Glimmer of Hope (15 page)

“Trafalgar,” she whispered.

Trafalgar? The naval battle fought on the other side of Spain over two years earlier? “I don’t understand, my dear.”

“Everyone along the coast knew Napoleon was attempting to seize control of the Channel,” Miranda said quietly, tensely. “Until we received word of Nelson’s victory at Trafalgar, we couldn’t be certain we were safe from invasion.”

“So you learned to identify warships?”

“We would have gone inland as quickly as possible if anyone spotted a French vessel—not that they were likely to announce their presence obviously. I was worried, a little afraid. But I decided if I could learn to tell the difference between a fishing vessel and a warship, between the British line and the French, I would feel more at ease.”

“Did it work?” Carter’s stomach knotted at the thought of her searching the horizon, poised to flee from danger. And where had he been all that time? In London, oblivious. Even if she had turned her back on him, had refused contact with him, he ought not to have given up so easily.

“A little,” Miranda answered in that quiet voice Carter had come to recognize was a sign she was forcing back a memory she’d rather not face. “Except when I couldn’t identify a ship. Then, of course, I began to think of all the worst possibilities.”

He could easily imagine. There had been some level of panic even in Parliament over the possibility of a French sea-based invasion. The feeling must have been almost suffocating on the vulnerable English coast.

Carter held her tighter. “I should have been here with you,” he muttered as much to himself as her.

“Yes, you should have,” she whispered in reply.

They sat, not speaking, as the sun inched above the horizon, a haze settling around them, lit by the first rays of dawn. It was every bit as colorful and romantic a sight as he could have hoped. But the weight of her recollections and his neglect hung in the air between them. Carter wanted to bridge that gap, but he wasn’t sure how. He couldn’t summon up the words to explain what had kept him away for so long and couldn’t begin to express the uncertainty that had plagued him every time his inquiries were thrust back at him unwanted.

Carter felt Miranda shift. He kept his arms around her, hoping she wasn’t going to leave or rebuff him now. But she didn’t squirm or inch away. She turned at his side to face him, looking up into his face.

“But you are here for now,” she said, uncertainty still showing in her eyes, despite the hint of a smile forming on her lips. “And we’re learning to be friends again.”

“I have to go back to London in a week, Miranda.” Carter watched with a heavy heart as her face fell.

“Please don’t talk about that now,” she pleaded with him. “Let me just have this time without reminding me of how soon you will be gone.”

“Parliament opens on the twenty-first and—”

“I know, Carter,” she said almost desperately. “I know. And I understand. Just, please, don’t ruin—”

“Let me—”

“I have waited three years for you to come. I—”

“Miranda—”

“—don’t want to talk about you leaving again—” She wasn’t listening.

“Miranda.”

“Carter. We—”

He kissed her. There was little choice, really. He would never have a chance to tell her what he’d meant to tell her all along if she didn’t stop long enough to listen. But holding her to him, remembering how that had once felt, knowing from her own words that she would miss him as much as he would miss her when they were apart, kissing her—really kissing her—for the first time in more than three years proved more than Carter’s mind could handle at once.

He forgot entirely what it was he was attempting to tell her and gave himself over, instead, to thoroughly kissing his wife. He realized with a certain degree of satisfaction that she kissed him in return.

Carter heard himself whisper her name, though he hardly registered doing so. She had touched his face, and even through the thickness of her gloves, that touch was unsettling. There was a time he’d taken for granted a light touch of her hand or a kiss.

“Miranda,” he said, his voice gruff and low, setting her the tiniest bit away from him. “I . . .” He kissed her forehead—he couldn’t help himself. “Come with me.”

She laid her gloved hand on his cheek again. “Of course, my love. Where are we going?”

Carter turned his head enough to kiss her palm, wishing the air were warm enough for her to leave her gloves off. “I meant, come with me when I leave Dorset.”

“To London?” An immediate look of wariness entered her eyes.

Carter laid his hand over hers, where it still lay on the side of his face. “To London. Come with me, Miranda.”

She didn’t respond but looked more intently into his face. Miranda was at least considering the possibility and not dismissing him out of hand. He would have given anything three years earlier for her to have given him another chance. He couldn’t let this opportunity slip away.

“We’ll go around Town, see all the sights. I’ll introduce you to my friends and colleagues there. We’ll have time to keep working on this, to find each other again. Say you will.”

“I could come hear you speak in Parliament?” Miranda asked, still watching him, her brows furrowed in obvious uncertainty.

So he kissed her again. He had offered her every diversion London held, and she wanted to hear him speak in Parliament. How had he lived the past three years without her?

She was blushing furiously by the time he’d finished expressing his approval of her request.

“I have never been to London.” Miranda’s eyes dropped at the admission. “I am almost guaranteed to do something wrong and embarrass you.”

“I would be honored to have you with me.” Carter took her face in his hands so she couldn’t possibly look anywhere but into his eyes.

Those eyes of hers that had been so unreadable when he’d first arrived in Dorset were as expressive as he ever remembered them being. And at that moment, her eyes were begging him for reassurance.

“Every person who ever goes to London makes one mistake or another. It’s almost expected.”

“That is not very encouraging.” But she smiled as she said it.

Carter allowed his hands to settle high on her arms. “And Adèle and Lady Percival will be there. They will look out for you.” Adèle would relish the idea of squiring Miranda around to
ton
events and at-homes. “And I will be there too. You won’t be alone.”

“And you won’t change your mind?” she pressed.

“I won’t change my mind.”

Still, her eyes searched his face. “And we could have some time together?”

He felt himself grin. “We’ll have all the time in the world.”

He expected her to share his contentment with the plan, to capitulate with enthusiasm. Instead, her chin began to quiver. So he wrapped his arms around her once more, pulling her close to him. “What is it, Miranda?” he asked. “Did I say something? I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I want to go to London, Carter.” There was a sadness to her voice that confused him.

He’d intended to ask her just that while they watched the sunrise. He’d imagined many times the celebration that would accompany an acceptance of his proposal. Instead, he found himself rocking Miranda as she fought an obvious urge to weep.

What had he done wrong?

“You must allow me to
host a ball in your honor when you come to Town.” The Duchess of Hartley hadn’t stopped smiling since Carter had announced, shortly after the gentlemen entered the drawing room after dinner that night, that Miranda had agreed to accompany him to London and remain in Town for a time.

The declaration had been met with enthusiasm and a touch of surprise since Miranda had never made an appearance in Town. Only the Dowager Lady Devereaux and Grandfather seemed less than enthusiastic. In fact, Carter’s mother looked positively thunderous. Grandfather, on the other hand, looked mostly worried.

“You mustn’t go to such fuss,” Miranda replied to her grace. The duke and duchess were
Carter’s
friends, after all, and not hers.

“Tush” was the answer. “London is all about fuss!”

“You might as well accept, Lady Devereaux,” Lady Percival intervened. “The duchess will give you a ball whether you want one or not, and she will secure your attendance through fair means or foul.”

The Duchess of Hartley smiled quite proudly at the evaluation of her character. “And, of course, we will have you to dinner before your first evening at Almack’s.”

“Almack’s,” Miranda said a little breathlessly. She’d long ago stopped trying to imagine herself at that hub of high society.

“Obtaining vouchers will be no difficulty,
bien sûr
,” the duchess said. “Princess Esterhazy owes Lord Percival a favor she absolutely refuses to speak about. And Sarah Jersey, I believe, is secretly quite afraid of me.”

Miranda noticed Lady Percival smiling mischievously, and she wondered if the duchess was being entirely serious.

“Not that you will need our intervention,” Lady Percival said. “Lord Devereaux’s standing is quite sufficient on its own.”

Miranda let her eyes wander across the room to where Carter stood with the duke and Lord Percival, deep in what appeared to be a serious conversation. She wondered what sort of gentleman he was among the
ton
. Was he the sort talked about over tea? Or was he more of a quiet presence at gatherings?

She would know soon enough. Carter was finally making good on his long-ago promise to take her to London.

“Of course she
must
see Madame LaCroix,” Lady Percival told the duchess.

“Why do I have a feeling this Madame LaCroix is a very expensive milliner?” Carter had come to join them, sitting beside Miranda on the backless sofa.

“You know very well she is a modiste.” Her grace shook her head in an amused scold. “I doubt your mother patronizes any other dressmaker.”

“Ah.” Carter nodded as if all was suddenly clear. “That explains the familiar sound of her name. I do believe I have an entire drawer full of bills with her name on them.”

A drawer full of bills. This trip would cost him money, she suddenly realized. “I have no intention of obtaining a new wardrobe, Carter,” Miranda reassured him. She didn’t want to give him any reason to leave her behind again.

“Well, I have every intention of giving you a new wardrobe,” he countered. “And even in my male ignorance, I know Madame LaCroix’s is the
only
establishment where one might be assured of being fashionably turned out.”

“But, Carter, the expense.”

“Hush, my dear,” he said softly. “A new wardrobe will hardly beggar me. And I would be
honored
”—he emphasized the word without raising his volume much above a whisper—“to give you everything you could possibly wish for.”

Miranda felt tears prickle the back of her eyes. If she hadn’t been so worn down of late, she would certainly not have been such a watering pot. His words put her mind more at ease and warmed her heart, but her body continued to protest. She’d been weary enough for bed several hours ago, no doubt owing, at least in part, to the fact that she’d been up well before dawn that morning and hadn’t had her usual nap in over two weeks. More worrisome, still, her stomach was upset the last couple of days, deteriorating that evening to nausea. She needed to lie down but couldn’t seem to find a moment to do so.

“We will, of course, need to obtain cards for Miranda.” The Dowager Lady Devereaux joined the conversation for the first time that evening. “And there will be endless morning calls to
our
acquaintances, seeing as how she has absolutely no connections in Town.”

Endless morning calls?
Miranda put on a brave face, but the possibility was daunting. She wasn’t sure she was up for a rigorous social schedule. But that seemed to be required.

“And we shall have to choose a day for at-homes,” the dowager continued. “And she will need to establish herself as a political hostess, which will mean several dinners and routs. Of course, we absolutely must secure invitations to the most important events so Miranda can have
some
standing, at least.”

Miranda felt herself blanch. It had seemed so simple that morning, wrapped in Carter’s arms in the soft light of sunrise. They would go to London and enjoy a sojourn in Town, spending time with each other and recapturing some of the connection they’d once shared. But now their pseudo-holiday had exploded into a sprint-paced race.

As if her body felt the need to remind her of her limitations, a cough fought its way up from her chest. She did her utmost to cover it with a discreet clearing of her throat behind her hand.

“Has she intimidated you?” Carter whispered in her ear. “Mother has a tendency to overdo things.”

“I thought we would be spending time
together
in London,” Miranda answered quietly, turning her head to face him. “They make it sound like I will never be home.”

“I will be at Parliament most days,” Carter said. “So you can spend that time however you choose: shopping, visiting, reading.”

“However I choose?” she pressed, thinking of a nice, long nap. Another cough tickled and irritated her lungs.

“You can spend your time in London doing whatever you choose,” Carter insisted. “And the evenings will be ours. Simply tell me where you want to go, and we will go: a ball, a dinner, the theatre.”

“Sitting at home by the fire?” Miranda suggested, knowing there would be evenings when such sedate entertainment would be precisely what she needed.

Carter looked surprised but recovered quickly. “If that is what you want.”

“And all these dinners and routs I am supposed to be hosting?” Miranda pressed.

“When the time comes to play political hostess, you have three ladies here who would, I am sure, be more than happy to guide you.”

When
the time comes. That, then, would be expected of her. But, she told herself, she could be an occasional hostess, especially if Carter allowed her quiet evenings and the freedom to spend her days as she chose. She had no doubt Carter’s mother would gladly take over any and every responsibility Miranda didn’t take up. There would be an endless supply of critical comments on her neglect of her duties, but she could endure that. Hadn’t she for two weeks now? Indeed, there had been a great many criticisms in those early months of marriage. Her in-laws had expressed frequent doubts in her.