Page 24 of The Major's Mistake
Julian didn’t miss the black look thrown his way. He shrugged as he reached down to ruffle the lad’s dark hair. It was odd for the two stablehands to have taken him in such violent dislike, odder still that they had the temerity to show it.
Well, he had more important things to concern himself with, he thought as he reached down to take Justin’s small hand in his. There was a slight constriction in his throat at the touch of his son’s soft little fingers and the sound of his voice chattering on about how the kitten had managed to overturn a pitcher of cream in the kitchen that morning, much to the Cook’s wrath.
They walked out of the barn towards where the marquess’s smart phaeton stood, its matched team jangling the gleaming harnesses in their haste to be off.
“Mama, Mama. We are going on a picnic!” The lad left off his story as Miranda rounded the corner, a basket of freshly gathered eggs on her arm. “Major says his Cook has fixed all sorts of good things to eat?—”
“But rather a small portion of shortbread,” added Julian, unable to repress a faint smile.
Miranda lips twitched ever so slightly. “How lovely,” she said to her son. “I’m sure you will have a very nice time.”
Justin’s face suddenly came alight. “Major, can Mama come with us?”
“Of course your Mama would be welcome,” murmured the marquess.
“Oh, I cannot,” said Miranda quickly. “That is, there are errands I must attend to …”
Her words trailed off as she watched the little boy’s expression crumple into one of disappointment.
“Perhaps they might wait,” suggested Julian in a soft voice.
She bit her lip in uncertainty, catching the unspoken plea in her son’s eyes. “Well, I suppose just this once?—”
“Hooray!”
“I shall have to deliver these eggs to the kitchen first,” she warned. Looking down in dismay at her dusty gown, she swallowed hard. “And see to … a few other things.”
“No hurry,” said Julian pleasantly. “I’m sure the horses will be more than happy to avail themselves of these lumps of sugar I have in my coat pocket. Just the right size for a lad’s hand, I should imagine.”
“Oh! May I really feed them?” cried Justin.
They strolled off together,leaving Miranda with no further chance to change her mind. She set off for the manor house, and after informing Cook that the stove would no longer be needed to brew a batch of peppermint tonic, went to fetch her only shawl.
As she passed the large oval mirror in the hallway, she paused at the flash of her own reflection. Unconsciously, her hand came up and sought to rearrange the wisps of hair that had escaped from the simple bun at the nape of her neck. A twitch of her shoulders sought to rid her gown of the worst of its sags and wrinkles as a slight grimace crossed her face at the hopelessness of making the worn fabric look any less sorry.
Just as quickly, it changed into a self-mocking smile. She forced herself to take a hard look at reality. It mattered not a whit whether a tendril was loose or her garment hung like a sack, she reminded herself. The Marquess of Sterling was hardly going to notice anything about her humble person.
After all, as one of the most eligible men in London, he was no doubt surrounded by the most elegant and lovely ladies of theton, all vying for his attention. The only thought he might give to her was to take note of how low she had fallen.
But then, he had long since believed her sunk beneath reproach.
Still, came a small voice within her, she could cling to a modicum of pride. She would never let him see how hurt?—”
“Miranda?”
She spun around, a faint flush of embarrassment creeping over her at being caught studying her own image in the mirror.
Lady Thornton regarded the shawl in her niece’s hands. “Are you going out, my dear? I had thought you meant to spend the afternoon in the kitchen. Have you discovered you are missing some ingredients?”
“No, it’s not that,” stammered Miranda. “I—that is, Justin begged that I accompany him on a picnic with …with His Lordship. He was so eager that I come, I hadn’t the heart to say no,” she added quickly.
Any surprise the older lady might have felt was perfectly hidden. “Well, it looks like a very pleasant day for a picnic,” she said in a neutral voice.
“Yes—yes, it does.” Miranda studiously avoided her aunt’s eyes. “Ah, I suppose I had better not keep the horses waiting any longer.” With a nervous tug at her skirts, she excused herself and hurried out the door.
Lady Thornton stood deep in thought for several moments, staring first at the mirror then at the door through which her niece had fled.
“Hmmm.”
