Page 70 of Refining the Debutante
“A story best left for another time, my sweet.”
Miranda recognized the patronizing tone as one that meant she was too young to be privy to such information. She was not the naive daughter she once had been. “Very well. What can I do to bring you greater comfort? Bring blankets? Food?”
“I have friends who have sponsored my rooms, though they wish to remain anonymous. Do you know who they are?”
Miranda shook her head. She had wondered if it was Lady Callister. “No, but I will repay them when I can. I do not earn much, but—”
“No, no, no,” Mr. Bartley said. “I can handle myself well enough here. This never would have happened if I had regulated my spending over the years, though I still blame that infernal volcano.” Her father shrugged. “Just take care of yourself.”
“I will.”
“Good. Now, understand this. You must not visit again. Tell your friends I am dead, and live your life.”
Friends? Besides Lady Callister, she really had no one. Even as she thought it, she wondered if she could count Ethan. He had done so much for her, and yet, he was a man who intended to marry someone else.
“Father,” Miranda argued, “I will do no such thing. I can’t abandon you. We should be together.” She didn’t want to live in such a place, with the vile warden and the way the tight walls seemed to close in on them, but it made sense it should be that way. She had learned that when all else was lost, family was the only thing that remained. “I will come live with you here.”
“Never.” Her father balked.
“No,” Ethan added at the same time.
She turned to see Ethan’s features tight.
Her father grabbed her hand. “You must not even visit.”
Miranda wanted to argue, but perhaps with time, he would feel otherwise.
“I know it is hard to understand,” her father said, “but it must be so.”
“Then, I will write as often as I can.” Miranda clasped her hands in front of her.
Her father pulled her into a tight embrace. “I... I love you.”
Miranda had never heard those words spoken to her before, and tears flowed freely down her face. “I know, Father.” She would never doubt his love again.
She said goodbye and promised again to write often. She couldn’t bring herself to say anything to Ethan as they walked back to the carriage. The ride to Lady Callister’s town house was quiet. Both Ethan and Lady Callister seemed to sense her need for a period of reflection. Thoughts of her father and his situation mulled about in her head, and she ached for him.
Lady Callister invited Ethan in for tea once they arrived home again. Miranda’s trance broke, and she once again became extremely aware of his presence.
“I will not intrude any longer. Miss Bartley must be exhausted.” Ethan glanced at her with quiet affection in his eyes and turned back to his great-aunt. “My mother expressed her eagerness to visit me, and I should be home when she arrives.”
Lady Callister nodded. “Tell your mother and the family to call on us tomorrow for tea.”
“I will tell them,” Ethan said, clasping his hands in front of him.
Miranda resisted the urge to beg him to stay. She wanted him to coax her to talk about everything. Tomorrow there would be absolutely no privacy. And worst of all, Lady Gibson would be seeing her for the first time in reduced circumstances. Amongst all the troubles that weighed on Miranda, she worried Miss Withers was scheming something.
Lady Callister smiled. “If I am going to be in London, I hope to see my family regularly. Unless your father comes and is in one of his self-aggrandizing moods, which he often is. Thank goodness Parliament will be in session soon.”
Ethan chuckled and inclined his head to say goodbye. He gathered his cloak and hat while Lady Callister tottered off to the drawing room. Miranda stood frozen. She wanted him to stay but had no reason to keep him here.
The butler opened the door for Ethan, and Miranda’s reason fled. “Wait.”
Ethan turned, surprised.
She should apologize for her hurtful words and her anger, but she couldn’t bring herself to discuss another failure of her character, so she quietly said, “Thank you.”
Ethan’s lips pulled upward, but there was a crease in his brow. “First time visiting debtors’ prison, though I’m sorry you had to experience it.” He sighed. “Sort of thrilling once you got past the ridiculous turnkey.”
