Page 7 of Refining the Debutante
Ethan sat in his father’s study, content to be back at Stonebrook Hall with its clear country air. Theirs was a small but comfortable community, and his efforts to manage the family estate would keep his mind busy, if only he could sleep. Mr. Buehler, their butler of more than thirty-five years, brought in a tray of letters for him.
“Very good. Bring them here.” Ethan accepted the letters, riffling through the small stack, and stopped at one addressed to him from his family. He reached for a letter opener and slit open the sealed missive, perusing it quickly. Something, something, duke’s ball. Ah, there. His parents were bringing Jane here to Sussex to be with him and his youngest sister, Hannah, who had not yet been introduced to Society, and then leaving to Bath as Ethan had suggested. They would be taking his brother, Richard, who was on holiday from school, with them. Pleased with the arrangement, Ethan sank back in the armchair.
His father also required a holiday after a session in Parliament and owing to a recent attack of gout, as there would be no relaxation for him here—not with the east wing of Stonebrook Hall under renovation. The amount of powders his father needed with each flare of pain in his foot and leg worried Ethan. Although the medicine helped considerably with the pain, Ethan had noticed his father’s increasing reliance on it and had encouraged something new, like partaking of the waters. He was pleased to see his advice being followed.
Ethan reached for another letter, this one from Jane. With a small groan, he set it aside to read later. No doubt she meant to harangue him again about marrying Miranda. He shook his head. Why could he still not think of her as Miss Bartley? Putting his elbows on the table, he clasped his hands together and rested his head atop them. The view of Grandfather’s portrait on the wall opposite him did little to distract his tired mind from the lovely image of Miranda he’d conjured. Guilt had been robbing him of sleep. What kind of gentleman walked away from a woman after leading her to believe there would be an engagement? And his words haunted him too. He should not have been so harsh.
Miranda likely did not even notice her behavior, as it came naturally. She attracted men like a dog would fleas. Her coquettish giggle and her coy smiles in response to every compliment bestowed by other men might have been unconsciously done, but they drove him to the brink of insanity. With effort, the harmless tendencies he could ignore, but her selfish nature he could not. Flipping open his father’s record book, Ethan found the ribbon marking the current numbers to date. He would forget her. He sat back and ran his fingers down a column, attempting to do the figures in his head. As if in response to his deep-set frown, a thought teased him from his concentration.
“You have a very handsome smile, though I do not know why you hide it.”
Good heavens. Was he hearing her voice in his head now?
He wouldn’t smile. He refused.
“Not everyone can be as carefree as you,” he whispered out loud to the taunting memory. Her own wide smile always unnerved him. No doubt a womanly trick to entrap him. Perhaps he was more tired than he thought, because his mind easily fell into the memory of that day in Hyde Park when she’d tricked him into climbing a tree.
“You must not care what anyone else thinks about you.” She threw her head back so the sunshine could make it past her bonnet to her face. “You deserve to be happy and to show it.”
“And you do not care? I find that impossible in the world we live in.”
Miranda shrugged her dainty shoulders. “To an extent, perhaps. We all care about something, but caring too much robs you of the chance to enjoy life. Trust me; people respect me for being the only debutante who is not demure and mundane.”
She definitely drew a crowd wherever she went, with her beauty and confidence. And somehow, she acted as if he were the one she wanted to be with.
He slapped his face. “Focus, man!”
Caring too much was what he was good at. He’d always wanted to do what his father expected of him, and that meant taking life seriously. While he and his father did not see eye to eye on everything, they both appreciated order—and Miranda seemed to turn everything on its head. She was unpredictable and outspoken. Someday, Ethan would inherit the title of Gibson and the barony, and upholding tradition was important.
He knew what Miranda would have said.
“It’s not about sacrificing your pride; it is about shedding your inhibitions.”She’d said that very thing to him before she’d tricked him into climbing that infernal tree and he’d embarrassed himself. He blinked away the memory. He shouldn’t have listened to her then, and he wouldn’t listen now.
Ethan stood from behind his desk and stretched his back. He needed to do something active to keep his mind off this woman—and the reckless way she made him think. Perhaps this was a good time to go through his clothes and put together some castoffs for the school.
He found a maid dusting a vase in the corridor outside his father’s study. “Have a footman bring a crate to my bedchamber about this size.” He put his arms out, parallel with his body, to suggest the dimension he would need.
The maid bobbed a curtsy and hurried to do his bidding. Instead of walking the rest of the way to his room, he took the staircase two steps at a time and jogged past the other bedchambers. He’d been pushing himself physically with every opportunity he had as a way of keeping his mind clear. He’d even taken up running just after sunrise. He opened his closet and pulled out a few pairs of trousers he rarely wore. They could easily be sized down for a younger boy—
“Miss Bartley , I am not a young boy. However, if it should please you, I will climb this measly tree to prove a point. It will not change me in any way.” He removed his tailcoat but refused to look to see who might be watching. Of course he cared about whether or not he was making a fool of himself, but Miranda’s playful behavior brought out a side of him that he had buried after his days at Eton.
He rubbed his hands together and reached for a branch near his shoulders. He swung his feet up onto a lower branch. Miranda’s giggles inspired him to climb higher. He reached his leg up a second time, but his pants snagged on a branch. He yanked at it, but it would not free itself. With his weight dangling by his arms, his balance grew precarious. Another sharp yank disrupted his hold, and he found himself pitching face-forward to the ground. He hit with a hard thud. He had not climbed very high, but pain did not know height.
Shrieking, Miranda whisked herself to his side. “Are you alive?”
Ethan moaned and pulled himself into a sitting position. He spit out the dirt, wondering how he had managed to get a mouthful. “Dead people do not hurt as I do.” Ethan tested his arm to see if it was broken. “I am very much alive.”
Miranda’s sympathetic expression made him laugh despite the discomfort he felt in every part of his body. She put her hand over her mouth, but it was too late; her giggles joined his.
“I’m sorry,” she said over and over again. “Truly, I should not have suggested this.”
“No, I should not have tried so hard to impress you.” It was beyond ridiculous what he would do for this woman.
When their laughter diminished, Miranda pulled out a handkerchief. She bent over and tenderly wiped the dirt from his face. Her eyes met his—blue as a perfect summer sky—and drew him in. He reached for her wrist to keep her from pulling away. How warm she’d felt beneath his touch.
They sat there, staring at each other, mesmerized in a world all their own. His other hand cupped her face, and he caressed the curve of her cheek, stopping at her full lips.
Ethan coughed, jarred by that tender moment. Why did he torture himself with memories? There had been no kiss, thank the stars. A few ladies and a gentleman had seen his fall and hurried over to see if he was all right. Somehow, he had pulled his bruised body off the ground and dusted himself off. The story had never even reached the ears of the gossipers. Miranda had taken complete blame for his behavior, making up a silly story about him rescuing her handkerchief from the tree.
