That Kind of Woman (31 page)

“No, I—”

“I want to buy the little cottage we used last night.”

“But—”

“I know. You want a house of your own. Your dowry house. You’ll own that either way. I understand that you do not want to be beholden to me, although I am committed to you. But there is no need for us to be so separated. You could simply live in the cottage. You could leave me any time you wanted, but you won’t. You won’t because you know what we have is deeper than that.”

Miranda took advantage of his pause for breath. “Yes, it is. Much deeper.”

“Then I should buy it?”

“Buy it?”

“My friend has no more need of it. He’s willing to sell—”

“We have no need of it either.”

Andrew turned to her, his brow furrowed. “No?”

“My father has suggested a solution.”

“To what?”

“To us. To all of these rules and laws. He has suggested I have my marriage to George annulled.”

“Ann—” Andrew shook his head. “Why?”

“Because then it wouldn’t matter what Lettie wants. Our marriage would be completely binding.”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked over the horses’ heads at the cobblestones passing under them. Emma would be happy again. He and Miranda would ride among the farms together, and at Christmastime there would be someone to kiss under the mistletoe. When the nightmares came, there would be someone warm and soft to whom to turn, yielding flesh in which to bury the past. It sounded too good to be true.

“I don’t see how it’s possible,” he said at last.

“Montheath said it could be done posthumously. He has connections, influence. If anyone could make this happen, it is he.”

“Upon what grounds?”

Miranda took a deep breath. “As you know, our marriage was never consummated.”

Andrew’s hands tightened into fists upon the reins. “You were married for over a year. No one would believe that you had not…”

“They would if they knew why.”

His voice was quiet but firm. “No.”

“We wouldn’t tell everyone. Only the people involved in granting the annulment. Montheath would pay them well for their silence, and no one would dare to cross my father anyway.”

“Out of the question.”

“Why?” Miranda cried, unable to keep the hurt from her voice.

It took a great deal of will, but Andrew kept his reply even, his tone rational. “I am amazed you would even suggest such a thing. You may have managed to twist it in your head until it seemed perfectly normal, but
it was not!
I cannot possibly go before some stranger and air my family’s dirty linen. Even the thought of Montheath knowing…” He let the sentence trail off, but a muscle ticked in his jaw.

“Last night you said you would give anything to—”

“I would! Anything that was mine to give. My family’s honor belongs to the generations before me and the generations to come.”

“No one would know! No one would tell!”

“
I
would
have
to tell! Lettie, at least.”

“So this is about Lettie?” she asked, her voice incredulous.

“And Henry. He might very well challenge it, too, you know. How long do you think it would be before Emma, the little eavesdropper, found out?”

“How much farther could it possibly go? Do you really think any of them would tell anyone? We are a family, Andrew!”

“Yes, we are, Lettie, Henry, Emma, and I! They loved George! Can you image the shame they would feel? The horror?”

The fact that he had left her out of the family circle stung, but it was George she sought to defend. “He was a good, kind, decent man!”

“Decent?” Andrew scoffed.

Miranda drew herself upright. If she were a man, she would have called him out. As it was, she commanded him in a ringing voice. “Stop this carriage!”

“So
I
am at fault here?”

“Yes! How could I have thought…? Never mind. Let me down.”

“You cannot go traipsing about the streets of London—”

“I most certainly can.
I
am a Henley.
We
have no family honor. No one in my family is
horrified
at anyone for daring to fall in love.”

“So we are back to the noble commoner and the heartless aristocrat, are we?”

“No, we are not. My father is a nobleman and loved where he loved.”

“At what price to his wife and sons?”

“Only because Society told him where to marry, just as it told George. The people who were hurt by them would never have been hurt if everyone else weren’t so arrogantly inclined to interfere in matters where they have no business. Let me down.”

“I should.”

“Yes, you should.”

“If I didn’t have better breeding than to—”

“Ha!”

How had the conversation gone so wrong? Andrew put all his concentration and effort into maneuvering the carriage so that they had turned around and were heading back in the direction of Montheath’s townhouse. When they arrived, he fully intended to have a few words with the duke. It was Montheath’s fault this whole unpleasant topic had been brought up again. Just when it had seemed like it would disappear of its own accord. He didn’t like to even think about it. He tried not to think about George at all. Every time he did, he would think of Reggie, and it made him sick.

Miranda sat next to him, hanging desperately onto her anger so she would not surrender to despair. It was her own fault. She should have just come home with her parents when George had died. She should have faced reality sooner. But she smothered those thoughts. It was so much easier to place the blame on Andrew, to think of him as heartless and pig-headed. If she could keep her thoughts in line, she would be able to make it all the way into the house before she embarrassed herself by crying.

They arrived at the house in tense silence. Andrew helped her down obligatorily, and Miranda pulled away from him the moment she was steadily on the ground.

“Is your father in?” he asked.

“I want to be alone.”

“I was asking for your father.”

“Just go, Andrew. Right now, I just need you to go.”

“And Emma?”

Miranda drew a long, shuddering breath. Her throat felt like it was in a vise. “If you want me to, I’ll explain it to her. I won’t just abandon her without a word. She’ll be hurt, at first, and I’m sorry for that, but she’ll get over it, in time.”

“You are angry with me, so you are just going to desert my daughter?”

Tears blurred her vision. “It was selfish of me. I wanted her. She was the only child I’d ever… It isn’t her duty to fulfill me. It isn’t fair to put her in the middle of our tug-of-war. I’ll make sure she blames me. I would never place a wedge between you two.”

Andrew hissed in frustration. “You cannot have your way, and so you wash your hands of the lot of us?”

Dear God in heaven, nothing in her whole life had ever hurt like this. Nothing. She just wanted out. She wanted off the street, away from him, out of the whole mess. There were a thousand arguments she might have made, but any argument only left her there with him, feeling hurt and betrayed and exposed, so she simply said, “Yes,” and fled into the house.

Emma nearly danced around the foyer of her family’s London townhouse when she saw Aunt Randa waiting there. She hadn’t come visiting before, so it seemed a good sign. It was just as well that Papa had shut himself in the library. He had been in such a foul mood since he had come home that afternoon; he would have frightened Randa away.

“Can you stay?” Emma asked. “Lettie and Henry are going to a ball, and Papa’s in a snit. He’s not speaking to anyone. I’ll tell the housekeeper you will be staying for dinner!” She turned to the butler, who stood rigidly at her side. “Shelton, tell Mrs.—”

“Wait,” Randa said. “I won’t be staying, Emma.”

Emma frowned, and she had to work hard to keep from whining. Randa only got cross when she whined. “But you can’t be going anywhere. You’re in mourning.”

“Let’s not talk in the foyer,” Randa said, and Emma felt a twinge of embarrassment. It
was
rude not to have invited her aunt into the drawing room. She smiled and curtsied to make up for it, gesturing down the hall.

It felt very grown up, inviting Randa to take a seat and giving the butler instructions to bring refreshments. It made her think of the time that Randa had poured them each a glass of wine and told her all about monthly courses and babies. She had felt very grown up then, too, if more than a little appalled. She wondered, not for the first time, whether Papa and Randa had ever gotten around to doing that. It was a simultaneously fascinating and revolting thought. Emma shuddered, banishing the thought of her father and Randa naked together.

“Are you sure you won’t stay to dinner?” she asked.

“I cannot, Emma. I only came to talk to you. Your father isn’t planning to go anywhere, is he? You won’t be here with only the servants after I leave?”

“He was supposed to go out this evening, but he told Shelton that his appointment had been canceled. He’s dreadful company just now, though.”

Randa nodded but didn’t say anything. Emma took a closer look at her and realized she didn’t look well. She was pale and her eyes scanned the room, seeming to look anywhere save at Emma herself. The girl’s heart sped up a little, and her teeth worried at her lower lip. She wanted to ask if something was wrong, but she was too afraid her aunt would say yes.

The mantle clock ticked, and Randa’s soft sigh was clearly audible. Finally, she patted the couch next to her. “Come, sit here, Emma.”

Emma shook her head. “No, thank you. I’ll stand.”

Randa sighed again, and Emma felt like something was going to snap inside of her. Finally, she had to ask, “What is it, Aunt Randa? Are you angry with me?”

Randa shook her head. “Why would I be angry with you?”

“Are you angry with Father?”

“I’m not angry with anyone.”

“What’s wrong then?”

“I wish you’d sit.”

Emma sank down on the far edge of the couch, her eyes never leaving her aunt’s pale, grim face.

“To begin, I am
not
angry with you, Emma. What I have to do, it has nothing to do with you.”

She paused, but Emma stayed silent. Whatever Randa was about to say, it was bad—very bad—and Emma had no intention of making it any easier. Perhaps Randa would change her mind and not say it at all. Then things would stay just the same, and nothing bad would happen.

Randa smoothed her skirt carefully. “Did you know I have a house of my own?”

Emma frowned. She hadn’t known, couldn’t imagine why she’d care. “No.”

“Well, I do. It’s on one of my father’s small holdings near Stafford.”

“I’ve never been there.”

Randa smiled, but it wasn’t a real smile. It looked like it might shatter her face. “Neither have I. It belonged to my father, but he gave it to me. I’m going to live there.”

Panic flooded Emma. “Why?”

“Emma—”

“When? You’re staying through the Season, aren’t you? You don’t mean you’re going there now.”

“In a few days. I’m sending a small staff ahead.”

“But that’s far away, isn’t it? Surely Lord Montheath and Miss Barbara aren’t leaving yet! Why, the very best parties haven’t even been given. Henry and Grandmama both say so.”

“My parents are staying. I have no doubt they would agree with your grandmama and uncle. But I have no use for parties, and I find I need some time alone.”

Without fully realizing it, Emma had scooted along the couch until she was right next to Randa. “How much time? What if we return to Danford before you come back to London?”

“I am not returning to London.”

“Ever?”

“Well, one never knows what the future holds, but London is not in any of my present plans.”

“Danford?”

“Nor Danford. I will have a new home, you see.”

“Papa will let me come visit you, though, I am certain of it! He thinks you are good for me.”

“I hope I have been. I know you have been wonderful for me. I will miss you terribly, dear. You must know that.”

“But there will be visits,” Emma whispered.

Randa didn’t answer. She kept her gaze fixed somewhere above Emma’s head and pressed her trembling lips together. Emma felt a gaping hole open up inside of her chest. Randa was leaving. Permanently leaving.

Tears welled in Emma’s eyes. “I
can
visit you…”

Randa shook her head. “You have friends here in London, and when the Season is over, you’ll be in Danford for the holidays.”

The hole in her chest grew, swallowing her heart and leaving her empty. “No…”

“Emma, it’s better this way.”

“Better
what
way?”

Randa didn’t reply. She just blinked, sending a single tear down her cheek.

“Better
what
way?” Emma repeated. “Why don’t you want to be with me anymore?”

Finally, Randa looked at her. “It isn’t that. I told you, this has nothing to do with you.”

Emma grabbed both of Randa’s hands in hers. “Yes, it does! You’re my friend. You’re my
aunt
! You can’t just leave. We’re
family
!”

Another tear coursed down Randa’s face, and seeing it made Emma feel the ones trickling over her own cheeks.

“
Please
, Randa.”

Randa breathed deeply and stood up, pulling her hands from Emma’s. Emma made two tight fists and mashed them against her lips.

“It’s past time I begin a new life,” Randa said. “I cannot do that here, in London. My family—well, it makes things a little complicated.”

“Then come back to Danford.”

“That was my life with George.”

“And Papa and me!”

“Don’t you see, Emma? I was only a guest in your lives. This will give us all a fresh start. For you and your father, too.”

Emma’s fists flew from her mouth to the seat of the couch, striking the cushion sharply. Then she flew to her feet, blind rage seizing her. She didn’t care that Randa would think her unladylike. Randa could go to hell!

“Oh, yes,” Emma sneered, “you’ll be out of mourning soon, and you can marry again and have a
real
daughter!” She waited for a moment, giving Randa a chance to deny it. When no denial came, she shouted, “You were only toying with us, weren’t you? You were only biding your time with Papa and Henry, and even
me
!” She paused again, sure her harsh words would bring Randa to her senses.