statuary and all sorts of things that one might think are confusing but are really very lovely. They are arranged and planted at Lady Fairborough’s direction.”

“If you place tables and chairs and refreshments here—” Clara tapped the drawing. “And musicians here . . .”

“And constructed a temporary floor for dancing . . .” Miranda smiled slowly. “This will do beautifully. And what better place to have a Midsummer Ball than under the stars?”

“And what better way to earn a bonus?”

Miranda laughed and the two women continued with ideas and thoughts on the arrangements until she and Clara were confident that this too was well in hand.

“This will work out nicely,” Clara said. “Lord Stillwell will have his ball at Fairborough, even if not exactly as he had intended. And Fairborough itself will be completed a few months later.”

“With any luck at all.”

“And then, as there will be nothing further to keep you in the country, you will at last return to London,” Clara said in a most casual manner. “Won’t you?”

Miranda hesitated no more than a fraction of a second, but it was enough.

“Aha!” Clara’s eyes shone with triumph.

“Aha what?”

“I thought there was more than construction keeping you in the country.” She smiled in a decidedly smug manner. “It’s Lord Stillwell, isn’t it?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say—”

“Has he kissed you?”

Miranda gasped. “That is an entirely inappropriate question to ask.”

“You’re right, of course. Especially as you have just given me the answer.” Clara smirked. “A more pertinent question to ask is did you kiss him back?”

“Miss West!”

Clara’s brow arched upward.

Miranda stared at the other woman, then sighed. “Yes, I kissed him back.”

“And?”

“And it was . . . very nice.”

“Oh?”

“Well, perhaps extraordinary is a better word.” She grinned at her friend. “It may well have been the most extraordinary kiss I have ever experienced. Although, John was the only man I have ever kissed before,” she added quickly.

“And I would never ask you to compare Lord Garret’s kiss with Lord Stillwell’s.”

“Nor would I do so.” Miranda sniffed. Still, she couldn’t help comparing them herself.

John’s kisses had been quite lovely even if she couldn’t quite recall specifically how they had made her feel. Which did seem horribly disloyal. When Winfield kissed her, her breath stopped and her toes curled and her heart had skipped a beat. And she’d known the most incredible longing for much, much more.

“But I will say . . .” Miranda smiled slowly. “I’m not sure I have ever experienced a kiss like that before.”

“How delightful.” Clara laughed. “One can’t ask for more than that.”

“Oh, I’m afraid one can.” She shook her head. “One does have to wonder if it was extraordinary because it meant more than a mere kiss. Because it was special. Or because he is so very skilled at it. The man has a great deal of experience, you know.”

“Yes, well . . .” Clara considered her for a moment. “Men of experience can be exceptionally dangerous not merely to a woman’s reputation but to her heart.”

“I am beginning to see that,” Miranda said under her breath.

“The man I was engaged to . . .” Clara began slowly. “He was a man of vast experience. And he kissed in an excellent manner, I might add.”

Miranda smiled weakly.

“But what he wasn’t was a man of honor.” She chose her words with obvious care. “It seems to me that isn’t the case with your Lord Stillwell.”

“He isn’t my Lord Stillwell.”

“Of course not.” Clara paused. “I suppose there is really only one way to find out exactly what his kiss meant.”

“And what would that be?”

Clara grinned. “Kiss him again.”

 

 

This was obviously the price one paid for a sojourn in the country.

Miranda blew a long breath and stared at the papers laid out before her on the desk. For the last hour, she had been awash in correspondence, receipts, accounts and all the other various and sundry bits of work that did tend to pile up when not attended to every day or so. Certainly, there was much that Clara could and did do, but there was equally as much that demanded Miranda’s particular attention.

Which did nothing to ease her mood. She’d scarcely had a wink of sleep last night. She was tired, she was confused, and even when she was engrossed in the work before her, she couldn’t get Winfield out of her head. And, blast it all, she did want to be kissed again.

“My, my, my, aren’t you the very picture of professional efficiency,” a voice sounded from the door.

“Why is it that you keep appearing where I least expect you to be?” Miranda put her papers aside and looked up at her sister. “Where I least want you to be?”

“Oh, just luck, I should think.” Bianca cast her a brilliant smile. “I have never been to my sister’s place of work before and I do want to see it.”

“You do not. Besides, I do as much of my work as possible at my home and you have indeed been here before.”

“Not when you were here.”

“Then my initial assumption was correct.” Miranda rose to her feet. “You are only here to annoy me.”

Bianca gasped. “You wound me deeply, sister dear.” She moved to the mechanical table and studied the drawing of Fairborough. “Is this Fairborough then?”

Miranda nodded.

“It’s very large, isn’t it?”

“And very old and quite grand. Once.” A firm note sounded in Miranda’s voice. “And it will be again.”

“I have no doubt of that,” Bianca murmured.

Miranda circled the desk. “If you have seen enough . . .”

“Oh, but I haven’t, and don’t think you can be rid of me that easily.” Bianca huffed. “I am really quite offended that you think I have nothing more to do with my time than annoy you. I am curious, and I do wish to lend you my support, that’s all. Besides, it seems to me if I am to keep a secret of this magnitude for you, I should know all the details.”

“I would think the less you know, the less you are likely to reveal.”

Bianca ignored her and glanced around. “It’s very small, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Miranda crossed her arms over her chest. “Now, what particular details do you want to know?”

“I have no idea.” Bianca’s curious gaze wandered over the room. Not that there was much to see. It struck Miranda that perhaps they should do something to improve the look of the office. It had never crossed her mind before, but then she had never seen it through the eyes of her sister. “I would think you would know what sort of details I should know.”

“I think you know entirely too much already.”

“Perhaps.” Bianca glanced at her sister. “Is there more to Garret and Tempest than this?”

“You saw the reception room. There is another large room with desks and tables and files for draftsmen and clerks. Including Miss West and Mr. Clarke we have seven employees.”

“How very interesting,” Bianca said in a tone that indicated she wasn’t the least bit interested. “Although it’s not, is it?”

“It’s not what?”

“Interesting.”

Miranda blew a long breath. “It’s a business, Bianca. It may not look especially interesting, but I find it all fascinating. The designing, of course, is something I have always loved, but the rest of it—managing employees, overseeing accounts, balancing finances . . . it’s really the most interesting thing I have ever been involved in.” She sighed. “I shall hate to give it up.”

Bianca’s brows drew together in confusion. “Why would you have to give it up?”

“When my role here is revealed . . .”

“Of course. That slipped my mind for a moment.” Bianca studied her thoughtfully. “Will you really give it all up then?”

“If I have no clients, no new business, I’ll have no choice. I shall hang on as long as I can, but . . .” Miranda shrugged. “Who would knowingly hire a woman?”

A sharp knock sounded at the door and it opened at once. Clara poked her head in. “Lady Garret, there is a gentleman asking to see you.”

“Why would a gentleman be asking to see me here?” she said slowly. In truth, she was rarely at the office. Indeed, aside from her employees, no one really knew of her continued affiliation with Garret and Tempest. Other than Lord Stillwell, of course. She narrowed her eyes. “Is he somewhat handsome?”

“He is undeniably attractive,” a voice called from behind Clara.

Clara cast her an apologetic smile and opened the door wider. Winfield stepped into the already crowded office.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Roberts, Lady Garret.” A devilish grin curved his lips. “And might I say, you are looking especially delightful today.”

“I was going to say that,” Bianca murmured and looked at her sister. “You are, you know. Amazing what a change of wardrobe can do.”

“Thank you both.” Miranda narrowed her eyes. “What, may I ask, are you doing here?”

“Perhaps you have forgotten, but my cousin, his fiancée and her sister left for America today. Grayson asked me to take care of some things here in London while he was gone.”

“Yes, of course. I had forgotten.” She paused. “Which explains why you are in London, but not why you are here.”

“I had planned to attend a play tonight and I wondered if you would like to join me.” He smiled down at her and her heart fluttered.

“That would be most—”

“Oh, but she can’t,” Bianca said with an innocent smile.