Page 36 of Refining the Debutante
He knew he would regret that elder brother comment. She breezed by him, unknowingly saving him from himself. He put his hand on his head and groaned.
Chapter 16
The last thing Miranda wantedwas for Ethan to think of her as a sister. She sat at her dressing table, fingering her jewelry, wondering what she could wear that would make Ethan view her differently. She was already dressed for the dinner party in a Pomona-green evening gown with her hair pulled low at her neck and loose curls spilling out. The effect was pleasing but a little simple. Strangely, the longer she stared at her jewelry, the more she was content with her unpretentious attire, which was not like her at all. She couldn’t help but think of Sarah as she fingered what pieces she had left. How she ached for an ally who knew her past as well as her present.
She picked up a beaded comb. This had been one of Jane’s favorites from last Season. It would mean a great deal to have Jane’s friendship back. Miranda wrapped her fingers around the comb as an idea formed in her mind. She stood and left her bedchamber. With the guest wing under repair, she was staying by the family rooms. Through observation, she had learned where everyone slept. Miranda found Jane’s door and knocked.
A moment later, a maid opened the door, and Miranda breathed in her friend’s honeysuckle scent permeating the room.
Jane sat at her dressing table and glanced up. She quickly faced her mirror again and pursed her lips. “Come in.”
Miranda made her way to Jane and extended the peace offering. “I remembered how you favored this and thought you might like to have it.”
Jane’s gaze rested on the comb. Her brow creased, and for a moment, she did not say anything. Miranda glanced at the white-and-pink floral quilt on Jane’s bed and the charming blue curtains on the window. It was a happy room, but Jane’s mood toward Miranda did not match it. Miranda struggled not to squirm.
“I cannot accept your offering,” Jane said, though her tone was gentle and absent of any ill will.
Miranda pulled the comb back to her stomach. Unsure of what to do, she turned to leave.
“One moment,” Jane said. Miranda wondered if she would accept her gift after all, but what Jane said shocked her. “I must warn you. There will be a guest at dinner who is destined to be my brother’s wife.”
Miranda froze. She pivoted to face Jane, but Jane was busy with her toiletry, and her guarded expression cut off any further explanation. She had done Miranda a favor by revealing this ahead of time, but the news was still soul-crushing. She left Jane and hurried back to her room. Once inside, she put her back to the door and took several deep breaths. This was not the end of the world. Jane could be exaggerating. Hadn’t Hannah said Jane often did as much? Miranda easily recalled many times when Jane had been overly dramatic.
It took nearly a half hour before she could gather her courage to go down for dinner. She brought her fan with her in case she felt faint and required air. Each step felt like walking back home to Gray House, robbing her of any happy thoughts. No matter how many encouraging talks she gave herself, she was completely unprepared to meet the woman who would succeed where she had failed.
Then she saw her in the drawing room—Miss Withers. Her lungs refused to fill with air. Dinner was announced a moment later, allowing Miranda to breathe again and find her equilibrium in the bustle. She watched helplessly as Ethan led Miss Withers in to dinner, his eyes riveted to her face. Miranda could not blame him. Miss Withers’s beauty could capture a blind man’s attention. She wore a stylish pale-pink crepe gown far nicer than the one she had worn at the card party, and her russet-brown locks were expertly coiled on her head. There also wasn’t a scandal attached to her name. Jealousy ran down Miranda’s back like cold water, and she shivered with bitter disappointment.
She put her hand to her empty throat. Perhaps the jewelry would have helped her confidence after all.
The seating arrangement at dinner set Ethan next to Miss Withers, and Miranda as far away as she could possibly be, with at least a dozen others between them. Jane had no doubt been behind it, as she was the acting hostess, and Miranda could not quite blame her. Still, her eyes remained on the couple. From the snatches of conversation around her, Miranda learned Mr. and Mrs. Withers were the couple sitting near their daughter. An officer, one other married couple, and a few others of eligible age were also in attendance. Dinner went long, and no matter how she tilted her head, Miranda could not overhear a word spoken between Ethan and Miss Withers. She did, however, catch their mutual smiles. Was it just an invention of her mind, or did they suit each other?
Miranda took a bite of her chocolate dessert to help her swallow her disappointment, grateful that at least the menu made sense. She pulled her spoon from her mouth and frowned. Bland. Utterly bland. She pushed her dessert aside. It was a monumental moment when chocolate did not bring her pleasure—a sure sign something was not right in the world.
At long last, dinner concluded. They all drifted into the oversized drawing room, perfect for entertaining a large group. Miranda located an open chair by an arched window at the end of the room, discreetly hidden by the pianoforte. She set a course for the chair, but Hannah chose that moment to step up beside her.
“Hannah.” Miranda smiled amiably, although hiding was still on the forefront of her mind. “How are you making out with all this company?”
“I could not think of a thing to say to the gentleman next to me at dinner.” Hannah’s pale lips turned down into a frown. Timidity seemed natural to her. Miranda looked closer and realized Hannah wasn’t truly upset but was likely just disappointed.
“At least the food was excellent,” Miranda lied, thinking of her sorry dessert. “When the company is poor, always appreciate the next best thing.”
Hannah giggled. So did someone else across the room. Both turned toward the source. Ethan stood not too far from them, entertaining Miss Withers with a story.
“Georgina Withers is perfect, you know,” Hannah said. “Not a blemish on her skin.”
Miss Withers laughed again, and the sound was almost musical.
“No one is perfect,” Miranda said, her tone a touch condemning.
“Miss Withers is a benefactor for underprivileged women. While in London, she personally nursed several unwed mothers who were ill.”
Miranda shrugged as if the news meant nothing to her.
“She saved a cat from a tree only last week.”
Miranda turned on Hannah. “I could save a cat from a tree. Anyone could save a cat from a tree.”
“Yes,” Hannah said carefully. “But have you ever done so? Miss Withers has.”
