Page 84 of Refining the Debutante
“What are you doing? You promised you would not be hasty.”
“I need a fresh start,” Miranda said, her voice cracking with emotion.
Lady Callister sighed, her age showing with her deep frown. “Do you know where you will go?”
Miranda glanced at Sarah and then nodded. “A boardinghouse. I will stay there while I advertise for work. You will keep Sarah on, won’t you?”
“Most certainly,” Lady Callister said. She walked into the room and sat on Miranda’s bed. “I will send out inquiries to my friends to find you a position.”
“I cannot keep taking your charity.”
“Nonsense.” Lady Callister’s grave eyes spoke volumes. “It will ease my conscience; I must insist. Take Sarah with you until you are settled. I shall pay her wages and send word once I have received an opportunity for you.”
Gratitude for Lady Callister nearly overwhelmed Miranda. “Thank you,” she breathed.
“For what it is worth, there will always be a place for you here should you find you need it.” Miranda had never seen Lady Callister cry, but the woman’s face crumpled, and she held a handkerchief to her nose.
Within the hour, Miranda used her savings to pay the coach fare for her and Sarah. With all their things loaded inside, she turned to say goodbye to Lady Callister.
“Have you told my nephew that you are leaving?” Lady Callister asked.
“No,” Miranda said, her throat swelling with emotion. “But I have a letter here explaining everything.” She pressed the note into Lady Callister’s hands. “Delay as long as you can to give it to him so there will be no chance of him following me.”
Lady Callister took the letter. She appeared older than ever. “I will give it to him, though I will not enjoy the task.”
Miranda wiped away an errant tear before pulling out a second letter. “This is for Lady Gibson. She once was fond of me, you know. I was tempted to go to her and throw the money in her face, but for everyone’s sake, I constrained myself.”
Lady Callister’s lips twitched. “How decent of you.”
Miranda nodded. “Instead, I am begging her to forgive my poor conduct in this matter.” She dipped her chin and sniffed. “They do not know it, but I loved each of them too.”
“I understand,” Lady Callister said. “I shall send word when I hear of a position.”
Miranda embraced the woman she had grown to love.“Thank youseems so trifling. I owe you so very much.”
“You owe me nothing. But just the same, I shall miss you.”
How many people would Miranda have to walk away from? What more did she have to learn?
Chapter 33
The long ride to Folkestoneexhausted Ethan. Each mile was filled with tormenting thoughts. He should have told Miranda he had left London. Would she think he’d given up on them again—that he’d given up on her? He could not bring himself to offer her empty platitudes as comfort. No, he would face her when he had a viable solution.
Instead of resting up at Stephen’s estate, Ethan rode directly to Gray House. It was time to introduce himself to Lord Aldington. He looked up at the grayish-white stone and grimaced. It did not bode well to think his last hope resided here. He knocked on the door and waited. When it opened, he introduced himself and was invited to sit in a shabby drawing room. He took in the crack in the mantel and the half-drawn drapes. What sort of ill will had Miranda experienced here? He was already imagining all sorts of unnerving things.
After several minutes, the butler returned to the room. “Lord Aldington requests to see you in his bedchamber.”
“Bedchamber?”
“His Lordship is feeling under the weather. If you will follow me.”
Ethan followed the butler, taking in the house as they walked. There were not enough windows or candles, and the passageway was full of shadows. Once they arrived, the butler let himself in and announced Ethan.
The butler moved to the side, giving him a view of Lord Aldington lying in his bed. His salt-and-pepper hair was pasted across his forehead, and his skin was damp and sallow. Ethan noticed one bandaged arm was lying atop the bedsheet. Beside Lord Aldington was a middle-aged man, likely the doctor. At seeing Ethan, the doctor took a bowl from Lord Aldington’s bedside table and approached him. Ethan momentarily drew back when he saw the bowl sloshing with blood.
“I am Dr. Ferris.”
“Mr. Roderick, recently from London.” Ethan kept his voice low. “What is wrong with Lord Aldington?”
