Page 65 of Refining the Debutante
“I want you to know,” Miss Withers said, “that Mr. Roderick—”
“You are engaged,” Miranda finished, trying to hurry along the torture. “I am happy for you.”
“We are not engaged,” Miss Withers corrected. “Not yet, anyway. But I would like to speak to you about him.”
Miranda groaned inwardly. “If you think I am in the way, you are wrong. I want nothing but your happiness together.” This was a hard admission but part of embracing her resolute attempt to move forward, accept her role as a companion, and let go of what was not meant to be.
Miss Withers looked up and blinked several times. “I admire your fortitude, but I do wonder at your honesty. Such a passionate declaration cannot be sincere.”
Miranda’s eyes widened, and she took a long sip of tea.
“I want to marry a man who loves me,” Miss Withers said, smoothing her russet curls. “I am still young and fortunate to have my parents’ support of my wishes. I only need to know who Mr. Roderick loves.”
It was Miranda’s turn to stare. She knew what Miss Withers implied. “How could you doubt his affection for you? Everyone can see how well you complement each other.”
“Oh, I am aware how well-matched we are,” Miss Withers said. “No two personalities and temperaments could be more similar. However, we both like a challenge, which is why I have cause to wonder about you.”
“Me?” Miranda set down her empty cup. “I challenge him in the same manner one would ruffle someone’s feathers.”
“Exactly. I don’t ruffle Mr. Roderick at all. Do you not see why this is a concern?”
Miranda didn’t understand how frustrating a man could be a good thing. Miss Withers was imagining a nonexistent problem. While Miranda would like to be a contestant to win Ethan over, it was far too late for her. For starters, he was in London, and she was in Sussex. “Mr. Roderick had his chance with me,” Miranda said, “and he did not take it. Besides, I am no longer his equal.”
Miss Withers set down her teacup too and folded her arms across her chest. “Jane told me about your past. I was predisposed to dislike you after Mrs. Grantham’s card party, and maybe that was wrong of me. But I am not wrong to feel threatened by you. I sense you have a hold on Mr. Roderick. And do not tell me it is in my mind.”
Miranda shook her head. “Even if he dedicated a small sliver of his heart to me, my circumstances are yet the same.” Saying such a personal thought out loud threatened to disrupt Miranda’s calm facade.
“It is that sliver I must eradicate,” Miss Withers said, smiling sardonically. “I merely want to know what I am up against.”
Miranda was disgusted by this conversation. It was hard to remember Miss Withers was a good person and acting only because she felt threatened—a feeling Miranda understood. “I assure you, Mr. Roderick has given me no reason to believe he feels anything for me beyond friendship.”
Miss Withers frowned. “Come now, Miss Bartley, you and I are adult enough to know not everything has to be said to be communicated.”
Another lemon shortcake was in order. Two slices down at rapid pace, and still Miranda could not choke down this topic of conversation.
“I hoped you would be more forthright, but I sense you are trying to protect yourself with your false assurances.” When Miranda didn’t answer, Miss Withers set down her teacup. “I should take my leave. You have eaten all the cake.”
Miranda grimaced. “Forgive me. I have overindulged.”
Miss Withers smirked as if she thought Miranda more odd than funny. “A problem that must run in the family, and one more reason to remem-ber Mr. Roderick deserves better. Trust me when I say it would be wise for you to never think about him again.” Neither of them said goodbye. Miranda stood while Miss Withers exited, leaving an unsettled feeling behind her.
Miranda took her seat once more, in utter shock. Miss Withers was not who she had been pretending to be. She was jealous and conniving. Besides that, she gave Miranda reason to hope for Ethan when she should not. She shook her hands, hoping it would relieve her anxiousness. When would Lady Callister return? Miranda walked to the sewing basket and dug out their novel. She thumbed through it, hoping the words would ease the sting from Miss Withers. But instead of seeing the words, she saw Ethan—a glance, a touch of his hand, his rescuing her from Gray House. She tipped her head back against her seat and stared at the ceiling. Did Ethan care, even a little?
How long would it take for Miss Withers to smother every shred of affection Mr. Roderick had for Miranda?Be content, she told herself. She adored Lady Callister. This was her place now. Ethan was in London, for heaven’s sake. His future did not include her.
Lady Callister finally returned from her visits, looking rather worn out. Her presence snapped Miranda out of her head. She went straight to Lady Callister’s side. “It was far too wet to go out today. I should have encouraged you to stay here for morning calls.” Miranda rang for some hot tea and helped Lady Callister sit down.
“Before I took you on, Mr. Roderick warned me that you were a spirited girl and not to mind your strong opinions, so it would not have mattered. I would not have listened.”
“How do you like that?” Miranda teased. “Mr. Roderick will hear it from me next time I see him.” When would that be? April? May? It seemed forever away.
Lady Callister eyed her. “I hope such a meeting will be sooner rather than later.” She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against her chair. “I should like to rest a moment before I dress for dinner. Pour me some tea, and then tell me a story from... what was that place called... Gray House?”
“You do not want to hear about that awful place, I assure you.” Miranda’s hands, especially her knuckles, ached at the very mention of Gray House. Dreary memories began to spill over into her tremulous presence of mind.
“I want to know more about your past. Please, humor me.”
Miranda took her seat beside Lady Callister. Thinking of Gray House might distract her from her current concerns. She thought for a moment about what she could say. “Gray House schooled me in a new way of thinking. So much so that when I saw my reflection, I saw nothing but the loathsome virtues I possessed. I will never go back. I would meet my uncle again, but not there.” She smiled as if the gesture lessened the severity of her words. “My maid, Sarah, was my only comfort. She stayed with me until she fell ill and the housekeeper dismissed her.”
