Page 26 of Refining the Debutante
“Nearly five shillings for a pound of bread.” Miranda shook her head. “Highway robbery, if you ask me.”
Ethan nearly choked on his bite, utterly surprised that Miranda would notice or even care about such a fact. “Yes, I agree with you completely.”
“Gray House is this way.” Miranda steered him out of the village, her bread disappearing in only a few bites. The sounds of the ocean faded, but Ethan could still feel the chilly, salty sea breeze urging them to hurry. Miranda’s energy waned the farther they walked, fatigue lining every feature and movement. He should have called for a hackney, but this was not London, where drivers waited all day for someone to pay them to get around, and he’d not thought to even fetch his horse.
He was relieved for Miranda when they finally caught a glimpse of their destination. But the consolation quickly abated with each step nearer Lord Aldington’s forbidding house. There was nothing obviously wrong with the structure, rather a feeling. Cold. Uninviting. Lonely. It was likely born of Ethan’s imagination after seeing Miranda so altered.
He cleared his throat and turned to say goodbye. “My best wishes to your friend.”
“I will let her know you said as much.” Miranda clutched the vial to her stomach and took a few steps from him toward the house.
“Can I see you tomorrow?” Ethan’s desperation surprised him. What if she construed his concern for a renewal of affection? Nothing could be further from the truth. It was the feeling about Gray House that had spurred his request.
“Tomorrow?” Miranda turned back, her eyes wide with surprise. “Why would you want to see me again?”
She would not take kindly to his desire to give her charity. He thought quickly. “I would like to know if your friend is better.”
“I...” She seemed to debate her answer. “My time is not my own.”
The weariness behind her eyes told Ethan she was telling him the truth. “I will be in town a few more days. I will walk this way each day around noon. If you happen to be able to get away, then I would consider it a great favor—as an old friend, of course.”
She nodded, but Ethan wasn’t sure if she meant it or not. He hoped she did. He turned to walk back to town. His motives weren’t wrong, were they? Following his conscience sometimes led him to uncomfortable situations, but this was by far the most perplexing. He had just begun courting Miss Withers, and he rather liked her too. As unexpected as finding Miranda had been, he could not simply walk away while she suffered unjustly. Miss Withers would still be there once he saw to Miranda’s needs.
Chapter 12
Sarah had worsened since Mirandahad left her. Dread filled her belly, which was no longer empty, thanks to Ethan Roderick.
“How are you?” Miranda dipped a cloth into the basin of water by Sarah’s bed, draping it across her forehead.
Sarah moaned in reply. Sweat soaked through her shift, but she shivered like she was cold.
“I saw Mr. Roderick again,” Miranda said, hoping to distract Sarah. “He said he wishes you well. You should have seen how handsome he looked in his sage-green waistcoat and crisp black greatcoat. Not that I noticed.”
How she wished to see Sarah smile.
Miranda combed the damp hair away from Sarah’s cheek with her fingers and smoothed it across the pillow. Then she sat down beside her on the thin mattress. “I am sure anyone looking on would have thought us a curious pair. Me, contrasting his elegance with my dowdy, grease-stained apron and my hair sticking out in every direction.” When she received no response, she sighed. “But never mind that; it is time for your medicine.”
Miranda stood and brought the vial over along with the watered-down tea she had made downstairs. Mrs. Guttridge would not spare anything more for a mere ill servant. Miranda lifted Sarah’s head against her arm. Then she tipped the warm liquid into Sarah’s mouth. It was a relief to see her swallow the tea until it was all gone. Miranda helped her settle back down on her pillow and smoothed her hair again.
“Thank you, miss,” Sarah whispered, her eyes opening for a moment.
“You are welcome,” Miranda said with a soft smile. She let Sarah sleep, but the ball of anxiety in her chest remained. Her life at Gray House was only tolerable because of Sarah. Without her, Miranda would have nothing to live for.
She could not bring herself to leave Sarah’s side and go to bed. She administered to her off and on through the night, sleeping in a wooden chair for a few hours and then awkwardly curling up across the foot of Sarah’s bed. By morning, Sarah was little improved. Miranda left the room, needing a respite and some fresh air.
Kurt, one of the footmen who had ransacked her room, stepped into the corridor with a cloak on. She put aside her reservations and asked, “By chance, are you going to town?”
He grimaced. “Yes, miss.”
She wanted to sigh with relief. He was a great deal humbler in her presence without Alan or the other servants. “Sarah needs a doctor. Please, will you send for one? I will pay his fees, so you need not trouble Mrs. Guttridge.”
She hoped she had enough to barter for such services. She had no idea what fees a doctor charged.
“I... don’t know,” Kurt said.
Miranda’s temper flared. “If you don’t help me, Sarah could die. I don’t dare leave her side as it is.”
“Very well,” he said, though he shook his head as he walked away. Did he fear the others would mock him if he showed compassion toward Miranda?
