Page 4 of The Major's Mistake
Sykes took it without a word and added a small amount of spirits, then fixed one for himself. He cleared his throat as he handed over the brandy. “Well, perhaps a female presence will be a civilizing influence in this house—though I imagine there will be some changes. I doubt some fine lady would tolerate the likes of me as a peer of the realm’s valet.”
Julian’s head jerked around. “What the devil is that supposed to mean?”
“Servants talk, guv. Word has it that an engagement between your august self and this Season’s Incomparable, the lovely Miss Wiltshire, is not far off.” He paused for a fraction. “The betting books list the odds at over two to one for those wagering a yes.”
A string of oaths exploded from Julian’s lips, followed by further imprecations concerning scheming mamas and obsequious papas with pockets to let. “Why, the lady in question cannot repress a shudder at the sight of my dragging step, nomatter what charming manners her parents have tried to drum into her head.” He took a deep breath and added with some vehemence, “You may assured I have no plans to fall into the parson’s mousetrap any time soon.”
“Now that you’ve come into the title, don’t you have to think about setting up a nursery?
“I’m not about to stick my spoon in the wall just yet,” muttered Julian. “I have plenty of time to … deal with that issue.”
Sykes eyed him with a certain curiosity, but refrained from any comment.
“Have you ever been to the Lake District?” asked the marquess abruptly.
“Can’t say that I have, guv.”
“I am considering a visit there to one of my properties.”
The former soldier rubbed at his jaw to hide his surprise. “Now why do we want to go and do that for? From what I hear tell, nothing much up there but hills and sheep and … lakes, I suppose.”
“Precisely.”
“Well, it’s a hell of a trek if what you’re looking for is a bit of peace and quiet. Why don’t we just retire to Crestwood if you wish to avoid Society for a time?”
Julian shook his head. He forbore to add that his primary estate still held too many bittersweet memories for him to take any comfort there. “It’s time I paid more attention to the rest of my holdings. I mean to take my responsibilities seriously. Since my father’s death three years ago and my accession to the title, I’ve barely spent more than a fortnight in England … until now.” He gestured towards his desk. “There is a pile of correspondence from bailiffs of estates I didn’t even know I owned.”
“Can’t we pick one a tad closer to the comforts of Town?” groused Sykes. “I’d have thought you’d had enough of roughingit after all them years on the Peninsula. I know I damn well have,” he added under his breath.
“The farther, the better,” muttered Julian. “You don’t have to come along, you know. You are welcome to stay here in Sterling House and have run of the place while I’m gone.”
Sykes gave a snort of disgust. “Oh, aye. I’m just the sort of paltry fellow to shirk from a little discomfort and let you go haring off on your own. Or perhaps, now that we’re in England, you’d rather hire some fancy fellow more befitting to your station.”
Julian’s mouth quirked in a rueful smile. “What, and miss your deferential manner and polite conversation?”
The other man grinned, then shook his head in resignation. “Well, at least it’s useful you being a fancy lord and all. I imagine we won’t have to be sleeping in a bloody stable, like old times.”
Two
Miranda wrote out yet another recipe and placed it in a pile with the others.That should do it, she thought with grim satisfaction. She did not think she had forgotten anyone in need. The draughts, tisanes, poultices and broths were all spelled out. For those who could not read, the vicar would no doubt be happy to help. A wave of sadness came over her as she fiddled with the end of her pen. She had been of some use here, and had gained no little affection from her neighbors, a taciturn and reserved folk not given to taking outsiders to their heart.
It was hard to give that up.
Miranda quickly blotted a tear from her cheek. Well, she would just have to start anew. She had done so before, under far more daunting circumstances, she reminded herself. This time it wouldn’t be nearly so difficult. After all, she was much older now—and wiser.
Her eyes drifted over the familiar surroundings—the nicks in the beaded moldings, the rough texture of the whitewashed plaster, the grain of the polished oak floor. Yes, it was sad to leave, but she had to admit that even had she the means to stay behind, she could never abandon the redoubtable older ladywhose staunch support had, at times, been the only thing that kept her from sliding into the blackest despair.
Expelling a sigh, Miranda began carefully folding each sheet of paper and lettering a name on the blank surface. She would deliver all of them this afternoon, along with a final goodbye. Engrossed in her thoughts, she wasn’t aware her great aunt had entered the room until a soft cough roused her from her reveries.
“Perhaps you should simply publish a book of remedies, and save your hand from falling off ” said Lady Thornton lightly as she surveyed the stack of papers.
She essayed a smile. “Well, now that they will know all my secrets, I’ll no longer be needed.”
Her great aunt slipped an arm around her shoulder. “My dear, you will always be needed. You have done much good here. Of that you should take great satisfaction.”
She nodded pensively. “In many ways, my life has been much more rewarding than … it might have been. Truly,” she added, noting the troubled look in her great aunt’s eyes. “I am well aware that I could easily have become used to a frivolous existence, thinking of naught but my own pleasures and the latest fashions, the next ball or the latest bit of gossip.”
Her lips creased in a ghost of a smile. “I know at times I am willful and unwilling to compromise. Perhaps those traits have landed me in a briar patch of my own making, but I believe I am a better person for having struggled with the thorns. I may be cut and bruised a bit, but am stronger and hopefully a bit wiser.”
