Page 47 of Refining the Debutante
How impressive. The man had glibly managed to be both genteel and assertive. Lady Callister might not approve, but Miranda smiled shamelessly his way. He deserved something for his efforts today. Then a thought struck her, making her smile disappear. Since her chances with Ethan were all but lost, could she open her heart to someone new? The very idea alarmed her, and yet, Captain Grant seemed liked an eager recipient.
She studied her lap, smoothing her skirts while her thoughts tormented her. If she loved Ethan, she should want him to be happy with whomever he chose. It wasn’t like Miranda expected to feel the same fervor of devotion to Captain Grant, because that seemed impossible, but her spirit was weary of chasing a dream. Besides, Miranda was not in any position to turn down an offer—especially from a man who was as good and kind as this one. Her last thought was for Jane. Such a decision would permanently sever all hope for a renewal of friendship. Would she ever be free of this hold Jane and Ethan had over her?
* * *
The light caught on the rose-gold ribbon weaved through Miss Withers’s hair, and Ethan found himself staring at it. He was fortunate to have her attention. She was everything a man in his position could want. He simply wished his interactions with her did not feel so forced.
“Tell me, what is your favorite pastime?” Ethan had made a list of questions in his mind before calling on her, determined to push past this mental barrier. Miss Withers’s mother was deep in conversation with the housekeeper at the other end of the room, which he could not have planned better.
“Sketching,” Miss Withers answered easily. “I love drawing people and trying to capture the personality beneath the face.”
Charming. Absolutely charming. “I would very much enjoy seeing some of your work.”
“Next time you call, I shall have my sketchbook to show you.”
Oh, she was good. Almost as good as Miranda, who always roped him easily into returning.
“I will depend upon it.” He grinned at her. “We do not have much longer before theton’s exodus from the country toward London. Are you looking forward to the Season?”
Miss Withers shrugged her dainty shoulders. “Are you?”
Ah, she wanted to match her response to his. Cunning. Ethan tugged at his cravat. He was acting remarkably suspicious. Miss Withers was not trying to stake him through the heart. He was supposed to be enjoying himself. “I am not quite ready for London,” he said. “I left with a bad taste in my mouth, and though I am eager to rid myself of it and give London a second chance, it does give me pause.”
“Was it a matter of business or the heart?”
Ethan’s gaze drifted to the window. What could he say to that?
“The heart, then,” Miss Withers surmised.
Ethan returned his eyes to hers. He knew she hinted about his time courting Miranda. “Thankfully, time has a way of covering the past with so many cobwebs we cannot see backward.” Except the cobwebs he spoke of were rather translucent lately, and he felt himself subconsciously comparing Miss Withers once again to Miranda. He flashed her his most sincere smile, admiring the way she tilted her head sideways to study him. “You are looking at me strangely,” he said. “Perhaps I will find myself a subject in your sketchbook.”
Miss Withers pursed her lips to hide her smile. “I have never sketched a young man before. I would hate to disappoint you if I got it wrong.”
“It depends on how perceptive you are,” Ethan said almost warily.
Miss Withers’s expression was frank. “I think you have touched on my greatest strength.”
It was Ethan’s turn to study her. If she was as perceptive as she said, then he was in trouble.
Their visit concluded, and Ethan said goodbye to Miss Withers, left her home, and steered his horse toward his own, his hands clenching the reins as frustration seeped through him. Mr. Withers had been away on business, and Ethan had not had the opportunity to make his courtship with the man’s daughter official.
Once back on his family estate, he saw Mr. Dalkins, his land steward, riding away from one of their tenant houses. He raised his hand in greeting.
“Hello there, Mr. Roderick,” Mr. Dalkins called out, the ends of his yellow mustache curling upward as he smiled. He pulled his horse up to Ethan’s. “I have been meaning to come to the house to have a word with you.”
“This is as good a time as any. Follow me, and we can discuss whatever it is that needs discussing.”
“Very good, sir.”
After they reached Stonebrook Hall, they dismounted and sent their horses off with a young groom. Ethan led the way to his father’s study and slid into a chair across from Mr. Dalkins.
“You know what tomorrow is?” Mr. Dalkins asked.
“Of course. It’s Michaelmas. I’ve been looking forward to the horse race for weeks. After the entertainment, we’ll be eating goose like everyone else in the neighborhood. You are welcome to join us, if it is an invitation you are fishing for.”
“No, I will be dining with my family this year, but I thank you all the same. I was referring to quarter day and the rents I will be collecting.”
“Oh.” Ethan chuckled. “Yes, of course. How can I be of assistance?”
