After The Storm (2 page)

“So you understand how I feel.”

Blinking back the sting of hot tears, she nodded, sniffing, and rose from her perch. “Very well, sir. It wouldn’t be so terrible were I to allow you to remain her for a bit longer.” She bobbed her head as she stepped back. “I bid you a good day, then.”

As she turned to make her way back home, the stranger called out, “Have you a name, my lady?”

She didn’t pause, but called over her shoulder, “It is no concern of yours, sir. But you might wish to take care with your horse. There are a great many loose rocks and stones and I should hate to have ye take a tumble. These slopes can be quite tricky, you know.”

“I thank you then, for both your permission and your sage advice.” The sarcasm in his words echoed, but she ignored it, picking her way back down. As she neared the cottage, her heart grew heavy and she lingered at the front door. Stepping through it was thoroughly unappealing, but unavoidable. Besides, where else was she to go?

Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the welcoming warmth of the cozy cottage. Voices floated down the hallway to greet her, one of them being Duncan’s bellowing burr. Another was decidedly female, and most definitely foreign. Her voice was soft and clipped, nasal in its vibrations. She followed both into the parlor, where Duncan sat in her father’s favorite chair, nearest the fireplace, and a woman sat across from him, looking ill at ease in her rather wrinkled dark gray traveling gown and dirt-spattered cloak. Her chin was pointed, and her iron-gray hair was pulled back in a severe knot, making her long, thin nose even more so. Miranda cleared her throat. “Am I interrupting?”

Duncan smiled. “Come in, Randi. This woman says she is here for you.”

Her heart sank as she realized she
did
know the woman. Oh, she’d never clapped eyes on her before, but knew her through Angus’s quite accurate description, given a fortnight earlier. She forced herself to nod, despite the increasing heaviness in her heart. “You must be Mrs. Anderson, then. Papa told me you’d arrive when he…he…well…” Her throat closed and crushed the words she dreaded having to speak out loud. Rather, she offered up a lame, “He told me about you.”

Turning to Duncan, she added, “Mrs. Anderson will be accompanying me to London.”

Mrs. Anderson turned to face her, her smile fading as she slowly eyed Miranda up and down. The uncomfortable feeling of wanting to shrink rose up and she fought to keep from slouching as Mrs. Anderson said, “
You
are…Miranda?”

Miranda forced a smile. “A pleasure to meet you, madam,” she said, wondering if she should drop into a curtsey. Drat it all, why hadn’t she asked Papa when he’d first mentioned someone would venture north to fetch her once he was gone?

Mrs. Anderson’s dark eyes were not the least bit friendly. “I can see we’ve our work cut out for us.”

Miranda cringed at the crisp words, which were as chilly as the air blowing past the rippled windowpanes. Looking quite uncomfortable, Duncan excused himself, giving her a quick hug before he left. Then he was gone, leaving her to face the severe woman on her own.

“When do you wish to leave?” She forced the words past the ever-present lump in her throat. Though she’d known for some time she’d have to take leave of her home, she preferred
not
to think about.

“Right away,” Mrs. Anderson replied stiffly. “It will take several weeks before his estate is finalized as your father preferred to deal with London solicitors. We shall leave for your aunt’s immediately.”

“I see.” Miranda pressed her knees together beneath her skirt to keep from fidgeting beneath Mrs. Anderson’s steely gaze. “Is there something about me you find troubling?”

“I find much troubling. First and foremost, you are a bit old to be having your first season. Why, at almost twenty-five you are very nearly on the shelf. It’s a crime you’ve been tucked away up here, instead of with your aunt in London.” She gave Miranda another long perusal and sighed. “But all is not lost. We simply have our work cut out for us.”

“Our work? I’m afraid I canna understand what ye mean. What work?”

“You will be living in London now, Miss MacDonough. That calls for certain—ah—changes to be made in your mannerisms. And, of course, we have your appearance to consider.”

“My appearance?”

Mrs. Anderson fell silent as a short, round woman stumped into the room. “Randi, dear, Colin and I are takin’ our leave now, love. Is there anythin’ ye need?”

Turning away from Mrs. Anderson, Miranda smiled at the woman. “Nae, Mrs. Ferguson. I will be fine.”

Mrs. Ferguson wrapped thick arms about her and held her close. “I’m sae verra sorry, love,” she whispered. “He was a good mon.”

“That he was.”

“Ye take care now. And don’t be afraid to come callin’ if there’s anythin’ ye need. Is tha’ understood?”

Stepping back, Miranda nodded. “I will, Mrs. Ferguson.”

Pausing long enough to give Mrs. Anderson a disdainful glance, Mrs. Ferguson stumped back out of the parlor. Miranda turned her attention back to Mrs. Anderson. “She has always been as a second mother to me. Well, the
only
mother to me, you might say, as I have no memory of mine.”

Mrs. Anderson clicked her tongue against her teeth. “As I was saying, there will be…changes…you will be expected to make. But fear not, you have time and I will assemble the best instructors I might find. Lady Marchand will not be embarrassed by her association with you.”

Miranda caught herself before her jaw went slack. How
dare
this woman come into her home and boldly insult her in such a manner? “
Embarrassed
, you say? And what, pray tell, is wrong with me?”

After giving her another scathing up-and-down look, Mrs. Anderson calmly replied, “Where shall I begin?” Then she waved a hand. “It matters not, as it is to be expected, what with having been raised…
here
. But trust we will rectify this and present you to the whole of London as quite the proper lady come the Season.”

Miranda shot her what she considered her most withering glance, coolly retorting, “Leaving my home, to live with an aunt I barely know, who is certain to be
embarrassed
by me, then spending months being forced into
your
notion of the proper lady. Oh, Mrs. Anderson, you make it sound so inviting, I can hardly wait.”

Chapter Two

Aunt Arabella hadn’t changed much, though it had been several years since Miranda last visited her. Mostly, she was a bit more somber. Still, she did her best to make Miranda feel welcome and it helped lift the burden of her sorrow.

Angus would be furious if he saw Miranda so solemn and morose, despite her best effort to act the opposite. He was out of pain, no longer suffered, and was in a better place, and she scolded herself whenever she caught herself being
too
gloomy.

Being in London with her aunt did wonders for her sagging spirit. As there were so many errands to run, so many places to go, she had no time to mourn. No more than thirty minutes passed between her arrival at Arabella’s fashionable townhouse in Belgrave Square and their climbing into the comfortable Marchand coach for their first errand.

There were visits to the seamstress, to the shoemakers, to any and every shop in Oxford, it seemed. All to properly outfit her. Amazing, really, the amount of trouble one had to go through in order to catch the most suitable husband, and she hadn’t even been introduced to any gentlemen yet!

It was fun, though, as Arabella obviously adored shopping, and as a wealthy widow, had the means with which to indulge. As they shopped, Arabella shared many a juicy
bon mot
regarding the
ton
and, though the names meant nothing to Miranda, she enjoyed sharing the secrets with her aunt. Eventually, she’d be able put at least some of these names to faces, and knew she’d laugh herself silly when the time came.

From time to time, her thoughts wandered back to the stranger on the windswept hill in Dunsmore. He sounded English, and she wondered if there was a chance he’d find his way onto her list of eligible bachelors. A silly notion, seeing as London was so huge. More than likely, they’d never cross paths again. But still...a girl could dream.

Aunt Arabella interrupted that dream when she came to Miranda’s chambers to tell her they’d be leaving London to venture out into the country for a bit of a holiday.

“I’ve arranged for us to stay with a dear friend in Nottingham,” she explained over a cup of hot, sweet tea. “Her daughter graciously offered to help me mold you into the most sought-after lady in all of London.”

“That’s a bit of a dream, isn’t it?” Miranda asked and then blew on the tea to cool it some. She’d burned her lip on the first sip, and had no desire to repeat it. “After all, I’ve but a short time to learn things other ladies have known all their lives.”

“Oh, pish. You’re hardly a barbarian.”

Miranda smiled and took a careful sip. Still too hot. The china clinked against the saucer as she hurriedly set it down.

“You needn’t look so frightened.” Arabella’s voice was light and airy, and the tea’s temperature didn’t seem to bother her as she took a hearty swallow. “It isn’t quite as terrible as it sounds. I merely thought you’d be more comfortable with Lady Elyse. She is close to you in age, you see. And by the ball at the end of the holiday, no one will ever know you were not a gently-bred lady. You will be as much a lady as any of the
ton
.”

That offered a whit of relief, and as the days wound down, Miranda’s anticipation grew. It seemed to take a lifetime before they were finally leaving.

“Shall we?” Arabella beamed at her from the doorway of her chambers, her traveling cloak tight about her shoulders, and Miranda’s in her free hand.

Her belly tumbled over slowly, but Miranda nodded. “Yes, if we must.”

The ever-present Mrs. Anderson took the cloak from Arabella to whisk it about Miranda’s shoulders, and she fastened the frogs at her throat. “Come along, Miss MacDonough.” Her voice was cool, her words clipped, and she gestured for both women to walk ahead of her. “Shall we?”

“We shall.” Arabella bobbed her head and lead them down the stairs and out into the chilly, gray morning. Two coaches awaited them, one much more elegant than the other. Mrs. Anderson herded them into the first coach. The second was for the servants Arabella wished to bring.

With Mrs. Anderson beside her, and Aunt Arabella across from her, they were soon on their way, rocking at a slow, steady pace over the cobblestones.

Arabella’s dark eyes regarded her warmly. “Are you certain you have everything?”

“I do, Aunt.” Miranda had triple-checked her trunks before they were loaded onto one of the other carriages. The last thing she wished was to leave something important behind.

Smoothing a wayward wisp of dark hair away from her face, Arabella nodded. “Very well. Sleep now. It will be a long journey and will be days before you sleep in a comfortable bed.”

Miranda nodded, shifting into a more comfortable position on the plush, midnight blue velvet seat, and closed her eyes. But sleep evaded her. Finally giving up, she opened them again to find Mrs. Anderson and Arabella dozing.

As they slept, she stared out the window at the grimy stone buildings as they rolled past and London slipped into the distance. What was Lady Elyse Lynch like? She never met a member of the British peerage before, and wondered what lay in store for her.

The wintry gray sky cast a pallor across the wooded landscape as they rocked along, and the grayness seeped into her as she muttered, “I only hope she does not look down her nose at me as well.”

Arabella mumbled something unintelligible in her sleep, Miranda jerked in her direction, and was relieved when Arabella’s eyes remained shut. Thank goodness. She’d had enough scolding as it was. She twisted back to the window, her worries returning in a rush. “Do I address her as
Lady Elyse
? Or will I be permitted less formality?”

“You will address her as
Lady Elyse unless she suggests otherwise. Worry not. You will be well-schooled in all aspects of the
ton
and what is expected of you.”

Miranda jumped at Mrs. Anderson’s unexpected reply. “Wonderful.”

Mrs. Anderson opened her eyes and frowned, her brows knitting to form a deep groove between her eyes. “I should think you’d appreciate all Lady Elyse is offering to teach. Most ladies spend a lifetime learning these lessons, you have only weeks. Because of her efforts, you’ll have an excellent chance at a successful match.”

A sigh caught in Miranda’s throat, but she managed to swallow it. “You are right, Mrs. Anderson. I do appreciate it. I know how important this is to my aunt, and how much it meant to my father.”

“Very well, then.” Mrs. Anderson snuggled back into her voluminous black cloak and closed her eyes again. “Try to sleep. It will make the journey seem shorter.”

But that was a lie. Nothing made the journey seem shorter, not the days riding in the coach, nor the nights spent on lumpy beds in small inns. The trip couldn’t end soon enough for Miranda’s liking, and the very thought of the return trip was enough to make her groan aloud.

Finally, the coach swung a sharp right, and they rocked down a wide, tree-lined drive toward an imposing, three-story edifice of dark gray stone. It rose up like a somber, silent guardian, despite the lights blazing in many of the windows.

Her stomach turned over as they drew to a halt. The door squeaked open and the footman appeared. Gathering her skirts and her wits, Miranda rose to accept the proffered hand.

She paused, a nervous knot twisting her belly as she peered out and up at the house looming out of the gloom at them. “
This
is Thorpeton Hall?”

Arabella looked bored as she nodded. “It is. The ancestral home of the Montgomery family.”

“Dear me…” Her mouth went dry as she counted the numerous windows lining all three of the house’s floors. “How many rooms are there?”

“I haven’t the foggiest,” Arabella offered, offering up an airy wave of one hand along with a girlish laugh. “But I think it might be a bit presumptuous to ask. However, I’d be fairly certain only the person who washes the windows knows the exact number.”

“Very well. I won’t ask then.” Miranda grinned as she gaped up at the golden light reflecting against mullioned glass. Somehow, it wouldn’t surprise her if even the window-washing servant didn’t know.

A sharp blast of frosty air swirled snowflakes into the compartment. Setting her teeth against the sharp chill, she accepted the driver’s hand and stepped out. Her foot sank ankle-deep into the powdery white blanket, and she tried not to wince as snow seeped in about the throat of her boot. Instead, she forced a smile to her lips. “I thank you.”

“My lady.” The driver bobbed his head and then turned to assist Arabella.

A gust of frigid wind whipped open her cloak, blew up her skirts, and threatened to burn her cheeks. Miranda gasped at the sudden chill and hurried up the stone steps. Warmth. She needed warmth. The cold clanged through her as she rapped the brass doorknocker.

Behind her, Mrs. Anderson’s sharp, “Miranda!” was buffeted by the wind. Miranda ignored her as the heavy front door opened, and in her haste to put winter as far away from herself as possible, she wasted no time dashing through it.

The entrance was only slightly warmer. Still, there was no slicing wind, thank goodness. Outside, Arabella let out a furious yelp as another gust tore through to rattle windowpanes and
whoosh
through the front hall.

Miranda stamped her nearly frozen feet against the gleaming marble. “Hurry, Aunt,” she muttered as her teeth threatened to chatter right out of her mouth. “Before I freeze my arse off.”

“Good evening. Do come in, then, won’t you?”

The voice startled her, as she had yet to see who opened the door. Yet, there he was, behind the wide-open door. Heat flared through her. He had to have heard her crass words. An apology rose to her lips as he emerged from the door’s shadow.

The dark-haired butler was young—only a few years older than she, and quite handsome. It was difficult to see what color his eyes were, as they appeared only as glittering black opals, but his smile was warm and she recovered quickly enough to say, “Good evening.”

Arabella’s maid scurried from the second coach, and hurried up the steps behind her, puffing, “The Lady Marchand and Miss Miranda MacDonough, my lord.”

Miranda frowned. A
butler
addressed as
my
lord? How…
odd
. But that was only the beginning, for he grinned at her and said, “So
you’re
the infamous Miss MacDonough?”

“I beg your pardon?” Though she had limited contact with servants, surely they were a bit more formal than this man was. His cheek bordered on rude.

Arabella came up behind her. Unlike her maid, she was not even the slightest bit out of breath, nor did she seem to think him out of line. Quite the opposite, as a smile played at her lips and she wagged her forefinger at him. “You’d do well to keep your distance, Bridgeton. My niece is most definitely off limits to the likes of you.”

“I meant no insult.” His words were light and his gaze never left Miranda as he added, “But I was not expecting Miss MacDonough to be quite so lovely.”

“Oh, no you don’t,” Arabella countered as a tall, slender man with a shock of white hair approached. She turned to him. “Ah, Benjamin. Good of you to come before Bridgeton here ends up in serious trouble.”

Benjamin bowed stiffly at the waist. “Lady Marchand.” His blue-eyed gaze shifted in Miranda’s direction. “Miss MacDonough.”

Miranda bobbed her head at him, but her own gaze returned to Mr. Bridgeton. The air of danger surrounding him caught her attention even more so than his striking good looks did, and that he found her lovely filled her with a certain unexplainable warmth.

Bridgeton smiled as he offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

Arabella clucked her tongue and Miranda hesitated. Why was a
servant
offering her his arm? She’d been in England long enough to know this was unusual, but perhaps the Montgomery family enjoyed being considered unusual. Either way, she accepted, slipped her arm through his, and said, “Please.”