Page 43 of Refining the Debutante
“What about your tenants?” Ethan asked, eager to move to a new topic. “You have a few on your estate, yes?”
Captain Grant nodded. “There are whispers about laborers meeting about their wages. They are all hotheads with not a brain between them. But I am not worried. I can handle my own.”
“I have heard such rumors as well,” Ethan said. “It is one thing to say you can protect yourself and keep your men in line, but you do not have your sisters with you like I do. My concern is greater there. I am starting to worry every time they walk out together.”
“It sounds as though you have your hands full with all those women about.”
Ethan chuckled. “I suppose I do. I only wish I could design a way to keep the peace in our community. I do not like the stories I hear of hungry farmers revolting in other parts of England.”
Captain Grant agreed. “They must have not gone to war, or they would be sick of bloodshed by now.”
They reached their horses, and Ethan tied his game bag to his saddle. “I have never gone hungry, but I imagine I would do just about anything to feed my family.”
Captain Grant hesitated, then nodded. “I do believe I would do the same.”
They both mounted their horses and parted ways back to their respective homes. Surprisingly, Ethan’s thoughts were not on the social and economic problems facing their country; they circled the idea of Captain Grant choosing a wife. It would be a simple solution to Ethan’s problems, but he had never known anything to be simple where the fairer sex was involved.
What was wrong with him? People were starving, and he was distracted by two females. Where was his head? It was time to set his agenda in order—as well as his heart. As soon as he tied up some tenant issues, he would meet with Mr. Withers about his daughter.
* * *
Lady Callister was in the running with Mrs. Guttridge for who could make Miranda more miserable. Nothing she did was up to scratch. Miranda’s tongue almost split in half with the number of times she bit it in order to remain pleasant.
“Put down the Psalms,” Lady Callister said one night after dinner. Miranda had been ordered to read the Psalms out loud for six nights in a row. It often put them both to sleep. “Fetch me the book from my yarn basket.”
Miranda glanced to the corner of the room at the yarn basket she had seen many times with apparently no book inside. Was Lady Callister going senile?
“It is just there. Go ahead,” Lady Callister prompted.
Miranda crossed the room and dug through the basket only to find a gothic novel. “This?”
Lady Callister smiled in an innocent, never-do-wrong manner. “Yes, start at chapter three, won’t you? Training you is rather tedious business, and I need something more lighthearted tonight.”
Miranda flipped to the designated page and cleared her throat. “Rafe’s heart dashed against the rocks like the roaring waves before him. His wet ebony hair clung to his neck in clumps, and damp sand made his skin itch. He took a deep breath and searched the salty water with renewed desperation. Without his hard-won pearl—the finest specimen in size and color he had ever seen—there would be no life with his beloved Desiree.”
“Rafe’s a pirate,” Lady Callister clarified. “Chapter one was a little too gory for my taste, but in chapter two, he meets the dignified Lady Desiree. She won’t have him, of course, because she thinks he is a ruffian like all the others.”
Miranda blinked in surprise. Lady Callister looked ready to swoon, even though this sort of story was completely frowned upon by most matrons. “Shall I continue?”
“Yes please,” Lady Callister said, leaning forward with enthusiasm.
Miranda could not resist. She stood up and put some feeling into her words. “Behind Rafe, he could hear his men drawing close. If they discovered the pearl was lost, they would mutiny. They knew he owed them a share of their greatest booty yet. His fingers combed the gravelly sand, bringing up a lackluster handful of broken shells. His glossy gem was naught but a dream, cast away at sea with the last hope of his heart.”
“Poor Rafe,” Lady Callister sighed.
Miranda bit back a smile. Perhaps there was hope for the stodgy lady and herself after all. Lady Callister was clearly a romantic. Miranda stifled a yawn. “Oh, look at the time. I should retire if I am going to be alert enough to give adequate attention to my music tomorrow.”
Lady Callister’s smile drooped. “Hmm, perhaps your practicing could be put off for a day. That is, if you think you are up to reading a few more pages.”
Miranda lifted her hand and, with an artistic flair, read through a lively sword fight, a haunted cave, and a lovers’ tryst. It was late by the time Miranda closed the book. Lady Callister complained, but Miranda could tell the woman was exhausted.
“We can read another few chapters tomorrow afternoon,” Miranda suggested hopefully. “Although, it would break my heart to have to skip our visits.”
“Nonsense,” Lady Callister said. “Tomorrow is Thursday, and I never miss bringing our charity baskets around. People depend upon it.”
Did they? Miranda wondered. It no doubt shamed the receivers and did so very little to remedy their situations. The subject was nonnegotiable, however, and Miranda wished she had attempted a more pliable topic. At least she was excused from her practicing in the morning.
The reading had proven a great distraction, but as she climbed the stairs to bed, she found herself missing her father. Was he well? It worried her that he had not written. She hoped he had made it safely to Spain. Though it was late, she knew she would not sleep. Before she climbed into bed, Miranda decided to pen another letter to her uncle. If she could not write her father, she would keep sending letters to Lord Aldington.
