The Secrets of Mia Danvers (23 page)

Chapter Twenty-Four

Mia had managed to calm Alex down and he’d disappeared with the promise that he would ignore the news story, though Mia doubted that was the truth. Especially after she’d heard an argument between him and his mother. The exact words had been indeterminable, but Mia was fairly certain that the culprit behind the story of the missing Danvers girl was none other than the dowager.

Several hours later, after luncheon and a short rest, Mia and Rachel had returned to the parlor. At the moment, Rachel was reading Mia the most recent letter from her aunt. It was not a particularly interesting letter, mostly recounting the older woman’s daily activities of reading and gardening. But it passed the time and Mia knew that Rachel only thought to help keep her friend’s mind off the more troubling events of the day.

What Mia longed to be doing was sculpting. She had not finished that bust and time was running out as she knew the buyer would get impatient and turn to another artist. But after Drew’s arrest, Alex had forbade her from working outside. She wished she could sketch because in her mind she could see the image she would draw. Alex’s face.

She was nearly tempted to grab some paper, a pencil and give it a try. But that would be foolish. At least with clay, she could feel her way around and know what everything looked like, in a sense. Still she could see him in her mind, the way she imagined he’d aged and the way his features felt beneath the touch of her fingers. So stern and serious in his demeanor.

Of course no one could blame him with the mother he had.

There was a slight rap on the door and then it opened. “Miss Danvers, there are two ladies here to see you,” Hodges said.

“I believe I declined their visit earlier, Hodges, as I do not know them.” She came to her feet. “I can tell them if you wish.” She was a guest in Danbridge, but the servants did not work for her, there was no reason they had to take care of her.

“Yes, I realize, but these are two different women. These women claim to be your sisters, madam.”

“My sisters?” Her hand smoothed at her hair that fell in its usual long braid down her back.

Rachel came to her feet, Mia heard the wooden chair scrape against the floor as she stood. “I can speak to them,” she said.

“No, Rachel, that isn’t necessary. Yes, I will see them.” Never in her wildest imaginations did she think they’d come here to see her. Go anywhere to see her, actually. Her heart pounded heavily in her chest.

“Do you wish me to stay here with you?” Rachel asked. “Or would you prefer to see them alone?”

Mia considered for a moment before she answered. “Perhaps for now I shall see them alone. I will send for you if I need you.” She clutched her friend’s hands. “All will be well, Rachel.”

When Alex had visited her sisters, he’d relayed that they had said it was best if everyone continued to believe she was still dead.

Of course.
That was it, wasn’t it? The story from the newspaper. Everyone now knew she was alive and her sisters now had reputations to salvage. How would they look if all of London knew her to still be alive and yet they continued to live as if they had no sister? That was why they’d come. The story had demanded they acknowledge her, try to make an effort to welcome her back into the fold, as it were.

She would not be their fool.

The door opened again and Hodges announced her sisters. “Lady Glenridge and Lady Wilmington here to see you, Miss Danvers,” he said with such formality, she could have gone across the room and kissed him. Bless him for pretending she was a true lady that demanded respect, though she wasn’t certain why she felt as if she needed such treatment in front of her sisters. They certainly knew the truth of her living situation these last several years.

“Oh, Mia,” Fran said as she entered the room. “You look lovely.”

Something Mia knew to be untrue. Despite her current living arrangements, she still wore her same old woolen dresses that she’d bought years before, so they were ill-fitting and unattractive. But Fran, the middle Danvers sister, had always been far more agreeable than their older sister, Cleo. When their mother had made the decision to send Mia to London, it had only been Fran that had argued against the decision.

Mia had always expected Fran would ignore their mother’s wishes and come and visit her, but it had never happened. Fran had never once been to Mia’s cottage, nor had she ever sent letters for Rachel to read to Mia. Once Mia had been safely ensconced in that cottage, she’d never heard from her sisters again.

“I’ll bring in a tray of tea and refreshments,” Hodges said before he closed her in the room with her sisters. Mia instantly wished that she hadn’t sent Rachel away. Partly because she wanted support in the room with her, but also because she had no way of knowing how her sisters looked. She supposed it didn’t truly matter. She took a steadying breath.

Fran embraced her, then stepped aside.

“Sister, you look well,” Cleo said as she came forward. She leaned in, but did not so much as brush Mia’s cheek. Perhaps she thought her blindness was contagious. Mia smiled at her own little joke and returned to her seat.

“Fran, Cleo,” Mia said. “You must have seen the story in
The Times
.” There was no reason to pretend they were here for any other reasons. “Please sit and we shall have a little visit.” There was also no reason to pretend they would do more than the obligatory chat and then her sisters would be on their way.

“We had no idea,” Cleo said once they were seated, her voice echoed with feigned altruism.

Mia took a steadying breath. There was no need to make this conversation combative. She wanted to simply hear what they had to say and then move on. Perhaps they had a very good reason for abandoning her. “No idea, what?” she asked. “Where I was? Because I do know that Lord Carrington paid you both a visit to notify you of my whereabouts. Or are you trying to say you had no idea that I was still alive? Because certainly you remember the conversation we all had with mother when she decided to abandon me to my own devices? Had no idea of what precisely?”

“Honestly,” Cleo said, obviously affronted by Mia’s candidness. “You don’t have to be so cruel, Mia,” Cleo said. “We were only being obedient to Mother.”

“Mother has been dead for nearly five years,” Mia said. So much for keeping her anger at bay. She wanted to say more. To complain that she hadn’t even been allowed to attend the funeral, but she clamped her mouth down.

“Let us not fight,” Fran said. “It is all in the past now and we are finally free to see you. Do tell us, how have you been?” Fran asked, obviously trying to change the subject. It was the pattern from their childhood all over again. Cleo and Mia would disagree and Fran would step in and attempt to divert them in order to regain some peace. She’d never been particularly skilled at it, but she tried nonetheless. And there was something so familiar in that old rhythm that Mia nearly found their visit relaxing.

“I’ve been doing well,” Mia said. “Rachel and I get on quite well. The cottage is lovely and normally we stay there. For the time being, Lord Carrington has been kind enough to provide refuge for us.”

“Rachel is still with you?” Fran asked, surprise edging in her tone.

“She is. She’s never left my side,” Mia said.
Unlike you
, which she didn’t say aloud, but the words seemed to hang in the air, a veritable wall between them.

“Well, chances are she had nowhere else to go,” Cleo said. “I heard rumors about her once we arrived in London. Something about how before she’d taken her position with our family, she’d dallied with a gentleman and he’d spurned her. Perhaps it was better for her to hide here in London with you. More than likely she couldn’t have gotten another respectable position,” Cleo said.

“She declined a marriage proposal,” Mia said evenly. She was rather proud of herself that she didn’t launch across the occasional table between her settee and her sister’s chairs and throttle Cleo. “She never had an affair.” Though she knew her words would fall on deaf ears. Her sister had made up her mind about Rachel and nothing would budge her opinion.

“Yes, well, that is a nicer story,” Cleo said.

Mia could nearly see her sister’s pinched, smug features as she spoke.

“So tell me, why are you staying here?” Cleo asked.

“I witnessed a crime and the criminal has discovered my whereabouts,” Mia said. There was no reason to give them any gruesome details. The last thing she wanted was Cleo making her situation into something that had to do with her. “It is merely a precaution that I am staying with Alex.”

Cleo released a tight chuckle. “See, Fran, it is as I told you.”

“Told her what, precisely?” Mia asked.

“It’s really quite silly,” Cleo said. “But Fran had this ludicrous idea that you and Lord Carrington had come to a certain arrangement,” she continued. “The notion is utterly ridiculous, of course.”

“You thought I was his mistress?” Mia asked. The memory of her in his bed came to mind, her hands clinging to the sheets and his hands and mouth bringing her to pleasure again and again. She crossed her legs and tried not to smile. Wouldn’t her sisters be so surprised to know the truth?

“It seemed a logical conclusion,” Fran said. “You are still very beautiful, Mia. I have no doubt that many men would want you.”

“Fran, don’t,” Cleo warned.

It never did take long for her eldest sister to irritate her, even anger her. “Don’t what, Cleo? Get my hopes up, make me think that I have a future with some man?” Mia asked. She ignored her sister’s little appalled noises she made knowing full well it further pinched the woman’s features. Some things she didn’t need eyes to see. “I’ve lived my life with my affliction for long enough to know that I am damaged goods. That is how the world sees me. Makes no matter to me.” Mia folded her hands in her lap. “I am happy.”

And she meant it. Of course she was happier now that she knew Alex, now that she spent time with him every day, listened to his voice, kissed him. But she did not require male attention to be happy, she’d been satisfied with her lot in life for several years now, had made peace with her blindness and found new things to love. Like her sculptures and listening to the birds and leaves rustle on the wind—things she’d never noticed before her accident.

“Besides, I have no desire to be married to an old man whose children treat me poorly,” Mia said. She knew Cleo’s marital situation, knew her husband was older than Christ himself and that the man’s children, from his previous marriage, treated Cleo as if she were nothing more than a glorified servant. Oh, she didn’t lack for anything, Mia was certain of it, but what really did that leave her?

“You are ungrateful,” Cleo snipped. “To think we came here to show you—”

“Show me what?” Mia interrupted. “That you care? Cleo, I am no fool. I know precisely why you came. But now your duty has been complete. You can tell all of your friends that you reunited with your long-lost sister.”

“We were concerned,” Fran said, and sincerity rang in her voice. “And we have missed you so. We did not want to abandon you in your time of need.”

“Abandon me? And you’re quite serious, aren’t you, Fran?” Perhaps what Mia had assumed as her sister being agreeable was actually stupidity. Certainly no one was that dense.
Now
was when they were concerned with abandoning her?

“Of course,” Fran said, without an ounce of falseness in her voice.

Perhaps Mia had misjudged her sister all this time. Still she might not be extraordinarily bright, but she wasn’t a simpleton. Any fool could have returned to the cottage for a brief visit, or at the very least sent letters. Mia might not have thought she was angry with her sisters, but this visit was certainly proving otherwise. Of course, Mia supposed she had Alex to be thankful for that. She’d gone on quite well without the anger for years until he’d pointed out precisely how poorly she’d been treated. She had made excuses for them all along, but now she could clearly see how very selfish they both were.

“We took time out of our own busy families to come and see about your welfare,” Cleo said. “We are both mothers, you know. It is not as if this does not interrupt our days.”

“I have nieces and nephews?” Mia asked. She had foolishly never considered the thought, but, then again, she didn’t allow herself much time to think about children. She hadn’t wanted to dwell on the fact that she, herself, would never have any.

“I have two boys,” Fran said. “Rascals, both of them.” There was so much love and adoration in Fran’s tone that tears pricked the edges of Mia’s eyes. Her sister hadn’t made the right choices all of the time, especially in following Cleo and their mother in excising Mia from their lives, but she clearly loved her own children with a kindness that their own mother had never possessed.

“And you, Cleo?” Mia asked.

“Four girls,” she said, her tone lined with bitterness.

So she had produced no heirs for her husband, a feat his first wife had failed at as well. Four new daughters would give the man a total of seven. Goodness, that was a lot of dresses to purchase.

“Four nieces and two nephews, I should very much like to meet them sometime,” Mia said.

“That would be lovely,” Fran agreed. “We did come to invite you with us to attend the opera. My husband has a private box. It would be a gentle way to introduce you back into Society.”

“I hadn’t given much thought to being involved in Society,” Mia said. Actually she hadn’t given any thought to Society. But since
The Times
had run the story about her, it did seem a logical conclusion. People would expect her to return. But she didn’t precisely trust her sisters.

That being said, she had longed to do things that those in polite Society did, such as attend the opera, perhaps a play—she might not be able to see the stage, but she could certainly hear the dialogue or the music, be a part of the story in that way, since she missed reading so. She knew their offer of hospitality wasn’t sincere; it was an obligation, nothing more. Perhaps Fran felt some tender feelings of affection toward her, but she’d still cut Mia out of her life. But if they could use her, she could certainly use them. “I would love to attend the opera,” she said.