Page 33 of My Wicked Earl
Grandmother’s eyes slid away to look into the fire.
Shewasup to something.
“As you say,” Grandmother replied, “we have given you leave to choose. Which is the reason for the house party. We should like the opportunity to know your suitors better, though I cannot imagine that anything Ridley will do could change my opinion of him. He’ll likely wear something garish.” Her lips pursed in distaste. “Though he is rather handsome. Thatissomething.”
The Dowager stood, one hand falling to her hip as she grasped her cane.
Miranda stood, reaching out automatically to assist her grandmother.
“Shoo. I’ve simply sat too long. My goodness, don’t hover, Miranda.”
Miranda flounced back to the chair. Grandmother did hate to be reminded of her infirmity.
Miranda’s fingers found the end of the shawl again. “Marriage is a business contract, not a contract of the heart.” Miranda’s mother had often said such to her.
The Dowager pressed a kiss atop her head. “Your mother is a foolish woman. You would do better to emulate your brother, if you can.”
“Your own marriage was made in such a way, was it not? So are most marriages of theton. I am only trying to be sensible.”
Grandmother squeezed her shoulder. “I once thought so. Until I saw your own father choose affection rather than duty when he wed Madeline. His first marriage was for love. Convenience only came with your mother.” She hobbled from the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.
Miranda sat for the longest time, her grandmother’s words lingering in the air. Love. An overinflated emotion that caused young girls like herself to completely disregard their upbringing and fling themselves at melancholy half-Irish gentlemen. Or quarter-Irish.
She tasted the warm saltiness of her own tears and wondered exactly when she’d started crying. Probably six years ago. Just after Colin had left her.
7
The crowded streets of London rolled past the window of the Cambourne coach as Miranda, her grandmother, and the Earl of Kilmaire slowly made their way to Gray Covington. Miranda willed the coach to move faster through the crowded streets.
Trapped.
Trapped with the austere Earl of Kilmaire in close quarters for the remainder of the day. Since arriving to escort her and Grandmother, Colin had assumed a cold demeanor. She could be a stick of furniture or a dressmaker’s dummy for all the attention Colin paid her. Unfortunately, while he seemed oblivious to her presence, it was difficult for Miranda to ignore him. Sprawled across the seat facing her Colin seemed to take up all the available space in the coach with his bloody long legs and broad shoulders.”
And he’s bloody ruining my joy at escaping to Gray Covington.
She sighed, clasping and unclasping her hands. Gray Covington washome.Not the Cambourne house in London. The estate outside London was Miranda’s favorite place in the world. She longed for the peace that being at Gray Covington brought her. Peace that had been in short supply since Colin had arrived in London.
Miranda had never been a typical debutante. Oh, she’d endured the multitude of fittings for new gowns, the constant shopping, the calls on various acquaintances every day. But it never made her happy. Rather, she mostly found herself wanting to scream for the absurdity of it.
All things being equal, she would always prefer the solitude of Gray Covington over everything that London had to offer.
The house itself was relatively new, having been built on the remains of the former manor house. As a young bride, the Dowager took one look at the outdated Tudor styled house and insisted immediately that something more modern be built.
One did not disappoint the Dowager, not even then.
The gray stone exterior was nearly hidden by the crawling ivy and wisteria that covered the walls, giving the impression of an overly large stone cottage. The gardens were enormous, winding about the grounds and filled with any manner of flowers and shrubs. The gardens were famous in London, for they contained a multitude of rare plants and were laid out in such a way that one never knew where the formal gardens ended and the rolling fields of Gray Covington took over.
The Gray Covington gardener, himself the descendent of the first gardener Grandmother had hired so long ago, was especially talented. Just before Miranda was born, the man teased a series of shrubs into topiaries. The topiaries were renowned among theton, for the skill at which they were created and for the unusual animals they depicted. Three camels strode across the grass where a lion, a group of monkeys, and an elephant frolicked. As a child Miranda would climb inside those monkeys to hide from her mother’s wrath. Which was quite often.
I wonder if I can still fit inside them?Probably not. How unfortunate.
Miranda stole a glance at the source of her mounting anxiety.
Did he have to be so attractive? It was rather disappointing that Colin had not grown fat. Or bald. Orsomething.
Silver now threaded through the golden wave of hair that fell to his shoulders, but the locks were still thick. Tiny lines were etched around his eyes, and the full curve
of his lips as if he frowned often. And Colin was larger, the leaner form he’d once had thicker, his shoulders broader.
