Page 31 of My Wicked Earl
MIRANDA FLOUNCEDinto a paisley overstuffed chair and pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Thunder continued to boom outside as night began to fall. She said a silent prayer that the rain would continue for days, enough to muck up the roads to Gray Covington so that the ridiculous house party would be cancelled.
She had no wish to watch Colin court his future countess.
While Miranda considered herself to be fortunate in a great many things, she did not think her current plight would receive divine intervention.
Impossible. Horrible. Awful.
“I could feign sickness.” She pulled a loose thread of her shawl, watching in rapt attention as the entire corner began to unravel, the yarn curling and twisting on the chair like vines. “I certainly feel ill.”
Colin Hartley. Her attraction to him, unfortunately for her, had not faded with time. She’d hoped that it would. Prayed fervently to forget Colin and everything she’d once desired.
Now he had come to London and she was forced to pretend that he never made promises to her, else risk her reputation. Such as it was. If she had one more scandal attached to her name even Lord Hamill would be forced to withdraw his pursuit.
A small statue, made of porcelain so fine it was nearly transparent, sat on the side table next to her. Sutton had brought her the gift. A figurine of a woman in a long flowing robe. Her brother called the garment a kimono. The sleeves of the garment were deep, hanging from the woman’s arms to pool at her feet. She was twisted at the waist, one arm held up in supplication as if pleading.
“I rather feel as you do,” she said to the tiny woman, “begging for someone to stop the unfortunate swirl of events I find myself in.” Her head fell back against the chair. “The irony does not escape me that I happen to be the only heiress in all of London that Lord Kilmaire has no interest in. Not even for my dowry. I’m that unlikeable.” A sniff escaped her. “It’s difficult you see,” she touched the tip of the woman’s nose, “because I’ve loved Colin for such a long time.”
She had no choice but to marry either Lord Hamill or Lord Ridley if she didn’t wish to remain a spinster. Not that anyone was forcing her to wed. Sutton was very clear that he did not care if she married or not. But Miranda did. She wanted a family of her own.
“Ridley or Hamill. Either will suit me just fine.” The woman stared open mouthed at Miranda. “Oh, very well. That’s a lie. My attraction to either man lies in the fact that they wish to marryme, despite the scandal. I’m fortunate I have any suitors at all.
The tiny woman’s gaze appeared accusatory. “I see you wish to judge me.” Miranda turned the small figure so it faced away from her. “But just so you know, you don’t look all that innocent yourself.”
Arabella would know how best to handle the situation, but her best friend was miles away in Wales. She could confide in Alex, but Miranda wasn’t at all certain that her sister-in-law wouldn’t then tell Sutton.
“I wonder,” she mused, pulling at the yarn again, “how one looks a man in the eye after one has shared such intimacies. There are dozens of courtesans who do such every day when they change protectors. There must be a trick to it.”
A knock at the door halted her thoughts
“Come.” Probably Clara, her maid, with a supper tray. Miranda had declined to go down to dinner, preferring to take a tray in her room.
The thump of a cane sounded against the floor.
“I do not care to dine alone, Miranda.”
Grandmother seems determined to vex me today. “Hello, Grandmother. My apologies I did not come down for dinner. I’m a bit tired and thought it best I take a tray in my room. I’m exhausted from all the preparations needed for your little house party.”
“It seems there is little preparation going on, unless you consider the unraveling of your shawl to be such.”
Miranda stuffed the shawl between the cushions of her chair.
“I thought you’d be packing, or at least your maid would be. Or someone’s maid. Yours is a bit flighty I’m given to understand. I’m not certain why you insist on keeping her. I don’t approve.”
Miranda kept her precisely because Grandmotherdidn’tapprove. “She does lovely hair. And her name is Clara, Grandmother.”
“She is untrustworthy. I see it in her eyes. Shifty. You should sack her immediately.”
“I will take that under advisement.”
The Dowager thumped her cane around a chair facing Miranda. “Are you ill? You don’t appear to be for all that you looked a bit green earlier during Lord Kilmaire’s visit. Did something disagree with you at tea?”
A great many things disagreed with Miranda, specifically Grandmother assisting Colin in his hunt for a suitable heiress. “No, I’m fine, Grandmother.”
The Dowager sat back in the chair, sighing with pleasure as she sank into the worn cushions. “I must confess, while I insisted you furnish your bedroom with finer furniture, you were correct in your assessment of these chairs. Quite comfortable, especially for these old bones.” A smile crossed the Dowager’s lips, at odds with the mercenary gleam in her green eyes. “Shall we discuss the house party?”
Why couldn’t she have a less Machiavellian grandmother? She should like one who sits by the fire and knits instead of constantly plotting mischief.For Miranda was quite certain Grandmother was up to something. Something more than just an unwanted house party.
“I had been considering a visit to Arabella. I thought to leave next week.” Miranda countered. “She’s written and asked me to visit her in Wales. It’s quite solitary there. She’s bored.”
