Page 3 of The Major's Mistake
The conversation steered to less turbulent topics as they discussed the latest news from the surrounding farms and a few bits of local gossip. Though Lady Thornton kept up a cheerful countenance and a constant stream of pithy comments, Miranda knew her well enough to sense something was amiss. Finally she set aside her plate, the cakes untouched.
“Aunt Sophia, what is wrong?”
The older lady stopped in mid sentence. Instead of answering right away, she rose and went over to the writing desk by the wall and took up a folded letter. Without a word, she handed it to her niece.
Miranda skimmed the contents, then looked up, her eyes betraying a flare of emotion.
Lady Thornton met her niece’s troubled gaze. “I grew up at Talney Hall. I hadn’t expected my brother to leave it to me, but as it wasn’t part of the entail, and he knew what fond memories I have of it ….” She trailed off for a moment. “I know how loath you are to set foot in England, my dear. If you are entirely opposed to it, I shall not consider taking up residence there. However, at some point, you are going to have to address Justin’s future.”
Miranda’s jaw tightened.
“It is true that Highcroft Manor is close by,” she added in a voice barely above a whisper. “But it is a minor estate which I have never known Julian to visit. Why, I doubt he even knows he owns it.” A pause hung for an instant in the air. “Besides, he is only lately returned from Portugal and after so many years of absence, I doubt he shall wish to stir far from London for quite some time.”
At the mention of the name, Miranda paled considerably. Her fingers clenched the creased paper, causing a slight crackle.
A sad little sigh escaped Lady Thornton’s lips. “I only ask that you think on it?—”
“That isn’t necessary,” replied Miranda. She gave a harsh laugh. “You are no doubt right. London has entirely too many attractions for him to think of quitting it for some time.”
Her great aunt’s lined face took on a look of pinched concern. “Miranda?—”
“No, really. When do you wish to leave?”
“Do not rush your decision, my dear. I only meant to broach the idea.”
Miranda dismissed the suggestion with a determined shrug. “It would be selfish in the extreme for me to deny you this.” She cut off another attempt at protest from her relative with an impatient wave. “And you are quite right about Justin. Obviously he must return to England at some point, and perhaps it’s best done while he is young.”
Falling silent, she stared at the lines of script that had so swiftly altered her life. “In any case, after seven years, a new scandal must certainly have come to the fore.” Her mouth quirked in an attempt at a smile. “Surely no one will care overly about a cast-off wife, even if they discover who I am.”
“Miranda,” repeated Lady Thornton, her voice was full of anguish.
“No, truly, it is all right. I believe I am ready to face it. At least, as you say, there is little chance of having to encounter His Lordship until … much later.”
“You are sure?”
She nodded, wishing she felt nearly as certain as her words would indicate.
The contentsof the glass were downed in one swallow, then quickly refilled from the crystal decanter on the mahoganysideboard. The gentleman then limped to the oversized leather armchair by the fire and took a seat with a grunt of relief. He unknotted the elegant cravat at his throat, tossed it aside and stretched his long legs out towards the dancing flames. Closing his eyes, he raked a hand through his raven locks and then, with an audible sigh, took another long draught of the aged French brandy.
The library door opened quietly and a wiry little man made his way across the thick Aubusson carpet with hardly a sound. His brows came together slightly at the sight his employer’s exhausted face.
“Tough night, guv?”
Julian Grosvenor, the Marquess of Sterling, rubbed wearily at his aching forehead. “I had forgotten how interminable these evenings are, what with the prosing bores at my club, the simpering hosts and ballrooms packed with predatory …” He gave a humorless laugh. “I swear, Sykes, at times it seems that facing Boney’s troops was less of an ordeal than a Season in Town.”
The other man grinned as he gathered up the discarded cravat and bent to move a small hassock in place beneath the marquess’s left boot. “That bad, is it? Well, I am exceedingly glad I don’t have to endure the terrible hardship of swilling champagne with the toffs and dancing until dawn with all them beautiful ladies. A rough life indeed, guv.”
That coaxed a low chuckle from Julian.
Seeing that the fine lines of stress etched around the marquess’s eyes were beginning to relax, Sykes went on. “Surely you have no complaints of where you end up. I vow, I ain’t never seen a more ravishing ladybird than that opera dancer of yours. Half the gentlemen of thetonwould give a fortune to trade places with you.”
Julian showed no surprise at the frank manner of his former batman. He pulled face as he gave another short laugh. “A fortune is exactly what theywouldgive! I fear the ravishing Madame St. Honore is also becoming rather too demanding.” His mouth tightened. “Despite the fact that she doesn’t shrink from the sight of my
disfigurement.” He finished off the rest of the brandy in one swift gulp. “Pour me another, will you, Sykes. And one for yourself.”
The other man regarded the marquess for a moment. “Ain’t you had enough for tonight? Why not let me help you up to bed? You’ve been hitting the bottle rather heavily these past few weeks and we’ve seen what that can do to a man.” He paused. “Nothing good, I might add..”
Julian stared into the fire. “No doubt you’re right,” he answered after a moment. His eyes pressed closed. “Now be so good as to fill my glass.”
